The student in the front row rummaged through their pencil case: "There's only c, only one." There were plenty of refills, but as for extra pens, there was just that one.

Henry Howard thought for a moment and said, "One is fine, that's enough, thanks."

Ethan Young asked, "Enough?"

"You write first," Henry Howard handed him the pen, "I haven't seen any questions I know how to do yet, so I don't need it for now."

Ethan Young: ""

Ethan Young randomly answered the questions, thinking: With Henry Howard's level, just how bad would I have to do on the midterm for this idiot to get bumped out of last place.

Throughout the whole test, Ethan Young kept his score in check according to Henry Howard's pace, not realizing that his last-in-the-grade deskmate was also secretly observing him.

After finishing the test, Ethan Young made a rough estimate and found that his math score this time wasn't much different from Henry Howard's.

After finishing, Henry Howard casually slid his test paper under his textbook, then lay on the desk, secretly watching Ethan Young.

Ethan Young felt weird being stared at: "What's your problem?"

Maybe it was because he looked tired from staying up all night, but Henry Howard seemed a bit worn out. He paused before saying, "I'm in a bad mood."

Just looking at you makes me feel a bit better.

If possible, I'd even want a hug.

As Henry Howard thought about it, he suddenly really wanted to ask the limping kid next to him: Are you sneaking out again tonight to go online?

Henry Howard vaguely felt that his feelings toward this kid were getting more and more off track. The thought of "wanting a hug" popped up and startled him.

The bell rang for the end of class, and William Warren started yelling from the podium: "Time to hand in your papers! Stop writing, stop looking around, if you can't finish, too bad, just hand them in!"

"Bro, your test paper."

Ethan Young wanted to estimate his score again, so he kept his head down and reached out to Henry Howard for the test paper. After reaching for a while with no response, he looked up and asked, "What are you spacing out for?"

After estimating his score, Ethan Young found that Henry Howard had already left through the back door and had very decisively skipped the next two classes.

But Sean Parker, who had been attending class as usual, suddenly received a text from his bro Henry Howard with six baffling words: Have you ever been in love.

Sean Parker thought about it for a while, really couldn't figure out what it meant, and replied: Does a crush count?

Then his bro Henry Howard went silent again.

Still confused, Sean Parker scratched his head. He just didn't get the world of the big shots.

Henry Howard went back to the dorm, originally planning to catch up on sleep, but couldn't fall asleep no matter what. He held out until after school, couldn't take it anymore, and just got up to go back to the classroom for evening self-study. As soon as he got upstairs, he saw Wanda from a distance, leaning on the window, craning his neck and looking around sneakily.

Henry Howard walked over, stopped in front of the window, and knocked on the windowsill tiles with his knuckles: "What sneaky thing are you up to?"

"Fire prevention, theft prevention, and mad dog prevention," Wanda said, "Sister Qing and the others are playing Dou Dizhu, and asked me to keep watch."

Henry Howard looked through the window and saw that the certain kid who was making his feelings more and more complicated was also among the Dou Dizhu players.

Wanda gave a quick report on the situation: "Brother Yu is basically a gambling god reborn, winning almost every round, already up thirty thousand, Sister Qing is about to cry."

They called it Dou Dizhu, but even the playing cards were made from cut-up A4 paper, with crude hearts and spades drawn on them, a thin stack that was hard to handle.

It looked like a spur-of-the-moment idea, just suddenly deciding to play. This group from Class 3, once they got familiar, could really get wild.

Ethan Young was the dealer.

He really had won thirty thousand—written with a black pen on a white sheet of paper, a three followed by four zeros.

Henry Howard stood in the hallway, leaning on the windowsill, watching with great interest for a while.

One of the Dou Dizhu players, Quinn Shaw, felt she couldn't keep playing. There was no fun in playing against Ethan Young, she was miserable inside, and really wished she could go back half an hour and strangle Wanda before he could ask, "Brother Yu, want to play?"

She held her remaining cards, looked around, saw Henry Howard outside the window, her eyes lit up, and she called out, "Bro Chao—take your deskmate away!"

Ethan Young: ""

The word "take" had become a sensitive word after that previous incident, hard to describe the feeling.

