"Get up, Noah! I have things to do."
A pillow was hurled at my head, jolting me awake.
I blinked blearily, trying to process what was happening, only to see my Daddy dearest. My second father if I consider my first life as well. (Or should that be third, considering that asshole Poseidon?)
"Yeah, Dad," I mumbled, forcing myself up from my too-cramped bed. Why did I have to ask to be tall? And why did Poseidon make me 6'2"? Why not a nice, even 6'?
"Here's what you'll do today," Dad instructed. "Clean up the kitchen, feed your siblings, dress them, and drop them off at school. When I come back, I don't want any mess."
"Sir, yes sir," I replied dutifully, standing at full attention. Any remnants of sleep vanished instantly.
"Good." Dad gave a sharp nod before leaving my room.
I sighed in relief.
Dad was a military veteran, and he ran a tight ship at home. But I couldn't really be mad at him. Ever since Mom left, eloping with some other guy, he'd done his best to take care of us. It didn't help that money was tight and expenses were piling up. If it weren't for my secret job, we'd be in even deeper trouble. Dad had no idea I was helping cover some of our groceries.
Shaking off my thoughts, I headed to the bathroom. After my usual morning routine, I got started on my assigned tasks.
"Zach! Daisy! Get up!" I called out to my younger siblings.
"Five more minutes…" Zach mumbled sleepily.
"If you two don't get up right now, I'll make your bed your shower," I warned.
Immediately, two voices responded in unison:
"I'm up!"
"I'm up!"
I snorted. "Good. Now go freshen up and get ready for school while I make breakfast."
Heading downstairs, I started preparing French toast, a simple but reliable choice, paired with a glass of milk. Cooking wasn't my strong suit, but I had to learn for the sake of Zach and Daisy. Fortunately, they were absolute darlings who never once complained about my questionable culinary skills.
You'd think being a demigod with Poseidon's blood running through my veins would mean I had a perfect life, right? Not so much.
I didn't even remember my past life until a week ago, on my eighteenth birthday. Until then, I was just a normal kid, naturally gifted at sports, especially swimming. I had always felt at home in the water, which was why I joined my school's swim team at a young age.
I don't like to brag, but I was a national-level swimming champion. I was so good that I earned full scholarships to both Harvard and Yale, the only two Ivy League universities I applied to. My excellent grades only strengthened my applications.
In the end, I chose Harvard. Their swim team was one of the best, and I wanted to compete at the highest level.
All of these decisions had been made before I regained my memories. And now that I had, I couldn't help but admire how well my younger self had set up his life on his own—without any real parental support.
As I finished preparing breakfast, the twins came downstairs in unison. Watching them move so perfectly synchronized was almost comically adorable.
"What's for breakfast?" Zach asked, sliding into his seat beside Daisy.
"French toast and milk," I announced.
"Ugh!" Daisy groaned. "I don't want milk."
"You do if you want ice cream tomorrow," I countered.
That perked her right up. "Milk is alright."
"You're bribing her," Zach accused, pointing at me.
"No, he's not," Daisy shot back immediately.
I grinned, letting them argue while I served their breakfast and piled my own plate high. I needed those extra calories which I'd be burning off later in the pool. Perks of being a star athlete.
Once we were all settled, I turned serious. "Okay, listen up."
The twins stopped bickering instantly.
"I'll drop you off at school, then I have work. You know what that means, right?"
They nodded in unison. Zach answered, "It means you won't be home till late, and we're supposed to catch a ride back with Lola. If Dad asks, you're at Peter's, finishing homework."
I nodded in satisfaction. Kids are easy to train if you understand their motivations. A weekly extra $10 each went a long way in making sure they covered for me.
Dad didn't exactly know I was working during school hours. Technically, I'd already completed all my classes last year. Since I was bringing home gold medals for our school, the principal had cut me some slack and had given me free rein to come and go as I pleased.
I could have started college a year early. But I needed the money.
