Chu Tao glanced at him in confusion, subtly shifting to create some distance from Jiang She, so that Jiang She’s barely-there breath wouldn’t touch his skin.

Chu Tao calmly asked, “And why should I?”

Jiang She kept a smile on his face, his gaze lingering on the back of Chu Tao’s neck as he moved away, and after a moment, he replied nonchalantly, “You’re the class monitor, aren’t you? Helping classmates study—pretty normal, isn’t it?”

Chu Tao tossed the paper back at him, lowering his eyes and his voice as he said, “Studying is something you have to do for yourself; no one else can do it for you.”

Yang Liu, the teacher, was lecturing up front, and Chu Tao didn’t want to make too much of a scene.

He felt like Jiang She was always subtly teasing him.

First, by making him do his laundry, now by asking him to grade his paper.

It was clear that Jiang She wasn’t suddenly trying to reform himself and become a “refreshingly different” rich kid.

He simply found his old life of ruling the roost too bland and was looking for amusement by toying with Chu Tao.

Fang Sheng chuckled, “Wow, the class monitor sure lives up to his title—dropping life advice just like that. A She, you should learn a bit from him.”

Jiang She gave an ambiguous “tsk.”

“You really won’t grade it for me?”

Chu Tao ignored him and turned his head back around.

Jiang She didn’t cause any more trouble and actually quieted down.

Chu Tao had already thoroughly understood the test that Teacher Yang was going over, and since he wasn’t the kind of student who stuck strictly to the rules, he saw no need to waste time on something he already knew.

He slid his math worksheet under the Chinese exam paper and secretly started working on his math homework.

Even though he thought making the most of every moment to study was perfectly reasonable, he still felt it could be seen as disrespectful to the teacher, so he kept his work discreet.

A paper ball suddenly flew over and landed on his desk.

Chu Tao stopped writing and instinctively glanced at the podium.

He sat in the third row—not exactly front and center, but not hidden either—so it would be easy for the teacher to spot any minor movements from the podium.

The teacher didn’t comment, which only meant she wasn’t planning on calling him out.

Then, a finger pressed on his shoulder, right by the dip near his spine.

Chu Tao immediately tensed, clenching his fists tightly.

Nobody knew that he had a small patch of skin, starting from his right ear downwards, that was particularly sensitive; even a slight touch there made him instinctively want to pull away.

He’d only discovered this himself after countless haircuts.

Whenever the buzzing clippers came near his right ear, Chu Tao’s entire back would tingle, and he’d have to pinch his waist hard to stop himself from jumping.

Whenever the barber’s hand unintentionally rested on his right shoulder or pressed down on his back, each second felt like an ordeal to Chu Tao.

He had always been afraid of getting haircuts as a child, but he hadn’t known what “sensitivity” was back then, so Song Mian would often scold him for being unruly and restless.

To avoid Jiang She accidentally touching his sensitive spot again, Chu Tao reluctantly picked up the paper ball and unfolded it.

Chu Tao glanced down, a bit surprised as he raised an eyebrow.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but Jiang She’s handwriting was unexpectedly beautiful—clean and sharp, with a fierce edge. Even though it was scrawled on crumpled, creased scrap paper, it carried a quiet power, like a sleeping beast ready to spring.

He had assumed that Jiang She only had a designer signature, but apparently, his natural handwriting was just like this.

The note had a simple message:

“The cost of offending me is high.”

Chu Tao quietly crumpled the paper in his hand, smirking coldly.

“Cost? At worst, it’s just a fight. Who’s afraid?”

Teacher Yang put down the chalk and suddenly looked in their direction. “Jiang She, Chu Tao, what are you two doing? Passing notes?”

Chu Tao’s face instantly warmed with embarrassment.

He’d just been announced as class monitor, was still dealing with the fallout from a private fight with a classmate, and now he was being called out in class—he felt completely humiliated.

Jiang She, unruffled, replied, “Teacher, we’re discussing something.”

Yang Liu raised an eyebrow, unamused. “What exactly? Say it out loud. What part of my lesson isn’t clear?”

Jiang She leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Well, the class monitor just differentiated, and we’re discussing some alpha-related questions. Might not be the best thing to say out loud.”

Laughter erupted around them.

“Damn, She-ge’s quick—already discussing ‘academic’ topics with the class monitor?”

“Tell us! We’re curious!”

“Poor new class monitor’s just a newly differentiated kid, and She-ge’s going all out!”

“Another good student bites the dust. No one in Class Three can resist corruption.”

“If the monitor weren’t an alpha, I’d say She-ge’s just being a total flirt.”

Xu Yuan’s desk partner, Xu Boshu, snickered and asked, “So what’s the story, She-ge switching it up? Omegas not your taste anymore?”

Xu Yuan shot him a fierce glare and retorted, “Shut up. She-ge’s just putting him in his place.”

Xu Boshu looked bewildered, unable to make sense of how this counted as “putting him in his place.”

Yang Liu was caught off guard, her face flushing with frustration.

Being an Omega herself, she was well aware that these newly differentiated young alphas had a lot of pent-up energy, often discussing inappropriate things among themselves. Although society had come to understand these biological differences, the school’s strict separation of Omegas and Alphas for sex education only made them more curious.

Every year, there was at least one incident that caused a scandal, fueling rumors and drama.

Chu Tao, gritting his teeth, protested, “I didn’t!”

Yang Liu smacked the table. “Alright, save all your ‘off-color’ discussions for after class! We’re in the middle of a lesson!”

Silently, Chu Tao cursed to himself, off-color, my foot.

Finally, the bell rang for the end of class. Teacher Yang handed out assignments and made a quick exit, clearly wanting to spend as little time in the classroom as possible. If it weren’t for the double pay, she would’ve said her goodbyes to the “grand masters” of Class Three long ago.

Chu Tao crumpled the paper into a tiny ball and tossed it toward the trash can at the front of the room.

He finally understood—Jiang She’s idea of a “cost” was tarnishing his reputation.

“Hey, are you really mad?”

Jiang She suddenly stood up, leaned over, and tilted his head to examine Chu Tao’s expression.

“If you help me grade the test, I’ll clear things up with them and say we weren’t discussing any of ‘that stuff’ and that the class monitor is still a wholesome, pure ‘good kid.’ What do you say?”

His voice was low, with a hint of unprecedented affection.

It was like a wild beast, never used to pleasing anyone, clumsily, mischievously reaching out to tease the one it liked.

The more Chu Tao ignored him, the more determined Jiang She was to pull him close and mess with him.

Fang Sheng, watching intently but feeling utterly invisible, was too shocked to utter a word.

She-ge didn’t seem to realize just how loaded the term “good kid” really was, carrying all sorts of unspoken suggestions.

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Author’s note: Fang Sheng: “My bro’s gone crazy.”