Volume 1 / Chapter 26 : The Physics Teacher with Spiked Hair

The third period on Monday afternoon was physics class.

When it came to science subjects, Mò Xuěyáo didn’t exactly excel. Despite some self-study, she still worried about whether she could keep up.

So before the lesson started, she carefully read through the notebook she had copied from the class monitor. Right before the bell rang, she took out three differently colored pens from her simple pencil case and laid them neatly across a fresh page in her notebook.

Then she straightened her back and sat upright at her desk.

Wáng Jiālè stared at her with a bizarre look—so much so that Xuěyáo began to feel uncomfortable all over.

“What?” Xuěyáo frowned slightly.

“...Hmm… you look like an elementary school kid right now,” Jiālè muttered. “Is it really necessary to sit that straight? You’re making me nervous just looking at you.”

“…It’s fine. I’m just trying to get in the right mindset,” Xuěyáo relaxed a bit, realizing she had been a little too stiff.

Right on cue, the physics teacher walked into the classroom the moment the bell rang—like he’d timed it perfectly.

He even waved cheerfully at the students with a satisfied smile, as if to say: “See? Nailed the timing again.”

His hair stood up in sharp spikes, as if styled with hair gel to look that way—kind of like someone who just got electrocuted.

But if you looked closely, you’d notice his hair wasn’t greasy at all. So… maybe it wasn’t styled that way—just naturally spiky?

What kind of sleeping posture could lead to that kind of hairstyle the next day?

Still, this physics teacher, who looked to be around thirty, actually matched the mental image Xuěyáo had of the phrase “physics teacher.”

Or more accurately—“physics researcher.”

From head to toe, he exuded the aura of an academic. That eccentric hairstyle and the sharp, intelligent look in his eyes—it all screamed “physics PhD.”

—At least, the kind you’d see in cartoons or movies.

He stood quietly at the podium until the bell finished ringing. Then he tapped the blackboard and announced:

“All right, class. Today’s lesson will be about time machines—maybe.”

The classroom immediately fell silent. Especially the boys—the mere mention of sci-fi had them laser-focused.

The teacher nodded in satisfaction. “Yes, today’s topic is as important as Einstein’s theory of relativity… Newton’s first law… and Newton’s other physical laws—specifically the relationship between speed and time.”

This was clearly… a dramatic pause kind of physics teacher.

His name was Yè Yǔ —this time not something Jiālè had to whisper. He wrote it himself, in bold, flamboyant characters on the lower right corner of the blackboard like an author signing their work—“叶羽.”

A strange little habit… but kind of charming.

And so the physics lesson officially began.

Back in middle school, Xuěyáo had always found physics a bit dry. But today, under Mr. Yè’s lively teaching, the subject came alive.

That said, his teaching style did have a downside—he had a tendency to go off-topic. Although he always circled back in the end, it did waste a bit of time.

Still, it was a classic trade-off between fun and efficiency.

By the end of class, the blackboard was filled with notes from edge to edge—essentially everything they needed to remember.

Looking at it all, Xuěyáo noticed that the name “叶羽” really did look like a signature in the corner, like a piece of published work.

This physics teacher definitely had a unique style—though his tan complexion didn’t exactly fit the stereotype of a lab-dwelling academic.

Everything else about him, though, was spot-on.

“Phew, finally just one more period left~” Jiālè stretched with a huge yawn. “After this, we’re free~”

Even though there was still one more class, her thoughts had clearly already drifted far, far away.

Xuěyáo seriously doubted whether she’d pay attention at all in the last class.

“Xuěyáo, wanna hit the bathroom?” Jiālè asked casually. She was the type to go once every two class periods, without fail.

At this point, Xuěyáo genuinely wondered if Jiālè had kidney issues.

Well… not that she knew if that was really related.

“Uh… yeah, okay,” Xuěyáo stood up. Honestly, she just didn’t want to wait in line after school—peak bathroom traffic wasn’t something she wanted to deal with.

“Xiàoxiào, you coming?” Jiālè called out to Mo Xiǎoxiào as well.

Xuěyáo suddenly felt like they were inviting each other to a ballroom dance or something.

And honestly? It wasn’t just girls who went to the bathroom in pairs. Guys did it too—just not as often.

“Zhōu Yǒng, let’s go. Bathroom run.” Lǐ Hóngrǎn slapped Zhōu Yǒng on the shoulder.