While my tuition at Harvard was covered, living expenses were a different story. So, I came up with a brilliant plan to spend a year working while staying enrolled at school.
At first, I only worked evenings and weekends. But now, I'd shifted to a more regular schedule, something my employer was very happy about.
My principal and teachers didn't mind my absence, as long as I kept bringing home swimming championships for the school. Just five more months of this facade, and I'd be free—no more pretending to attend classes. Then, in the fall, I'd head off to Harvard and finally experience real college life.
I finished breakfast quickly, then cleaned up the kitchen until it was spotless. By the time everything was in order, the kids were ready to go. Thankfully, our neighbor, and my close friend, Lola was a classmate who didn't mind keeping an eye on them whenever I got caught up at work.
The drive to school was mostly quiet, aside from Daisy chattering in the backseat. Zach was the silent one among the two.
As I made a sharp left turn on the road, I couldn't help but think about my car. Sometimes, I still couldn't believe I'd managed to buy myself a vehicle with my own savings.
When I turned sixteen, Dad had told me outright, "It's too expensive." I understood. So, I worked my ass off and saved every penny I could.
The day I brought home a second-hand Ford, Dad gave me a long, scrutinizing look. Then came the questions:
"Is it stolen?"
"No."
"Did you steal the money for it?"
"No, I earned it fair and square."
At that, he simply shrugged and walked away, not even asking how I made the money. Strange, but that was just my dad.
Sure, the old Ford had been beaten up and driven into the ground before I got it, but it was mine, and that was all that mattered.
I dropped off the twins at their school with little fanfare and headed straight for work.
Now, I know I've been hyping up my job for a while, but it's not exactly a normal one. It all started three years ago when I was fifteen.
(Flashback)
The whistle blew, and eight young men, including myself, dove into the pool, cutting through the water at top speed.
Well… they were swimming at top speed. If I really went all out, no one else would stand a chance.
For me, water was like air. While the others surfaced every few seconds to gulp in oxygen, I could finish an entire race without needing to breathe once.
When I was younger, people accused me of cheating because I finished races in half the time of other kids. That's when I learned to hold back.
I still placed first, of course, but only by a small margin. I even surfaced for air, just like everyone else, but only for show.
As expected, the results were a foregone conclusion. The moment I completed my lap and touched the starting point again, my first-place finish was confirmed. It felt good, for a moment, but not much. Winning school-level races had long stopped feeling like a real competition.
"Yes!" Peter, who had finished second, threw his fists in the air. "I did it!"
I grinned and fist-bumped him. "Good for you, man! But don't forget, you still didn't beat me."
"As if I ever will," Peter shot back playfully. "I keep my goals achievable."
We both laughed. That was something I really liked about Peter, he never let my superior swimming skills get to him. No jealousy, no resentment. Just good competition and good vibes.
"My parents are here," he said, spotting them in the crowd. "I'll be back in a bit, yeah?"
I nodded, keeping my face neutral, though a small pang of envy hit me. Peter's parents never missed his competitions. They cheered for him no matter what. My dad was always too busy with work, and as for Mom... well, the less said, the better.
Grabbing the towel from the bench, I started drying myself off while making my way toward the locker room. The girls' races were still going on, and once they were done, they'd call us all up for the medal ceremony. Might as well get changed into something more comfortable.
I caught sight of Zach and Daisy waving enthusiastically from the stands. I waved back, a small smile tugging at my lips.
Then—
"Hey!" A voice called out behind me. "Young man!"
I turned abruptly to see a middle-aged man jogging toward me.
"I'm Jordan Duncan," he said, extending a hand. I shook it instinctively. "I run a modeling agency."
"Noah Hunter," I introduced myself, draping my towel over my shoulders. "How can I help you, Jordan?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Kid," Jordan said, his tone full of conviction. "I have an eye for talent—and you've got loads of it. And not just because you're the fastest swimmer, but the way you move, the way you carry yourself—it screams confidence, elegance, and beauty. I haven't seen a better-looking guy than you. Ever. Work with me, and I'll get you fame and money. You could go far in the modeling world."
