Chapter 83

If I were to claim that I’m a model student in front of my mom or kids, it might sound like a joke to them, but I truly am one.

I didn’t get into any trouble during my middle school years, and my attitude toward classes was always commendable. To be honest, given my experiences from my previous life, it was inevitable for me to behave any other way.

There might be room for dissent, but truth, much like everything in this world, often suffers from being marginalized. Since I occasionally act a little self-centered, my good points tend to be overlooked as well.

However, once we discard such biased perspectives and instead assess objectively, it becomes clear that my school life has been, and still is, exemplary.

Well… that is.

Just look at my current situation. My seatmate Yumina is sleeping face-down during class, and the so-called friend with white hair in front is scribbling in their textbook.

And what about me? I’m sitting with a posture so exemplary that by just observing the surrounding distractions, one would recognize how commendable it is. Most of the students are busy doing other things instead of focusing on class.

This is somewhat unavoidable. It’s common knowledge that finishing high school material before entering high school is a must. Most students here are from privileged backgrounds anyway, so they follow this general rule. So, it’s not surprising that their class engagement is lackluster.

Although, if judged absolutely, I may not be the model student everyone claims I am, but compared to the numerous examples around me, I deserve the title.

Of course, I’m not extremely rule-abiding and occasionally engage in unusual behavior. But those minor escapes during school life can be dismissed as quirks.

I closed the book. The reason for these stray thoughts? The book I’m currently reading lacks excitement. It’s a study of a sociologist’s life and their influence on academia and modern society. Naturally, these topics aren’t fully encapsulated in a single book. As a result, while some parts are extensively detailed, others are glossed over, leaving the reading experience somewhat dull.

Perhaps the issue isn’t unique to this book but lies instead with my mental state.

Due to my extensive reading experience and well-established preferences, I can guess the content just from the table of contents. That’s normal. If reading is a hobby, one grows accustomed to such insights.

Still, this realization didn’t feel natural. I found myself weary of the knowledge, questioning why the unknown content needs to be detailed so meticulously.

Put simply, it seems something like middle-school syndrome is kicking in. Hormonal issues, perhaps?

No, that’s unlikely. Although I am of that age, objectivity tells me I have remained consistent. The cause lies elsewhere.

Scientific paradigms don’t shift easily. Books usually stick to trendy topics, drawing on familiar references. While there may be slight variations in micro approaches, the macro themes remain the same.

For something groundbreaking to occur, an entirely new paradigm needs to emerge, but academic change doesn’t happen dramatically. Thus, considerable time is required.

Conclusively, the boredom while reading isn’t due to adolescence but because my reading speed exceeds the pace of knowledge development. Life is mundane. Why even live?

Hmm…

But reconsidering, it might just be hormonal. Not adolescence but literally hormonal imbalance. Modern society is filled with stimulating content, making reading less appealing. With numerous quick and convenient stimuli, it’s natural to find reading taxing on the brain. My dopamine receptors might be dulled.

This feels accurate. I’m not experiencing teenage indifference due to dabbling in general knowledge but enduring a modern condition. There’s some relief in that conclusion. It’s a human condition.

Should I play a phone game? After fidgeting with my phone for a second, I decided against it. A model student doesn’t use their phone during class. Though I may not fit the definition entirely, my conscience wouldn’t allow such misconduct.

Is this ‘Good Kid Syndrome’? Pursuing virtue isn’t healthy for mental health, so there’s a need for freer actions, isn’t there?

“No…”

Yumina muttered in her sleep beside me. Upon closer examination, I noticed she was sweating. She must be having a nightmare. Maybe she’s dreaming of being betrayed and shot. I patted her back gently. I doubt Laplace would take her bullet, and even if that were the case, there’s personal unease. Nevertheless, it’s her life.

Class ended as time passed. As if synchronized with the bell, Yumina stirred awake. Perhaps she had sensed my pat, as she looked at me quizzically with half-awake eyes. I shrugged, indicating I hadn’t teased her.

