Madison's phrase "a student chair sent by the old stonemason" was like a demonic chant, echoing wildly in Ian's mind and stirring up a storm.
'What old stonemason?!'
What vocational school graduate could have seen the Seat of the Divine Oracle from Heaven?! Not only seen it, but dared to replicate it perfectly and give it away as a "buy ten thousand, get a luxury gift" bonus?!
Ian felt his scalp wasn't just tingling; it was about to explode! He stared at Madison, trying to find even a hint of a joke or prank on her perpetually sleepy face.
"You..." Ian's voice cracked. He lowered his volume and asked through gritted teeth, "Did you not notice anything... *off* about this chair, or that old stonemason?!"
He waited for her to voice a rational suspicion. Perhaps the old stonemason's eyes looked like they'd seen through life and death, or his shop was located in a dimensional rift, or he spoke entirely in philosophical riddles. Anything that would let Ian pin an identity on him.
"Off?"
Madison stopped trying to wedge the door back into the wall. She tilted her head, thinking seriously, her brow furrowed as if she were solving a world-class puzzle.
Ian held his breath, waiting for her profound insight.
"What are they talking about?"
"No idea."
"Sounds like a young couple fighting."
"Yeah, that's exactly how my mom and dad look when picking out furniture."
The surrounding students didn't understand the context, but that didn't stop them from holding their breath too. Watching drama isn't about whether you understand the plot; it's about the spectacle.
Someone was coughing in the background, but nobody seemed to care.
A few seconds later, Madison slapped her palm, her face lighting up with a "Eureka!" moment. She spoke with righteous indignation.
"Now that you mention it! It *was* very off!" She slapped her own forehead, her tone full of resentment.
"What was off?" Ian prodded, attempting to lock onto the target.
"That old stonemason!" Madison's tone was solemn, as if exposing a massive scam. "He makes things way too fast! I told him I wanted the flashiest model, and he went into the backyard and hauled it out in less than three minutes! How is that possible? You can't even carve a rubber stamp that fast!"
The more she spoke, the more convinced she became of the "truth," her voice rising an octave. "I strongly suspect he's using false advertising! Selling dog meat under a sheep's head! He claims it's 'hand-carved,' but I bet it's mass-produced on a factory line! It's probably molded from inferior stone powder in some sweatshop! He's cheating my emotions!"
'What a brilliant realization.'
"..."
Ian jumped up and slapped Madison's forehead a few times in frustration. He stood there with his mouth agape, looking at her "I'm such a genius" expression. All the words about Heaven, the Divine Throne, and Archangels stayed stuck in his throat because he was surrounded by spectators and his "three-year period" of secrecy wasn't up yet.
It nearly choked him.
"Patience!" Ian practiced the Dragon King's secret technique of endurance. After five seconds of silence, he forced a smile that looked more like a grimace and squeezed out a few words.
"Delinquent girl... your focus... is so damn detailed. You really are... a detail freak." As he spoke, he gave her two thumbs up.
Madison didn't hear the desperation in Ian's voice. She thought he was sincerely praising her observational skills and became even more smug. If she had a tail, it would be wagging in the clouds.
"Of course!" She lifted her chin proudly. "Try to fool my wisdom? No way! I'm going to confront him after school! Hand-carved is one price, factory-made means I get at least half my money back!"
"If he's short one cent, I'm flipping his stall!" Madison was already cracking her knuckles, planning her "fraud-busting" operation.
She was truly, utterly fearless.
Ian's courage usually couldn't quite stand up to Madison's. He thought he was unique, but Madison was the one truly made of pure audacity.
"Wait... you ordered ten thousand stone slabs? Are you planning to pave all of America?" Beyond the chair issue, Ian realized something else ridiculous.
"One for everyone! You always say: either don't act, or act with enough impact that everyone knows. I don't want people thinking we can't afford tombstones."
Madison stared at Ian as if asking,
'Why is Your Majesty betraying your own principles?' Just then, a heart-wrenching cough erupted from the podium, sounding like someone was trying to hack up a lung.
"Cough! Cough-cough! *Wheeze*—!!"