This wasn't the first time someone had commented on my looks. I wasn't oblivious to my physical advantages. Everywhere I went, girls bent over backward to get my attention. Hell, even some guys…
That thought made me pause. My gaze turned skeptical as I studied the man in front of me. Then, bluntly, I asked, "Are you one of them homos?"
Jordan shook his head emphatically. "No. I can assure you—if you work with me, no one will harm you in any way. Most modeling agencies won't tell you that, but I like to be upfront with my people."
I hummed thoughtfully. "What kind of modeling are we talking about? Is it runway?"
Jordan's expression remained confident. "No, we mostly do photography. I've collaborated with a lot of brands—clothing, shoes, watches… even just plain old underwear. You've got the face, and your body is perfect. If you keep yourself in shape, I can easily get you around ten grand a year. Best part? You won't even have to miss school."
The offer was solid. Too good, in fact. But I knew my dad wouldn't allow it. He was too conservative to see the plus side of this.
"You don't have to decide now," Jordan added, fishing a card from his pocket and handing it to me. "That's my studio address. Come by whenever you want, and I'll show you my work. Talk to your family first, then make your choice."
(Flashback Ends)
I started working with Jordan not long after that day.
I had tried to talk to Dad about getting a job, but he barely paid attention, brushing me off as if it wasn't even worth discussing.
"It's about damn time you started earning for yourself," he had grumbled, eyes still glued to his newspaper.
Some rebellious part of me had decided then and there that I wouldn't tell him. I knew he wouldn't approve, and besides, I needed an adult to sign for me since I was still a minor. So, I got a fake ID through a friend and told Jordan I was already eighteen.
And just like that, my career took off.
Within six months, I had made ten grand posing for different brands. By now, after taxes, utilities, and buying my car, I had saved a total of $15K. More than enough to cover my living expenses in college.
A standard college education cost around $20K per year, including tuition and expenses. But with my full scholarship at Harvard, I could get by with just $6-8K annually—especially if I got into a frat with cheaper housing.
Last week, when I turned 18 and regained my memories, I finally came clean to Jordan. I'd expected him to be pissed, maybe even fire me. Instead, he had just smiled.
"I knew all along," he had said casually. "Figured it was better to ignore it and get the job done."
I'd been ready for anger, disappointment—anything but that. And I couldn't help but feel grateful. If I were in his place, I would have fired me in a heartbeat.
"Noah! Right on time!" Jordan's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. "Come on, let's get this done. Go get prepped."
"What was the shoot for again?" I asked him to know some details. Jordan usually didn't give me the details of the shoots until just before the shoot was to begin. It was the first time that I had been asked to visit a professional swimming pool of all things to shoot.
"It's for a health magazine featuring male swimmers and their techniques," Jordan said, giving me a meaningful look. "Right up your alley, isn't it?"
"Alright," I nodded. "What am I wearing?"
"Go see Clarissa," he tilted his head toward our costume and makeup specialist. "She'll set you up."
I walked over to Clarissa's corner, where she handed me a pair of black briefs with a prominent Speedo logo printed across the waistband.
"This is an embedded ad," she explained. "Speedo is sponsoring this issue, so you'll be shooting in different colors and styles of their briefs, but they won't mention their brand name anywhere. Lucky you—you get to keep them all, as usual."
Without a word, I took the briefs and headed toward a more secluded area to change.
In the modeling industry, you learn fast to set your inhibitions aside. I figured that out early in my career, back when I shot my first underwear ad. When you're cycling through dozens of different pairs in a single session, running back and forth to a changing room becomes more hassle than it's worth. It's just easier to strip down on set—especially when you're working with a professional crew. I'd never once felt uncomfortable.
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AN: Read up to 40 advanced chapters on my website, or check out my other story, Dreams of Stardom.
Link: www(dot)fablefic(dot)com