The morning air carried a hint of coolness and moisture, with a faint golden line appearing in the eastern sky. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the row of tall trees beside the school’s teaching building. After entering the school gate, a white cement path led straight to the First Teaching Building. In front of the white building, crowds of students were coming and going, and the ringing of bicycle bells blended into a chorus. Occasionally, the roar of a motorcycle could be heard clearly. The security guard at the gate only allowed small vehicles to enter. Although No. 3 High School was a standard high-fee school and most students came from wealthy families—many of them outstanding—it wasn’t as if no one had their own car. But with this rule in place, many students from affluent families simply switched to motorcycles.

In a window-side seat on the first floor of the teaching building, a tall, thin boy with a slightly pale face sat in a daze, his head tilted, eyes blankly gazing at the garden outside. Wisps of fresh, unknown floral fragrance drifted in from the garden, making one feel quite refreshed. This person was Grace Miller.

After returning home yesterday, Grace Miller once again practiced the first stage, first level of the Qi Cultivation chapter, working on the patterns and hand seals. He also figured out the cooldown time for visualizing the patterns: two hours. In other words, after five successful visualizations, he had to wait two hours. The effect was obvious—each successful visualization left Grace Miller feeling as if he had endless energy, with vitality constantly welling up from within. Last night, he slept only four hours but woke up full of energy and in high spirits. Even the muscle strain in his body had improved a lot. So, at four in the morning, he quietly got up to practice the basic sword technique footwork until it was time to leave for class.

The classroom was a bit noisy. A girl was chasing and playfully hitting a grinning boy around the desks and chairs. That’s what life in the second year of high school was like—boys and girls alike, at an age when they were just beginning to experience the stirrings of love, all a bit hazy about matters between the sexes, and naturally, their daily behavior carried a hint of flirtation.

In his previous life, Grace Miller had been a standard introvert. He would get nervous all over whenever a slightly pretty girl came near, and if one greeted him, he’d probably blush immediately. On top of that, his grades were only slightly below average, he didn’t know how to dress himself, his looks were below average, and apart from reading novels and watching anime, he had no other hobbies. Naturally, he didn’t have many friends in class.

Still, there were a few fellow fans of novels and anime who hung out with him, especially anime. These days, there were plenty of people who liked novels, but not so many who liked anime.

In Grace Miller’s classroom, the desks and chairs were arranged in pairs, with two students sitting together. Every week, everyone would shift one seat to the left. This week, it was Grace Miller’s turn to sit by the window.

His deskmate was also a rather skinny boy with glasses named William Brooks, who had a few pimples on his face and liked to push up his glasses with his index finger while talking. He was an extremely repressed guy—bookish on the surface, but secretly fond of discussing risqué topics. In his previous life, Grace Miller had been fairly good friends with him. This guy was generous; since Grace Miller didn’t have much pocket money, he often took the initiative to treat him. But his favorite thing was to make fun of Grace Miller’s name. After all, the character “菲” was mostly used for girls, and on a plain-looking boy like Grace Miller, it was quite a contrast.

With a smack, a hand landed on Grace Miller’s shoulder as William Brooks leaned in.

“Feifei, what are you looking at? Acting all deep and mysterious so early in the morning?”

“Nothing. Didn’t sleep well last night, worried about the test results,” Grace Miller forced himself to suppress the urge to reflexively counterattack with his right arm after being startled, and lied smoothly with a natural expression.

Every week, No. 3 High School held weekly tests in all subjects. The results were posted on Mondays, directly stuck to the back of the classroom door—one of the main sources of comparison among classmates.

At the mention of test results, William Brooks’s expression changed a bit too.

“Don’t remind me, I’m worried too. Last time’s math and English were ridiculously hard.”

He spoke in a low voice, but a girl sitting in front of them turned her head slightly, a hint of amusement and pride flashing in her eyes. Her name was Julia Harris. She had a great figure—curvy even at a young age, quite striking. Although her looks were only average and she wasn’t exactly pretty, her lively personality made her somewhat well-known in the class and even in neighboring classes.

“By the way, Grace Miller, can I borrow your Walkman for a bit?” Julia Harris was a bit vain, and her family wasn’t well-off. When Grace Miller was admitted to No. 3 High School, his father David Miller had rewarded him with a Sony cassette Walkman with a remote control and LCD display, which Grace Miller treasured. But after starting school, since they sat together and Julia Harris was outgoing, she would chat with Grace Miller from time to time, so they became acquaintances. Seeing other classmates with Walkmans, enjoying themselves with the remote, Julia Harris couldn’t help but borrow Grace Miller’s a few times after discovering he had one too. With his old personality, Grace Miller would blush whenever a girl talked to him and had no resistance to such requests.

Although the current Grace Miller was no longer the same as before, he still wouldn’t refuse such a small favor. He reached into his desk and handed over a black Walkman with a remote control and earphones.