South-North Middle School’s grading efficiency was high, and the monthly exam results came out the next morning. He Siheng unsurprisingly took first place in the grade.
The news that Tan Jing had skipped the exam again had already spread throughout the grade, leaving everyone stunned once more.
Tan Jing himself, who had skipped the exam for the second time, was called to the homeroom teacher’s office for a talk. After learning it was due to a family emergency, they didn’t pursue it further, but two consecutive absences were seen as an attitude problem toward studies, so he still had to go through the process of writing a self-criticism.
This wasn’t Tan Jing’s first time writing one, but he was still as awkward at it as if it were his first.
He Siheng watched him struggle for half a day without producing a single word, suppressing the corners of his mouth that twitched with schadenfreude. “They say practice makes perfect. Didn’t you write one before? Haven’t you learned how yet?”
Tan Jing lazily propped his cheek on his hand, spinning the pen between his slender fingers. “Wasn’t that one just copied from yours?”
He Siheng then remembered—it seemed like that was the case.
Back when they were in elementary school, He Siheng’s flamboyant behavior inevitably led to grudges with others, and people talked behind his back. One time, when some kids were badmouthing him, Tan Jing happened to overhear.
Tan Jing was just a sickly kid back then, but unexpectedly, he was also a hothead. He charged right in and started fighting.
Naturally, he didn’t win. His face was covered in bruises. Fortunately, He Siheng arrived just in time and instinctively thought he’d been bullied and that the others had started it, so he also rushed in and joined the fray.
This time, it was one against three, and He Siheng won. But it also drew the dean of education over.
After questioning, they learned that Tan Jing had thrown the first punch because those boys had insulted He Siheng. But Tan Jing refused to say what exactly they’d said, and the boys hemmed and hawed, unwilling to confess.
The one who struck first was naturally at fault, so everyone involved in the fight was punished with two laps around the track. Tan Jing and He Siheng had to submit an extra self-criticism.
Tan Jing refused to admit any wrongdoing. He could barely handle one lap but insisted on finishing them all. He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, so he couldn’t squeeze out a single word for the self-criticism. In the end, He Siheng couldn’t stand it anymore and gave him his own to copy.
Tan Jing wrote for half a day, and all that appeared on the paper were three words—”Self-Criticism.”
He Siheng couldn’t stand it again and spoke up. “Want me to teach you?”
Tan Jing’s pen paused, but then he heard, “Call me daddy, and I’ll write it for you.”
His demand was right within Tan Jing’s expectations.
Tan Jing turned his head, asking with an ambiguous tone, “You really want me to call you that?”
He Siheng thought he was wavering, his amber eyes full of anticipation. “Of course.”
Tan Jing drawled lazily, “Then keep dreaming.”
He Siheng: “…”
Tricked again, He Siheng gnashed his teeth hatefully. “Fine, stew in it then.”
At dusk after school, the sunset dyed half the sky red, and the warm glow sprinkled over the basketball court.
He Siheng raised the ball and shot it upward. The muscles in his arm stretched into beautiful lines, and the basketball accurately swished into the hoop.
He’d just finished a game, and his whole body was drenched in sweat. The fringe on his forehead was soaked, and fine beads of sweat slid down his cheeks.
He Siheng breathed lightly, standing in place with one hand on his hip, disdainful of his unenergetic teammate. “Zhou Yu, can you even play? You’re so useless today.”
Zhou Yu pulled a long face. “I’ve already lost money. Just let me win a bit.”
Thirsty from the game, He Siheng tugged at his collar to fan himself and sneered, “Serves you right. Who told you to bet on Tan Jing winning?”
Zhou Yu defended himself. “Wasn’t I swayed by that Little Apple yapping nonstop?”
He Siheng mercilessly called him out. “I think you were swayed by Tan Jing’s face.”
The guy had been drooling over Tan Jing’s looks hard those first two days of school. Don’t think he didn’t know.
Zhou Yu, on the other hand, acted entitled. “Heng Bro, have some sympathy. Which Omega can resist the charm of an S-Rank Alpha?”
As he spoke, he flashed a dopey smile. “I can’t even imagine—if the Class Monitor bit me once, how happy I’d be as a little O.”
He Siheng was grossed out by that infatuated smile, goosebumps rising all over his body.
He shuddered in disgust, thinking to himself, Happy my ass—it hurts.*
Speak of the devil. He Siheng turned his head and spotted a familiar, tall figure walking toward them.
“Yo, finished your self-criticism?” he teased obnoxiously.
Tan Jing tossed him a bottle of soda. “Thanks to your model example.”
Stubborn-mouthed but soft-hearted guy—he’d sent him a copy of one he’d written before.
He Siheng smiled. “This the thank-you fee?”
Tan Jing answered vaguely, “Dividend.”
He Siheng didn’t get it, but Tan Jing didn’t give him a chance to ask, dropping the word and turning to leave.
He Siheng looked baffled. Did this guy come specifically to bring him water?
He turned and met Zhou Yu’s ghost-like expression.
He Siheng: “…What’s with that face?”
“I’m torn…” Zhou Yu looked utterly incredulous. “Should I be shocked first that the Class Monitor personally brought you a drink, or that you proactively sent him a self-criticism template to help him out?”
“Wait—no! When did you two get so close? Are you doing an AA romance now?” Zhou Yu clutched his chest and gasped.
He Siheng was expressionless. “Got a wrench?”
“Huh? What for?”
“To pry open your skull and see what black hole’s inside.”
“…”
Zhou Yu backed away repeatedly, shielding his lovestruck brain. “Before you pry open my head, explain what ‘dividend’ means first. What money-making business are you and the Class Monitor in on together?”
“Beats me what nonsense he was spouting.”
He Siheng was still confused himself.
He glanced at the drink in his hand, tore off the wrapper, pressed down on the cap, and the glass marble dropped into the bottle. Fine bubbles surged up through the pink liquid.
He Siheng tilted his head back and took a gulp. The ice-cold soda dispelled the heat from exercise, the bubbles bursting refreshingly on his tongue, the sweet strawberry flavor filling his entire mouth.
Strawberry Bubsi Soda.
He hadn’t had it in ages, but it tasted just like when he was a kid.
