In the hallway outside, a few people were walking back and forth nonstop.

It seemed like someone had lost something, and the commotion was quite loud.

"Is it over there?"

"I didn't see it. Go check over there again, hurry up, or the lights will be out soon."

""

The sound of footsteps came and went.

Through the door, Ethan Young still couldn't help but lighten his breathing, all his senses tuned to their most sensitive state. Henry Howard's hand gripped his waist and moved upward a bit, and wherever this person's palm touched, the temperature gradually rose.

"You're hard."

Ethan Young half-opened his eyes and saw that Henry Howard's lips already bore a suggestive mark from his bite, and said hoarsely, "You're not much better off."

Even though last time hadn't been a great experience.

It was the first time for both of them, Henry Howard was clumsy, and he couldn't fully relax either.

But after all, at this age, it's hard to control themselves, and playing around easily got out of hand.

Henry Howard was still worried, though he'd already made up for the knowledge online, putting it into practice was another matter: "Did it really hurt that much?"

Ethan Young had been tough since he was a kid, never even frowning at injuries, with a high pain tolerance. Last time he said it hurt, it was mostly because he hadn't slept well all night and was more irritable: "It was okay."

"Actually, it hurt for me too."

Henry Howard coughed a little awkwardly and said, "You were too tight."

After Henry Howard finished speaking, Ethan Young had already taken off his shirt, his hand resting on Henry Howard's waist, making a move to undo his belt.

The person in front of him was bare-chested, from the slender, delicate collarbone down, half-hidden abs. As he moved, the red string on his wrist slid down a bit, the red bead pressing right against his protruding wrist bone.

It would be summer soon, but the nights were still a bit chilly lately.

Saying he was undoing the belt, Ethan Young's hand mischievously touched a certain spot through the fabric, then looked up at him and said, "Get over here, didn't you want me to take care of you?"

Henry Howard braced himself on the edge of the bed, only feeling his throat tighten.

Ethan Young always managed to catch him off guard when it came to taking action, all his self-control crumbling completely.

He was bound to die at this person's hands sooner or later.

It was already lights-out time.

The whole building lost power, leaving only the light spilling in from the street lamps outside.

Ethan Young was pinned under Henry Howard, propping himself up on his elbows, refusing to be outdone as he half-raised his body to kiss him.

"Bro Henry."

Ethan Young's voice was a little hoarse, and he called again, "Ge."

Henry Howard's jeans had already been mostly unbuttoned by Ethan Young earlier, now hanging loosely around his waist.

He let go of Ethan Young's chin, lowered his head, and moved down along his waist and abdomen.

Ethan Young let out a muffled groan, completely unable to speak.

Ethan Young rarely gave in, even in bed, even when being pressed down and handled, he was still tough as ever. Henry Howard's hand had been loosely gripping the back of his neck, and, panting, he moved it up a few inches, landing in Ethan Young's hair.

Soft.

And that unique, suppressed, low whimper of a boy, bitten back and unwilling to make a sound.

Finally, in this dimness before his eyes.

Ethan Young heard Henry Howard repeat his name several times, the voice very close, almost right at his ear. That voice mixed with the overwhelming pleasure.

Having just regained his 'top student' status less than twenty-four hours ago, Ethan Young lay on his desk catching up on sleep as soon as he entered the classroom the next day.

He didn't listen to any of the classes all morning.

The boy sat in the last row, resting his head on his arm, looking quite lazy. With his face half-covered by messy hair, only half his face was visible, his brows and eyes cold, and even asleep he still had that unapproachable look.

The stack of textbooks on his desk was almost brand new, with no signs of ever being read. No one would ever associate him with the top scorer of the four-school joint exam.

If it weren't for the joint exam results posted on the bulletin board, with all the teachers and classmates staring at that familiar back of his head, they'd almost think everything that happened yesterday was just a dream.

After every class, people from other classes would sneak over to look through the window.

They used to come to see the school bully, but now there was another reason: this guy was a walking 744, a 744 you couldn't even see in your dreams.

