William Carter casually pulled a book out of the desk and handed it to him, reining in his usual laid-back demeanor, and even moved his chair—which had been a meter away from the desk—forward to its proper position, making room for Brian Cooper.

Old Miller chattered incessantly, “This is the math yellow book! We already did math this issue, I want the physics one!”

But “Grandpa” had already fallen out of favor—William Carter had no time to deal with him now. Seeing Brian Cooper randomly pick a desk, William Carter immediately planned to get up and help him.

However, before his helpful hands could reach out, Brian Cooper had already slammed his desk down with a bang, landing at least a meter away from William Carter in the front row, leaving enough space between them to draw a clear dividing line.

William Carter: “……”

Brian Cooper had a photographic memory and instantly recognized William Carter as the one who had run past downstairs at noon. Judging by the way those jocks were sucking up to him, they were clearly in the same group.

He glanced down at William Carter, as if hanging a big, bold “Get lost” right on his nose.

Chapter 4 Conflict

William Carter was the class Youth League secretary in Class One, and also on the school basketball team. He was known for his loyalty, often using his position to help classmates reserve the basketball court. Anyone he wanted to befriend, male or female, he could always win over. He was basically the core of the big, goofy clique in the last three rows of his class, and this was the first time he’d ever gotten such an inexplicable cold shoulder from someone.

“Psycho,” William Carter thought.

His popularity wasn’t earned by groveling, and he had no habit of throwing himself at people who didn’t care. Whatever goodwill he’d had toward Brian Cooper instantly vanished.

In no time, William Carter mentally filed the guy named Dou under “ungrateful weirdo.”

As for Brian Cooper, he probably really was a bona fide oddball.

If other people’s aloofness was called “not fitting in,” then Brian Cooper’s might as well be “not fitting the species.”

For a whole week, except for being called on in class, no one had seen Brian Cooper have a proper conversation with any living soul in the class.

Brian Cooper sat in the most secluded corner of the classroom every day, arriving early and leaving late, always alone. Except for the occasional trip to the bathroom through the back door, he barely moved around the classroom.

He never looked up when he walked, rarely made eye contact, and except during class, always had his headphones on, blocking out the noise around him. At first, when people ran into him on campus or in the hallways, they’d greet him politely, but since he never acknowledged anyone, eventually people just stopped trying.

None of the boys in the class, led by William Carter, could stand Brian Cooper.

The last period on Thursday afternoon was a self-study session. William Carter was texting the school team coach under the desk, booking the basketball court in advance. He’d picked this day on purpose, since Henry Clark didn’t have class on Thursday nights.

Back then, smartphones hadn’t even been invented yet, and even the not-so-smart ones hadn’t caught on among middle schoolers. The main way students communicated was still by passing little notes.

William Carter tossed a folded note to their class sports rep, David Wright: “Did you bring the ball?”

David Wright was the best athlete among the regular students, and the best at academics among the athletes. Thanks to an outstanding performance on the high school entrance exam, he was the only student with a special talent in the experimental class. But since he loved playing more than studying, and had to juggle heavy training every day, he never quite fit in there—except when he was leading the fun, then he and William Carter were two peas in a pod.

David Wright’s note came back quickly: “Nope, but it looks like Yiran brought one.”

Yiran’s full name was “Grace Morgan,” and she was a bona fide girl—just one who stood 1.78 meters tall and weighed 78 kilos, exactly double the weight of the slimmest girl in their class. There wasn’t a single girls’ uniform that fit her, so she had to order the boys’ version, and every day she blended right in with William Carter and the guys, playing ball together.

Henry Clark resignedly helped pass their notes, then pointed at William Carter’s blank biology worksheet: “I’m collecting these after class, hurry up and write!”

In senior year, they’d have to stay for evening study sessions, so this was their last semester to play ball after school. William Carter’s mind was already on the basketball court. He absentmindedly picked a few genetics multiple-choice questions to answer—basic, brainless permutation and combination stuff for him. When he finished, he glanced at the long, tedious experiment design questions below and couldn’t even bring himself to read the prompts.

Bored, William Carter spun his pen for a while, then couldn’t resist tearing off another scrap of paper and wrote: “Old Clark and Grandpa are both going, you find one more person and we’ll do three-on-three half-court.”

He finished writing and noticed the upright Henry Clark was watching him sternly. William Carter quickly flashed a grin and promised, “Last one.”

This time, he didn’t dare use Henry Clark as a messenger and just tossed the paper ball straight out, hitting David Wright square on the head.

David Wright flipped him the finger, scribbled something in return, and lobbed it back. Unfortunately, his aim was off—the paper ball floated off course and, by sheer coincidence, crash-landed right on Brian Cooper’s desk in the corner.

William Carter: “……”

“Can you two settle down?” Henry Clark sighed, putting down his pen in resignation. He turned and called softly to Brian Cooper, “Brian Cooper… hey, could you pass me the paper ball on your desk?”

That guy Brian Cooper definitely heard, but was deliberately ignoring them.