Chapter 35: Am I the Fat Dead One?

"You're the real fool here—this identity is such a pain," Chen Fan grumbled inwardly, recalling how every time he played this role, he had to shout, "I'm the fool," all while holding back laughter. The thought always left him feeling awkward.

The elder broke in mercilessly, "Everyone else claims to be the White God, or at least coyly hints at being the Weak God, but you have to proclaim yourself the fool. Who can you blame but yourself?"

"Go away, stop talking," Chen Fan retorted, shoving the card back into his pocket before adjusting his military cap in the mirror.

The training field was unusually empty today; by the usual practice hour, only half the usual people had shown up on the parade ground. Only the boxing group was as lively as ever.

Hua Tianyi yawned and said, "The parade group’s training is delayed today, but we boxers don’t even get an afternoon break. I’m exhausted."

Chen Fan replied helplessly, "Well, we’re the special class. Naturally, the standards are stricter for us."

The incident at the school gates last night had already spread around campus. Chen Fan had heard countless versions from gossiping bystanders: gang fights, a mob boss going to war for a school beauty, even rumors that this year’s freshmen had produced a new gang leader. He didn’t bother to pay much attention. The administration, for its part, kept silent, only mentioning an altercation outside the school, while emphasizing the campus’s safety and announcing new security measures.

"Uppercut hook," Chen Fan muttered, following the commands and perfecting his movements step by step.

"Alright, everyone, take a short break," came the whistle to end training. Chen Fan was so tired he plopped straight onto the ground.

"Look at those parade guys, chatting and laughing like they’re not even training. Meanwhile, we get strict drills—mess up a fist and it’s ten push-ups. As if the leaders have such sharp eyes," Chen Fan grumbled as he sat cross-legged.

"Honestly, having the girls put on a dance would probably be more entertaining than watching a bunch of guys grunt their way through boxing," Hua Tianyi closed his eyes, seizing a chance to nap.

"Beep—"

"All personnel, prepare for training."

Chen Fan cursed under his breath as he got up. "My butt barely touched the grass and we’re back at it. In this heat, it’s torture."

Seeing Hua Tianyi unmoved, Chen Fan smacked him on the head, and the mountain of a man beside him stirred at last.

Hua Tianyi yawned, clutching his head, "I was up late working on course selection—barely got any sleep."

"Isn’t it just picking some classes? How hard can it be? Just choose what you need, adjust as necessary, and you’re set," Chen Fan asked, genuinely puzzled.

"You’re too naïve," Hua Tianyi sighed. "First, you have to fill your schedule without any conflicts. Next, you have to actually get into the classes, and for some popular ones, the odds are terrible—five or six hundred students competing for sixty spots. And most importantly, the same course taught by different professors can be night-and-day. There are plenty of traps."

"Traps? Even course selection is that tricky?" Chen Fan was surprised; he’d thought it was a simple process.

"A few years back, some upperclassmen put together a ‘Hitman League’ ranking. Any professor on that list is a killer—bad temper, abysmal teaching, or both. You have to be careful and avoid them if you can," Hua Tianyi explained, pulling out his phone and launching into an enthusiastic explanation.

The two of them huddled in the back, thinking they were being discreet. Chen Fan took the phone and skimmed the list.

"There are so many teachers on this list! What’s left to pick from?" Chen Fan was shocked and glanced nervously at the instructor before handing the phone back.

"Less than twenty percent, probably. And even among those, there are rankings. Some are Supreme Killers—avoid them at all costs. Most of the rest, if you’re serious, you can scrape by," Hua Tianyi said earnestly.

"Supreme Killers? Isn’t that a bit dramatic? How many students have they failed?" Chen Fan was skeptical; after all, they were all teachers—how bad could the difference be?

Hua Tianyi pointed to Luo Zhenxiang, ranked number one. "The Supreme Killer, chair of the Hitman League, teaches College Chinese. His favorite things are random roll calls, refusing to pass anyone not sitting in the first three rows, and setting fiendishly difficult exams. His fail rate is seventy-four percent."

"Seventy-four percent? So in a class, nearly forty students will fail?" Chen Fan counted on his fingers.

Hua Tianyi nodded. "Luckily, he doesn’t handle retakes—otherwise, who knows how many more would suffer. If you take his class, be prepared to retake it. A senior once scored sixty on the exam, but Luo gave him fifty-eight for participation, dragging him down to a fail."

Chen Fan felt a chill. What a nest of oddballs—he’d need to be careful with course selection. "Can you send me that list?"

Hua Tianyi chuckled. "Just check the school forum—it's pinned at the top of the main page."

"Hey, you two fatties at the back—I’ve had my eye on you for a while. Stop messing around. Out of line!" The instructor’s shout startled Chen Fan. He looked over and realized the instructor was staring right at him.

"I’m not a fatty—he can’t mean me," Chen Fan tried to reassure himself.

"No response, huh? Want me to come fetch you? Get out here and run two laps around the field. If I have to come myself, it’ll be frog jumps instead."

Chen Fan looked around but didn’t see any actual fatty in their row. Maybe the instructor really did mean him.

"I am not a fatty," Chen Fan insisted to himself.

"Come on, two laps won’t kill you," Hua Tianyi shot him a look and tugged his sleeve.

"Fine, fine, I’ll be the fatty," Chen Fan grumbled, leaving the ranks and shuffling onto the track.

Watching the parade group lounging in the shade, Chen Fan sighed, "If I’d known, I wouldn’t have switched to boxing. Marching under the trees every day sounds like paradise now."

"Alright, one lap is enough. Back to training," the instructor called at the finish line, signaling them back into formation.

...

"Training dismissed. We’ll continue this afternoon."

Even though they finished ten minutes early, Chen Fan felt no joy. They were the last group left on the field, and at this rate, there’d be no bowls or chopsticks left in the cafeteria by the time they got there.

There was still half an hour before course selection opened at noon. Chen Fan couldn’t be bothered to eat, so he ordered delivery and headed straight back to the dorm.

"Everyone’s here. Be careful with the killer teachers during selection," someone warned as he entered.

"Dragon just told us," Lai Guangyi said, sticking out his tongue. "We’ve already filtered them out."

Xu Changhui added anxiously, "It’s tough to schedule everything that way—unless you get lucky and secure all your choices in the first round, you’ll probably have to face some killers in the second or third round."

Wei Youlong looked unfazed, holding an unlit cigarette in one hand and flicking his lighter with the other. He grinned, "What’s got you so happy? You have a trick for course selection?" Chen Fan asked, unable to resist.

"Last night’s mess is settled. No more worries. As for Xu Ying, she’s out of the question; time to pick a new target. You should go for her—after all, you did well last night. Think of it as me doing you a favor," Wei Youlong said, his stomach jiggling as he went, "yo-yo-yo."

"Tch, I thought you had a real trick for course selection," Chen Fan lost interest and flopped into his seat.

"If you don’t want to go to class, just pay someone to take your place. Ninety minutes for twenty-five bucks—not bad," Wei Youlong continued.

"Twenty-five bucks? That’s almost a day and a half of my meals," Lai Guangyi calculated.

"Well, if you ever need a stand-in, just make sure to take good notes for me," Wei Youlong joked, patting Lai Guangyi on the shoulder.

Chen Fan blocked out their chatter, focusing entirely on figuring out the ins and outs of course selection.