I'm A Math Idiot, So What? - Chapter 8

The class bell rang. Professor Fang announced that we should hand in our answers.

I was planning to take back my paper, but to my surprise, the person behind me had already stood up with my paper in hand.

He’s truly a thoughtful brother, giving and taking in return.

I just forgot to remind him to hand in our papers separately, or it would be easy to get caught.

Judging by his looks and habit of sleeping in class, I guess he’s the type of athletic student with a rebellious charm. Like a cool little underdog full of teenage bravado, skilled in things explicitly banned by school rules, such as skipping classes, playing truant, smoking, and fighting. He should be well-versed in these basics of school life.

I felt reassured as I watched him walk towards the podium.

From behind, he appeared to be about six foot three, wearing a trendy gray-blue shirt with a workwear vibe, tucked into light pants with slightly rolled-up cuffs, showcasing his broad shoulders and narrow waist, making him look even taller and more distinguished.

Ah, this sense of fashion easily surpasses that of our science guys in their typical T-shirts, baggy black shorts, and flip-flops, further highlighting his distinguished and inescapable noble air.

As a result, his path was like Moses parting the Red Sea; as he stepped forward, the crowd automatically made way for him.

His followers rapidly increased with every step. The girls belatedly noticed there was such a treasure of a boy hidden in the classroom. They put aside their tasks, even postponing bathroom and snack shop visits, focusing solely on gossiping about the handsome guy. In pairs or small groups, they exchanged information discreetly, their eyes filled with illiterate admiration for this newly crowned school heartthrob, as if meeting the Tang Monk in the land of women.

Meanwhile, among the group of boys—who only realized their ordinariness upon his arrival—perhaps one future Wu Cheng’en and countless Hua Luogengs will emerge.

These Hua Luogengs are like a flock of migratory birds; as soon as the bell rang, they began their large-scale migration—from the area of the academic elites to the podium.

Professor Fang, like a father waiting for his children to return home for a reunion, stood on the podium, welcoming and farewelling them with gratification.

The podium is a Mars; this side is a Mercury. The people of these two planets are too different in brain structure and thinking habits to understand each other, so this scene naturally has a barrier that I never seriously observed.

However, the treasure boy’s striking figure on the podium was like a high-powered spotlight, making it impossible to look away or stare directly at him.I instinctively pulled out my phone, opened the camera, adjusted the focus, and prepared to take a photo.

Suddenly, he seemed to sense something, turned slightly, and his gaze swept across the podium, pausing abruptly on my camera lens. Then his mouth curved into a slight smile, like a playful little wolfdog.

At that moment, it felt as if the podium burst into an intense radiance. It was divine revelation.

The left side of my brain was singing “Hallelujah, Hallelujah,” while the right side was screaming, “Mom, there’s someone here who’s weaponizing their good looks to commit a crime! He’s killing me a thousand times!”

With the help of an imaginary ventilator, I revived for the ten-thousand-and-first time and magnanimously shared the hastily captured, impressionistic masterpiece, resembling an artwork worthy of the Louvre, in our dorm chat group, accompanied by a meme of Sa Beining breathing oxygen.

After sending the photo, I still had a trace of foolish excitement on my face as I looked up. The heart-throb appeared to have used his radiant charm to push back the Hua Luogengs and was currently engaged in a low-voiced conversation with Professor Fang.

Why would an underachiever like him need to talk to the professor?

I bet they’re discussing the everyday troubles of being handsome.

Do handsome guys have troubles?

Probably, like being harassed by failures like us that Nuwa didn’t have time to destroy during creation.

As I engaged in this internal Q&A, the microphone suddenly emitted a piercing feedback noise. Professor Fang turned it on, and his stern, low voice came from the speakers above my head: “Is Lin Meng here?”

The question was so close that it startled me. In my shock, I instinctively raised my hand and said, “Present!”

Feeling the heat of embarrassment rising to my face, I clutched my pant legs and stood up straight.

Professor Fang said, “Please come to the podium.”

No way? Am I really being reported for harassment? I was just having an internal frenzy, I didn’t actually do anything.

I guessed correctly. I was indeed reported.But it wasn’t for the reason I imagined.