We begin to read question number one, finally.
I've definitely seen this before or something similar: Bob's hand touches a heated kettle, and he instantly pulls his hand away. State what process this is and how it happens.
"Bob seems like the type who's constantly burning himself," I say
"Agreed," Shizuka replies. "And seriously, who uses a kettle anymore? It's like he's trapped in a Dickens novel."
I ignore the distraction. "All right, let's see your answer."
Shizuka doesn't blush, doesn't even flinch. She smiles like someone who's about to sweep the poker table, red dress, cigarette, and all. Yet her answer… Her answer is like a twelve-year-old explaining why it's unfair that periods exist.
She writes: The process is thanks to our little helper. Yes, we have an invisible little friend. You can't see them, but they're always there, making sure we don't get fried like Bob when he touches the kettle. The little friend pulls his hand away, saving him from burns, and thus, survives another day.
I lower the paper slowly, raising an eyebrow at Shizuka's foxy grin. "First off—"
"I'm right, aren't I?"
"Wrong." I shake my head, suppressing a laugh. "Your first mistake is… well, how you answered it. This isn't an essay contest. You just need to state the process. It's a biology question, not a creative writing piece."
Shizuka taps her chin as if giving this serious thought. "I suppose the 'invisible little helper' bit was unnecessary."
I sigh. "Not the point. Second mistake: your 'helper' sounds more like a fairy tale than a scientific term. 'The-work-from-our-little-helper' isn't exactly a phrase that's going to win you points in biology."
"Why not?" she says, her voice dripping with mock indignation. "Biology is all about making simple things complicated, so I'm just contributing."
"Sure, let's call it that, but the third mistake, and this is where it gets ridiculous—how exactly does this 'little helper' act so fast? Are we assuming it has superpowers?"
She grins wider. "Of course! Our little friend is no mere human. It's faster, stronger, better. A silent guardian."
"But it's invisible."
Shizuka crosses her arms, pouting. "So it's all wrong then?"
I pause. This could go two ways—either I provide her the real answer, or I keep letting her believe in her whimsical nonsense. If she's found wrong later, I'm going down with her. Better to just kill the fantasy now.
"It's all wrong."
Her eyes narrow at me. "Then give me the real answer, Sunbae."
"The process is called a reflex action—an involuntary movement," I say, slipping into my best teacher mode. "Now, the question asks how, and I'll be honest, I hate questions like that. It's like asking 'why do we have sex?' No one really asks that anymore."
"Sunbae." Her eyes drill into me.
I realize my explanation has spiraled into a black hole of nonsense. But it's too late to backpedal. I push forward. "Reflexes, Shizuka. It's simpler than you think."
"Oh, do enlighten me, great biology expert," she teases, leaning in as if she's about to pounce on my next mistake.
I meet her gaze. "Everyone's a coward. When we touch something hot, our body doesn't wait around for our brain to decide. It reacts on its own. We pull away. Pain isn't cool."
She's silent for a second. Then: "Isn't that psychology?"
I raise a finger. "Anything psychological is biological."
Shizuka's lips curl into a playful smirk. "Is it wrong to believe what you're saying now?"
"I'm your tutor," I deadpan.
She rolls her eyes, pulling out a red pen from her skirt pocket. As she scratches out her whimsical answer with a flourish, she mutters, "I'll do the second question too."
I sigh. "This should be good."
She scribbles furiously, then flips the paper toward me. The next question is: A doctor gently taps John's knee with a hammer. Without warning, Bob's leg kicks out after two taps. Why?
Shizuka's answer: To get revenge.
"Revenge?" I ask, staring at her in disbelief.
"Yeah, because if some doctor knocked my knee twice with a hammer, I'd kick him right in the face," she says, completely serious.
"I'm not Sohee, but watch your language," I say.
"Fuck me, Sunbae."
I choke back a laugh. "Your answer is still wrong."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Why? It's perfectly logical!"
"As I've said before, you can have your own opinion. But that doesn't mean the rest of the world shares it."
She leans back on the couch, arms behind her head, relaxed as ever. "So what's the real answer?"
I tap the paper, still marveling at her creativity. "Bob's the same careless person from the first question. The doctor is just testing his reflexes—there's no revenge plot here. His body reacts to the tap by kicking, showing the doctor his nerves are working. Simple."
Shizuka narrows her eyes. "You said it'd be simpler than mine. This sounds just as complicated."
"If we were debating about revenge, your explanation would be way more convoluted."
"..."
"..."
Shizuka tilts her head, utterly serious. "So that's the real answer?"
I shrug. "Maybe."
Before she can retort, there's a knock at the door. I glance at the clock. School's almost over, so it's unlikely to be any of the other girls. Could it be Sohee?
