If it were before, this wouldn’t have been a big deal—he could just climb back over the wall. But now, he had a psychological shadow about climbing walls.

And for some reason, his right eyelid started twitching for no reason.

Samuel Clark had a vague sense of foreboding. When he quickly climbed up and squatted on the wall with his knees bent, he saw a familiar school uniform at a glance and realized that maybe fate really was messing with him.

“You have nothing better to do,” Samuel Clark paused for a second, took a deep breath, and said, “…so you’re waiting here just for me?”

Although Brian Cooper had temporarily taken over the position of discipline committee member at William Foster’s repeated request, he wasn’t that idle—it was purely a coincidence: “I’m not that free.”

He wasn’t free, but since Samuel Clark happened to climb the wall right in front of him, he couldn’t just ignore it.

Brian Cooper added, “Get down.”

Getting down meant a 3,500-word self-reflection essay.

Samuel Clark was about to try negotiating with him, but the momentum he’d built up to jump down was too much to stop, and he lost his balance—

Brian Cooper had just walked to the base of the wall when a flash of white appeared before his eyes. Samuel Clark’s clothes were blown back by the wind, making him look like a white bird from a distance. But this bird couldn’t escape gravity and was plummeting down at an alarming speed.

“Boom!”

In an instant, the sky was filled with swirling winds and clouds. Somewhere, a clap of thunder sounded, and lightning flashed across the night sky, illuminating everything.

Chapter Six

“Student… can you hear me, student?”

“This is strange, why isn’t he waking up?”

“Didn’t you say there was nothing wrong with him? If he’s fine, why can’t we wake him?”

“We’ve checked everything—really didn’t find any problems.”

“……”

These voices seemed to pass through a layer of membrane, indistinctly reaching Samuel Clark’s ears.

“Hey, Director Harris, don’t worry.”

“What do you mean, don’t worry? The two of them are lying under the wall, looking like two corpses—how can I not worry! Are you sure there are no signs of a fight on him? Are you sure it wasn’t that kid Samuel Clark?”

Hearing his own name, Samuel Clark became a bit more conscious, accompanied by a splitting headache. The throbbing sensation extended all the way to the nerve endings in his brain, making him slow to realize that something was off about the way his name was being mentioned.

The grade director’s surname was Gu, known as Victor Harris in the school, highly respected at Linjiang No. 6 High School, and said to be able to handle any student. That was, until he met Samuel Clark.

Samuel Clark spent his entire first year of high school in a battle of wits with Victor Harris. If Victor Harris told him to go east, he’d go west. Banter on the self-reflection platform was routine, and his line, “I was wrong, but I can’t guarantee I won’t do it again next time,” once made Victor Harris lose his temper on the spot.

“Samuel Clark, get your ass back here! If I don’t teach you a lesson, you’ll never understand why the flowers are so red! Stand still—”

But at this moment, Victor Harris’s tone was almost gentle, using a voice Samuel Clark had never heard before—one that could easily give someone goosebumps—as he said by his ear, “Child…”

Samuel Clark was instantly wide awake.

“He’s awake, he’s awake! I told you he’d be fine!” the school nurse exclaimed in delight.

Samuel Clark opened his eyes and found himself lying in an unfamiliar dorm room. Right in front of him was a close-up of Victor Harris’s face—a middle-aged man, slightly chubby, his expression full of concern: “Do you know how worried I was about you?”

Samuel Clark: “……”

So it’s not that he wants to beat me up to show me why the flowers are so red, but that he’s actually worried about me?

Samuel Clark had just woken up and was still a bit dazed, his mind not quite catching up. Only belatedly did he realize the pain was at the back of his head, and then it slowly dawned on him: the wall was barely two meters high—at most, he should have just twisted his ankle. How did he end up passing out?

Victor Harris’s gaze grew even more loving: “Quick, move your arms and legs, see if anything’s hurt. Does your head hurt? Are you thirsty? I’ll get you a glass of water.”

“No need.” Samuel Clark was caught off guard by the concern, but as soon as he spoke, he was startled by the sound of his own voice.

Victor Harris: “Why are you being so polite with me, kid?”

Samuel Clark propped himself up on the bed and sat up. “I really don’t…” want to drink water, and there’s no need for you to get it for me.

If he could have blamed the earlier voice on a hallucination, now he was sure—this wasn’t his voice.

Samuel Clark belatedly raised his hand.

His hands were a bit more slender than other boys’, and when he was younger, his mom always said they looked like a girl’s, which made him rebellious for a while. But the hands in front of him had long, well-defined fingers and a cool, pale complexion.

Samuel Clark’s gaze dropped half an inch, and he saw the iconic blue-gray school uniform of No. 6 High School—the one he hadn’t worn since his first day.

Victor Harris really did go to get a glass of water. He took a disposable cup from under the water dispenser and thoughtfully mixed some hot water into the cold: “You gave me such a scare. When they called me, I had just gotten off work. They said you and…”

Samuel Clark ignored him. He jumped out of bed and rushed to the mirror on the dorm wall—probably left by the previous students, a bit old and rarely used.

He dashed to the mirror, and staring back at him was a familiar face, so cold it seemed to say “get lost.”