They Dumped Me—Now They’re Reincarnated and Obsessed? - Chapter 5
Sure enough, as soon as Mei Jian finished speaking, one of the boys in Class 7, clearly provoked, shot back:
“This is our class! If you want to act like a big shot, go back to Class 10!”
Yan Ze wasn’t fazed in the slightest. Hands in his pockets, he swept a cold glance across the boys in Class 7.
“Oh? Now you all know how to stand up and act tough? Where the hell were you when one of your girls was getting bullied?”
Mei Jian snapped, “Shut up!”
His headache flared. Storming over, he grabbed Yan Ze by the collar and hissed under his breath, “Didn’t you hear what I said? If you want to stir up trouble, do it back in your own class. You think flexing here is helping her? You’re just making things worse!”
Yan Ze growled back, “You’re the kind of coward I can’t stand—hiding behind fake civility. If you won’t help her, at least don’t get in my way!”
Trying to hold back his fury, he declared, “A real man stands his ground. I said I’ll protect her—and I will. I have what it takes. I won’t let her suffer even the slightest insult right in front of me!”
At the back of the room, a tall guy in a light gray hoodie leaned back in his seat. He had narrow, shifty eyes and bulging muscles. Lazily spinning his math book in one hand, he finally spoke up.
“So, you’re Yan Ze?”
His voice was cold, laced with challenge.
Yan Ze grinned, turning to face him. “Let me make this clear, for everyone. Yeah, I’m Yan Ze. If you’ve got a problem with me, if you want to throw down—come at me.”
Mei Jian let out an exhausted “tsk” and rubbed his face in frustration.
The hoodie guy stood. All 6’2” of him loomed large, arms and legs thick with muscle.
“Then get the hell out of Class 7 right now. If I catch you stepping in here again, I’ll beat your ass every single time!”
Yan Ze: “…”
Damn it. He was about to leave anyway, but now he couldn’t back down.
Mei Jian sighed deeply, already seeing the mess coming. What an idiot.
He kicked Yan Ze hard on the backside.
Yan Ze exploded. “You wanna die, Mei Jian?!”
He spun and threw a punch.
Mei Jian, just as angry, shot back sarcastically, “Not as much as you clearly do.”
The two of them stood grappling at the back door, fists clenched in each other’s collars, glaring furiously—until—
“WHAT’S GOING ON AT THE BACK OF CLASS 7?!”
The familiar jingle of keys echoed down the hall.
It was the vice principal, nicknamed “Mediterranean” thanks to his balding head. His jingling keychain and stomping footsteps were his signature arrival cue.
He stormed toward the classroom, his sharp eyes already locked on the back row.
Instantly, all the students scattered to their seats—including hoodie guy.
Caught out in the open, Yan Ze and Mei Jian couldn’t dodge in time.
Mediterranean barked, “You again?!”
Yan Ze, having been burned before, quickly pointed at Mei Jian. “Him too!”
Mediterranean had been about to let Mei Jian off the hook, but Mei Jian calmly admitted, “I threw the first punch.”
After a brief silence, Mediterranean scolded, “You two! To the discipline office. Cool your heads!”
He had more classes to patrol before the assembly began. Mei Jian and Yan Ze didn’t argue. They just turned and headed downstairs.
—
In the discipline office, Mei Jian began, tone cold:
“I don’t expect your limited brainpower to understand subtlety, so I’ll say it straight: Yan Ze, you bring trouble and make enemies. If you really care about Tingxue getting back to a normal life, then stay in your own class, sleep if you want, but stop bringing chaos to me and her.”
Yan Ze scoffed. “Look in the mirror, Mei Jian. That hypocritical face of yours makes me sick. You think I’ll go back and sleep while my girlfriend’s being insulted, bullied, and stalked by some scheming wolf? You won’t help her—fine. But don’t block me. Are you deaf? Didn’t you hear what that girl just called her?!”
