During the morning Literature class, as soon as homeroom teacher Nguyen Kim Oanh stepped into Class 11D, her expression darkened. Her demeanor instantly put the whole class on edge. She stood at the podium, her voice stern as she called out:


    “Nguyen Nhat Vuong!”


    “Yes, ma’am!” Vuong replied with a grin.


    “Yes, what? Ma’am, what? Take that ‘yes’ back to your seat right now. How many times do I have to catch you taking someone else’s spot?”


    “But, teacher, no one’s sitting here right now.”


    “That seat belongs to Nguyen Ho Thu.”


    “But she hasn’t come to class yet, has she?”


    “That doesn’t mean you can take it. Go back to your own seat now, or I’ll make you write lines for punishment.”


    Vuong let out an exaggerated sigh and dragged his feet back to his own desk at an agonizingly slow pace.


    “Move faster so I can start the lesson already!”


    Ms. Oanh snapped impatiently, but Vuong’s pace remained unchanged.


    His seatmate, a girl, looked pleased to have him sitting next to her again. But Vuong? He sat right at the edge of the desk, leaning as far away from her as possible.


    And because the student at the desk next to his was also a girl, Vuong was trapped between two female classmates—his worst nightmare. His back and ears turned bright red.


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    Nam had to hold back a laugh. For someone who openly simped over 2D and 3D girls, Vuong’s absolute terror of real-life women was hilarious.


    Once everyone had settled down, Ms. Oanh finally began the lesson.


    At least Vuong still respected and listened to her.


    Because in other classes—especially with easygoing teachers—Vuong never stayed in his assigned seat. Instead, he would move to Nam’s desk, using the excuse that he wanted to help Nam be more social and cure his introversion.


    But to Nam, all it did was cramp his space and annoy him. Nam enjoyed having a desk all to himself, enjoying the freedom to stretch out comfortably. But with Vuong squeezing in, the desk felt tiny and suffocating.


    And since Vuong was left-handed, his elbow constantly bumped into Nam’s arm, messing up his writing. Nam had complained multiple times, but Vuong refused to switch to his right hand.


    So, at this point, Nam just wanted his missing desk partner, Nguyen Ho Thu, to return and reclaim her seat, forcing Vuong back to his own.


    In fact, thanks to Ms. Oanh’s scolding, Nam had just learned her full name. She had been absent since August, meaning she had even missed the start-of-term assessment—but for what reason?


    For years, the gender ratio in Vietnam had been heavily skewed, with more boys than girls being born. As a result, Nam had spent his entire school life sitting next to other boys—which got old really fast.


    So, for the first time, he actually had a female deskmate. Naturally, he was curious about her.


    At lunch, Nam decided to ask Vuong.


    “What does Nguyen Ho Thu look like?”


    Considering Vuong’s fear of real girls, Nam didn’t expect much from his answer.


    But Vuong was grinning like an idiot.


    He definitely knew her.


    And judging by that smug, suggestive smirk—the one Nam found absolutely repulsive—it was going to be something dumb.


    “You’re one lucky guy, bro. Baby Thu has an amazing… personality.”


    Nam frowned, confused.


    Vuong chuckled and added:


    “Not her eyes, you idiot.”