William Bennett struggled for several hours last night, so at a glance he could tell that this was the solution process for the last physics problem.

　　But aside from that, at the very bottom of the sticky note, there was another sentence, the handwriting thin and scrawled: Next time, please don’t butt in again.

　　Author’s note: Not working overtime tonight, I’ll do my best, but don’t wait up, bowing. Thank you to the little angels who gave me king tickets or watered me with nutrient solution~

　　Thank you all so much for your support, I’ll keep working hard!

Chapter 8: Petty

　　All I did was shout at you at a critical moment, was it really necessary to hold a grudge over that?

　　William Bennett stared at the last line for a while, wanting to throw the sticky note right back. But out of respect for knowledge, he raised his hand and put it down again, smoothed out the crumpled note, and took out his phone to snap a picture of the solution process.

　　He had just stuffed his phone back under the desk when Edward Harris returned from the office, holding a thick book in his hand.

　　He didn’t catch the book’s title, but William Bennett timed it so that as soon as Edward Harris sat down, he tossed the balled-up note behind him.

　　Edward Harris stood at his seat, his tall figure casting a shadow. He casually tossed the book onto the desk, picked up the crumpled sticky note and unfolded it, only to see a new line written at the bottom—

　　Do you really think I care about your answers?

　　He glanced over the messy scrawl, crumpled the note again, and tossed it into his desk. Then he pulled out his chair and sat down, saying to a certain back of the head in a flat tone, “Then why’d you take out your phone?”

　　After he spoke, the tips of the ears of the person in front slowly turned red.

　　Damn.

　　William Bennett closed his eyes for a moment, trying to maintain his composure, feeling like he’d lost all dignity inside and out.

　　At moments of extreme embarrassment, there’s always one or two angels who come to the rescue.

　　This angel was named Samuel Wright. He had just come back from a banquet, and jogged over to Edward Harris’s desk, saying, “You’re finally back! Quick, let me see the last physics problem! I’ve compared three different answers along the way, and no one seems sure about the last part.”

　　His shout drew a crowd, and a group of people surged over to Edward Harris.

　　The students in Class A generally had a high accuracy rate; if one person couldn’t solve it, another could, and if one made a mistake, someone else would get it right. Usually, if two students compared their papers, they could piece together a standard answer. But when a whole group couldn’t decide on a problem, it meant it was truly difficult.

　　Still, William Bennett could sense the gap from their conversation—

　　Previous teachers had also given competition-level problems, and only a few could solve them; William Bennett was one of those few. But in this class, everyone was only struggling with the last part, which meant that at least most people had breezed through the first two parts.

　　William Bennett shifted his chair to make way for the classmates crowding in, thinking to himself, No wonder this is Class A, with an average physics score of 104.

　　No sooner had he finished sighing than the Class A students started wailing: “Damn—seriously? A fourth answer now!”

　　Samuel Wright clutched his paper, torn: “So should I change my answer or not?”

　　“Up to you.”

　　Although Edward Harris was amazing, out of more than forty students in the class, only he had come up with this answer, so the odds of it being wrong were pretty high.

　　Any student who could get into Class A would be a top student in any other class, and they all had a bit of pride. It was hard for them to easily dismiss their own answers.

　　So, the crowd surged in like a tide, argued noisily for a while, then ebbed away, with fewer than ten people actually changing their answers.

　　Edward Harris didn’t care whether his answer was accepted or not, but he clearly didn’t like being surrounded. Once the crowd dispersed, his furrowed brow finally relaxed a bit.

　　On his way back to his seat, Samuel Wright glanced at the book in Edward Harris’s hand: “Guide to Writing Lyric Essays? You bought this?”

　　“Why would I buy that?” Edward Harris didn’t even flip through it, just stuffed it into his desk. “Got it from the office.”

　　Samuel Wright was puzzled for a moment, then suddenly understood: “Oh, Lucky gave it to you?”

　　The “Lucky” he mentioned was a slightly chubby, round-faced female teacher who taught Chinese in Class A. Because she had a smiling mouth that looked like a lucky cat, she’d earned this prosperous nickname.

　　“Why’d she give you that?” Samuel Wright asked.

　　Edward Harris had no interest in chatting, and ended the topic with three words: “No idea.”

　　Samuel Wright responded with an “oh” and obediently returned to his seat.

　　In their grade, there were five classes each in the morning and afternoon. That morning, Class A had two math classes, one chemistry, and two Chinese. In the afternoon, it was physics and English, with a PE class in between.

　　Except for physics, which they’d already covered in evening self-study, the other subjects were mostly going over the weekly test papers.

　　In the first three classes, William Bennett and Edward Harris were both in the spotlight—the former for his exceptional self-study ability, the latter for just being outstanding.

　　In this weekly test, Edward Harris only lost 3 points across math, physics, and chemistry—missed an option on a chemistry multiple choice, and left out a “solution” in math.

　　The two teachers took every opportunity to praise them, going on and on for over 130 minutes. It wasn’t until the Chinese teacher Lucky took over that the situation finally changed.

　　Mainly, it changed for Edward Harris.