"Quite courageous," Eric remarked.

His expression betrayed nothing as he spoke, leaving Joanna unable to discern his thoughts. She lowered her head further in shame. Eric merely glanced at her before taking back his pocketknife without demanding any explanation or reprimand.

Joanna trailed silently behind him on their way home, mortified by being caught red-handed with his knife and witnessed threatening a classmate. The air between them was heavy with unspoken tension, while the city’s rush hour traffic blared on around them.

She resisted the urge to kick loose pebbles on the sidewalk, knowing Eric wouldn’t approve. He walked with large strides, and when she lagged a few meters behind, he would occasionally pause to let her catch up—a gesture that took Joanna by surprise, leaving her feeling unexpectedly cherished.

Before she could fully absorb this attention, a small boy collided with Eric, spilling orange drink all over his uniform. The boy’s mother hurried after him, repeatedly apologizing.

The innocent-eyed child held an empty cup, its straw and lid askew. Watching Eric’s reaction closely—she recalled the cold look he gave her once for spilling water on his floor—Joanna was taken aback at how calm he remained.

When the boy’s mother offered tissues, Eric accepted with a polite "thank you" and assured her it was no problem. She also handed out lollipops as a token apology, one for Eric and one for Joanna. She seemed to view them both as playful kids needing a bit of soothing.

Joanna accepted hers and noticed Eric did the same, though his face remained expressionless, eyes lingering on the woman with unreadable depth even after she'd departed.

Mistaking his intent, Joanna shyly offered her candy to him. "Stop staring—she only gave us two."

Despite the lollipop looking quite appetizing, Eric glanced at her askance, muttering, "Fool."

"What?" Joanna pouted, unsure whether he wanted the candy or not.

In the end, Joanna enjoyed her lollipop and then cleverly claimed Eric’s as well. As she scraped the sugary remains in her mouth, the sound resonated around the room.

"Quiet down," Eric scolded, tapping her head with a book.

Joanna intentionally smacked her lips louder, a gleam in her eye.

Eric fixed her with an icy stare until Joanna crunched the lollipop, announcing, "I won't give it back even if you glare."

Despair tinged his eyes, reflecting a loss of hope in her intelligence.

Tentatively, Joanna asked, "Do you really dislike sweets?"

Eric resigned from the futile conversation.

Joanna almost asked if he preferred older women but with foresight, Eric flung a workbook at her gossip-filled face, demanding, "Finish this tonight."

It was an Olympiad math workbook, her dreaded nemesis, leaving her limp with despair.

The house returned to quietness, save for the scratch of her pen.

Eric glanced at the clock, its hands nearing nine. The stuffed animals on the shelf met his gaze with hollow eyes, expressionless reminders of Joanna’s first cottage shock upon entering his room—her fear having kept her anchored.

Tonight, he hadn’t planned to witness the classroom confrontation. Heading out, he noticed Joanna hadn’t followed as usual. Intrigued by her challenge to Michael, he wandered to the classroom only to observe Joanna, knife poised, combating her inner turmoil. 

The threatening scene unfolded to his detached observation, only for a potential tragedy to defuse with Joanna’s restraint. Her tear-streaked resolve hit him unexpectedly—a soft punch striking a corner of his soul: fragile yet unyielding amidst tears. Such contradiction fascinated him.

Looking at her through the dim light, he noted Joanna’s rounded features, short brows, and seemingly innocent, large eyes. Overlooking her rustic demeanor, her appearance wasn’t half-bad.

Agreeing to tutor her on a whim, perhaps fulfilling Liam’s request wouldn’t be overly burdensome.

News of Joanna's victory over Michael remained undisclosed, but students noticed Michael no longer antagonizing the ‘country bumpkin’. His friends hesitated now at nicknames, as he, surprisingly, refrained.

Once, Joanna bluntly criticized Michael for littering, “Can’t you see the big bin behind?”

Observers braced for drama, but Michael apologized, cleaning up sheepishly.

Classmates, especially those unfamiliar with Joanna, eagerly inquired about the confrontation, yet she divulged nothing, absorbed in study.

From school, cafeteria, dormitory, to training center, days blurred into one another. As seasons changed, long sleeves gave way to short as ceiling fans whirred to life amidst the impending midterms. Joanna’s rank ascended, drawing commendations from Mr. Howard.

