After morning exercises on Monday, I was called to the homeroom teacher’s office.

"Yi Yao," she began, her gaze flickering like the other teachers in the room. For some reason, standing in that cramped space, I felt a trace of desolation.

Her voice was gentle, her tone comforting—almost coddling.

They’d never looked at me like this before.

It was like a parasite living in a shabby house suddenly discovering a buried fortune beneath its floorboards.

I’d rather they stared at me like some untouchable big shot than accept this sudden shift in their attitude.

This could only mean one thing: in their eyes, I’d "regained" value.

What defines an excellent student?

Grades.

Academic performance.

From Friday’s exam to today’s Monday, diligent teachers had ample time to grade all papers and crunch the stats.

If my scores were still abysmal, they’d have tossed me a history test with a casual, "Just redo this," bowing to public pressure—not staged this grand talk.

But… sorry. I’m Yi Yao. Yet I’m also Yi Yao now.

Before Yi Yao’s sorrowful memories—memories you all stirred—I won’t compromise.

"No need."

In the office’s icy air-conditioning, I shook my head with a smile under their stares. "School rules are clear: skipping an exam means skipping it. I’ll accept the penalty willingly. The school shouldn’t make exceptions for students like me."

Why aren’t you mentioning that 5,000-word self-criticism anymore?

"How can that be…"

The homeroom teacher edged closer with an awkward grin. "Yi Yao, maybe I did neglect you before. But people change. If you hadn’t shown your true strength, how would I know you were hiding such talent? Right?"

Her unspoken message: she spoke kindly only because I held the "strength" they valued.

"This has nothing to do with your neglect," I replied evenly. "Anyway, thank you for your concern. I’ll take the absence for that subject. If there’s nothing else, I’ll head back."

"You—" Her face visibly darkened, then cleared as if remembering something. "Fine, if you refuse. But I hope you’ll strive for top scores in all future exams. Agreed?"

So she finally realized it? A student’s worth isn’t in raw scores—it’s in rankings.

Whether I scored a perfect 150 or 650, as long as I ranked first, she’d get her bonus.

"Okay."

I bowed to the middle-aged woman and turned to leave the office.

Even from far down the hall, I heard the teachers’ heated debates behind me—gushing about "a genius finally emerging at Third High" or "ranking first despite skipping a subject."

Yi Yao… do you see? I’ve fulfilled your old fantasy with your own hands.

This homeroom teacher had transferred to Third High just months ago. In that short time, she’d bullied Yi Yao repeatedly over grades. My body remembered that, and my dislike for her ran deep.

Call it weakness if you will—Yi Yao had silently endured her favoritism all these months.

Like most students, Yi Yao once dreamed of facing this opportunistic woman with pride after acing the rankings.

Now, I suppose, it’s *my* dream too.

Back at class, I found Tan Lijiang and Liang Tong clashing with two boys from Class 12 near the doorway. Tension crackled like they might throw punches any second.

"What’s up?"

I strolled over, hands in my pockets, stopping beside Tan Lijiang.

"Nothing. Just some Class 12 jerks pushing too far."

Tan Lijiang’s voice trembled with anger.

"Pushing too far?"

The boy on the left laughed. "Isn’t Class 11 the worst in the grade? In grades *and* sports? Did I lie? If you’re this sensitive, quit school."

Liang Tong sneered. "Scores aren’t out yet. How can you brag so boldly?"

"You think everyone’s as clueless as you? Our class has connections upstairs. We know the results already. Trust me—you’ll be dead last."

Tan Lijiang lunged forward, ready to strike, but I held him back.

"You’re still the same. Flying off the handle over tiny things."

I stepped past them slowly, patting both boys’ shoulders. "Maybe when you grow up, you’ll realize what matters now won’t even register later."

"But he—" Tan Lijiang pointed at the two. "They insulted our class honor. Can you just let that slide?"

"People who spread rumors are either schemers or bored fools. We don’t waste time on them."

"Oh? Look who’s here—the little mistress Yi Yao, kept by a rival school."

Before Tan Lijiang could retort, the boy I’d mocked stepped forward. "Your grades have always been bottom ten, right? And you skipped a subject this time. What gives you the nerve to talk like that?"

The class bell rang faintly through the wind.

"Liang Jingru gave me the courage."

I shot them a look even I didn’t fully understand, then turned toward the classroom. "Let’s go."

"Oh."

Tan Lijiang and Liang Tong snapped out of their daze and hurried after me.

"Haha, scared now that you know your scores?"

The boys kept jeering outside, but I ignored them, sliding into my seat.

"How’d you do on the exam, Yi Yao?"

"About 630, if nothing goes wrong."

*Thud!*

Tan Lijiang, walking toward Group Four, tripped and crashed under a desk. Classmates helped him up as he gasped, "You’re joking, right?"

"Nope."

I sipped my salted boiled water. "Let me rephrase… I bombed it again. Only 650. Too ashamed to show my face."

"Stop! Stick to your first answer—my heart can’t take it."

Just then, the subject teacher entered, arms full of papers. "What are you all doing? Get to your seats!"

"This exam… seems no one did well."

First period was Chinese—my most anticipated subject. Unlike others, acing Chinese wasn’t just about right answers; the essay was a wild card.

"I’ll summarize our Chinese results."

Our Chinese teacher was a middle-aged man with a weary face and a voice that lulled half the class to sleep. Yet he rarely scolded over missed homework, and our class’s Chinese scores weren’t terrible for the grade.

"This test used Yucai Middle School’s midterm paper. You felt the difficulty. The grade average is 81. Our class averaged 88.5—making us first in Chinese."

The classroom erupted.

"Teacher…"

After a pause, Tan Lijiang raised a shaky hand. "Are you sure it’s *our* class? Class 11?"

"Yes. Is this not Class 11?" The teacher adjusted his glasses. "I didn’t walk into the wrong room, did I? Tan Lijiang—you’re in Class 11. I remember you."

"But… that’s impossible."

"Yeah, if we’re first, what about the elite Classes 1 and 2?"

"Weren’t we supposed to be last?"

As chaos threatened again, the teacher raised a silencing hand. "Testing my memory? Class 1 averaged 87.5. Class 2 got 88. Yours is highest."

"Then—"

"Let me finish."

He snatched a paper, squinting through his reading glasses at the name. "Yi… Yi Yao? Who’s Yi Yao? Do we have this student?"

Fifty pairs of eyes snapped to me.

I stood up. "That’s me."

"Oh… so you’re Yi Yao. I don’t recall you. Do you know your score?"

I shook my head.

"Before I reveal it, understand this exam’s difficulty. At Shangjing Yucai Middle School—where getting in means stepping halfway into a top high school—their average was 93. Their highest scorer, a girl from the honors class, got 139."

He paused dramatically. "But *our* school—*our* Class 11—Yi Yao scored 150!"

The class froze. Even I was stunned.

Wait… this wasn’t the plan… Chinese can’t have a perfect score.

While I zoned out, the teacher held up my paper, every answer circled in red.

"Flawless multiple-choice. Perfect reading comprehension. Full marks on the essay. Total: 150! Yi Yao, come claim your paper. You’re Class 11’s pride."