Mei Jian said evenly, “Conflicts and misunderstandings are normal among classmates. Violence doesn’t solve it. You have to work through things, bit by bit—”
Yan Ze cut him off. “You’re not seventeen. Don’t pretend. Do you really think with Tingxue’s background, she’ll be respected here? She won’t! If no one stands up for her, if no one stops it, then any lowlife will think it’s okay to bully her!
Just because her mom’s not a bureau director, just a maid in the director’s house—because they don’t even have a proper place to stay and are crashing at your house—does that mean she deserves this?!”
Mei Jian laughed bitterly. “Well, well… maybe you do have a brain in there.”
Yan Ze growled, “You think I’m stupid? These brats only know how to suck up and kick down. And you—you turn a blind eye, preaching ‘patience.’ Who the hell are you fooling? Who’s supposed to endure all this?”
Mei Jian asked calmly, “Can you protect her 24/7? You barged into my class without knowing the full story and threatened to rip people’s tongues out. How do you think that made the other kids view her? When you leave, who cleans up the mess? I can fix things, but I can’t watch her every second.”
Yan Ze clenched his jaw, his eyes blazing.
Mei Jian continued, “Her dorm situation is tense too. But it’s only been a month. No one knows anyone well yet. She’s not good at socializing, and her family issues make her look like an easy target. But she hasn’t made any real enemies. If her grades improve, teachers will protect her. Over time, her classmates will come around. Most of them just follow the crowd. You get what I’m saying, right?”
Yan Ze finally spoke, “You can say all you want. But here’s my bottom line: I can’t bear it.”
Mei Jian sighed. “Yan Ze, you’re the one who needs a mirror. See if that thing can reflect your brain.”
Yan Ze stood. “Yeah? Then I’ve got nothing more to say.”
He picked up a chair and ripped off one of its legs. “I’m sick of looking at your giant professor brain. Go get it shrunk in a hospital!”
Just as he raised the chair—
Mediterranean returned.
His sharp little eyes zeroed in. “Yan Ze! What are you doing?! Can’t even sit still?! You wanna raise a chair? Fine! Raise it—and hold it while standing here!”
Yan Ze slowly set the chair down.
Mei Jian said, “Sir, he keeps showing up to provoke trouble in our class.”
Yan Ze muttered, “You really aren’t a man…”
Mediterranean shot him a death glare.
“You can save it. Mei Jian, back to class. Yan Ze, you’re not going anywhere. Call your parents in tomorrow.”
Yan Ze protested, “What did I do? I didn’t even hit him!”
Mediterranean fired off: “What didn’t you do? Multiple teachers reported you—sleeping in class, stirring up fights, wearing ridiculous outfits, no interest in studying. Tell me, were you the one smoking in the bathroom during lunch? If you don’t want to study, why come to school? Go sleep at home!”
Mei Jian stood. “Sir, I’ll head back now.”
Mediterranean waved him off and turned to Yan Ze. “What were you even doing in Class 7?”
Yan Ze: “They were bullying someone. I just happened to be nearby and tried to reason with them—”
“Oh, what a hero,” Mediterranean sneered. “Are you a vigilante now? Who made you judge and jury? Why are you loitering around someone else’s class?”
Yan Ze replied, half-serious, “I just have a strong sense of justice.”
“I think you were just looking for a fight! And you even dragged a good student into it. You don’t study, and now you’re trying to ruin others too?”
Yan Ze sighed. “Fine, fine. My grades suck. It’s all my fault. Can I go now?”
“You wish!” Mediterranean slapped down a pen and a sheet of essay paper. “Write me a self-reflection! Eight hundred words! And call your mother. She needs to be here tomorrow. Got it?!”
Yan Ze sighed and reached for the paper—but as he sat down, he crashed to the floor.
The chair had completely collapsed. He’d broken it earlier in his little outburst.
Still sprawled out, he pushed up his bangs and sighed again.
A white smartphone slid from his pocket.
Mediterranean’s eyes, small but sharp, lit up. He walked over.
Yan Ze’s face changed. He clutched the phone protectively.
It was Xie Tingxue’s phone—the one she had in the future. When he woke up ten years earlier, somehow it had traveled back with him. It had no signal or internet—basically a fancy brick.