Despite incremental progress, Emily, top of the class, scoffed. Responsible for submitting Joanna’s assessment notes, she rebuffed, “Your business, not mine.”

Joanna remained silent, taking her notes directly to Mr. Howard. Sun glared down like fire on her trek, reddening her cheeks as she overheard inside.

A male teacher remarked, “Kudos for handling parental pressure. If Joanna were in my class, I’d be begging the principal already.”

Mr. Howard laughed warmly, “Joanna's a dedicated, obedient kid—lacks foundation, but worth keeping in the accelerated class.”

“But those accusations about you taking bribes—and what if she flunks the finals?”

Mr. Howard replied, “People will say what they will. The principal understands Joanna’s conditions, so I'm not worried.”

The colleague bantered, “Women—such maternal instincts.”

“You’d understand if you had kids,” Mr. Howard chuckled.

Outside, stunned, Joanna clenched her notes till they crumpled with moisture. Breath steadying, she knocked, entering with trembling hands. Mr. Howard paused from turning pages, noticing, “Happy with your efforts, Joanna. Just wish you’d interact more with classmates.”

Head shaking, she almost declared her solitude-driven focus, but switched tact to reassure him, “I’m close with Eric. He tutors me often.”

Surprised, Mr. Howard softened, “Kind-hearted, isn’t he? Might seem cold but approachable.”

Joanna nodded fervently, released to return.

That evening, Joanna tore her graded papers—ten ranks felt like a hollow victory. Reflecting on Mr. Howard’s support, guilt flooded in.

Isolating in her room post-contemplation, she missed study sessions with Eric, perplexing Professor Reed over perceived fallout. Eventually called downstairs, she hesitated as Eric's voice crackled over the line, direct and cold, “Come over—finish your work.”

“I won’t,” came her defiant response, futile efforts eating away confidence.

“You think months can outdo years of others' hard work?” Eric’s words pierced, dismantling her evasion. “Emily slaves away nightly from age ten, even Michael attends rigorous holiday programs—how do you expect to match them?”

“And you?” Joanna’s voice rose, questioning, “You breeze through, how aren’t you in their league?”

Eric ranked third this exam, yet deliberately skipped half his English, bruised by tedious tasks.

Suddenly, silence engulfed the line.

Rebecca overheard, adorned in her mask, marveling at Joanna’s audacity. Unlike Reed, her acceptance marked an indifferent tutelage, but she clarified for Eric's sake, “Eric’s different.”

Different? Joanna dared not contest.

Rebecca continued, “His brother saw to his priority education, prepping him with high school papers from primary days.”

Sulking, Joanna remarked, “His brother spoils him.”

Eric abruptly hung up in exasperation.

Rebecca chuckled, adding, “Come summer, Eric competes his brother’s holiday assignments.”

...

Humbled, Joanna ventured to apologize. Clutching her workbook, she knocked timidly until Eric’s door opened. His frown bore into her.

She lowered her gaze while he snatched her study materials, rifling with swift precision, marking where needed.

“Finish these tonight,” he demanded.

A three-day workload, but Eric's unwavering sternness fueled Joanna. Determined, she vowed success through any hardship!

...

As days melded into routine, Professor Reed admired Joanna’s diligence, praising her to Rebecca with nighttime chatter, “She’s resilient. Get to know her.”

Rebecca, noncommittal in critique, yielded no further.

Gray skies lingered; Rebecca's artistic precision suffered beneath fluorescent hues, discontent with her palette’s light disparity. Enlisting Aunt Lisa’s aid, she relocated her art kit outdoors.

The French elder delayed accepting her recent order. Despite redrafting, his rejection hinted displeasure. During negotiation, he conceded, “Art is spontaneous—I’ll wait for inspiration.”

Politely acknowledging his patience, word reached Rebecca of his alternate commissions, his departure signaling subdued disapproval.

Driven by challenge, she returned to the project, infusing life’s vibrancy onto paper but still felt lacking.

Joanna’s early dismissal meant homeward at five. Looming stormclouds foretold a downpour; finding Rebecca engrossed at her easel, she cautioned, “Rain’s coming.”

In a flash of inspiration, Rebecca’s eyes glinted, muttering, “That’s what it needs!”

Bidding Aunt Lisa call for transportation, she resolved, “Cancel dinner arrangements for us—Joanna, drop your bag; accompany me."

Perplexed, Joanna stammered, “Huh?”