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Ever since Simon was young, he’s always been different from his siblings.
And it wasn’t just about being a prodigy kid.
While both Sven and Scarlet were rather loud and expressive, Simon was always a quiet child - almost reclusive in nature.
While they explored themselves and what they liked as they grew older, Simon was always consistent, always liking or disliking the same things and very rarely changing.
While his older siblings were adaptable and often very open to new things, Simon feared this in his early childhood.
Even with all these differences, there was one thing they all shared.
The Gwon family name, and all the expectations that came with it.
From young, Mom and Dad have had set rules for a lot of things.
How to eat, how to work, how to play, how to behave.
All these different rules to account for as you went about your day, and any mistake would result in some form of disapproval or scolding.
Simon was quiet.
Simon was complacent.
He followed all the rules his parents set out, never complaining once. His parents said he did this because he was a mature boy for his age.
Simon would only nod.
He didn’t tell them that the only reason he followed these rules was because he saw what the punishments were for not doing so.
His father’s glare always made him nervous, even though it was never directed at him.
Although Simon followed all these rules, it didn’t mean he didn’t struggle with them. So many of them were unspoken, subtle details.
Don’t be loud when adults are around.
Make sure your appearance is tidy.
Smile at any guests.
Don’t bother Father unless he was 100% not busy with something.
Don’t play inside the house.
Don’t eat a full plate of food.
Always wait for the adults to eat until you do.
Don’t glare like that.
Don’t scrunch your face like that.
Dress nicely for this event, but not too formal or you’ll look entitled.
Be friendly, but don’t talk to people below you.
Put in all your effort.
Look effortless.
Do your best or don’t bother trying.
Get results or it’s pointless.
Go after what you want.
Don’t be intense.
Don’t be outwardly confident.
Don’t be unsure.
Keep up your public image.
And he had to keep track of those every day.
It stressed him out greatly, having to factor all these little rules and regulations in whenever he tried to do anything.
It was suffocating, and it made doing the simplest of things take the hardest amount of effort.
Sven often rebelled against many of these rules. There was hardly a day when he wasn’t scolded for one thing or the other. Simon had learned what not to do from him.
But Scarlet was the main problem.
She did everything.
Flawlessly.
And ‘everything’ wasn’t an exaggeration.
She did as many competitions as she could sign up for.
She was praised constantly for her social skills and her confidence.
She placed top 3 in every class.
She dressed her best, she walked with purpose, she smiled with ease.
She dominated the room with her fierce presence.
She was someone people listened to. She was someone people either admired or envied.
Scarlet, to him, embodied everything about the Gwon name perfectly.
Because she just had to be oh so perfect.
And he hated that.
Because it meant that his parents expected the same from him, too. And he felt like he could never catch up.
It was just another expectation to stress about. Another expectation to nag at the back of his mind constantly.
Simon never particularly liked Kindergarten.
He found the kids loud and messy and unpredictable, and it was hard for him to connect with them.
But with Primary School, it was like this problem was even worse.
Everything seemed so big and daunting to him.
The kids were bigger, louder, messier.
The school itself was much larger, with more teachers and staff.
And his entire routine changed, too.
Now, he had to go with Sven and Scarlet to an entirely different place than usual, and all his stuff was different.
He had a different bookbag, a different lunch kit, different stationary than the ones he was used to.
Everything seemed unfamiliar, and Simon often hated going to school.
He’d confide in his Mom a lot of the time, and even though she still made him go to school, she’d always listen and console him.
She said it was for his own good, and it was best for him to learn to be around people his age, to develop the social skills he needed as an adult to get through life.
Simon understood that as he got older, having good social skills and connections with peers was important for everyday life.
Although that didn’t make it any more bearable to him.
As a way to get Simon more comfortable, Mom made him spend time with Sven and his friend group.
He would be more at ease getting through the school day with his brother at his side.
It worked, for the most part.
Sven was talkative and energetic, and he was more than willing to handle the conversations Simon didn’t want to have.
And Sven was familiar.
Sven was comfortable.
He helped Simon tolerate school just a bit more.
Although Mom was understanding, Father had some problems.
He didn’t understand why Simon didn’t like school.
He excelled in every exam, and teachers praised him for his good conduct and behaviour.
What was the problem?
Simon was too young to properly articulate his needs to his Father.
Even if he could, he doubted he would’ve done it, anyway.
…
Sometimes, trying to tell your parents what you need is hard.
It’s scary.
Sometimes, it’s best to keep your mouth shut.
Sometimes, you really want to tell them something, but something just…holds you back, and silence comes out instead.
Simon couldn’t ignore it forever.
He was 11, and was now in middle school. He was old enough to compete in big academic events.
He already had a talk with his parents about it.
That seemed wrong, as they did most - if not all - of the actual talking.
Regardless, his first ever competition was just next week.
It was a Math Olympiad for kids his age. And Simon was not taking it well.
Mom and Father were expecting a lot from him.
He was deemed a prodigy, and Scarlet had already won first place in countless Math Olympiads already.
