The Cannon Fodder’s Survival Guide at the Noble Academy - Chapter 2

◎ A man’s heart is like a needle at the bottom of the sea ◎

“Hello.”

After a few breaths of silence, the voice on the other end of the line really did belong to Roy Shelley.

As if waiting too long without hearing An Tang’s voice, the man’s tone turned cold, even carrying a hint of threat.

“Speak. If you don’t, then I’ll—”

“Y-Young Master…”

A clear yet obviously shy, husky girl’s voice came through. Roy froze for a moment, the hand that had been hovering over the hang-up button curled back.

It really was a girl.

“Hello, Young Master. I, I… you can call me Tangtang.”

The curse word that had almost slipped out of Roy’s mouth was forcibly swallowed. He had thought this was some guy’s prank.

An Tang went on: “I’m sorry, Young Master. I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I really have no choice, I… wuwu…”

The rejection Roy had been about to utter also stuck in his throat. His upbringing wouldn’t allow him to say such heartless words to a girl pouring her heart out.

“That…”

“Could you please not reject me right away? I beg you, Young Master Roy.”

Roy Shelley fell completely silent, uncharacteristically patient as he listened to the girl pour out her grievances for more than ten minutes, with frequent apologies for disturbing him slipped in between.

He didn’t really know what to say. Fortunately, she wasn’t unreasonable—she eventually stopped her sobbing after a while. Roy found it a bit strange, but not enough to dwell on.

“My family doesn’t intend to arrange a marriage match for me. If you don’t mind, you can temporarily use my name to fool your parents.”

“Thank you so much, Young Master Roy. I didn’t want to drag you into this… I only hope this call hasn’t caused you trouble. I’m so sorry. I’ll look for another way.”

“Who else would you go to?” The question slipped out before he realized it.

The girl’s tearful voice was unexpectedly firm: “Whoever it is—it can’t make my life any worse than it already is.”

With that, the line went dead.

An Tang coughed twice—his throat was killing him.

Luckily, he had downloaded a voice-changing app in advance. The VIP subscription cost money, but it was worth it. To avoid being exposed, he had been forcing his voice higher and huskier the whole time, sobbing in between, afraid the other side would notice anything off.

Fortunately, Roy Shelley was careless and hadn’t noticed. He had even patiently listened to the entire story—something far beyond An Tang’s expectations.

He had always assumed no one would sit through all that. Most of the time he only made up the beginning of a story and then winged it on the spot, scrambling for ideas until he felt dizzy.

Still, everything was within his control. Flipping through notes and snippets in books, he had concluded that Roy probably liked sweet, girly types. That’s why he’d bought the puffy dress.

But since the tragic backstory had already been spun, he couldn’t just send a photo directly.

Tangtang: [photo]

Roy Shelley: ?

[One minute later] [Message retracted]

Tangtang: Sorry, Young Master Roy, I sent that by mistake.

Roy Shelley: Why did you send me a photo? Wasn’t it on purpose?

Tangtang: Young Master… you already rejected me. Naturally, I wouldn’t be so shameless. I… Please don’t ask, I’m afraid it would dirty your ears.

Sitting on his bed, An Tang bit his finger, waiting forever without a reply.

This wasn’t right. Shouldn’t this be the clichéd moment where the guy says something like “It’s okay. I’ll take care of you”? Why was he being treated like a stranger? Wasn’t that how the protagonist shou would be treated?

Lesson learned. When typing in F3’s contact number in the message box, he hesitated for once. He had originally photographed himself in a cheerleader outfit, but now he wasn’t sure Roy would like that. So many girls cheered for him at games, and he hadn’t spared them a glance.

Still, since he had already taken the photos, it felt like a waste not to use them. So he sent them anyway.

He waited all the way until midnight without getting a reply. Finally, he gave up.

The next morning, with dark circles under his eyes, he washed up and stared into the mirror, suddenly realizing something important.

He wasn’t the protagonist shou. Naturally, he didn’t have the protagonist’s halo. Those overused, exaggerated tropes were meant to serve the main couple’s romance. For him, the “vicious cannon fodder,” only the most meticulous, reasonable plotting could possibly defy fate.

He had gone too late—the sweet white steamed buns sold two for a yuan were already gone. They were quite good, with a little sugar mixed in, sweet and soft.

The stuffed buns smelled too strong, though. You needed water to wash down the taste, but he hated drinking water—it made him need the bathroom too often, disrupting his train of thought. Holding it in was even worse, making it impossible to focus.

Wandering around the food stall area, he was lucky to spot a few leftover small buns. They were usually made from scraps left over after big buns, or from dough that hadn’t risen properly. Four for one yuan. He had never tried them before.

Buying a set, he immediately tore one open and stuffed it in his mouth. Ugh—dense and tough.

Grimacing, An Tang instantly understood why he’d never bought them before.

He was also growing a wisdom tooth. His teeth sometimes ached sharply, but he refused to waste money on a dentist. In his limited experience, going to the doctor = getting even poorer. Hearing classmates talk about tooth extractions costing thousands, even tens of thousands, had only cemented that idea.

