Chapter 2

The first thing Patrick Whitney did on his first day running the elite class was rip my personal training chart off the back wall.

"From today, we do it one way. Same pace, same tests, same rankings for everyone."

Midday break was cancelled. Students had to be at school by five in the morning. Every one of my sorted practice sets was swapped out for competition papers.

I handed him the forty student profiles I'd built. He called them a lot of fuss and flash, then turned around and rebuilt my collection of high-frequency errors into his own weekly quizzes.

A week later, the class average was up three points.

The parents' group lit up instantly.

"Mr. Whitney's only had them seven days and it's already working!"

"Ms. Pruitt fussed around for two whole months and still couldn't match a real teacher in one week."

At the parents' meeting, Whitney took every bit of the credit for himself.

But the test paper on the projector was one I'd put together by hand from those forty students' mistakes. The date I'd made it was still sitting in the bottom right corner.

When I pointed that out in front of everyone, his face froze.

"A few questions, that's all. Does it matter who compiled them?"

Glenda Fox cut in, her voice cold.

"Mr. Whitney's willing to use your old materials. That's him showing you respect. Don't go clawing after credit just because you got removed."

I didn't bother arguing. I only reminded Whitney of one thing.

"This training set is good for one week. The students' weak spots shift. You have to reassess."

He couldn't have cared less.

"Since when is studying so delicate? Run the drills a few more times and they'll get it."

The second week, he doubled the number of test papers.

The third week, the System warnings started firing off like mad.

【13 students have entered a high-risk state.】

Anxiety, physical symptoms, a lot of them started breaking down.

I brought the report to Principal Dickerson. He pushed it back at me without even looking.

"You're the math teacher. Stay out of class management."

Two days later, in the middle of a practice exam, one student went white in the face, clutched his chest, and slumped over his desk.

I wanted to get him to a hospital right away. Whitney blocked the door.

"There's forty minutes left. If a top student can't take even this much pressure, how's he supposed to sit the college admissions exam?"

I called for an ambulance.

The diagnosis was arrhythmia brought on by exhaustion, with severe anxiety.

The next day, Glenda Fox marched into the office with a group of parents.

"Who gave you permission to stop the exam on your own?"

I set the diagnosis in front of her.

She didn't so much as glance at it.

"Mr. Whitney says the boy was just nervous. You're the one who called the ambulance and made his stress worse!"

That same day, the monthly exam scores came out.

The elite class average had dropped nine points. First in the grade down to fourth.

Glenda slapped a complaint on my desk anyway, accusing me of hiding the core lesson plans.

I almost laughed.

"I handed over every file weeks ago. I also told Mr. Whitney the plan has to be adjusted as the students' situation changes."

Glenda seized on it at once.

"So you did hold something back."

The next day, I was pulled from every class, and my permanent-position status was cancelled along with it.

Right after, an article called Student Teacher Manipulates Top Students to Pad Her Own Resume was making the rounds through every parents' group in the city.

My photo and my resume were all out in the open.

Every school that had contacted me withdrew its interview invitation at the same time.

Glenda didn't just want me out of Mingde. She wanted every exit sealed behind me.

Two weeks later, Principal Dickerson laid two documents in front of me.

One a voluntary resignation letter. The other a notice of disciplinary action for a teaching incident.

"The committee's made it clear. You don't leave, they pull millions in donations."

"Resign on your own and the school won't put anything on your record. Otherwise, you're forced out for a teaching incident."

I looked at him.

"Saving a student whose heart rate was crashing counts as a teaching incident?"

Dickerson looked away.

"One word from President Fox. You really think any school out there will still take you?"

Just then my phone buzzed.

【Ms. Pruitt, West River High School No. 3 still has one permanent position open. I'll hold it for you for three days.】

The System lit up right after.

【High-compatibility class detected. Accept the new-stage assignment?】

Line after line of clear student data slid past my eyes. My fingertips paused, and everything settled into place in my head.

I lifted my gaze to Dickerson, my voice even. "I agree to resign."

"See, if you'd been this sensible from the start, none of this would've happened."

The office door swung open right on cue.

Glenda Fox came in on her heels, satisfaction all over her face, impossible to hide.

"Resigning isn't enough." She tossed a statement down in front of me.

"You have to apologize publicly. Admit the elite class's earlier results were all thanks to the school and the students' own foundation. Nothing to do with you."

Chin up, her tone was arrogance itself.

"And every teaching material you compiled while you worked at Mingde belongs to the school. You are not to take any of it and use it anywhere else."

I raised my eyes to her.

"So President Fox is planning to steal my teaching work right out in the open?"

"Steal?"

She let out a scoff, like she'd just heard a joke.

"Watch how you put it. You don't want to sign, fine. But the moment you walk out of Mingde, don't expect to find half a job anywhere."

I didn't answer her. I just picked up my phone, opened that hiring notice, and turned the screen toward her.

"No need to trouble yourself, President Fox. I've already accepted a permanent position at West River High School No. 3."