"Come on, man, don't give me that. You just heard the homeroom teacher grilling you and now you're trying to drag me into it? You know I've already given up on getting into a top school. I'll settle for some random third-tier college—as long as my old man coughs up enough cash, I'm good."
Howie leaned back in his chair with a smirk. "But seriously, how'd you know I was planning to travel out of province? Maybe I'll get lucky and bump into a cute girl on the road or something. Who knows, right?"
Ding-ding-ding!
The morning bell cut him off mid-rant. First period was starting—English class with none other than their homeroom teacher, Ms. Qing Fang.
As she walked in, carrying her English textbook, Doug Feng couldn't help staring. She wore a short black shawl today, and for a second, Doug's mind flashed back to the very moment he woke up in this strange new reality.
"What the hell am I thinking? That's Ms. Fang, for god's sake!"
Doug gave his head a sharp shake. Everything still felt like a dream. Waking up in his teenage body, seeing those strange floating numbers above everyone's heads—none of it made sense. Just yesterday, he'd been a thirty-year-old burnout. Now he was back in high school, surrounded by textbooks and hormone-fueled teens.
He hadn't even had time to fully process the absurdity of his rebirth. Forget bills, deadlines, and job stress—his biggest problem now was memorizing vocabulary lists and avoiding detention.
Ms. Fang's crisp voice brought him back to reality.
"Yesterday I asked each of you to write an English essay on the topic 'Cultural Differences Between China and the West.' I hope you all followed the structure I taught you. Don't make grammar mistakes, and absolutely do not misspell words. And if you make an error during the exam, simply cross it out neatly—don't black it out. A messy paper will lose you points."
Doug sat there, chin in hands, completely zoning out. He couldn't focus at all, not with his brain still swirling from everything that had happened. He wasn't even aware Ms. Fang was talking until—
"Doug Feng! Are you even listening? Where's your essay? What, you think you can score full marks without even trying?"
Her sharp voice snapped him out of his trance. Ms. Fang had stomped over to his desk, eyes blazing. Doug jolted upright on reflex, finding himself just inches away from her.
"I—I wasn't slacking off, I swear! I was just… thinking about something!"
He avoided her gaze, looking down instinctively at a 45-degree angle—only to catch sight of her chest rising and falling rapidly in frustration. Her fitted blouse left little to the imagination, and Doug nearly choked on air.
"Thinking? About what?" Ms. Fang huffed. "The college entrance exam is just around the corner. This is the most important time of your life. You keep spacing out like this, and you won't even get into a third-tier university!"
Her voice was filled with disappointment, but also a kind of fierce care. The room fell silent. Even the other students stopped pretending to study and watched the scene unfold.
Realizing she might've been a bit harsh, Ms. Fang paused. Her tone softened as she reached out and gently patted Doug's bowed head.
"Doug… I'm not trying to humiliate you. I know I sounded harsh, but it's because I care. You're part of my very first graduating class. I want all of you to succeed. I'm not looking down on you—I just don't want you to give up on yourself."
"Ms. Fang…" Doug's throat tightened.
If it had been the old Doug, he probably would've stormed out in shame. But the new Doug, the one carrying six extra years of adult life behind him, understood her intentions.
He knew how miserable life could get without a decent education. He'd lived that reality. Seeing the sincerity in her eyes, Doug felt a strange warmth in his chest, a tight ache he couldn't explain. His eyes stung.
High school—especially senior year—was the fork in the road of his destiny. And Ms. Fang, strict and caring, had been the one to push him toward the right path once before.
"Not this time," Doug told himself. "I'm not going to waste this second chance. I'm not walking the same road again."
"Alright, let's move on. Doug, come see me in my office after school. I'll prepare a personalized review plan for your English. If you follow it properly, you'll easily get 90 out of 150 on the exam—maybe more."
Class resumed, but Doug had already made up his mind. This time, he wouldn't just drift along.
"Yo, bro, you crying? Come on, that lecture wasn't that brutal." Howie nudged him with a grin. "Wait… you're faking it, huh? Damn, you're good. Ever thought about drama school?"
Doug didn't respond. He was too deep in thought, mentally digging through six years of memories, trying to fish out anything—anything—that might help with the upcoming exam.
"What were the questions on that year's Gaokao again? Damn, I can't even remember the essay prompt. And it's not like I aced it the first time either…"
His head throbbed. He was scrambling through memories like a man rifling through junk drawers in a blackout. Nothing came up but fuzz and frustration.
By the time the last bell rang, Doug was exhausted. He slung his old schoolbag over one shoulder and trudged toward the gate… until he suddenly remembered Ms. Fang's summons.
Crap.
He spun on his heel and dashed toward the third-floor English office. Even after all these years, he still remembered—Ms. Fang hated tardiness and flakiness more than anything.
Zhi City First High was the best school in the city. It had provincial-level status, with top-tier faculty and solid resources. Each grade only had about 800 students, but every year over 200 made it into first-tier universities, 400 into second-tier, and most of the rest got into decent third-tier colleges. Only the truly hopeless ended up in vocational schools.
Doug had always hovered awkwardly between second- and third-tier territory. His first time around, he'd flunked the exam by just a few points and landed in a third-tier college—expensive, unimpressive, and barely worth the tuition.
He wasn't going to let that happen again.
Panting slightly, he reached the English office. Through the window, he could already see Ms. Fang waiting at the far end, the other teachers long gone.
Knock knock knock.
Doug tapped on the door.
"Come in, Doug," she called without looking up.
He stepped in, suddenly nervous again—more nervous than he'd expected. Maybe it was the adult memories clouding his teen mind, but standing this close to Ms. Fang made him feel… weird.
"I'm sorry I'm late, Ms. Fang."
She gestured to a chair. "It's fine. Sit. I made you a study guide. Based on your mock exam results, I picked out your weak spots. If you review this carefully, getting over 100 on the final is totally doable."
She handed him a printout, then walked over to the water dispenser and returned with a paper cup.
As she leaned over to explain the worksheet, her soft voice brushing against his ear, Doug suddenly realized just how close they were. She'd taken off her shawl, revealing a crisp white blouse that—thanks to the warm office—clung a little too closely.
Doug gulped. He couldn't stop his eyes from drifting.
Her breath tickled his cheek as she spoke. He tried to focus on the grammar notes—past tense versus present perfect—but all he could think about was the faint scent of her shampoo and the shape of her blouse.
"Doug! Are you even listening?"
"Huh?!"
Startled, he turned his head too fast—his elbow knocked into the paper cup, sending water flying.
Splash!
"Ah!"
Ms. Fang yelped, stepping back as the water soaked the front of her shirt.
"Oh god—Ms. Fang—I'm so sorry! Let me help—"
(To be continued)