Gu Xi thought nothing of the earlier incident.
The boobs, the glare, the towering basketball queen.
It wasn't like he said anything that rude. Technically, she walked into him. If anything, he'd shown remarkable restraint. His old self would've stammered out an apology, flushed red like a boiled shrimp, and then disappeared for three days.
Now?
He yawned and flipped open his physics workbook.
Classroom 3-B was unusually bright today, the ceiling fan turning lazily above. The smell of chalk, dry marker, and someone's artificial coconut body spray lingered in the air. Students chatted until the bell rang, but no one looked at Gu Xi. As usual.
He liked it that way.
The last thing he needed was attention from Chang An's fanclub. That cult of shrieking flowerboys who acted more hysterical than teen girl groups back home. If even one of them had seen him bump into her chest and talk back?
He'd be dodging glitter bombs all week.
"When will I ever get used to this upside-down world…" he thought with a sigh, twirling his pen.
It was then that the voice rang out—sharp, clipped, and slightly nasal.
"Gu Xi."
He blinked. Looked up.
Physics Teacher Zhang—a woman in her forties with permed hair, thick glasses, and a permanent frown—stood at the front, arms crossed.
"Yes?"
"Since you have the time to stare out the window like you're shooting a perfume commercial, why don't you answer this?"
She tapped the whiteboard with a long wooden pointer.
The problem wasn't simple.
Projectile motion, combined with friction coefficients and variable air resistance. Something you'd normally see in second-year college entrance materials—not a typical high school curriculum.
Some of the other students turned to look.
Others smirked.
Teacher Zhang, clearly in a mood, sneered.
"What's the matter? Too hard? Or did all your brain cells get fried under the sun during break?"
Gu Xi stared at the problem.
And blinked once.
"…3.14 meters, angle of projection at 37 degrees, assuming constant drag of 0.2," he replied, voice level.
The chalk in Zhang's hand paused midair.
"What?"
"Final result: 3.14 meters," Gu Xi repeated. "You round up the third variable from the coefficient matrix you taught last month. The trick is to isolate friction and cancel wind resistance."
He said it like reciting the weather.
Silence.
A few students sat straighter. One actually looked behind him as if checking to see if someone else had said it.
Zhang's mouth opened slightly.
Then closed.
She turned around without another word and picked up the eraser.
Gu Xi sat back down slowly, fighting a faint smirk.
"I really have gotten smarter…"
Before the system, solving a problem like that would've taken him twenty minutes. Now it was second nature. Even when he spoke, the words sounded smoother. Not more eloquent—just… certain.
It made him wonder.
If he didn't have the system—could he still survive this absurd world?
This backwards, illogical matriarchy where men were dolls, and women were wolves?
He didn't know.
But for now, he'd treat the system kindly.
Like feeding a golden goose.
Unaware, the class had shifted.
Dozens of eyes trailed him now. Some whispered.
"…Who was that?"
"He's in our class?"
"Since when?"
Gu Xi yawned, undisturbed.
The bell rang not long after.
He stood up, collecting his notes just as his phone buzzed.
[From: Gu Lin]
Heading out with teammates. Go home first. Make dinner. Save me a portion.
No 'thanks.' No punctuation.
Typical.
But Gu Xi wasn't mad.
In fact, he welcomed it.
Having the house to himself for once?
That was a rare luxury.
The sun was already dipping low when Gu Xi stepped outside the school gate.
He didn't hail a cab.
Didn't take the bus.
Instead, he walked. Quiet steps, long shadows. The breeze tasted like ocean salt and exhaust fumes. City F was alive with weekend traffic, women in sportswear jogging past, boys strolling with parasols and small purses in hand.
None of it surprised him anymore.
By the time he got home, he dropped his bag on the table and changed out of his uniform. The silence of the apartment greeted him like an old friend.
He looked at himself in the mirror again.
Collarbone visible. Shoulders straighter. A waist that no longer spilled over his belt. His skin had that faint glow—not product-induced, but something internal. Still, it wasn't enough.
Not yet.
He tied his laces tight.
Time to go harder today.
He stepped out again—and ran.