The second teaching building is a comprehensive activity center: the first floor is a music lecture hall, the second floor is an art classroom, and the third floor is a computer lab that's kept locked all year round. Judging by the curriculum, the whole building is basically for show and is rarely visited.

William Carter is often late. Every time he’s late, he has to climb walls, scale fences, and sneak through all sorts of shortcuts. He’s so familiar with every nook and cranny of the campus that he could compete with the local alliance of weasels and stray cats.

Next to the first-year multimedia building across from the second teaching building, there’s a narrow path that only one person can pass through. William Carter slipped in with practiced ease and saw a skinny, small boy nervously pacing back and forth at the entrance of the second teaching building.

Before he could remember who the boy was, he saw David Wright and his group walk over. The boy immediately stiffened up like a stick, standing there expressionless. For some reason, this dazed look provoked Robert Thompson, who, without a word, stepped forward and kicked the boy in the stomach.

The boy fell back onto the steps behind him, landing hard on his butt and curling up, clutching his stomach.

William Carter was startled and instinctively took a step forward—but only one step.

He didn’t know the one being beaten, but he did know the ones doing the beating. Not knowing what kind of grudge this was among the boarders, he naturally sided with his acquaintances rather than with justice—choosing to watch coldly from the sidelines.

Below the second teaching building, David Wright pulled Robert Thompson back, glanced around, then gently prodded the beaten boy with his toe, bent down, and asked, “Did you see that kid go up here?”

The boy nodded shakily, then stretched out a pale hand and pointed upstairs.

What’s up there? From a distance, William Carter frowned and glanced up in the direction the boy pointed, but he was too far away to hear what they were saying.

David Wright exchanged a look with Robert Thompson, then, hands in his pockets, strode into the second teaching building. His followers filed in after him, each one giving the boy curled up on the ground a parting shot—either a punch or a kick, like paying an entrance fee.

Then, at the end, Robert Thompson pulled something out of his pocket and flung it at the boy’s face, hitting him squarely. The boy let out a whimper, bent over, and covered his face.

The object clattered to the ground—it was a brass key.

Robert Thompson smirked. “You can come back and stay tonight. Next time, learn how to behave. Don’t make people teach you again.”

The boy covered his face, unable to speak.

Robert Thompson sneered, “What an idiot.”

Then he stretched lazily and caught up with the group.

Brian Cooper was smoking in the unusually secluded bathroom of the second teaching building.

In the usual teaching building, a teacher once found cigarette ash in the student restroom’s trash can, so the school was persuaded to install smoke detectors in the teaching building specifically to catch boys smoking. Brian Cooper was new and had poor social connections, so no one warned him. Several times, if he hadn’t run fast enough, he would have been caught.

After a few tries, he discovered that only the smoke detector in the second teaching building’s bathroom was broken. Since the place was rarely visited, no one bothered to fix it, so he could smoke there without worry.

After his usual relaxation, Brian Cooper washed his hands, popped a piece of gum in his mouth, and was about to head back to class when he suddenly saw in the mirror David Wright leading a group of people inside.

Brian Cooper slipped his hand into his pocket, turned off his MP3, and slowly turned around to face David Wright head-on, saying nothing.

His gaze was direct and sharp, carrying a natural air of being hard to mess with—completely different from the whimpering kid downstairs who just got kicked. For a moment, David Wright hesitated.

Luckily, at that moment, Robert Thompson suddenly spoke up: “Is it this guy?”

As soon as he said it, it was like a signal. The group fanned out, locked the door, and trapped Brian Cooper in the middle of the bathroom.

David Wright turned to look and, seeing all his crew there, immediately felt emboldened. “Yeah, it’s him.”

Brian Cooper didn’t move a muscle and let out a cold laugh.

“You know why we’re here today?” Trying to show he wasn’t just picking a fight, David Wright started listing Brian Cooper’s offenses. “You think you can just hit my buddy and get away with it?”

Brian Cooper finally spoke, crisp and to the point: “Not for nothing. How much?”

David Wright: “……”

Brian Cooper was usually known for being quiet and reserved. David Wright hadn’t expected him to be so sharp-tongued and sarcastic, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond to keep his momentum, so he froze.

“Acting all high and mighty—what backwater school did you transfer from? Covered in chicken feathers, haven’t learned how to behave yet?” Robert Thompson drooped his eyelids. “Let’s do him a favor and teach him.”

“Maybe I’ll never learn,” Brian Cooper said expressionlessly. “But if you could teach me how to bark, that’d be great.”

Before he finished speaking, someone in the far corner shouted “Your mom!” and lunged at him, grabbing a mop from the corner and swinging it at Brian Cooper’s head. Brian Cooper raised his arm to shield his face, taking the blow on his forearm, then grabbed the end of the mop and, while the other guy was trying to snatch it back, seized him by the short hair.