Chapter 1: Glory

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Fuck yeah.

I pushed the old wooden door open and walked into Crown Oak, one of the oldest pubs in Cambridge. The place was already packed with students, some were still wearing their togas. I left mine at the apartment, since I didn't want the hassle of carrying it around tonight.

This was my favorite spot in Harvard Square. There were barely any tourists here, too intimidated to walk in the dark-looking establishment. They renovated over the years, but they stayed true with the traditional pub style.

Some people greeted me, congratulating me and trying to hand me a shot or a beer. Of course, I fucking obliged. What dumbass said no to free booze?

I caught a familiar blonde head at the bar, and headed straight towards him. He nodded to me when he saw me approaching.

I grinned, slapping his shoulder. "What's up, By?"

"You look like you just won the lottery," Byron commented, chuckling before drinking his glass of whatever shit it was he was drinking.

"Dude, we graduated from Harvard – fucking Harvard!" Laughing, I grabbed his head and shook him which resulted in his drink spilling all over the floor but I didn't give a damn. "In the fall, we're going to fucking grad school!"

I couldn't believe it myself. Me, a fucking screwup, just graduated from one of the most notorious universities in the country, if not the world.

Don't get me wrong, I had help in order to get to where I was now. I wasn't above using my connections (or my father's connections). But still, me from high school wouldn't even dream of attending an Ivy League school.

But something changed in me in the past few years, forcing me to reevaluate what I wanted in life and what I wanted to be.

And here I was now, Class of '20.

Byron only shook his head in amusement, ever the collected one, putting the glass back on the counter and signalling the bartender for two more glasses.

"Don't forget that that 'grad school' is Harvard Law School," he said, giving me a pointed look. "It won't be easy."

Duh, I wasn't stupid.

With the way I acted like a goddamn jock around everyone, it was easy to assume that I wasn't bright. But I wasn't a fucking idiot.

In fact, if I put my mind into something, I was confident as hell that I could make it happen no matter what. Like going to Harvard. Like playing football at Harvard. Like going to law school at Harvard.

I loved this fucking place.

Harvard made me realize that I was deadass smart, since I never really tried studying before I attended this school. I just left it all to stock knowledge and it always managed to be enough.

But then, I actually started to try. After all, stock knowledge wasn't enough to survive this place. So I spent countless nights at the library reading, I did my damn homework after football practice, and I studied before exams.

And before I knew it, my GPA was the highest it had ever been. I was among the top of my class – and that was fucking saying something.

Where was my best friend Oz and his 4.0 GPA now?

"You're such a pooper," I told Byron, scowling at him.

He burst out laughing at that.

Byron Beaumont was your average trust fund baby, with the preppy clothes and uppity personality. We met each other through our parents, our fathers went to school here together back in the olden days.

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