Mediterranean said, “Give it here! What is this junk? Coming to school every day to mess around with this stuff!”
He snatched the phone and poked at the side button—nothing. Then he pressed the home button. The screen lit up and displayed the time.
He stared. “What is this? An MP4 player?”
Yan Ze was stunned. Then it hit him: ten years ago, smartphones weren’t mainstream. The Apple founder had just announced the first iPhone.
“Uhh…” He swallowed the curse that almost slipped out.
“…My mom bought it. To help me study English.”
Mediterranean looked conflicted and finally set the phone on the desk. “Studying? With this? I’ll hang onto it. You clearly come from a family with money—why won’t you study?”
Yan Ze replied quietly, “I just can’t seem to learn.”
“Can’t, or won’t?” Mediterranean said bitterly. “What a waste of a perfectly good brain.”
Those words reminded Yan Ze of something Xie Tingxue had once said.
One year, he starred in a big-budget drama as a genius academic. On the day of the makeup test, she’d looked at him and said:
“You’re really wasting that face. If you were even a little smart, I could hype you up to the stars.”
He smiled stupidly at the memory.
Mediterranean interrupted, “What’s your plan? If you mess around for all three years of high school, you’ll graduate with a middle school education. What then? This isn’t compulsory education. If you keep fighting and skipping class, the school will expel you. Your parents spent all that money to get you in—was it just so you could sleep and fight?”
Yan Ze sobered. After a long silence, he said, “Let me call my mom.”
Mediterranean handed him the landline.
Yan Ze’s tone softened: “Mom, stop playing mahjong… Come to school. Yeah, now.”
“I didn’t fight. I just… want to change classes.”
“I don’t have the foundation for science subjects. I picked the wrong track in first year. I want to switch to liberal arts.”
His mom was shocked. “You? Willing to memorize stuff? You’re so lazy—”
His voice turned firm. “It’s a rare chance. I want to try. Are you coming or not?!”
Twenty minutes later, a Porsche pulled up at the school gate. A glamorous, jewelry-clad woman in high heels strutted in.
Yan Ze smiled.
His mother, stunning and youthful, whipped off her sunglasses and beamed. “My son! You’ve finally come around? Ready to study?!”
She sounded like she was acting in an opera.
She was, in fact, an opera fanatic—so much so that she talked with a theatrical flair.
Yan Ze: “Mom, I want to transfer to Class 7.”
Mom: “Teacher, we’re transferring to Class 7!”
Mediterranean eyed them warily. “Why Class 7?”
Mom: “Hmm? Yeah, why Class 7?”
Yan Ze: “Only the Class 7 homeroom teacher teaches math in the liberal arts track. I suck at math. I’ll need him. That’s why.”
Mom’s eyes lit up. He thought this through!
She clapped joyfully. “My son! You’re finally striving to improve! Teacher, we’re transferring to Class 7!”
Mediterranean grumbled, “Fine. But this MP4—don’t let him bring this kind of distraction to school again.”
Yan Ze wanted to protest but thought better of it. The school wasn’t a safe place for the phone. Better to let his mom take it home where it’d be secure.
She didn’t care much about gadgets, so she just stuffed it in her designer handbag.
Yan Ze, worried she might lose it, warned her, “Mom, it’s expensive. Keep it safe.”
“Okay, sweetie~ Don’t worry~ Mommy’s got it!”
That evening, Class 7’s homeroom teacher—Old Veggie—was ashen-faced, but in the end, had no choice but to accept this problem child.
After paying the materials fee, Yan Ze hugged a stack of new textbooks and grinned.
During evening self-study, he swaggered into Class 7. A new desk had been set up by the back door just for him.
He sat down, smug and smiling.
To the rest of Class 7, that smile looked like open provocation.
They whispered amongst themselves. Xie Tingxue stared in horror.
“…Why is he here? What’s he trying to do?”
Snap! Mei Jian’s slender fountain pen broke clean in two in his hand.
Jaw tight, he muttered, “This damn wildcard.”