He really had never met anyone who wasn’t afraid of him, and she even had an attitude of “whether you accept it or not, you have to accept it.”

Rumors grew wilder and wilder. The gossip about the top student and the school bully not getting along spread from Class 7 all the way down the corridor to Class 1. In the end, not only was the entire second-year group collectively shocked, but the whole high school division was in an uproar.

Brian Cooper’s “fame” was different from Samuel Clark’s.

Starting with being the top scorer in the high school entrance exam, on the very first day at school, not just the whole grade, but almost the entire school knew that a top student had arrived at No. 6 High. This top student was also ridiculously handsome, just a bit unapproachable.

Student number one, always ranked first in every exam, big or small, never dropping from the top. A regular in the first exam room, more and more honor rolls posted at the school gate, all awards.

In short, it was really hard to connect the two of them together.

Playing on his phone, passing notes, sleeping, eating, reading comics—all of these had become things of the past for Samuel Clark. Strangely, he had memorized quite a few school rules instead, so when David Bolton messaged to ask if he was going to the internet café that night, he almost replied: Leaving campus after school is strictly prohibited.

By the time Samuel Clark replied, the dismissal bell had already rung. He unplugged his power bank, stood up while replying: I’m going.

The last period had been switched with the previous one, so just like yesterday, it was still biology.

The biology teacher assigned homework at the podium, checked the homework list with the class rep, and happened to catch a glimpse of Samuel Clark walking out.

She had just hit a wall with Samuel Clark yesterday, and with old and new grudges mixed together, it was the first time she’d met such an unruly student. Determined to set him straight, she said in a low voice, “Samuel Clark, come out for a moment.”

Wearing high heels, the biology teacher walked past several rows of empty desks and chairs, led him to the end of the corridor where few people passed by, and stopped: “Didn’t hand in your homework again?”

Samuel Clark leaned against a nearby railing and replied with a grunt, “I don’t know how.”

Students from nearby classes were pouring out, and the biology teacher was fuming: “If you don’t know how, then pay attention in class! Is just saying ‘I don’t know’ enough?”

Samuel Clark let it go in one ear and out the other. He’d heard this kind of talk so many times it didn’t even sting anymore.

He even had the mind to look at the mural hanging on the corridor wall—a portrait in a gray-brown frame, with an inspirational quote underneath.

He was snapped back by the biology teacher’s question: “What do you want to do in the future?”

Her voice was sharp, raised, stabbing straight at him like a needle: “How are you any different from those who just muddle through life—no thoughts in your head, nothing you like, no idea what you want to do in the future, just wasting your days away.”

The after-school crowd finally dispersed, and the corridor was empty, with hardly anyone in sight.

Usually quick-witted and never losing a battle with teachers, Samuel Clark was, for once, silent for a long time.

- Boss, where are you?

- I’ve already played three rounds of the game. Didn’t we agree to meet at the usual place?

- Are you coming or not?

David Bolton waited anxiously at the internet café, finally grabbing his phone to type one last message: If you don’t come soon, my mom’s going to make me go home for dinner!

By the time Samuel Clark came to his senses and realized where he was, he had already gotten off the bus.

He stood near the bus stop for a while before replying to David Bolton: Something came up, I’m not coming.

In front of him was a familiar alley, with old-style buildings. Even though the walls were repainted every year, they still couldn’t cover the worn, battered patterns underneath. The plane trees on both sides of the road had their branches and leaves tangled together, and the loud cicadas, along with the leaves, enveloped the whole street.

Samuel Clark walked down the street for a while. As dusk fell, he stopped in front of a small, abandoned warehouse. Who knew what goods this warehouse used to store—the iron door was already rusted.

Samuel Clark reached into the collar of his T-shirt, felt along a thin, inconspicuous black cord, and pulled out a brass-colored key. His usual style was already flashy—wearing a black cord around his neck was nothing, and no one really noticed.

Knowing the door was hard to open, Samuel Clark gripped the handle with one hand, pulled the door tight, then inserted the key, turned it, and pushed the door open with a harsh creak.

The warehouse was only about twenty square meters. Scattered all over the floor were empty paint buckets, and the beams divided the ceiling into strips. Out of place in the whole environment, right in the center of the warehouse stood an easel.

There was no stool, just an old half-meter-high crate in front of the easel to sit on.

Both sides were piled with drawing paper.

A few sample drawings torn from textbooks were taped to the wall, and a few pages of sketch drafts were scattered by the crate. The top one was a drawing of a small David statue, the lines clean and sharp, the shading strikingly powerful.

Samuel Clark didn’t even know why he’d come. He closed the warehouse door, strode over in a few steps, and sat for a while on the old crate in the faint light coming through the skylight.

He bent one leg, resting it on the lowest bar of the easel, staring at the blank canvas in front of him.

A worn-down 4B pencil sat in the slot.

When even the last bit of light from the skylight faded, Samuel Clark suddenly pushed off the crate, stood up, and stuffed the key back inside his collar.

The buses ran infrequently, one every half hour. After going out and coming back, Samuel Clark made it back to school just in time for closing.