Chapter 2: Monday at Nine (And the Villain Who Brought Snacks)
Monday arrived with the punctuality of a threat.
At 8:42 a.m., Xie Yu was already awake.
This, in itself, was deeply out of character.
According to the Original Host's memories, "morning" was a vague concept typically experienced sometime after noon, preferably with blackout curtains drawn and a headache earned through poor decisions. Yet here he was—washed, dressed, and sitting on the sofa like a man awaiting a performance review.
He checked the time again.
8:43.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered.
[Host appears anxious.]
"I am not anxious," Xie Yu said. "I am preparing to embody a role."
[Host has checked the time seven times in the last three minutes.]
"That's because the clock might be wrong."
[The clock is synchronized with atomic time.]
"…It could still be wrong."
He stood up abruptly and walked to the window, because villains liked windows. Windows were dramatic. Windows suggested emotional distance and expensive taste.
He lasted there for approximately twelve seconds before turning back.
"System," he said, "review: what is my character setting?"
[Arrogant. Unrestrained. Playboy. No redeeming qualities.]
"Right." He nodded. "And what does that look like in a study session context."
[A villain would not take the study session seriously.]
"Okay."
[A villain might mock the protagonist.]
"Mm."
[A villain might create a hostile or uncomfortable environment.]
Xie Yu glanced at the coffee table.
On it sat:
A neatly stacked set of brand-new textbooks.
A notebook.
Three pens.
A plate of cut fruit.
Two bottles of water.
There was also, somewhat incongruously, a small bowl of individually wrapped candies.
"…Define 'hostile,'" Xie Yu said.
[This… does not qualify.]
"I can fix that."
He picked up the fruit plate.
Paused.
Put it back down.
"…No, I can't," he admitted.
[Host's alignment is deviating.]
"I am not poisoning the fruit."
[No one suggested poisoning.]
"You were implying it."
[I was not.]
A knock sounded at the door.
Xie Yu froze.
9:00 a.m.
Of course she would arrive exactly on time. Of course she would.
He inhaled, exhaled, and arranged his expression into what he hoped was mild annoyance rather than anticipatory dread.
"Come in," he said.
The door opened.
Shen Cixi stepped inside, just as she had two days ago—same washed white shirt, same dark slacks, same composed expression that gave away nothing and suggested everything.
This time, she was carrying a backpack.
A normal, slightly worn student backpack.
She stepped in, closed the door behind her, and looked at him.
Xie Yu looked back.
There was a brief, silent standoff.
"…You're early," he said.
She glanced at the clock on the wall.
"It's nine."
"…Right."
She walked past him without waiting for permission, set her bag down by the coffee table, and took in the setup with a single glance.
Her gaze paused on the fruit.
Then the candies.
Then the neatly arranged stationery.
Then, slowly, she looked back at him.
"…What is this?" she asked.
Xie Yu followed her gaze, as if seeing the arrangement for the first time.
"…Study materials," he said.
A pause.
Another very small, very unreadable shift in her expression.
"You prepared in advance," she said.
"Don't misunderstand," Xie Yu replied immediately, because that felt like the correct villain response. "I just don't like wasting time."
This, at least, was true.
Shen Cixi held his gaze for a moment longer.
Then she nodded once, as if filing that statement away for later analysis.
"Sit," she said.
Xie Yu blinked.
"…What."
"We'll start with calculus," she continued, already opening her bag and pulling out a notebook. "Your midterm scores are below passing. If this continues, you won't meet the minimum GPA requirement."
Xie Yu stared at her.
There was something deeply unsettling about being ordered to sit in his own penthouse.
"…You're very confident," he said.
"Yes."
"That's not a good trait."
"It's efficient."
"…I could fire you."
"You could," she agreed calmly. "But you won't."
Xie Yu narrowed his eyes.
"And why is that."
"Because you signed the amendment," she said. "And because you need me."
A beat.
Xie Yu sat down.
He wasn't entirely sure when he had decided to comply.
Shen Cixi took the seat across from him, opened one of the textbooks, and flipped to a marked page.
