An Han had already cycled through three class advisors.
One per academic year, on average.
This one was newly assigned at the start of junior year—young, barely past thirty. Since classes had only begun weeks ago, An Han had only glimpsed him from afar, never formally introduced.
Who knew their first meeting would be this awkward?
His jacket wasn’t on yet. The subtle rise of his chest wasn’t dramatic, but on An Han’s flat frame, it stood out.
Instinctively, he hunched his shoulders, pulled the jacket on quickly. His face flushed crimson, yet he forced calm.
“Aren’t you sick?” the advisor sized him up.
Clad in a crisp white short-sleeve, fair skin glowing, the boy looked strikingly clean and delicate. The advisor hadn’t expected such refined beauty among his students.
At first glance, a flicker of fondness softened his skeptical tone into a gentle question.
“Mm. Was just heading to ask for leave.”
“Long Xing said you were bedridden with a 40-degree fever.”
“…”
An Han’s face paled. At least the jacket was on now—no more worry about visibility.
Absurdity had truly knocked on absurdity’s door and moved right in!
How could Long Xing claim *forty degrees*? How was he supposed to explain?
Before the system’s training, he’d have panicked. Now, cool-headed, he strategized: *Keep pretending.*
He ignored the doubt, slumped slightly, offered a strained smile. “Advisor, I *am* sick. Not as bad as Brother Long said… but I can’t make class today.”
Disbelief flickered in the advisor’s eyes.
*Why did the system give me advanced vocals instead of acting?* An Han groaned inwardly.
“Come in. I’ll get water.” The advisor turned, switched the AC back on.
No hesitation—he strode in, scanning the dorm. “If you’re fine, get to class.”
Typical guys’ dorm: messy floor, scattered clothes, overflowing trash. Desks stayed tidy. A faint scent hung in the air.
Foot odor? The advisor sniffed again. Nope—subtle milky fragrance.
Weird for a guys’ dorm. Others used lemon or floral fresheners. Never milky.
“I *am* sick.” An Han poured water, sat, flashed a helpless smile. “Fever. Diarrhea.”
He swallowed nervously, throat dry, sipped the glass instinctively.
The advisor’s gaze returned to his face. Cheeks flushed deep crimson—*feverish*, yes.
But that energetic door-kick earlier? Not so convincing.
“Name’s An Han, right?”
“Mm.”
An Han sat ramrod straight, hands folded on thighs—model student posture.
*Wait… what’s his name again?*
Noticing the confusion, the advisor settled on Wang Sheng’s chair. “First meeting. I’m Ren Chi.”
“Mm.”
Ren Chi grabbed the water glass. An Han froze—he’d *just* drunk from it! Too late. Ren Chi drained it.
“Why so little?”
“…”
“I brought a thermometer. Check your temp.”
“Ah… this…”
*Way too considerate!*
Symptoms? Fakable. Body heat? Not so much.
Past advisors would’ve waved him off after a quick excuse. Ren Chi? Stubborn. Even came to the dorm.
Maybe Long Xing’s “40-degree fever” spooked him… *That* high *is* life-threatening.
Eyelids twitching, An Han clamped the thermometer tight under his arm, subtly swinging arms to generate warmth.
“Anywhere else hurt?”
“Diarrhea. Chills.”
*System, where are you?! Pop up! Give me options!*
*Let me pick the easiest path…*
Head bowed, heart pounding. Once the thermometer came out, the act ended.
“I took medicine earlier.” *Change the subject.*
“Hmm.” Ren Chi nodded. “Time’s up.”
Lips pressed tight, An Han pulled out the thermometer, squinting at the light.
36.1°C.
Zero fever.
“What’s it say?”
Panic surged.
[Option 1: Keep faking illness. Convince Ren Chi. Reward: Stock trends (next 10 days)
Option 2: Charm your way out. Reward: Moe Physique Trait
Option 3: Fail the class. Reward: Random attribute points]
*So blunt it made his teeth ache.*
Senior year loomed—internships, graduation. Failing meant makeup exams. *No way.*
This skipped class was the system’s fault! If his body stats were normal, he wouldn’t be hiding in dorms.
“Um… Brother Ren~?”
He lifted his head, batting big eyes. “How ‘bout… we skip it?”
*Other failed tasks also mean failing. One last try.*
An Han chose Option 2.
“Eye trouble?”
“Dry…” He handed over the thermometer, pulse racing.
Ren Chi almost laughed. New advisor, already met a character.
He checked the reading, silent, waiting for the final excuse.
“Medicine brought the fever down…”
“But my stomach!” An Han clutched his belly, staggered toward the balcony. “Oww~ Acting up again~ Must’ve kicked off the blanket last night!”
“Get. To. Class.” Ren Chi nudged his butt with a light kick. “First period excused. Second period—you *will* be there.”
“Got it!”
