I Redeemed Him, But Who Will Redeem Me? - Chapter 2

“What’s going on here?”

The homeroom teacher pointed at the grade report, her face dark as iron.
“Because of your inexplicable willfulness, our class average dropped several points. Class A didn’t even make it into the top three among all the classes. That’s never happened in the history of Class A!”

Of course, there was something she didn’t say out loud: with these results, the bonus she was supposed to get as homeroom teacher had vanished.

The teacher stared hard at her face, clearly suppressing her anger.
“Zhong Fei, do you have a problem with me?”

Lin Xicai’s face flushed and paled in turns, her mouth opening and closing without words.
“…I don’t.”

Beside the grade report sat a stack of spread-out test papers, covered in vast blank spaces. The female teacher tilted her chin toward them.
“Then answer me—what’s going on here?”

From the moment the ranking was posted, Lin Xicai had become like the zoo’s star attraction—her shocking results drawing curious crowds, gossip, and whispering. Even now, while she stood in the office, a group had gathered by the window pretending to look outside, waiting for her answer.

Better to face it than drag it out. Lin Xicai paused, then gave up resisting.
“I didn’t know how to do them,” she said.

“Didn’t know how?”

The teacher’s face darkened further. To her, that reply was outright defiance. She flipped open the exam paper, jabbing at the blank space with her finger.
“You couldn’t do this one? Or this one—you couldn’t do this?”

Lin Xicai gathered herself, lifted her gaze, her eyes shimmering faintly with unshed tears.
“I’m not joking, teacher. It’s like all the knowledge in my head suddenly disappeared.”

The office fell into dead silence.

“Maybe it’s stress—I couldn’t perform at all. The moment I saw the questions, I got dizzy, broke into a cold sweat. It’s not that I didn’t want to write; I really couldn’t. If you don’t believe me, you can check the exam cameras.”

Her voice hitched with a note of genuine-sounding grief.
“No one would joke about their own grades. I’m the one who’s most upset about this. I don’t even know how to explain it to my family…”

The teacher’s anger faltered, blocked halfway. She couldn’t tell if the girl was lying. Stress and psychological issues could affect performance—but from first place to dead last? Wasn’t that a bit too extreme?

Rubbing her temples, exhausted, the teacher opened her mouth, shut it, then waved her hand.
“Go.”

Leaving the office, Lin Xicai felt every step of the hundred meters back to her classroom watched. Curious stares followed her, gossip flaring in her wake:

“Forgot everything overnight? How is that possible?”
“Yeah, too weird. Hard to believe. She used to dominate first place every year. Now she’s last—can she even handle that mentally?”
“Her nose was always in the air, looking down on poor students. Now look at her—she’s the one who’s fallen.”
“Can she even stay in Class A now?”
“No way. Class A cuts people every term. I’ve never heard of anyone who placed last still being allowed to stay.”

Class A was Fengling Academy’s best of the best—the elite among the elite. After each major exam, rankings decided who stayed and who was expelled. With such rules, everyone lived in fear, clinging desperately to their results.

Now their strongest rival had suddenly collapsed. It was the headline event.

Back in class, not just students but teachers began testing her. During lessons, one after another called on her to answer. At first, she was embarrassed, stammering, panicked, ashamed. But as class after class wore on, she grew numb. By the end, she could stand tall and calmly throw out:
“I don’t know.”

After she let go, Lin Xicai felt lighter. Failing grades weren’t a crime—so what? Shoot me?

The aura of a failing student couldn’t be faked. Teachers, skeptical at first, gradually realized—it seemed real.

Faces around her shifted between “so it really is true” and “what a pity.”

After school, the teacher called her in again. Maybe regretting her earlier harshness, this time her tone was soothing.

She explained that while school rules dictated that failing students must be transferred out of Class A, Lin Xicai’s case was special. She believed she would recover quickly and offered to apply for an exception—so she shouldn’t worry, just rest and get back on track.

But Lin Xicai shook her head.
“Thank you, teacher, but I want to respect the rules. I’ll transfer.”

The teacher was stunned.
“Do you know what you’re doing? With these grades, you’ll be sent to Class Z! Do you understand what that class is like? This was just an accident—next time you’ll bounce back!”

After a pause, Lin Xicai still refused.

Not out of pride, but because she knew the truth: even with ten more chances, she could never climb back into the top ranks. At best, she might go from last place to second-to-last.

If she stayed, then what about next time? And the time after?

Holding onto a seat she no longer deserved, surrounded by wolves, in Class A’s relentless pace—she’d be torn apart.

Compared to that needle-strewn seat, Class Z might actually suit her better.

She was a failing student now. She’d rather be with her own kind.

The teacher sighed, part pity, part disappointment. There was nothing else to do. She let her go with a few kind words.

The transfer paperwork went through quickly. Thanks to Miss Fu’s gleeful gossiping, everyone—including her mother—soon knew she’d flunked.

Once crushed under her grades, her cousin now gloated openly. Lin Xicai didn’t even mind—if anything, her cousin’s big-mouth had helped her. Since the transfer required a parent’s signature, her grades couldn’t stay hidden anyway. At least this way, with her cousin stirring the pot, she could act devastated and win sympathy instead of scorn.

Crying to her mother about her grades, she expected anger and disappointment. Instead, her mother worried more about her health, booking her a hospital checkup and signing the transfer papers without protest.

The school worked fast. By the next day, she was officially reassigned to Class Z.

From Class A to Class Z—the highest to the lowest.

Perhaps dazzled by her old reputation, the Class Z teacher herself came to welcome her. She was a kind-looking woman, warm and gentle. Lin Xicai followed politely, answering her questions, though nerves still gnawed at her—the fear of the unknown.

That gaze again.

The sharp, pressing stare wrapped around her once more.

Startled, she looked up. Across the sports field, on the rooftop of the opposite building, a lone figure stood.

The distance was too great. In her eyes, the figure blurred, indistinct.

So much so, she couldn’t be sure if that piercing gaze truly belonged to him.

Caught in that daze, the teacher had already led her to the door of Class Z.

That floor was full of bottom-ranked classes—noisy and restless.

But even expecting chaos, Lin Xicai still twitched a smile when she opened the door. The roar inside slammed against her: poker games, instant noodles, makeup, videos—every distraction imaginable, a mess in full bloom.

She frowned, dazed.

Uh…

She took back what she’d said earlier.

She wasn’t like these people.

She might be a failing student, but not like this. (clear distinction)

The kindly teacher’s smile faded as she barked for order. Then she pointed toward a seat in the second-to-last row, against the wall.
“That’s the only empty spot. Sit there for now. If… it doesn’t suit you, we can adjust later.”

Lin Xicai thanked her, obediently heading over.

But as she walked, she noticed—eyes lit up, bodies tensing. Her new classmates seemed… excited.

Excited in a sharp, unfriendly way.

Like wolves watching a lamb delivered into their pen.

She forced a calm smile, keeping her expression still, but followed their gazes to the desk beside hers.

A messy stack of books lay there, cover flapping open under the draft. Scrawled across the title page was a name—
Xie Shi.

Just then, a faint wave of dizziness washed over her.

In the next instant, a crisp childlike voice rang in her ear:
“Hello, host. System 909 at your service.”

Lin Xicai’s eyes flew wide open.

At the very same time, on the rooftop, the lone figure caught a bouncing red rubber ball in his hand, turned, and headed downstairs.

Another one.

His lips curved faintly, but his eyes held no warmth—only a trace of cold mockery.

As though walking toward a clumsy little stage play.