Chapter 3

Before I could even react, a sharp pain shot across my scalp.

The man then carefully placed some of my hair into a transparent bag, snapped a photo of me, and vanished.

I was too slow-witted to figure out what this strange man was up to.

Was he a bad person? I didn't know, but it was too late to figure that out.

That day, I spent a long, long time writing in my math workbook. The numbers and symbols twisted into a jumbled mess before my eyes, growing blurrier the longer I stared.

Dizzy with hunger, I took advantage of Dad's absence to crawl on the floor, picking up the cake crumbs and stuffing them into my mouth. The cake was covered in dust and dirt, but to someone who hadn't eaten in two days, it was a feast fit for a king.

The restaurant was closing, yet I still had 100 problems left to solve. Dad yanked me by the arm and dragged me outside.

"Get down on the ground and finish your work. You're not coming home until you're done."

People passed by on the street, casting glances at me every now and then. Their gazes stung like needles, but there was nothing I could do about it.

My knees were scraped raw, bleeding, and sticking to my trousers. The pain was excruciating, but I didn't even dare to cry. I just clutched my pencil and wrote as furiously as I could.

And so, just like that, my sixth birthday came to an abrupt, bleak end, buried under a mountain of math problems. Even in my dreams, there was still nothing but an endless stream of mathematical formulas and symbols.

As for that phone call I'd made and the strange man who plucked my hair, they were pushed to the back of my mind, and I forgot all about them.

…

"Happy birthday, Larry!"

I sat in the corner, watching with envy as Larry Carson was surrounded by our classmates, looking just like a little prince.

I wanted to be friends with everyone too, but I had to bring my math workbooks with me even when I went to the restroom during breaks. If I didn't do that, there was no way I could finish all the problems Dad had assigned as punishment.

"Victor, yesterday was your birthday too, right? Happy birthday!"

Evie nudged me, and I was caught completely off guard, feeling both surprised and flattered.

"Thank you!" I exclaimed.

She helped me with my problems and even gave me a birthday gift. I wanted to ask her if we were friends since she was being nice to me, but I was afraid I was just deluding myself. I was scared that asking would only make me a laughingstock.

Evie handed me a blue gift bag containing a single greeting card and a few candies. It was enough to fill me with boundless joy.

But the very next second, Dad burst into the classroom like a madman, pointing at me and unleashing a torrent of abuse.

"Victor Rowland! What the hell do you think you're doing? Why the hell are you out here flirting with a girl instead of solving your math problems?

"I came to see the homeroom teacher about something, and I thought I'd check to see if you were slacking off. But I never imagined you'd be such a damn troublemaker!"

Every pair of eyes in the class snapped toward me. Evie turned deathly pale and immediately recoiled from me as if I were something filthy to be avoided at all costs.

My blood ran cold as I froze in my seat, unable to move a muscle.

"Forget about school. You're coming home with me to finish all your work! How dare you let me catch you trying to seduce a girl the moment I walked in? Who knows what other inappropriate things you've been up to behind my back?"

Dad wasn't content with just hurling all the verbal abuse at me. He even cast a contemptuous glance around the classroom and growled, "Let me warn you all that my son is going to be a great scientist one day, and absolutely none of you are allowed to lead him astray with your lack of ambition!"

On the way home, Dad tore the gift bag to shreds. The greeting card was reduced to scraps, and the candies were crushed into powder.

"You're doing a thousand problems tonight as punishment! Get on your knees on the balcony and finish them! And don't you dare get up until you're done!"

I worked through the problems in a daze until my legs went completely numb and I lost all sensation, eventually collapsing on the balcony.

After that day, a group of parents filed a joint complaint against me, and I was transferred to the worst class in the grade.

My new classmates treated me like a plague, but Dad couldn't have cared less.

"Hmph! Geniuses are all forged through hardship. So what if you're in the worst environment ever? Miss, don't bother seating him next to anyone else. Just put him next to the trash can. That way, he won't distract anyone from their studies!"

I huddled in a dark corner with the stench of the trash can clinging to me.

My new classmates threw garbage at me and called me "Trash Boy". I worked frantically on my math problems, but my hands shook more and more, leading to an increasing number of errors—and a growing pile of extra math problems I was forced to complete as punishment.

My fingers became misshapen from gripping the pencil so tightly. No sooner had one blister burst than another would form in its place.

I could never finish my work, and I was often left hungry. I felt so dizzy that I could barely stand.

Then, one day, during P.E. class, everything went black, and I collapsed, falling straight to the ground.