"Limits," she said. "Explain this."
She turned the book toward him.
Xie Yu looked down.
The page looked back.
Numbers. Symbols. Letters doing things letters had no business doing.
His soul attempted to leave his body.
"…This," he said slowly, "is a trick question."
"It's not."
"It's testing conceptual boundaries."
"It's testing whether you studied."
"I—" Xie Yu paused. "—have a different learning style."
"What style."
"Delegation."
"No."
A brief silence.
Xie Yu leaned back against the sofa, crossing one leg over the other in what he hoped was a display of careless arrogance.
"You're the tutor," he said. "You explain it."
Shen Cixi studied him for a moment.
Then, without comment, she picked up a pen and began writing in the notebook.
"Fine," she said. "We'll start from the beginning."
And then she explained it.
Clearly.
Systematically.
Without condescension, without hesitation, and without once checking whether he was keeping up—because she spoke as if she expected him to.
Xie Yu found himself… listening.
Actually listening.
Which was, frankly, not part of the plan.
"…So," she concluded, tapping the page lightly, "as x approaches this value, the function approaches this limit. Understand?"
Xie Yu looked at the notebook.
Then at her.
"…Yes," he said, before realizing—
He did.
He actually did.
This was deeply alarming.
"…Again," he said, frowning. "Explain it again."
She did.
Exactly the same way.
No impatience. No change in tone.
Just quiet repetition, like she had all the time in the world and intended to use it efficiently.
They went through three more examples.
Then five.
Then ten.
At some point, Xie Yu forgot to act like a villain.
At some point, he leaned forward without realizing it.
At some point, he picked up a pen and started writing.
The system remained suspiciously silent.
Two hours later—
Shen Cixi closed the notebook.
"That's enough for today," she said.
Xie Yu blinked, as if waking up.
"…That's it?"
"For now."
He glanced at the clock.
11:07 a.m.
Two hours.
He had studied for two hours.
Voluntarily.
"…You're done?" he said.
"Yes."
She began packing her things with efficient, practiced movements.
Xie Yu watched her.
There was that feeling again.
That slight, persistent sense that something was not aligning with the script he had been given.
"…You're not going to ask for anything?" he said.
She paused.
"Like what."
"Compensation," he said. "You came all the way here. Two hours. You could at least—" he gestured vaguely— "take something."
Her gaze flicked, briefly, to the fruit plate.
Then back to him.
"I'm being paid," she said.
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
A pause.
Then she zipped her bag closed.
"Don't be late next time," she added.
"…Late?"
"You were ready today," she said. "Maintain that."
Xie Yu stared at her.
"I live here."
"That's not an excuse."
She stood.
So did he, automatically.
They faced each other across the coffee table.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Shen Cixi reached out—
—and took one of the candies from the bowl.
She held it up slightly.
"For the lesson," she said.
Xie Yu blinked.
"…That's it?"
"Yes."
She put it in her pocket.
Then she turned and walked to the door.
Just like last time.
Just as steady. Just as certain.
At the door, she paused.
Again.
She didn't turn around.
"Review what we covered," she said. "I'll test you next time."
And then she left.
The door clicked shut.
Silence settled over the penthouse.
Xie Yu stood there for a long moment.
Then he looked at the coffee table.
At the open notebook.
At the page filled with his own handwriting.
"…System," he said.
[Yes, Host?]
"…Is this normal."
[A deviation has been noted.]
"She taught me calculus."
[Correct.]
"I understood it."
[Also correct.]
"…I think I just had a positive educational experience."
[That is… outside expected parameters.]
Xie Yu walked slowly back to the sofa and sat down.
He picked up the notebook.
Looked at the page again.
Then, after a moment, he reached out and took a piece of fruit from the plate.
"…This is going to get me killed," he said.
[Statistically, that remains likely.]
He ate the fruit anyway.
And somewhere in the city, Shen Cixi walked out of the hotel with a single piece of candy in her pocket and a schedule already forming in her mind.
The game had started.
Neither of them was playing it the way the novel intended.