Chapter Text
If there was any one of the many, many qualities he possessed that he was most proud of, for Bradley it was undoubtedly his self-control, followed closely by his strength. That's why he knew that even if people were now glaring at him and whispering things his way, he would continue, along with his Gamma Mu Mu brothers, to walk with his head held high. Yes, it was true, they had been caught cheating of the nastiest of ways; yes, it was true, they had lost the X Games; yes, it was true, his parents had strictly forbidden him from ever again getting on any object in the shape or functionality similar to a skateboard and yes, it was true, this had caused him to die a little, just a little bit, inside. Yes, it was true, his relationship with Tank was not the same, perhaps the only true friend he had ever had. But he was still the best in his class, intellectually and socially superior to the rest of his classmates. The girls still trembled at his knees when he walked past them. And even though he no longer officially held the title, he knew he was the King of the campus.
And now, without the distraction of skating, he could focus fully on his studies, as his parents had rightly told him after the incident. He wasn't just going to be valedictorian of each and every one of his classes, he was going to be valedictorian of all of them, he was going to be the best neurosurgeon not in the promotion, but in the academic history of the university.
And even if the mirror that morning gave him back a grotesque image (dark circles under his eyes, his hair completely disheveled and his clothes all wrinkled due to falling asleep at his desk after having been studying most of the night) he knew he would fix himself, go to class and prove to everyone that he was the best.
A knock on the door interrupted him, thinking it was Tank, he opened it without hesitation, he always looked for him to go to the campus together. Disappointment almost showed on his face when he realized upon opening the door that it wasn't Tank behind her, it was another gamma, telling him that they were on their way to class and that he should hurry.
With a simple answer he closed the door and quickly got ready, in record time he made it to the entrance of the fraternity house, where the usual group was waiting for him, Tank included. Seeing him was a relief, at least he wasn't trying to avoid him.
They set off as usual to class, chatting about whatever inane thing caught the boys' attention at the moment, sharing the ever-same complaints about having to get up early. Bradley participated, as always, with his usual repartee and jokes, but every now and then he couldn't help but shoot glances at Tank to see if he was laughing as usual at his comments and jokes. And even though he did, it didn't quite put him at ease. Maybe he was just overthinking the situation.
His already fragile mood soured when, upon entering his class, he remembered that he shared that subject with none other than Max Goof. He was getting more and more unbearable, after beating him in the X Games he didn't seem content with just that, he also thought he was good enough to beat him in the subjects they shared, too many, since the freshman was also studying in the health branch, specifically psychology. So they had to attend ethics together. God had a twisted sense of humor.
The professor had just entered the classroom, followed closely by a panting Max. Bradley stared at the boy, why, of all people, did he have to be terribly attracted to that idiot?, and the gasps coming from his lips, pierced by two hoops placed one on either side of his commissures, didn't help. He averted his gaze from the black-haired man willing to focus all his attention on the professor, while he felt a burning in his gut that was undoubtedly of desire.
Max had run to his class, just in time to follow the professor out the door, damn Bobby and his B-series horror movies marathons. He'd barely slept a wink that night, and now he'd have to attend class completely sleepless. More importantly, how was he going to sweep the floor with Bradley in this class if his brain was barely functioning. Granted, no one knew, maybe not even Bradley himself, that their rivalry had extended to academics, only in the classes they shared, there was no need to try that hard either. So he couldn't blame Bobby for letting himself be convinced to sit by his laptop to watch movies about killer furniture, only himself.
-Well, leaving aside Nietzsche's theories and National Socialist interpretations, I want to know your opinion. Is it possible to reach the state of the “superman”? And if so, what is your description of it?
Several hands went up at the question, the ever-applied students who intervene in class in search of that extra point, those who have an opinion to share, and surprisingly for everyone, Max Goof. The teacher, pleased to capture the attention of a never-participating student, gave him the floor.
Bradley, open-mouthed and wild-eyed, could do nothing but stare at Max as he lowered his raised arm. Max returned his gaze, defiant at first, and could only think before speaking “Oh, yes he does” as a small smirk of self-sufficiency formed on his face.
-No. I mean, the idea of a superman will always be formed by what we think will be the best... the ideal, right?.... So it's cultural and subjective and all that, there can't be a real superman state, at least not accepted by everybody. I mean, the nazis took the concept and well... I don't think there are people here who believe that their idea of superman is good, right?
The class was silent, and after naming the nazis, no one felt like disagreeing with Max, the professor seemed pleased, and at this Max gave Bradley a cocky grin. The asshole hadn't suffered a single consequence after his unmasking at the X Games, and if Max had to teach him a lesson by outdoing him in every way he could, he would.
-Your colleague made an interesting argument, since...yes?- the professor noticed Bradley's raised hand, and gave him the floor. The gamma didn't even bother to hide that his answer was aimed directly at Max, not after that arrogant expression on his face.
-But you can't deny the innate superiority of certain people.- Bradley said in a seemingly calm tone, but with a latent fury that few noticed, of course Max was one of those few.
-Like?
-Like the artists, Mozart for example- and feeling his input as sufficient, Bradley folded his arms and leaned back in his seat, believing himself the victor.