Throughout his days, it was all that Simon seemed to think about.
What if he didn’t win first place?
What if something happened?
What if his practice wasn’t enough?
What if there was a question he didn’t know the answer to?
What if he was too slow?
What if he was too fast and didn’t check-over properly?
What if he messed up?
These questions spun around in his head near-constantly as the days creeped by.
The Big Day was getting closer and closer, and that churning in his stomach - that pit of ever-expanding dread - was only getting bigger.
Everything was moving too slow and too fast simultaneously.
People were too loud.
Too many things were happening.
Although he performed his usual in school, everything seemed to come and go in a blur.
As if he wasn’t able to keep up with time itself.
Simon found it hard to get sleep, twisting and turning in his bed as these thoughts plagued him.
Haunted him.
He felt the itching need to do something, but he was so constantly nagged by what-ifs and new scenarios, it felt like he could get nothing done.
He felt like if he moved to do something, he’d shift the world off its axis, and everything would fall apart before his very eyes.
No, all he could do was stand still in motion, and drown in his dread until the day finally happened.
Simon doesn’t remember the events that played out.
But he remembered how it felt as clear as day.
He remembered how the car ride seemed to stretch on and on, how there seemed to be a stone in his stomach.
Slowly, slowly sinking.
He remembered seeing the amount of people there, how he got cold chills even though it was a hot summer’s afternoon.
He remembered how every step felt like a huge weight, like he was a statue trying to move.
He remembered how his hands shook, how he itched to fiddle with his hands - a trait Father had never approved of.
He remembered constantly adjusting his shirt. It was itchy. It bothered him greatly.
He remembered how dry his throat was, like his mouth was slowly being sealed with cement, and how he could only nod his head in response to whatever question his Mom asked.
When his name was called for first place, Simon felt a jolt of fear when he expected relief.
He got up, adjusted his clothes again, took his trophy, held it tight.
This was it.
It was over.
He’d won.
But then, Simon felt a wave of dread crash over him.
Strong, unyielding, and absolute.
That stone in his stomach now felt like a boulder, and it was sinking.
Sinking.
Sinking.
Sinking.
His chest pounded, his vision blurred.
He felt nauseous. His stomach churned and his throat filled with bile.
He couldn’t think. His brain was filled with loud noises and strings of words he couldn’t grasp.
There’s something wrong.
But he couldn’t speak.
He couldn’t move.
He couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t do anything.
Was he dying?
Surely, this was what it felt like.
Simon looked over to his parents.
His Mom had a smile, saying things his brain couldn’t comprehend.
His Father was right next to him, his hand on his shoulder.
It felt suffocating.
He looked at them, pleading with his eyes.
He was dying.
They had to notice.
Why didn’t they notice?
He tried to say something, but nothing came out.
He tried to do something, but his body wouldn't move.
…
Sometimes, trying to tell your parents what you need is hard.
It’s scary.
Sometimes, it’s best to keep your mouth shut.
Sometimes, you really want to tell them something, but something just…holds you back, and silence comes out instead.
…
He needed to leave.
He was going to die.
He couldn’t breathe.
Simon looked around wildly, his ears ringing and his body starting to tremble.
The world was closing in around him, and no one noticed.
He felt like he was being squeezed from the inside-out, and he couldn’t breathe.
Mom and Dad didn’t notice, but someone else did.
Scarlet.
Blearily, he could see her move to Sven and whisper to him, and then his eyes were on him too.
Sven’s eyes widened - only for a moment - before his usual lazy smirk was on his face.
Suddenly, he was at Simon’s side, and he slowly registered the fact that Sven was patting his back.
“Way to go, little bro! Mind if I take you away for a sec? After all, we’ve gotta rub it in Zach’s face!”
Somehow, Simon managed a weak nod, and the two brothers walked out of the room and into the hallway.
…
“Hey…you doin’ alright?”
Simon could barely hear Sven’s voice, his ears still ringing.
He couldn’t calm down.
He couldn’t stop shaking.
He couldn’t…he couldn’t breathe.
He needed to go.
He needed to move.
Somewhere.
Anywhere.
Silence.
Quiet.
He needed that.
He needed the quiet.
He needed to calm down.
Simon moved on his own accord, his brain filled with fuzz.
He felt like he was going to throw up.
He didn’t even know how fast he was going until he registered the sound of Sven speeding up to keep pace with him.
He kept going.
He couldn’t control it.
He couldn’t stop if he tried.
Everything was unfamiliar.
Nothing was safe.
He just needed to get out of here.
He blanked out again, and he found himself sitting on a long stairwell.
It was a big room.
It didn’t help him breathe.
Sven joined him soon after, almost panting from the exertion.
Dimly, Simon realized that he was doing the same.
Sven opened his mouth, probably to ask what was wrong with him.
But then he looked at his brother.
Closely, fully.
Simon was hyperventilating now.
His chest hurt, his lungs hurt, his throat hurt.
Everything ached.
He was shaking madly.
He couldn’t breathe.
