Chapter 23: Favorability

Chapter 23: Favorability

The moment the bell rang signaling the end of the Literature exam paper, the classroom dissolved into a flurry of animated chatter.

"Man, that essay topic was brutal," one classmate groaned, packing up his pens. "I'm probably barely going to scrape fifty points."

"Tell me about it," another chimed in. "Open-ended prompts like 'I want to say to my parents' are a trap. If you write the usual cliché stuff, the graders slam you. Scoring higher than fifty out of a hundred is going to be a miracle."

"You're stressing about fifty?" a third student chuckled, casting a sly glance across the aisle. "What about the people who usually average fifteen points per test? Imagine how they're feeling right now."

A few heads turned toward me, expecting to see me squirming in defeat.

I didn't even bother giving them a response. I was already used to their petty looks. Let them talk all they wanted—once the exam results were posted, their own expressions would do the talking for me.

Chloe turned in her chair, her bright eyes offering a gentle, reassuring look. "Don't pay any attention to them. Focus on reviewing. We still have the Math paper this afternoon."

"Thanks," I said softly, feeling a warm burst of focus.

Just then, the front door swung open and Tyler walked back into the room, strutting with an insufferable smirk. Judging by the arrogant posture he maintained, he clearly felt he had crushed the exam.

"Hey, Tyler!" one of his usual sycophants called out. "How'd you do on the Literature paper?"

Tyler smoothed his collar, his voice dripping with casual superiority. "Not bad. Ninety-two at minimum. Maybe ninety-five if the essay grader is feeling generous."

"Pfft! As expected from our class genius!" the guy cheered. "Let's hope you aren't the Thousand-Year Runner-Up this time!"

The comment hung awkwardly in the air.

'Thousand-Year Runner-Up' was the unofficial nickname the class had secretly slapped on Tyler. No matter how brilliantly he performed, no matter if he scored in the high nineties, Chloe was always sitting at the absolute top of the board, trapping him perpetually in second place.

Faced with the embarrassing reminder of his nickname, Tyler's expression stiffened. To redirect the attention and cover his wounded pride, he immediately turned his guns toward me.

"Ahem. I wonder how many points our class's favorite loudmouth, Zach, thinks he scored this time?" Tyler sneered, crossing his arms.

I kept my head down and ignored him completely, flipping directly to the calculus review section in Chloe's prep guide. Engaging with a self-absorbed jerk was a complete waste of brain cells. Math required intense mental focus, and even with my cognitive speed boosted, I needed every second to solidify my formulas before the afternoon bell.

Seeing that I didn't even glance up, Tyler looked like he had punched a brick wall.

"Ah, look at him," Tyler laughed hollowly, trying to save face in front of his cronies. "He's probably too ashamed to even open his mouth because he knows he bombed it."

A few guys chuckled along, eager to stay on Tyler's good side.

"Do you have a spare draft notebook? Can I borrow one?"

The soft, clear voice cut right through the mockery. It was Chloe.

I looked up, momentarily startled. "Yeah, of course! I'll grab one for you!"

A surge of genuine excitement hit me. This was the first time Chloe had ever asked to borrow something from me.

I reached into my backpack, pulled out an ordinary blue exercise notebook from the stack, and slid it over to her desk.

"Thanks..." Chloe murmured, her cheeks dusting with a sudden, soft pink blush.

At first, I didn't understand why she blushed, but as soon as I pulled my hand back, my own face flared bright red.

When I handed the notebook over, my fingers had accidentally brushed against hers for a split second. Her skin had been incredibly soft, sending a tiny jolt through my nerve endings.

I quickly drew my hand back, clearing my throat and pretending nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "We're desk partners. Don't worry about it."

A few curious eyes swept over us, but because I maintained a completely stone-faced, calm posture, nobody suspected a thing. Chloe, always quick-witted, took a quiet breath, let her blush fade, and went right back to reviewing her materials.

Suddenly, a crisp sound chimed inside my mind.

[System Notification: Chloe's Favorability toward Master has increased to 57% (Status: Close Friend).]

I almost jumped out of my chair right then and there!

An accidental touch hadn't lowered her favorability—it had actually bumped it up by two percent! Reaching 57% officially designated me as a Close Friend in her heart!

My mood instantly skyrocketed. With my focus burning at maximum capacity, I dove back into Chloe's math prep guide, devouring complex formulas and calculus theorems with insane efficiency.

At noon, Sierra met me outside the gates, and we walked home together for lunch.

Even while sitting at the kitchen table, I couldn't bring myself to put Chloe's math notes down. I was reading through coordinate geometry proofs while holding my fork, so preoccupied that I nearly shoved a piece of steamed broccoli straight up my nose.

Victoria paused with the serving dish, watching me with a mixture of pride and motherly concern. "Zach, take a breath. There's still time before the final National Entrance Exam. You don't have to starve yourself or choke during lunch!"

"Woman, what do you know?" David piped up from the head of the table, puffing out his chest with sudden authority. "Our boy is grinding! Haven't you ever heard of Thomas Edison blowing up ten thousand lightbulbs in his lab before he finally got one to work?! Our son is showing that exact same spirit!"

"Pffft—!"

Sierra, who was taking a sip of soup, instantly choked. Her face turned bright red as she desperately covered her mouth to keep from spraying the table.

I cringed, rubbing my temples. "Dad... Edison experimented with ten thousand filaments and materials. He didn't blow up ten thousand lightbulbs!"

David didn't even blink, waving his hand dismissively. "Lightbulbs, filaments, whatever! The point is, the kid isn't letting a little difficulty stop him!"

"That's right," Victoria agreed, smiling warmly as she piled more chicken onto my plate. "Just eat your lunch and do your best."

Sierra and I shared a quick look across the table and smiled.