"The door's unlocked," I say automatically, but something feels off about the line. I try again. "You're safe to enter."
Shizuka smirks. "What's with the dramatic phrasing?"
"It's the safest option."
The door opens, and in walks a teacher straight out of an inappropriate daydream—prim and proper, yet with a vibe that screams AV video extra. She's holding a clipboard, but she's not looking at me. No, her gaze is fixated on Shizuka.
Shizuka grins mischievously. "Sensei… Sensei," she purrs, clearly enjoying this. "Remind me, what do you teach again?"
The poor teacher looks flustered, her eyes darting between us as if trying to decode the situation. "I… I'm the biology teacher."
Oh no.
Shizuka's grin widens.
This is bad.
Before I can grab the question paper from the table, Shizuka is already on her feet, running to Sensei with the paper in hand. I follow, resigned to my fate.
The teacher glances between Shizuka and me, clearly confused. "A-Are you the Sunbae?"
Great. So now she's heard the nickname too. I nod, and she almost thrusts the clipboard at me. "Sohee asked me to give you this." I take it, not bothering to ask why a teacher is running errands for a student.
And then, Shizuka strikes. "Sensei, I've got some biology questions here. I need your expert opinion on them."
The teacher looks like she wants to disappear into the floor. "Oh, but… you have your tutor here."
Shizuka waves her hand dismissively. "Two heads are better than one, right, Sunbae?"
I shrug, playing along. "Guess so."
"You heard him," Shizuka says.
The teacher hesitates but finally takes the paper from Shizuka, scanning the answers. Her lips twitch into a small chuckle.
"What kind of answer is this?" she asks, looking up at Shizuka. "I've told you before, biology is easy if you just study."
Shizuka beams. "So the red ink answers are wrong?"
The teacher chuckles again, shaking her head. "It's… creative, I'll give you that. But yes, it's wrong."
Oof.
Shizuka doesn't miss a beat. She gestures dramatically at me. "My tutor gave me that answer!"
The teacher's eyes shift to me, her brow furrowed in confusion. We're supposed to be teaching the right answers, but if she thinks I've seriously been feeding Shizuka these nonsense answers, we're done for.
"Is that true?" she asks, skeptical.
I smile, calm under pressure. "Yes."
"Why?" she presses.
"Because it was funny," I say, dead serious.
The teacher looks baffled. "Just because it's funny?"
"Isn't that a good way to break the ice?" I ask.
The teacher blinks. "Break the ice?"
"Break the ice?" Shizuka echoes.
Silence.
Then, slowly, the teacher's face softens. "Oh, I see," she says, nodding. "That's actually a great idea. I hadn't thought of it that way."
She pats Shizuka on the shoulder. "Be nice to your tutor, Shizuka."
And just like that, she's gone, leaving Shizuka standing there with her paper, still alive and breathing, but utterly lost.
I sit back down, flipping through the new papers Sohee had sent over.
"But, but…" she bites her nail, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Sensei saw your answer and said it's wrong. Even after all that, you just saying 'break the ice' won her over."
Why.
"Because," I say, leaning back and smiling faintly, "she knows that even if I gave a wrong answer, I have the real one."
Shizuka glares at me, crossing her arms. "Real answer? Then tell me the real answer."
I raise an eyebrow, amused by her persistence. "Gladly," I say, grabbing the paper with a dramatic flourish. "Now listen carefully."
Clearing my throat for effect, I begin reading, "In biology, a reflex is a relatively simple segment of behavior that takes place as an immediate and direct response to a stimulus that is uniquely related to it."
Shizuka stares blankly. "What?"
I ignore her confusion and continue. "Most reflexes don't have to travel up to your brain to be processed, which is why they happen so quickly. A reflex action often involves a very simple nervous pathway called a reflex arc."
Shizuka narrows her eyes. "An arc of what?"
"Reflex arc," I repeat, with the patience of someone explaining algebra to a cat. "It starts when receptors are stimulated. Sensory neurons then transmit signals to your spinal cord, where they're passed on to a motor neuron. The result? Stimulation of one of your muscles or glands."
I finish with a dramatic pause. "Or something close to that. That's the answer."
Shizuka's jaw practically hits the floor as she stares at the paper. "Y-you had that this whole time?"
I give her a small, knowing smirk. She clearly hadn't noticed, or didn't care, when her Sensei handed me the clipboard earlier. Typical Shizuka. Self-centered to the core.
We plow through five more questions. Each time, Shizuka thinks, writes an answer, and—surprise—gets it wrong. And each time, I just read Sohee's perfectly concise explanations from the paper in front of me.
"Thank you, Sohee," I mutter under my breath, barely holding back a grin. "You're the real MVP here."