Chapter 4

The whole academic circle laughed at our school.

They said admissions was precise: they exclusively recruited hopeless romantics.

After running the prep cohorts for years, barely anyone ever passed the entrance exams.

Our academic advisor had somehow dug up a brutal mock exam pack, determined to scrub away the department's shame.

Harper had dubbed it: The Tiger Mom of Exam Takers.

If your score didn't cut it, the advisor's merciless phone call would come tearing through your line.

Some didn't believe the hype and tried their luck.

They got chewed out so hard they lost all their fight.

Down below, the top students the advisor had pinned his hopes on were completely pale, only their teeth showing.

They exchanged nervous glances.

Nobody dared look at the advisor's thunderous face on the podium.

"You all bombed it?"

Crickets.

The spectators on the sidelines were whispering gleefully:

"These kids are playing the long game. If they pass, they get a degree; if they fail, they leave with a partner."

"Our pass rate might be low, but our coupling rate is insane."

"Way higher than the art department next door."

The advisor's face darkened with every passing second.

His eyes swept the room and finally landed on me, quietly picking at my nails.

"Maya, why don't you give it a shot?"

I looked up, completely blank.

"Huh?"

"Me?"

Even though I thought this whole exercise was ridiculous, the eerie, forced warmth on the advisor's face pressured me into shuffling up to the podium.

He clapped my shoulder. "I know you've always been a good, diligent student. You wouldn't want outsiders laughing at our department, would you?"

The whispers below surged, and a bizarre sense of responsibility flared up inside me.

I puffed out my chest. "Don't worry, Professor. I got this in the bag."

The moment I picked up the chalk, ready to write the solution on the board, Logan grabbed my wrist.

"Maya can't do it!"

Excuse me, what do you mean I can't?

The advisor was beside himself with rage. He glared at Logan, gnashing his teeth. "Fine! If she can't, you do it."

"Don't tell me you can't either!"

Logan’s gaze was utterly cool. "Boring."

The tension between them instantly turned cutthroat.

I leaned toward the advisor, trying to defuse the bomb. "Professor, didn't you graduate from here too?"

"Why don't you try it yourself?"

He kept his scowl firmly in place. "Mind your own business."

Me: "..."

Alright!

Guess that was on me for speaking up.

With an intimidating professor glaring ahead, Logan gripping my wrist like a vice behind me, and a crowd of onlookers clutching their phones, practically salivating for a fistfight to break out...

I patted Logan’s hand to reassure him.

"It’s fine, Senior."

"I totally got this."

Logan: "..."

His brow twitched, looking like he wanted to say something.

I pulled my hand free and picked up the chalk again.

The very second I finished scrawling the final answer on the board, the bell rang, instantly rescuing me from the awkward spotlight.

During my "recovery period"—or rather, my cooling-off period—the news of the advisor calling me out spread through the entire department.

A few gossips even dug up the fact that on my very first day at the study lounge, I had sat right next to Logan.

I buried my face in my hands, speechless.

"Aren't people supposed to mind their own business?!"

Harper sat on the edge of the bed, cracking sunflower seeds.

"Other people's lives are boring. Yours is a reality show."

"Do you know who dragged you out of the lecture hall after you got called on?"

I stayed silent.

"The notoriously silent, unapproachable academic god, Logan, took you by the hand and walked you right out of the room in front of everyone."

"The advisor chased after you two, screaming his head off, and Logan didn't let go once."

"You should've seen how purple the advisor's face was!"

I pulled the blanket entirely over my head, refusing to face reality.

Harper couldn't help but sigh wistfully. "I gotta admit, watching an aloof genius fall for someone is insanely hot."

I cut her off immediately. "Logan and I are just normal classmates!"

Harper choked for a second. "Normal? I wouldn't know."

"In journalism, calling an older guy 'Senior' is strictly for flirting."

"Cupping his tear-stained face, watching involuntary tears well up in the corners of his eyes, and hearing him breathless call you 'reckless'..."

"Perfection!"

Me: "..."

I didn't understand, and I was deeply disturbed.

Before I could say another word, Harper impatiently pulled out her phone. "Whatever, I'll just ask the campus forum."

The campus app was originally meant for simple announcements, but an upperclassman had modified a board for anonymous relationship advice.

[Post: What counts as a normal senior-junior dynamic between an older guy and a younger girl?]