Henry Howard didn't react for a moment.

"Your deskmate is basically a walking Dou Dizhu cheat code," Quinn Shaw added, "the game experience is terrible."

Ethan Young put down his cards, wanting to salvage a bit of dignity before leaving: "It's just that your skills are too bad."

Quinn Shaw, just wanting to get rid of this god, admitted her lousy skills: "Yes, yes, we're just too bad."

Henry Howard said, "So you're still one player short, right?"

"Me," Wanda raised his hand, "I want to play too."

Quinn Shaw was now afraid that as soon as one left, another would join, so she asked warily, "How's your card playing?"

"I'm really bad, never won money in my life," Wanda said, "I only dare play low-level games, someone like Brother Yu is a king, I wouldn't even dare think about it."

------------

47. Chapter Forty-Seven

"Any friends willing to help protect our lives?" Wanda hinted madly, "Brother Yu, are you busy?"

Ethan Young said, "Not a friend, I'm busy."

Wanda: ""

Cold, as cold as ever.

Wanda watched as Ethan Young said that, but still got up and found an empty seat by the window, unable to figure out what this cold big shot really meant.

Was he willing to keep watch or not?

But Henry Howard just smiled and said, "You guys play, he's keeping an eye out for you."

Wanda was shocked, not quite believing it: "How do you know? What makes you say that?"

This Ethan Young, so solitary and proud, extremely unsociable, with a temper that could explode at the slightest provocation.

Might as well have "Don't mess with me" carved on his face.

Back when the classes were split into east and west buildings, the west building boss Ethan Young, just the rumor about his black nail polish had scared off who knows how many people, making him sound like some gloomy pervert.

Wanda's question went unanswered by Henry Howard.

He climbed in from outside the window, stepping onto a chair, thinking, I just know.

Ethan Young was still playing on his phone, occasionally glancing outside, then looking down again when he saw nothing unusual.

Henry Howard sat down at the desk in front of Ethan Young, back to the blackboard, glanced at the Dou Dizhu players, then looked up at the latest class bulletin board—"My Dream".

Class 3's bulletin board was especially half-hearted. Looking around the class, over thirty people, and not a single one could draw. Since they weren't going to win any awards anyway, they didn't bother wasting time on it.

The idea was at least creative: each student wrote a wish on a piece of paper, taped it up, and in the end, they formed a wobbly heart shape.

That thing, Thomas Thompson treated it like a treasure, taking several photos with his camera.

Henry Howard looked away, his gaze landing again on the person in front of him.

The west building boss was wearing the school uniform, and since the weather had gotten colder, probably to keep warm, he had an extra jacket over it, with his hands half tucked into the sleeves, only the fingertips showing as he tapped intently on his phone screen.

Sometimes Ethan Young would do these little things that made him seem especially soft, like every morning after waking up, when he opened his eyes in a daze and looked at people, or when he said "what's it to me" but then, after a while, handed over a question mark.

Or like now, his slender, fair fingers curled, pinky gently hooked on the edge of his sleeve.

Henry Howard tapped the desk: "Kid, what dream did you write?"

Ethan Young's fingertips paused, still chatting with Aunt May, asking if business was good over at Guangmao lately, telling her not to be stingy with money, to hire more people if needed. The topic suddenly shifted, and he didn't react: "Huh?"

Then he followed Henry Howard's gaze and looked back at the bulletin board.

That piece of paper was just scribbled randomly. What dream? To seriously fill it out and display it in this heart for everyone to see was just too pretentious. Besides, for a second-year high school student, the whole world revolved around "college entrance exam". When Wanda and the others got the slips, they just laughed it off: "Dream! Fudan is my dream!"

"Forget Fudan, Fudan milk tea is possible." Luke Carter teased him, then started dreaming himself, "Me, I want to save the world."

Wanda patted the class monitor's head: "Just come drink Fudan milk tea with me, stop dreaming."

At this stage, they didn't even have a clear sense of self, so dreams were a bit too far off.

Henry Howard kept pressing.

Ethan Young had forgotten what he wrote, thought for a bit, then remembered: "Get rich."