After year two, nobody pissed on Harolin's bed again. No one dared to threaten or mess with him.
He graduated at the top of his year. Not by a small margin. By the kind of distance that made the instructors stop pretending to grade fairly and just write what the numbers said.
His father received the report and said nothing to him directly. Harolin had expected a congratulatory gift or something, but he didn't get any. Instead, his father sent a car.
Harolin got in, thinking he was heading home for a celebration or to get a position in one of his father's military companies.
He was sent straight to active service without the transitional period that the legitimate sons received. No single ceremony. No briefing beyond what was necessary. Just a posting and a unit and the expectation that the Crowe name would do whatever Crowe names did.