Yumina wiped her face. She seemed a bit more alert now.

“Miss, did you take notes…? No, probably not.”

The certainty in her question unnerved me. True, I didn’t take notes, but not because I disrespected the class—there was no need.

Yumina called out to the white-haired student.

“Can you lend me your notes?”

“Yeah! Just a sec.”

White-haired hastily jotted something in her textbook.

“Here.”

Upon glancing at the borrowed textbook, I noticed its pages were densely filled with sharpie notes, a chaotic mess that looked like it was her first time taking notes. It wasn’t something one would willingly share.

Yumina hesitated briefly, clearly taken aback by the chaos.

“…Thank you.”

At this perfunctory remark, White-haired’s face flushed.

“Me too!”

The “me too” response left all of us somewhat confused.

I stopped Yumina from copying the content and grabbed White-haired’s textbook.

“I’ll show you a magic trick.”

I aligned two note-filled pages and, with hands placed on both sides, rubbed them briskly without tearing the paper. Yumina attempted to interject, but it was already over.

After I ceased and flipped the pages back, I revealed the results.

“Ta-da. The magic of vanishing effort.”

The ink had smeared and disappeared.

White-haired, stunned, trembled her gaze.

Today, White-haired learned an important lesson: never use sharpie on textbooks.

Clap.

Clap.

“Hey!”

Yumina yelled and began scolding me. I had no choice but to revive the notes from memory, word for word—a tiresome task.

—

The club activity for the Deep Sleep Research Club is sleeping. Essentially, we aim to prioritize sleeping at home instead of participating in other club activities.

However, during club hour, which is part of the regular school schedule, we are required to perform some activities.

“The tape is crooked. Do it more carefully.”

“Okay!”

After pointing it out, White-haired adjusted the black tape slightly and re-applied it. The drawing paper, originally borrowed from the arts club and stuck to the window with tape, swayed slightly.

It’s our club’s first meeting, so we’re doing something important.

Namely, blocking the sunlight entering the club room by covering the window with drawing paper.

Sunlight is one of the primary obstacles to deep sleep. It triggers hormones that make you feel active even if you’d rather rest. That’s not acceptable for the Deep Sleep Research Club—our focus is on rest, not better living. Sunlight is the enemy of our club activities.

Admittedly, for better sleep in the morning, we should expose ourselves to sunlight to activate these hormones without the interference of windows. But who’s going to open the window and step outside when it’s freezing?

Thus, during club hours, we’re sticking drawing paper on the windows. We’ll sleep once this is done. Ideally, we should finish such basic tasks beforehand and sleep during the actual club time—but such diligence is rare except in my case. It’s unfortunate.

The world would be so different if there were 8 billion people like me… right? Actually, maybe not. I’m quite average.

“Fix the lower side.”

“Okay.”

White-haired, with a serious expression, stuck the drawing paper to the windows. She’s the only one taking this seriously here. The other member, who joined just for formality, is napping in the corner, and Yumina’s just fooling around. Such a troublemaker.

“This paper is wrinkled now. We’re just blocking the sunlight, but it doesn’t mean it should look messy. Aesthetics matters when it makes us feel better, doesn’t it?”

White-haired, struggling, used her body to flatten the paper. Her technique leaves much to be desired.

We wasted valuable nap time, but eventually, we managed to cover all the windows.

“I’m done!”

She wore an expression full of accomplishment. Physical labor suits her.

Turning off the lights revealed the pale sunlight seeping through the paper. As expected, it didn’t sufficiently block the light. Sunlight is relentless. I regretfully noted the need to order blackout curtains.

White-haired observed the faint light thoughtfully, seemingly conflicted after investing so much effort to stick the paper but still seeing light pass through.

“Process is what matters, right?”

I offered some comfort.

Upon hearing this, she simply blinked at me.

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