-Mozart?...You know he hooked up with his cousin, don't you?...not very superman-like behavior I think.
-Putting that aside- Bradley replied slightly frustrated- you can't compare the impact he has left on the music world with any other artist.
-But it's the same thing, we have said that he is the top, it is under certain criteria that we have called Mozart the best. Maybe it's not for others, otherwise how do you explain his death? He fell from the number one position, and died poor as a rat.
-That was society's failure at the time, not his, now he is valued as he deserves.
-It is still subjective. Now he is valued because some old men with power and prestige have said he is the best, who here has sat down to listen to an entire symphony of his and has come out saying he is the best musician of all time - the whole class looked from one to the other, amused at the exchange.
-Just because you can't appreciate it doesn't mean people with taste can't - Bradley mockingly replied. Max didn't bat an eye.
-No, I don't like it, but that doesn't change the fact that what I say is true.
-Forget the artists, what about the scientists, or politicians, or millionaires who by their hard work have made a name for themselves in history, attained the highest positions in their societies, amassed great fortunes with which to finance the advancement of society? - Bradley couldn't refute the subjective nature of art, but success, renown, great feats, that was indisputable. A chuckle escaped Max.
-Millionaires, hard work?- he burst out laughing. Some followed him in laughter, others, expectantly, watched Bradley's reaction.
-What are you laughing at, freshman? - the anger already fully audible in his voice, his face contorted in a tense gesture of apparent calmness.
-I'm sorry, but since when do millionaires work hard? You're not going to sell me the tale of meritocracy? - Max replied sardonically.
-What's the matter Goof? Since your father couldn't pull you out of poverty, you think no one else can?- The professor had every intention of stopping the discussion there, it had already left the debate denomination a few combos ago. But Max burst in to speak as soon as he opened his mouth.
-What do you know about hard work? It is with your family's money that you are here, and that money your family has inherited from your grandparents, and your grandparents, from their parents, and so on down to the first asshole who declared that some land or resource was theirs.- Max did not bother to hide his anger. He hadn't gone so far as to shout, but the contempt and disdain were palpable in his words.
The professor decided that was as far as it went. He could not allow another one of his classes to end in a fist fight, not after the incident two years earlier. The class continued, and Bradley and Max could only grit their teeth to control the anger boiling up in them. That guy really is a major asshole, they both thought, oddly enough, at the same time.
When the class was over, Bobby, who had inexplicably managed to get to class before Max, kept him waiting, partly to avoid a second round with Bradley and his gang who were then on their way out the door, and partly to ask him about the source of his recent interest in ethics.
-Hey dude, I think it's the first time I've seen you respond to something. Have you been bitten by the philosophy bug?- Philosophy was the major Bobby was studying, what he planned to do with the degree once he finished, only he knew.
Max looked at him, now calmer, and replied:
-No way, but someone has to teach that pompous prick a lesson. He hasn't received a single punishment for the stunt he pulled at the games. The fraternity is having a party and everyone is going to go!- he said exasperated, as if he found it impossible to believe.
-Including us, bro, remember that Tank invited us expressly. It's in our honor, what better way to apologize than free drinks and a house without curfew?- said Bobby smiling.
Yes, Tank had been nice, apologized to them, and even threw that party for them. But Bradley was still the same asshole he'd always been. And Max couldn't stand it. He smiled back at his friend and together they left the classroom. If he managed to ignore the posh guy's existence that night, he might even have some fun.
As much as Bradley tried to forget the last words the black-haired man addressed to him in the morning class, he couldn't get them out of his head. Not in the rest of his classes, not during lunch, not while talking to his Gamma colleagues, not even when, upon reaching his room, he decided to take advantage of a couple of hours to study before the evening's party started. But instead there he was, sitting at his desk googling “meritocracy”, and looking for a millionaire, even just one, who came from poverty, he started with the most famous ones. Steve Jobs, that one had started in a garage, sure...no, his family had money. Well, Bezos, he also started in a garage and...nope. Elon Musk...diamond mines?
Bradley threw his cell phone on his bed in defeat. He had never stopped to think about all that his economic position had given him (because yes, after googling the term meritocracy he had seen a few video essays on youtube, he couldn't be left to wonder if it was a legitimate reality).
He didn't really even believe that there were people superior to others, or at least, he didn't think it really mattered as a factor in assigning value to a life. But he had been playing his parents' game for so many years, so long building the perfect image they forced him to project in EVERY. MOMENT. Besides, he had to answer Max, he couldn't let him beat him in academics too, his parents had been clear. And the freshman's expressions of arrogance and self-sufficiency weren't helping him.
But worst of all had been when, on leaving class, Tank had asked him, “Hey, don't you think you overdid it with the freshman this time?” the look of disappointment he'd given him.... Leaning back in his seat he ran his hands over his face, letting out a long sigh. Lately he hardly slept, and his nerves were on edge, sometimes he even felt palpitations and as if the air was missing from his lungs.
He decided to put the studio aside for the day and headed to his private washroom to take a long bath before getting ready for the party. Maybe he would even treat himself to the latest episode of Drag Paul's Race that had aired.