The physics teacher, that white-haired old gentleman, was leaning on the podium, his face red from coughing. He was old, and his throat wasn't great.
He'd tried to use a cough to remind the two troublemakers about classroom discipline, but after thirty coughs, the two students—and the rest of the class—remained entirely immersed in their own world. Even Emily was too busy grinding her teeth to notice.
Nobody cared.
The old man had no choice. Ignoring the discomfort in his throat, he raised his scratchy voice and pleaded.
"Mr. Kent! Miss Montgomery! Could you... could your new trend, or... fraud-busting... be discussed *after* class?"
"It is... it is class time..." His voice was weak and helpless, tinged with a hidden wariness. Regarding their discussion and the bizarre stone chair, this teacher—who had been "educated" by the American school system many times—didn't dare ask for details.
He was terrified it was some minority group's spiritual belief. If he asked, he feared the students would sue him for violating their right to choose, or some random organization would show up at his door.
Perhaps it was the teacher's pathetic tone, or maybe Madison had finished her route planning; either way, they finally quieted down.
"Look at this hot potato you've given me. How am I supposed to sit on this?" Ian looked heavily at the "Divine Oracle" student chair.
Then he sat on it anyway.
Madison gave up on the crooked door, wiped the dust off her hands, sauntered back to her seat, and began debating whether to use a hammer or a wrench to "reason" with the old stonemason.
The physics teacher, seeing the world finally at peace, let out a long sigh of relief and took a sip of warm water. He straightened his glasses, glanced at Ian's bizarre stone chair, and swallowed every question he had.
He didn't dare ask. He simply didn't dare.
These days, students had too many strange outfits, performance arts, and bizarre beliefs. If that stone chair was a sacred object of some niche culture, or involved "Stone Chair Gender Identity" or "Lithic Structure Equality" movements, one wrong question could lead to organizations blocking the school gates tomorrow, accusing him of discriminating against stone furniture.
Ian's reputation as a "litigation pioneer" wasn't just known among students. Though the teacher was old, he remembered why the school had a new principal.
Better to do less than more. Protect the pension at all costs.
The old gentleman forced himself to ignore the chair radiating invisible pressure. He picked up his chalk and turned back to the blackboard.
"Uh... let's continue... When the magnetic flux through a closed loop changes, an electromotive force is induced... and its direction is such that it opposes the change that produced it... This is the core of Lenz's Law: opposing change..."
His voice remained raspy, but he tried to maintain order.
The classroom discipline barely held together. However, the whispers below were like a surging tide. Everyone's eyes drifted toward Ian's chair and Madison, who had just ripped a door off its hinges.
"Did they buy a castle together? Why else use something that looks so flamboyant?"
"Looks like it! Madison's family is loaded!"
"Tsk tsk, living together so openly already?"
These rumors pierced Emily's ears like needles. She snapped her head up, her eyes red like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. Her voice was suppressed but sharp.
"Impossible! Absolutely impossible! Ian isn't the kind of boy who would just live with someone! He's so... so *unique*!"
Emily tried to find a complimentary word, but it sounded more like an insult. The looks from her classmates shifted from curiosity to pity. Someone whispered, "Emily, give it up... the chair is right there..."
Emily bit her lower lip so hard it nearly bled. She seemed to make a massive resolution, her eyes widening with unshakable will.
"Even! Even if they really have something going on, so what?!!"
She took a deep breath, like reciting a battle manifesto: "The seven-year itch! I can wait! When Ian gets bored of her, he'll still be mine! I can even... I can even help Ian raise their children! And I absolutely won't let that green tea bitch see them! It'll drive Madison crazy!"
This shocking statement caused the whispering to pause. One boy couldn't help but remind her: "Uh... Emily, I think Ian said before that he has no emotions and is infertile..."
Emily didn't look discouraged; she smiled proudly, as if she had seen through everything. She patted her flat stomach with a staggering spirit of sacrifice.
"It doesn't matter! Medical problems can be overcome! If Ian needs it, I can transplant my uterus to him! Then he won't be infertile! I can do that much for Ian; that violent girl who only knows how to move rocks definitely can't!"
