Since Sam's death, a few days had passed at school. The police had wrapped up their investigation, and the results were finally out.
It was officially ruled a suicide.
According to the report, Sam had climbed to the top of a six-story building near his family's home, an old apartment complex. Once he reached the roof, he jumped. No one had been there. No one forced him. No one coerced him.
And just like that, the case was closed.
The authorities had decided not to press charges, not against any students, not against anyone. Max figured it had everything to do with Odin Law Firm. Their reputation alone was enough to make the police think twice. It was a fight the local department likely knew they'd lose, and even if they won, what would they really gain? A slap on the wrist for a few high schoolers?
Nothing that would bring Sam back.
As for Max, those few days had been eerily quiet. The bullying? Gone. The trio that once ruled the classroom with cruel grins and cheap laughs? Completely silent. The teachers, too, were suddenly alert, more aware, probably out of guilt or fear that another student might do something drastic.
It gave Max some space, space to clear his head… and push his training to its absolute limit.
Part of training, Max knew, wasn't just about pushing limits, it was about recovery too. And with the constant hits from the others, recovery had been nearly impossible.
His strength still wasn't anywhere near what it had once been, but his stamina… that was coming back fast.
Then came the third day since Sam's death. It was a Friday, right before the weekend, when the teacher walked into the room and cleared his throat, his expression unusually serious.
"I have an important announcement regarding the tragic events that occurred recently," he began, adjusting his glasses. "Sam's parents will be holding his funeral tomorrow. They've invited all of his classmates to attend.
"Of course, attendance isn't mandatory," he continued, "but if you were close with Sam, it might be a good time to say a few kind words and pay your respects."
Only those from their class had been invited.
Max understood why. Sam's parents had no idea who his real friends were, if he had any at all. So they'd invited the entire class, assuming someone, anyone, had cared enough to show up.
But Max knew the truth.
Sam had no friends. No one to help him. No one who truly saw him.
On his way home, Max stopped by the gym. This time, every punch he threw at the heavy bag echoed louder than before, each one sharp, furious, like he was trying to knock something loose from his chest.
Steven could tell right away.
Those fists… they weren't about training.
They were about rage.
'I wouldn't want to be the poor soul standing on the other side of those hits,' Steven thought, watching from the counter. 'And that damned kid… he still hasn't told me whether he was serious about that offer or not. I… I've got to figure something out with these debts. If I don't, I'll owe him, and a lot more people, way more than I can pay back.'
Later, Max made his way home. He got some rest, knowing what tomorrow held. But early in the morning, a knock on the door stirred him from sleep. Still in his briefs, he stumbled to the door and peeked through the peephole.
He blinked once.
"Oh, right. It's the weekend," he muttered. "Guess he showed up earlier than expected."
Max opened the door.
"Come in, Stalker."
"Stalker?" Aron said, raising a brow as he stepped in, one hand holding up a black-covered hanger. "You're calling me a stalker? When I only show up at your request, only on weekends, and I've bent over backward to fulfill all your demands?"
He set the hanger down with a sigh.
"At this point, I'm starting to feel more like your slave."
Max had to admit, he felt a little bad hearing Aron talk like that. He hadn't meant anything by it. He was just so used to seeing "Stalker" pop up on his phone screen that the nickname had slipped out without thinking.
Aron stepped into the small room, glancing around while Max started getting ready. But as he stood there, he found his eyes drifting toward Max's body, watching him move until eventually, Max turned to face him.
"Are you going to keep staring at me," Max said, raising a brow, "or are you going to hand over what's in your hand?"
"Right." Aron snapped out of it, quickly holding out the hanger.
Laying it down on the bed, Max unzipped the cover. Inside was a full suit: black blazer, crisp white shirt, matching trousers, the whole set, perfectly pressed and ready for the day ahead.
"So…" Max said as he began to dress, glancing sideways, "what had you staring for so long? Missing your boyfriend or something?"
Aron cleared his throat, and a slight tint of red rose to his cheeks.
"No, it's not like that," he replied quickly. "I was just surprised. The young master has never gotten changed in front of me before. You've… got a better body than I expected."
Max smirked as he buttoned up his shirt.
"I'm surprised the Stern family allows these kinds of relationships."
"What relationships?" Aron asked, genuinely confused.
"Coworker relationships," Max said casually. "I'm sure it's frowned upon."
Aron's face was growing redder by the second.
"Please refrain from making crude jokes like that, especially in front of other members of the Stern family. It's for your own sake," Aron warned. "But… I'll admit, it's nice to see you've become more comfortable lately."
Eventually, Max was done getting ready. He glanced at himself in the bathroom mirror, adjusting his collar one last time. The reflection staring back at him didn't quite feel like his, even in the sharp black suit. Still, it reminded him of who he used to be, someone who wore suits like armor, someone who'd been to more funerals than he could count.
He never expected he'd be going to yet another one, especially in a body that wasn't even his own.
Maybe death is just something that follows me, Max thought, his gaze lingering on the mirror a second longer.
"Aron, did you get everything prepared for today?" he asked.
"I've done everything exactly as you requested," Aron replied, standing at attention.
With a nod, Max stepped forward and opened the door, taking the lead.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath. "Let's see how today goes… I hate funerals."