Henry Howard reflected on whether he'd lost control again last night and been too rough, but after thinking it over, he figured he hadn't—last night, this person clearly couldn't take it in the end and even begged him to hurry up: "Still hurt?"

"Tired."

"So how was my technique, ge? I don't think last time's standard was very objective."

Ethan Young didn't really want to talk to him: "Can you get lost?"

Henry Howard had come to understand Ethan Young's attitude of not acknowledging anyone after getting out of bed.

He reached out and ruffled his deskmate's hair: "Alright, you sleep."

The classroom of Class 3 was still fairly quiet.

After the midterm results came out, almost every class was spent going over the test papers, and after that, correcting mistakes.

When the deadline for handing in homework arrived, Quinn Shaw finally looked up from her math test, counted the English assignments at hand, and realized two people hadn't turned theirs in. She called across the aisle, "Bro Henry, where's your homework?"

Henry Howard put a finger to his lips, signaling her to keep it down, then answered calmly, "Didn't do it."

Quinn Shaw carried the stack of homework over, glanced at the sleeping top student, then at the second place student sitting at his desk staring at his sleeping deskmate, and really couldn't understand their world.

"Can I ask why you didn't do it? Otherwise, if the teacher asks, I won't know what to say."

"Oh, that," Henry Howard said, "just tell her the homework she assigned was too easy."

Quinn Shaw: ""

When Quinn Shaw handed in the English homework, her legs were shaking. She had never imagined that in her lifetime she would get to say to a teacher, "The homework you assigned was too easy."

Clearly, in the English teacher's nearly ten-year teaching career, she had never encountered such a situation either.

The English teacher was silent for a while, put down her teacup, and said, "Alright, I got it, just leave the papers here."

"Too easy?"

"Mr. Thompson, what's going on with those two in your class?"

Ever since the results came out, the office for the second-year teachers had been anything but peaceful.

Manager Jensen got the news right away, even put his pants on backwards, and rushed over from the staff dormitory: "What? How many points?"

Not just Manager Jensen, but one leader after another from No. 2 High came to look at the test papers. The principal stared at the papers for a long time, finally managing to squeeze out, "Good, well done, truly worthy of being our No. 2 High students! Put it in the school history! Write that No. 2 High students created a miracle, turned the tables and beat the four schools!"

The other teachers, besides being curious, couldn't hide their envy. Having two students in one class with a shot at being the top scorer in City A's college entrance exam—

"They have a bit of a special situation."

Thomas Thompson didn't know the details either, and repeated, "Special situation."

The teachers in the office were still discussing this when the door was suddenly pushed open. The teacher standing by the water dispenser was surprised and called out, "Ms. Shaw?"

Chelsea Shaw stood at the office door, holding a document, looking a bit uneasy: "I'm here to see Mr. Wayne, I have a document to pass on to her."

"Mr. Wayne isn't here, just leave it on her desk."

Chelsea Shaw answered softly.

She had spent time in this office.

Not for long, but she was still very familiar with the layout and decor.

She looked around, and finally, as if compelled by some force, her gaze landed on the desk where she used to sit. Thomas Thompson was grading papers, vaguely sensed something, looked up and met Chelsea Shaw's eyes.

Thomas Thompson didn't know what was going on, smiled at her as a greeting.

Chelsea Shaw smiled back, but it was a bit forced: "Mr. Thompson, I heard your class had two—"

Thomas Thompson had been surrounded by the topic of "scores" these past two days, and had long since lost his initial sense of shock. Now he just hoped it would all blow over soon, so it wouldn't affect the daily lives of those two kids: "Ah, no, no, it's nothing worth mentioning."

""

Chelsea Shaw's feelings were definitely complicated now, and that complexity was mostly regret and unwillingness. The two high scorers from Class 3 were a huge surprise, and all the subject teachers in Class 3 were basking in their reflected glory.

If only she had—if only she was still the one leading this class.

She almost thought with a hint of resentment.

She didn't even know who she was resenting.