Everyone: "!!!"
Stunned by her logic and devotion, the class's gaze shifted from pity to sheer terror. This was beyond being a "simp."
In this bizarre, absurd, and suffocating atmosphere, the physics teacher—driven by professional ethics and his obsession with his pension—struggled through the lesson. He didn't care how much they learned; he just told himself he'd done his duty.
Public school students, even in the top class... he didn't really believe they'd amount to much unless their parents were already elites. Success from humble beginnings was a once-in-a-decade occurrence here.
*Ring-ring-ring~*
The bell was like music to his ears. The teacher practically bolted out of the room. He needed to get to his office and use his limited physics knowledge to calculate the horror of the force Madison exerted to lift that chair and rip that door. It challenged everything he knew about classical physics!
After he left, and before the students could cut loose, a woman in her forties named Mrs. Ellie walked in. she was the counselor filling in for Miss Misha (who was on leave due to Hannibal's death). Mrs. Ellie wore a programmed smile.
"Quiet, class. Miss Misha has an emergency. I'm taking over. First, let's pass out the results of the last periodic test."
She began calling names. Most students got their scores—some happy, some sad. Ian, as usual, got a score precisely calculated to be just slightly better than the 2nd rank. He glanced at it and stuffed it into his desk like waste paper.
When Mrs. Ellie finished the list, Madison raised her hand, frowning.
"Mrs. Ellie, where's my report?"
Mrs. Ellie paused, shuffled through the remaining papers, and checked her list. "Miss Montgomery? The list says you received yours. I have nothing left."
"Impossible!" Madison looked upset, even a bit wronged. " I didn't miss that exam! And I felt like I did way better than before!"
"I must have improved! Did you lose my report?" She stared at Mrs. Ellie with total distrust.
Mrs. Ellie pushed up her glasses. "I don't have a habit of losing things, Miss Montgomery. Every report is here. Are you sure you took the exam? Could you be misremembering?" She didn't trust Madison either; years of teaching told her girls who dressed like delinquents usually skipped tests.
"I'm positive!" Madison's voice rose. "That was the only test I *didn't* miss this year! I remember it clearly!"
Mrs. Ellie was confused. She emptied the folder and shook it out. "Strange... really nothing..." She muttered to herself. "Wait here, I'll call Miss Misha and see if it was left with her."
She stepped out. A few minutes later, she returned with a bizarre expression—a mix of helplessness, amusement, and absurdity.
"Well? Mrs. Ellie, did you find it?" Madison looked at her eagerly, hoping to take the report home and brag.
Mrs. Ellie sighed. "I'm sorry, Miss Montgomery. I asked Miss Misha, and she contacted all the graders..." She paused. "The result is... your paper was never graded by any teacher. That's why there's no report."
"Why?!" Madison stood up, angry. "Why wouldn't they grade mine? That's discrimination!"
Mrs. Ellie rubbed her temples. "Because... every teacher reported that they never received a paper with the name 'Madison Montgomery' on it."
"So everyone thought you skipped again." She looked at her phone and read out the name that made the whole class go bug-eyed.
"The teachers only received one paper with the signature: [Vampire of the Dark Night • Fallen Phoenix of Extinction • The Royal Highness of Broken-Hearted Tears]."
Mrs. Ellie felt her mouth burning just from saying it. She looked at Madison. "So... the teachers unanimously decided it was a student prank or a random paper that got mixed in."
The classroom fell into a deathly silence. Everyone looked at Madison as if she were a celestial being.
Madison, however, saw no problem at all.
She put her hands on her hips. "Yeah! That's my paper! I'm going to be a big star in the future, so I'm very concerned about privacy. I used my Twitter handle!"
It was, in its own way, a type of logic.
Mrs. Ellie was nearly choked by this reasoning. She struggled to maintain her professionalism. "Miss Montgomery, I respect your privacy, but... in formal school exams, there is really no need to use a social media handle. Teachers need to verify identity."
"You're making things very difficult for everyone." Mrs. Ellie was glad she wasn't the permanent manager for this class, her gaze sweeping over the famous troublemakers.
