Teacher

“But… this doesn’t make any sense.”

“What doesn’t make sense?”

“Not even a little bit… I mean, in your performance, Professor, I didn’t see even a trace of emotional investment. That should be impossible.”

Ning Rou’s pretty face was filled with disbelief.

“How can someone have no feelings at all? Then how did you train your Acting Power to this level?”

The Professor pondered for a moment, as if searching his memories, and then answered matter-of-factly:

“Hard work.”

“Just practicing Acting Power?”

“It’s the only thing I have.”

Ning Rou fell silent.

In her memories, her friend Yuehua had also struggled with this problem. But unlike the Professor, she was merely emotionally detached, finding it difficult to invest herself—she wasn’t an absolute void like him.

Thinking about it now, perhaps the Professor’s tutoring of Yuehua really had been out of good intentions. After all, Yuehua truly had learned to invest emotion into her acting under his guidance; even if the method was flawed, she was far ahead of where he was now.

If so, hadn’t her previous accusations—calling him a failure as a teacher who was intentionally sabotaging students—been like rubbing salt in a deep wound?

For a moment, Ning Rou felt a pang of shame.

After a pause, she spoke somewhat hesitantly:

“Professor, to be honest, this is the first time I’ve encountered a case like yours. Combined with the fact that I’m just a student, I’m really not sure if I can help you.”

To be fair, her words sounded quite discouraging, much like a doctor giving a grim prognosis to a patient’s family. She fully expected the Professor to react with anger.

However, his reaction was unexpectedly calm.

“It doesn’t matter. You don’t owe me anything, Student Ning Rou. In fact, I’m already very grateful that you agreed to try.”

“Really?”

Ning Rou blinked. Suddenly, she realized that besides being a bit pitiful, the Professor standing before her was actually quite easy on the eyes.

With the pressure lifted, an unbidden surge of fighting spirit began to fill her. She spoke up with genuine enthusiasm:

“Then let’s start by testing your emotional perception!”

Quite some time had passed since I entered Tianhua Academy.

In between, so much has happened.

First was the storm during the freshman trials, which was my first introduction to the rumored Professor Nangong. I was furious back then at how he seemed to go out of his way to make things difficult for Yuehua. Others might not have understood, but I knew exactly how important that special invitation slot was to her.

But after that, for some reason, Yuehua suddenly told me she wanted to be Professor Nangong’s mentored student. At the time, I couldn’t understand it. He was the perpetrator who hurt you; how could you move closer to him? Wasn’t that like a sheep walking into a tiger’s den?

Yet, Yuehua’s opinion of him seemed to change at lightning speed. Every day, as soon as theory class ended, she would rush off to meet him. I warned her to be careful, but she didn’t take it to heart.

From that point on, pressure began to build up inside me. With my best friend staying close to such a dangerous person, I couldn’t help but worry.

On top of that, theory classes were the bane of my existence. Contrary to Yuehua, I’m much better at acting itself than I am at following the rules and regulations in textbooks. To me, the process of performing different characters is like going on a series of adventures in their shoes.

However, as much as I love acting, I hate theory. I hate the process of deconstructing performance into rigid concepts, and I hate rote memorization even more.

Unfortunately, as one of the top academies for actors in the Federation, Tianhua’s requirements for theoretical knowledge are extremely strict. I was quickly exhausted by the heavy workload. It felt like shackles were locking my limbs, slowly tightening, and I had no choice but to accept them.

Sure enough, before the Acting Students Grand Prix, a theory exam completely broke my spirit. Out of four subjects, I didn’t pass a single one.

The immense pressure made it hard to breathe, and on the other side, Yuehua seemed to be building a wall between us. We used to tell each other everything, but now I could clearly feel she had secrets she was intentionally hiding from me.

I couldn’t help but worry. Back then, my impression of Professor Nangong was at rock bottom; I was convinced he was plotting something. Out of concern for my friend, I secretly followed her to the rehearsal room.

However…

[What happened just now… doesn’t even deserve to be called acting!]

Maybe it was the pressure from failing all my theory exams, or maybe my frayed nerves just snapped when I saw Yuehua’s acting going down the wrong path. Regardless, I made a huge scene in the rehearsal room, shouting at Professor Nangong.

The result was…

Yuehua was completely infuriated by my mindless outburst, and we had a massive fight. Instead, it was Professor Nangong—the man I thought was a conspirator—who tried to mediate.

In a way, I should actually be thankful for that argument. If it hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have realized that my “well-meaning” concern was actually just a burden to my friend. What I thought was care and help felt like heavy pressure to her, making it hard for her to breathe.

It was during Yuehua’s outburst that I realized how foolish I had been.

After that, perhaps to change the subject, the Professor was unexpectedly considerate and made a bet with me. Then, after I ran away, he persuaded Yuehua to come and apologize to me.

But really, I was the one who should have apologized. I was the one who had been ignoring her feelings all along. However, Yuehua didn’t accept my apology.

Actually, starting from that day, my view of Professor Nangong changed. I could sense that he truly believed his teaching method would make Yuehua better. But the fact remained—it was a dead end, wasn’t it?

So, I beat Yuehua in the competition, and using the bet, the Professor canceled her tutoring. I consider it a success that I kept her from straying too far down the wrong path. Even though she’s been zoning out a lot lately and looking at me with strange eyes… I figure it’s just because our relationship hasn’t fully recovered yet.

In short, everything is moving in a good direction—except for the shock of the Professor suddenly wanting to be my student. To be honest, I was terrified that day. A professor apprenticing under a student? No one would believe it if I told them.

But the Professor was serious. Since then, I’ve been going to see him every day, trying to teach him how to invest emotion into his acting.

Unfortunately, there’s been very little progress. On the bright side, the Professor buys me fresh Cloud Cookies every day, which is so sweet it actually makes me a little embarrassed.

Besides that, I’ve discovered that the Professor is quite an interesting person. If you don’t know him, he seems arrogant, but in private, he is unexpectedly considerate and gentle. Occasionally, when I speak without thinking and offend him, he doesn’t get angry; he even makes fun of himself to break the awkwardness.

I think a person as sensitive as him would have definitely won that competition and become Best Actor if not for his acting flaws. I have to admit, compared to how I felt forced to agree at first, I now think being the Professor’s “teacher” and chatting with him every day is actually quite nice.

The only weird thing is that whenever I mention the Professor to Yuehua, the look in her eyes gets a bit scary. Thinking about it, maybe she’s worried I’m being bullied by him? Does she still have a misunderstanding about him?

I should find some time to have a deep talk with her. The Professor isn’t a bad person at all.

All in all, I’m very satisfied with my life since starting school, except for… those nightmare theory classes.