The students of Senior Year Class 1 let out a deep sigh over their fate.

The homeroom teacher, Old Grant, didn’t seem embarrassed at all. He chuckled twice and said slowly, “Oh, Ethan Brooks still loves to joke around, I see. You two seem to get along pretty well, so how about this—Ethan Grant, why don’t you sit next to Ethan Brooks?”

……

Who could possibly see any chemistry between those two?

Just as everyone was waiting for either Ethan Brooks or Ethan Grant to object, Ethan Grant had already slung his backpack over his shoulder, strode over on those long, straight legs, pulled out a tissue, and started carefully wiping down the desk.

Ethan Brooks glanced at him but didn’t say anything, just lay back down on the desk and continued sleeping.

The atmosphere was strangely awkward, yet oddly harmonious.

The classroom fell silent again.

Standing next to them, Logan Reed just stared blankly at the two of them, his mind short-circuiting for a moment. Then, all of a sudden, he shivered, as if realizing something, and quickly fled the scene.

Ethan Grant.

If he remembered correctly, this was the very name that Mr. Ethan had written about in his journal back then!

To confirm this, Logan Reed made a beeline for Class 2 next door, ran up to a handsome boy with a buzz cut, grabbed his arm tightly, and asked urgently, “William Turner, Ethan Grant—Mr. Ethan mentioned this name before, right? I’m not remembering wrong, am I?”

William Turner glanced at him. “Why are you asking about this? I’m telling you, don’t you dare mention those two words in front of Little Brooks…”

“I already did.”

“?”

“Not only did I mention it, I saw him too.”

“??”

“Not only did I see him, I saw him sitting next to Mr. Ethan.”

“???”

“He transferred to Senior Year Class 1.”

“?…!”

William Turner froze for a moment, then muttered under his breath, “Damn, Ethan Grant actually came back? I thought he’d never return to Nancheng in his life.”

-

The classroom of Senior Year Class 1 was deathly silent.

Partly because of the strange atmosphere in the back row, and partly because of the second announcement from Old Grant.

There would be a placement test tomorrow.

But since only the senior year students had returned and it wasn’t the official start of school yet, the rules were much more relaxed.

No need to wear uniforms, phones were allowed, takeout was allowed, and they even set aside a whole day for everyone to catch up on homework.

Thinking about it, South Foreign Language School was actually pretty humane.

The humble students of South Foreign Language School felt a genuine sense of gratitude, and worked even harder on their homework.

Except for two people in the back row.

Ethan Brooks was wearing headphones, lying on the desk facing the window, fast asleep. The pale nape of his neck, stretching out from the collar of his black T-shirt, was completely exposed to Ethan Grant’s view.

His neck bones were slightly prominent, the lines sharp, the skin pale and smooth. Even through the thin fabric, you could see the curve of the boy’s arched shoulder blades.

He’d gotten thinner.

His glands hadn’t differentiated yet.

Ethan Grant looked for three seconds, then withdrew his gaze, lowered his lashes, and pulled out a physics workbook to start working through problems.

The rain outside the window showed no sign of stopping, but Ethan Brooks was sleeping soundly.

By the time Henry Clark woke him up, most people had already left the classroom, and Ethan Grant was nearly finished with his physics workbook.

As Henry Clark packed his bag, he said, “Old Grant said since it’s the first day back for seniors, he’s giving everyone a buffer, so there’s no evening self-study. Mr. Ethan, you can go home and sleep.”

“Mm.”

Ethan Brooks replied weakly, propping his head up with one hand and rubbing the skin under his eyes with the other, looking completely drained.

Henry Clark looked a bit worried. “Mr. Ethan, are you okay? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I’m fine, just rainy days make me sleepy.” Ethan Brooks yawned lazily, not taking it too seriously.

Henry Clark nodded. “True, your yawn is making me sleepy too. I’m heading home to sleep as well. I stayed up all night finishing homework—totally wiped out.”

After Henry Clark left, only he and Ethan Grant were left in the classroom.

Ethan Grant kept his head down, working through problems, his attitude as detached as a monk in meditation. But Ethan Brooks didn’t really want to talk to him either. He pulled out his phone and sent a WeChat message to the driver, Old Bolton.

[Uncle Zhang, school let out early today. Can you come pick me up?]

Uncle Zhang replied quickly.

[I’m already on the way, but the traffic is terrible. You and Little Ethan will have to wait in the classroom for half an hour.]

Little Ethan.

Little what, exactly?

Why did their family’s driver have to give a ride to that brat from next door?

Ethan Brooks grumbled inwardly but didn’t object.

It was just sharing a ride—he, Young Master Jian, was generous.

“Your grandpa asked Uncle Zhang to give you a lift home too.”

Ethan Grant responded with a faint “Mm,” turned another page in his workbook, and remained indifferent.

Boring.

Ethan Brooks rolled his eyes in annoyance, stood up, pushed his chair back, and wandered out the door.

After sleeping all day, he had some physical needs to take care of.

When he shuffled to the end of the corridor and saw the “Cleaning in Progress” sign, he pursed his lips and continued to amble slowly up to the second floor.