Madison seemed to realize the point, stunned for a second, then ruffled her hair in frustration. "Darn."
She wasn't the type to be unreasonable once she realized she'd messed up, so she slumped back into her chair, though she was still pouting.
She brooded for a bit, then leaned toward Ian. "Hey, Ian, did I do something wrong? Was it wrong to worry that a teacher might collect my autograph and sell it for a high price later?"
So, behind the privacy concern was a reason even harder to evaluate. Ian nodded thoughtfully and gave a very practical, soul-piercing answer.
"Yes. It was stupid."
Just as Madison was about to sigh, Ian added, "Using your Twitter handle is stupid because *everyone* knows your Twitter handle."
"It doesn't protect your privacy at all."
"!!!!"
Madison froze, then pulled out her phone, opened her Twitter, and stared at her three million followers in deep thought.
"That's true. Makes sense. Ian, you really are smart." Madison gave him high praise. Ian lifted his chin without a shred of humility.
"Oh, my dear delinquent girl, you are merely stating a universal law: Ian Kent equals smart."
"You're quite knowledgeable, so say more. My ears are ready." Ian leaned in, and Madison obviously missed the narcissism.
Her eyes lit up. "Speaking of wisdom! Ian, I have a big project that needs brains! My dad bought an old villa in Japan a few days ago. They say there's a treasure from the Shogunate era hidden inside! If you can use your smart head to help me find it, we go fifty-fifty!"
Ian blinked. "Sounds good. But does your father know his villa and treasure are about to be split fifty-fifty by us?"
Madison took it as a given. "He bought the villa, not the treasure. Treasure is unowned; finders keepers. It's called the spirit of adventure!"
Ian looked relieved, even patting her shoulder. "Good, very good! It seems breathing my aura of wisdom for so long has made you much smarter." He fully agreed with her logic.
Madison got excited. "So you agree? When are we going to Japan?"
Ian performed a tactical lean-back, skillfully changing the subject. "Uh... we can discuss that grand adventure later. Right now, we should have a deep discussion about that... 'old stonemason'."
He wiggled his butt, feeling the incredible comfort of the stone chair. Sitting on it for a whole period was pure bliss. It looked like cold, hard stone, but it felt as soft as a sofa and even had constant temperature heating and smart ventilation!
This tech tree was more warped than the Batcave!
"The old stonemason? What about him? His craftsmanship is great; otherwise, I wouldn't have asked him to make the chair."
"Where did you find him?" Ian asked, still suspecting it was God.
"He's our neighbor. Lives on the street next to mine. He stays up all night hammering and clanging, it's so noisy."
Ian: "...Neighbor?"
Madison nodded. "Yeah. A few days ago, I saved his wife from some bad guys. So he said he'd make me whatever I wanted."
"You saved his wife?!"
Ian's voice spiked. His heart skipped a beat—the Goddess of Creation hadn't bothered him lately. Was it not because of a change of heart, but because the Old Man had locked her up?!
"Yeah."
"What does his wife look like?" Ian asked urgently. "Is she... gorgeous? Radiant? Glowing?"
Madison thought about it and shrugged. "No, just a very ordinary middle-aged lady. Average build, wearing an apron, holding some boxes of sirloin steak like she was going home to cook dinner."
This left Ian confused. "Then... do you know her name?"
Madison shook her head. "No idea. I can't even remember my relatives these days, who remembers a neighbor's name?"
She made too much sense for Ian to argue. Just as Ian's brain was about to overload, Madison added:
"But I walked past his yard yesterday and saw a business card in a trash box."
"What did it say? Was it... 'Jehovah'? Or 'Yahweh'? Or 'I Am That I Am'?" Ian was grasping at straws.
"No. If I met God, I'd know. I'm not stupid, I'm a Supreme Witch." Madison looked at him helplessly.
She paused, then clearly and accurately read out the name.
"The old stonemason's name is Rick Sanchez. Yeah, that's it. The card even had a title: 'Intergalactic Craftsman, Dimensional Repairman'."