Sven definitely looked worried now, and he moved to go, to get help.
But then he looked at his brother again, and sat on the stairs with him.
Zach was looking at them both with confusion.
When did Zach get here?
He heard Sven say something to him, a brief nod, and then he was gone.
Sven fumbled for a few moments, probably trying to figure out what to do, before Simon felt something new.
He looked down.
Sven was holding his hand, squeezing it every few seconds.
“Every squeeze, you take a deep breath with me, ok Simon?”
Simon heard the words this time.
He hoped he’d processed them, and nodded on instinct.
Sven squeezed his hand, breathed in deeply, and Simon tried to copy him.
They did this exercise for a while, in silence except for the soft breathing.
Simon could just barely process the fact that Zachary came back, with something in his hands.
He closed his eyes, tried to calm his heart rate, and when he opened then, Zach was right in front of him, almost awkwardly holding something out to him.
A bowl of strawberries.
Strawberries.
His favourite fruit.
Zach didn’t say anything, still holding the food out for him to take.
It was clear he was unfamiliar with the situation, but he seemed attuned enough to understand that it was best not to talk.
Simon tried to manage a smile, or a noise of appreciation.
He didn’t think it worked.
Still, he managed to take a strawberry in a trembling hand and eat it.
The taste was familiar.
He didn’t bother to question where the hell Zach managed to get strawberries.
Mom always brought them for him, she knew it was his favourite snack.
It tasted nice.
It helped to ground him, just a little bit more.
Simon held onto Sven’s hand like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.
His head was still spinning, the bile still churning around in his stomach, the way he could never seem to get enough air.
But at least the world had started to slow down.
Simon didn’t know how long he stayed like this, when he was suddenly aware of something.
It sounded familiar.
“But he refused to give up, even when everything was stacked against him. He had all the facts, all the pieces of the puzzle - he was sure of it.
He was just missing something.
Something small, something subtle, something integral to cracking this case.
And maybe…something that was staring him in the face this entire time.”
Simon remembered those lines.
He’s read them countless times before.
‘The Case of the Countess’, Chapter 24, page 315.
Sven still held his hand, but he was talking now. Sven was reading him his book.
‘The Case of the Countess’.
The book Mom gave him as a gift when he turned 11.
The book he’s read over and over, curled up in his room.
He brought it today, in his bag.
Having it close with him made him feel a little bit better.
Apparently, Sven had gotten hold of it, although Simon can’t recall him leaving the room.
Zach probably took that along with him, too.
“And then - it hit him, like the cold flash of lightning in the night, the realization dawning upon him like the roar of the impending thunder.
The texts, the manuscripts - they were all wrong.
She was the missing piece.
She was the answer.
The Countess’ legacy had been stained forever, not by her own misdeeds, but because of the folly of others.
The inheritance.
She never killed her brothers for it.
She was the one who put them on that carriage.
She was the one who sent them away from the manor.
She was the protector, she was the one who cared for the brothers the most.
But no one ever thought of her so, all because she was the first Lady who fought for the inheritance. Fought for the Money. Fought for the Power.”
Simon lost himself in the story, immersing himself in it like he loved doing over and over, the words washing over him like a soothing balm, a gentle hand.
Sven kept reading, his voice steady and smooth, with a dramatic flair that helped Simon to focus on the fictional.
“All this time, he had been running around the Manors of the Count, the Dukes, the Lady of the Land. Surely, the parents, the authority of the times would hold the answers to the location of the inheritance.
But, no.
He had been fooled, just like they have fooled everyone else in this town.
The Countess did not spend the rest of her life searching for the inheritance.
She’d spent her life protecting it.”
His breathing started to steady, the swirling in his gut subsided.
He closed his eyes, and the world stopped spinning.
Everything became a bit more bearable.
Another period of insurmountable time passed.
Sven and Zach stayed by him all the while.
Sven continued to read the book, occasionally glancing at his younger brother to gauge how he was doing.
Zach sat on the floor of the stairwell, having placed the bowl of strawberries on the step for Simon to easily reach.
He stayed close enough for Simon to see him, to know he was there for him, but far enough to give the youngest Gwon some space.
Zachary, for once, didn’t talk.
Didn’t react, didn’t press.
He just…stayed.
Simon appreciated that, even though he couldn’t put it into words.
Simon was fine now.
He had no idea what happened before.
He got up, wobbling a bit before steadying himself.
He ran a hand through his hair.
He took a breath, relieved to feel air fill his lungs.
Sven and Zach didn’t say anything, but they followed Simon out of the room.
“Back already, dear?”
Mom commented, leaning down to dust some dirt off his shirt.
Back already?
Simon thought they were gone for ages.
“Yeah. I’m ready to go home.”
He had excelled, but that didn’t make him feel any better.
The praise and the compliments did nothing to ease him, not after that experience.
No, all Simon felt was the mild sense of relief that it was over.
A numbness that seeped into his entire being.
It wasn’t worth it.
But Simon stayed quiet.
He couldn’t get the words out.