Since the pain wasn’t constant, he just endured it. Over time, his teeth had become quite bad, unable to bite hard food—sometimes even pickled vegetables were too tough.

But he had developed coping strategies. His teeth never hurt on both sides at once. He had learned to chew entirely on one side, and when that hurt, to switch to the other. The cycle repeated, and somehow, life went on unaffected.

Stuffing more of the buns into his mouth, he hurried along.

Truthfully, An Tang wasn’t that poor. His tuition was completely waived, and Morsi Academy offered generous scholarships. He always earned first-class awards and had saved quite a bit, though not a fortune—ten, maybe twenty thousand yuan. He also qualified for many hardship subsidies, though they weren’t always easy to get.

Still, having grown up frugal, he had the habit of saving. As long as he ate enough to live, he was satisfied.

Clouds lifted from the far side of the sky, dragging the sun up. Golden sunlight spilled over his little buns, making them glow appetizingly.

From a distant high-rise, a figure in a window disappeared just as An Tang’s silhouette vanished into the building.

He had always been solitary, never wearing a watch, too focused on nibbling his bun to look up. That’s why, when he suddenly spotted the student council’s red armband, it was too late to hide.

“Stop right there, student. Which class are you in?”

An Tang turned back reluctantly, eyes sliding past the person in front of him to the tall boy behind. Fu Jieyu? Why was he here too? Damn it. Everyone knew the student council president was notoriously strict—if he was around, there was no escape.

He dragged his gaze back to the newcomer in front. Obviously a rookie—his hand holding the pen trembled, though he still tried to put on a strong front. “Answer me. What’s your name, what class? Don’t you know you can’t eat in the academic building?”

Clearly some kind of exam task—and he was the unfortunate prop.

The plea he wanted to make died in his throat. An Tang knew the situation clearly—he really was unlucky.

“Second year, Class A. An Tang.”

“One point deducted from your personal score. Next time, it’ll be three.”

“Got it,” An Tang muttered weakly and turned to go upstairs.

“It’s almost class time and you’re still dawdling here.”

The guy still wouldn’t let it go, nagging on. An Tang grew irritated. He’d already let him make a big show of docking points—why keep pestering? How annoying.

His bad mood showed plainly on his face. Especially when he saw Fu Jieyu standing squarely on the stairs, blocking the way, not budging an inch. Fury surged up, and he deliberately brushed against him in passing.

Tch. The guy didn’t even move. Felt like hitting iron. It hurt like hell—why couldn’t he be the one knocked flying instead?

Glancing down, An Tang accidentally met Fu Jieyu’s gaze. Their eyes locked for a split second before he panicked and fled.

Even back in class, seated in his place, he couldn’t shake the memory of that look. The irritation of having been blocked the night before boiled up again.

Who knew the pain of carefully crafting messages, pretending to send casual photos—only to get the single cold notification: You’ve been blocked. His bl00d pressure had shot through the roof.

He had taken four painstaking sets of photos. Only two got sent. The disappointing result left him confused, unable to figure things out.

A man’s heart is like a needle at the bottom of the sea.

The entire lesson, An Tang kept thinking about how to get closer. He rarely daydreamed in class anymore, but now he was distracted. Realizing this, he felt only regret—skipping notes for a man? Shameful!

He repented silently, scribbling down every bit of board work to review later. Morsi’s teaching pace was fast—by early second year, most of the textbook was already covered.

During break, while he was bent over his notes, someone suddenly called his name. Startled, he looked up—into the face of Pei Chengrui, pink-haired, grinning, waving at him.

Like calling a puppy.

The silent classroom seemed to echo with amplified breathing.

Panicked, An Tang pointed at himself uncertainly. Pei nodded. His legs went weak, like noodles, as he stood up.

Terrified, he forced himself to breathe steadily, reassuring himself he hadn’t exposed anything. Only a photo had been sent. The uneasy feeling ebbed slightly, the rusty wheels turning again.

What did he want with him?

Hands still cold, An Tang leaned lightly against the door for support, stretching his lips into a smile. “Hello, classmate. What’s the matter?”

“Don’t be nervous.”

Pei Chengrui slung an arm around his shoulders. An Tang staggered as he was pulled away.

What was he going to do? Countless scenes of campus bullying flashed through An Tang’s mind—he weighed the odds of calling the police or fighting back.

The outcome was a big fat zero. Campus celebrities weren’t just about looks—they had formidable family power behind them. Like a general commanding an army. Even if An Tang dared resist, Pei’s underlings would crush him first.

He peeked up cautiously, but every time, he ran straight into Pei’s gaze. His eyes burned hot, his ears tinged red. Flustered, he glared at the ground instead, refusing to look again.

Only when the two disappeared down the stairs did Class A slowly come back to life.

“Isn’t today the basketball finals? Why isn’t Pei… on the court?”

“Hasn’t started yet,” someone checked their phone. “The livestream’s delayed, still a while.”