The energy Ethan was putting out right now wasn't just confidence. It was something sharper — a dominance that came from real strength and experience.
This was different from the confidence he'd shown during business negotiations. That was the ease of someone who knew how to move through the corporate world. This was something else. The sharpness and control of someone who owned whatever room he walked into.
He knew very well that in this life he would never lack money or status.
But these four years of college were something different. Unique. Precious in their own way.
He wasn't going to casually give up what was worth fighting for just because his resume didn't need it. Competing, taking responsibility, being part of something — that was all part of college life. His way of actually living this second youth.
Ms. Carter, who had been focused on peeling garlic shrimp, suddenly looked up, her eyes bright with curiosity: "Ethan, do you actually want to be class president yourself?"
She seemed genuinely eager to hear his answer.
Ethan smiled at her, easy and full of energy: "Of course I do, Ms. Carter. So Summer might end up regretting the effort she put in."
Then he shifted his tone, looking at Mr. Hayes, more serious now: "But if class president doesn't work out, there's still student rep. Also an important role — guiding the class on the academic and community side, supporting the president, keeping everyone pointed in the right direction. I'd be genuinely happy to work alongside Summer. One leading, one supporting, making your job easier."
At a school like NYU, class president and student rep were the two core student leadership positions. The president handled day-to-day class matters — organization, communication, the practical stuff. The student rep carried responsibility for community engagement, student activities, and keeping the class unified. The influence was real, second only to the president, and the two roles complemented each other directly.
Mr. Hayes's eyes lit up when he heard that. The last bit of worry in him vanished. He nodded repeatedly: "Alright! Alright! That's exactly right."
What he admired about Ethan was this — confident without being arrogant, clear-headed and thorough, and always three steps ahead. Mr. Hayes had only been worried about the class president slot, and Ethan had already mentally mapped out the student rep role, the division of responsibilities, the whole thing. Like he'd read the man's mind. Having a student like this made the whole counselor job feel lighter just thinking about it.
Ms. Carter and the other young teacher looked at Mr. Hayes's face — the expression of someone who had just found something rare — then back at the completely calm Ethan, and both of them had the same look in their eyes.
Why did all the good ones end up in Mr. Hayes's section?
...
After lunch, Ethan and his roommates walked back to the dorm, stomachs full, hands rubbing their midsections.
The moment they stepped into the residence hall they felt it — something was off.
At the entrance of every room, small clusters of guys were standing around talking, animated and loud, and every conversation seemed to circle back to the same topic: tonight's class officer election.
Clearly the news about Summer's pre-campaign moves in the girls' dorms had already swept through the whole building.
As they passed by other rooms, guys leaned out and called over to Ethan:
"Ethan! Tonight's election, bro — you've got my vote, no question."
"Same! Anyone else becomes class president and I'm objecting on the spot. Has to be you."
"Don't even stress it man, we've got you."
Ethan kept a friendly smile the whole way, calling back, "Appreciate it, guys."
Like a magic trick, he reached into his pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes, flicked the top open smoothly, and as he walked, handed one to each guy who had called out to him. The motion was fluid and natural, easy and unhurried, carrying a certain effortless cool.
"Ethan!"
"Man, you're too generous!"
The guys who took the cigarettes grinned wider, a shared understanding passing between them without a single word.
Ethan drifted back to room 208 in a trail of smoke.
He had never once said "I'm running for class president." But every guy in that hallway already knew. Right now, he was like an uncrowned king who hadn't been officially announced yet — but the endorsement was already there.
Sometimes that's all it takes. A look, a cigarette. The simplest way to pick a side.
Around three in the afternoon, the room was quiet. Kevin was gaming, Derek and Marcus were lying on their beds scrolling through their phones or checking the market.
Then Ethan's phone rang and cut through the silence.
He picked it up and glanced at the screen — Summer.
A small smile curled at the corner of his mouth. He answered, voice calm: "Hey, Summer. What's up?"
Summer's voice on the other end was crisp and direct, giving almost nothing away: "Ethan, are you free right now? There's something I'd like to talk about in person. I'm at Corner Sip by the back gate. Can you come?"
Ethan put the phone down. No surprise on his face at all.
Summer reaching out to him — he had seen that coming.
She was feeling the pressure from the election and wanted to go straight to the source. Come to him directly and convince him to step back.
Straightforward. Simple but effective. For someone like Ryan who was already basically her hype man, that move alone would probably be enough to get him to fold.
Guys like Ryan could be handled easily.
In fact, Ethan could already guess exactly what she was going to say. This girl was purposeful. Goal-oriented. He had known plenty like her in his past life.
Not a criticism — people climb, water flows down. That's just how it is.
But if Summer thought she was going to get him to step aside, she was overthinking it.
Ethan smiled to himself and strolled at an easy pace toward Corner Sip at the back gate.
He pushed the door open and the cold air hit him.
He spotted Summer immediately by the window — but what made him pause slightly and raise an eyebrow was that Nora was sitting there too.
Seriously. Ethan was speechless. Why would you bring someone this pure and clueless into a negotiation like this? Mascot? Witness?
He walked over and sat down with a look that said exactly what he was thinking.
Summer straightened up, trying to stay composed, and spoke first: "You made it. What do you want to drink? My treat." A deliberate warmth in her tone.
Oh. Taking the initiative to be nice. Trying to soften things up before asking for something. Classic opener.
"Iced Red Bull," Ethan said flatly.
"Uh..." Summer looked thrown off for a second. "They... don't have that here. You'd have to get it from the convenience store next door..."
"Forget it." Ethan waved his hand and leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. "Just say what you came to say. I've still got a gaming session to get to."
Summer was just about to speak when Ethan raised a hand and pointed directly at Nora: "Why is she here?"
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