“Nope,” Zhōu Yǒng muttered, buried in a novel tucked inside his desk.

“What? No? Too bad—you’re going anyway!” Hóngrǎn smirked wickedly and began dragging him by the shoulder.

Zhōu Yǒng, looking utterly dead inside, finally gave in. “Fine, fine—let go. I can walk. What are you, a kid? Who needs company to go pee?”

“Exactly,” Jiālè chimed in—completely oblivious to her own hypocrisy.

Of all people, you’re the last one who should be saying that, Xuěyáo thought, shooting her a side-eye. She exchanged a silent chuckle with Xiǎoxiào as they stepped into the hallway.

“Good afternoon, Miss Yào~” Jiālè suddenly chirped sweetly.

“Good afternoon, Miss Yào,” Xiǎoxiào added with a polite smile.

“…Good afternoon…” Xuěyáo echoed automatically, though she had no idea who this “Miss Yào” was.

“Hello~” Miss Yào replied with a light, airy tone. Her skin looked unusually pale, and her hair—shockingly—was a dark shade of red!

It hung loosely around her shoulders, not too long—barely covering her ears—giving off a fresh, sharp, almost androgynous vibe.

As Xuěyáo zoned out, Miss Yào leaned in slightly and took a deep sniff.

“Mmm~ You smell like milk! Looks like you’ve still got growth potential~”

“W-what?” Xuěyáo’s cheeks flushed crimson. She stole a glance at the teacher, stunned that someone so mature would say something so… odd?

On second thought… maybe it wasn’t that odd.

Maybe she was just overly sensitive.

Once Miss Yào had walked away, Xuěyáo leaned over and whispered, “Jiālè, who was that…?”

“She’s our chemistry teacher for next period,” Jiālè replied, tilting her head. “She’s… quite the character.”

“No kidding,” Xuěyáo agreed instantly.

“She really likes teasing girls,” Xiǎoxiào added.

“And her name is super weird—it’s ‘Yào Gūgū’ (药咕咕), like the ‘medicine’ character, and then ‘gū’ as in the one with the mouth radical and ‘ancient’ in it.”

“…That’s the weirdest name I’ve ever heard.”

“She says all kinds of weird things in class too. Might be ‘cause she’s mixed,” Jiālè said, suddenly holding her forehead like she’d remembered something traumatic.

“So her hair’s natural?”

“Yup. That’s what she said on her first day.” Xiǎoxiào confirmed.

When they got back from the bathroom, Miss Yào Gūgū was already seated at the podium—before class had even started.

The first teacher to actually arrive early.

In a way, quite professional.

Even though fourth period hadn’t begun yet, Jiālè was already packing her bag.

Finished homework stayed at school; unfinished stuff went home.

Once she copied the chemistry homework into her “homework notebook,” she’d be ready to grab her bag and leave.

Though in high school, there was no official homework log, nor did parents need to sign it like in elementary or junior high…

So most students cut corners, folding a page corner or drawing a line to mark which assignments were due.

Even a diligent student like Xuěyáo only jotted quick notes.

For example, “Complete page 26, first side, in math workbook” would become: “Math P26-1.”

Lots of students were doing the same—trying to leave school as quickly as possible.

Five minutes might not seem like much, but it could mean dodging traffic or avoiding being pulled into some chore by the homeroom teacher.

It had become an unofficial strategy.

Xuěyáo didn’t bother. She rode her bike, and she didn’t mind helping out if the teacher needed something—thought of it as a little extra exercise.

Meanwhile, Yào Gūgū was fiddling with something on the podium—looking oddly professional about it.

Then she suddenly slammed her hand down—

Bang!

A burst of fire erupted from the front of the classroom, looking as if it might consume the entire room.

Screams broke out. Even the boys were startled—some practically bolted.

But the flames vanished just as quickly, like a movie special effect.

“Pfft—hahaha! Scared you, huh?” Yào Gūgū stood hands on hips, grinning like a mischievous kid—not a teacher.

“Amazing, right? Like magic? Sorry to disappoint—it’s not magic, it’s science~!”

And right as she finished saying that, the bell rang—perfectly timed.

Thus began a most theatrical chemistry class.

What could she say? The teachers at Yǔkōng High were… one of a kind.