Before I enrolled in school.
I know the subjects I'm studying.
I also know how to learn.
Having someone to teach you and not having someone to teach you are two different things.
Whether the person teaching knows how to teach is another matter entirely.
"Geniuses are only fit to teach geniuses," is a saying my father often said.
He told me that many problems, which require a lengthy calculation process for ordinary people—a process that might take them half an hour, an hour, or even a day or two—are solved instantly by geniuses. Therefore, a good teacher is definitely not a genius. And now, in this academy…
Most teachers are geniuses.
So he told me that if I really wanted to learn something, I should ask those classmates who got good grades for help. By asking for help, I didn't mean asking them for the answers to the questions, but rather asking them about their thinking process and logic when reading the book.
Knowledge is like a series of buildings.
Start with the foundation and gradually work your way up. The better the foundation, the more stable the building will be.
These words came from my experienced and knowledgeable father.
He said something similar to what my father said.
I don't understand, but I'm not convinced.
I grew increasingly disgusted with him; I felt he was just trying to attract attention.
Just like in elementary and middle school, I became the class monitor. I've held this position since I was little, and I've come to not care much about it anymore. I don't really want to be the class monitor anymore either.
But when I think of his hateful face, I feel that being a class monitor wouldn't be so bad.
I know what I was thinking at the time; I wanted to cause him trouble, and he knew he wasn't the kind of person who followed the rules.
Sure enough, he ran into trouble the next day.
He did not hand in his homework.
I questioned him about why he hadn't paid, my tone tinged with schadenfreude.
Yet he remained indifferent, and in his indifferent eyes I seemed to see some disgust.
Yes, it was disgust. I know that feeling very well; it's like how I feel looking at the boys who used to pursue me. In my mind, it was only natural that they liked me—I was good-looking and had good grades. But if they said it out loud, then they were in the wrong. Why bring it up and make everyone uncomfortable? But today, I saw my past reflected in his eyes.
At that moment, my heart raced.
However, I still tried to remain calm.
No! I'm very calm. What am I afraid of?
It's obvious that he didn't hand in his homework, isn't it?
He told me that his teacher said he could study at his own pace.
I shouted, "Impossible!"
It's only been a short time since school started, how could he possibly be like that!
I know that's possible!
But I've lost face! I'm going to get it back.
Our argument attracted the attention of other onlookers.
His brows furrowed even more.
He told me, somewhat impatiently, that whether I believed him or not, I could verify it. If he was wrong, I could ask the teacher to punish him. Why should I question him about such a simple question, especially since I had no reason to do so?
Normally, anyone I question usually stammers out a plausible but untrue answer.
However, when the roles were reversed, I realized just how awkward it was.
Many students echoed this sentiment, saying, "Yes, if you have a question, just go to the teacher."
Some classmates agreed with me, saying that as the class monitor, it was only right that he collect all the homework.
The latter are mostly boys. I understand what they're thinking, and I also find it disgusting.
For a moment, I was at a loss.
Then just go find the teacher.
He said those words indifferently, and then took me to find the teacher.
I know for sure that he wasn't lying.
But what if...?
At that time, the fantasy that existed in my mind was still there.
I didn't feel truly relieved until the teacher told me that I no longer needed to worry about his homework.
I thought he would mock me, but he didn't. He just quietly went back to the classroom and quietly read his book.
At that moment, I suddenly realized that he didn't seem to care about me, or rather, he didn't want to waste his time on me. The shame and anger I felt just now turned into confusion.
I was in a bad mood, and even when I got home, I was still sullen.
My father noticed my emotions and told me that if I was wrong, I should apologize properly, and that I shouldn't act like that.
I thought about it and realized I might have been overthinking it; I really should apologize.
My father helped me resolve my inner conflict.
But my mother's hesitant expression puzzled me.
Looking back now, I guess my mother probably realized back then that I had developed feelings for him. But she didn't say it out loud.
After I got back, I apologized to him.
He forgave me, but his expression remained indifferent, his eyes almost glued to the book, and he only said a few words to me.
I got a little angry again, but remembering my father's instructions, I managed to suppress my temper.
It's just that he's good at studying!
What's so great about that? I can do that too!
Let's see if you can still maintain this feeling after I've taken first place from you.
I'm not convinced by him. I want to prove that I'm better than him, and that his so-called achievements are nothing special.
What I didn't realize was that, at the start of the semester, without even a single exam, everyone subconsciously assumed that he was better than everyone else—how terrifying was that? Even those who disliked him wouldn't question his grades.
The results of the first exam are out.
I'm second, he's first.
I got full marks in every subject; I was so frustrated I almost broke my teeth.
I was waiting for his smugness, and also for his sarcastic remarks, after all, at that stage, I was indeed targeting him.
To my utter surprise, on the day the results were announced, he didn't even look at them. He just silently studied, as if getting first place was nothing more than a trivial matter to him.
While I was still immersed in the feeling of failure, his behavior gradually became outrageous.
Sometimes, he wouldn't even come to class. Even when he did come, he would just sit there writing and drawing by himself.
Seeing him like this, I knew my chance had come.
He's arrogant and conceited; I'm sure I'll beat him in the next exam!
However, the situation I expected did not happen. He unsurprisingly got a perfect score again. I took his test paper and suddenly realized that I couldn't understand it at all. His test paper was different from ours!
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