Chapter 40 You Can Teach Me

Chapter 40 You Can Teach Me
“You can’t drink that yet!”
Julie lunged forward, her hand shooting out to stop him. She had assumed a guy who practically lived on the basketball court would know basic athletic recovery, but seeing Warren easily twist the cap off his water bottle sent her into a panic.
“You can’t drink immediately after a long race,” she scolded, gesturing at him. “Wait until your breathing evens out. And even then, only tiny sips.”
Warren froze. His dark eyes flicked from her face to the bottle in his hand.
Without a word, he tightened the cap back on. “Okay.”
He hadn't actually been thirsty. His body hadn't signaled any desperate need for hydration. He had just wanted something to do with his hands to keep from standing there doing nothing.
Vincent and the rest of the guys were about to swarm forward to slap Warren on the back and praise his 1500-meter run.
But Gary smoothly stepped into their path, blocking them with a natural pivot. “Hey, let’s go check if the referee recorded the time right. I heard a few years ago they messed up the timing and cost someone a medal. We can’t let that happen!”
“Are you serious? In broad daylight?”
“Better safe than sorry!”
The guys were instantly outraged by the hypothetical injustice. Without a second thought, they marched toward the finish line to make sure no one was messing with their class’s victory. In the blink of an eye, the loud group vanished, leaving only Warren and Julie standing together in the fading afternoon light.
Gary casually glanced back over his shoulder.
What he saw made him pause.
The guy who always stood with perfect, rigid posture was unconsciously leaning down, dropping his head just enough to catch whatever the girl was saying—or maybe to make sure she heard him. The space between them wasn't too close, but it wasn't far, either.
It was perfectly calibrated.
The girl tilted her head up, a bright laugh slipping from her lips. She took a few steps backward, lifting her digital camera, clearly directing him on how to pose. She looked ridiculous.
The guy holding the water bottle looked momentarily awkward, completely out of his element. But he complied anyway, his broad shoulders stiff and unyielding.
The girl burst into full-blown laughter.
“Warren,” Julie finally gave up, jogging back over to him and waving her hands to demonstrate. “Like this—open your shoulders. Relax. Relax.”
Warren looked like he was being tortured. Can’t I just stand still? Do I have to smile?
He forced his lips to twitch upward. It was a terrifyingly stiff fake smile.
Julie instantly regretted everything. When he had first crossed the finish line and walked toward her to ask for water, she should have just taken a candid shot. His natural smile back then had been perfect. This current expression looked like he was being held hostage at gunpoint.
She decided to let him off the hook before he started wondering if she was secretly threatening his life.
Seeing her lower the camera, Warren let out a quiet breath, looking like a man who had just been granted a royal pardon.
While Gary and the others were busy crowding the terrified referee, Julie dug into her pockets. She fished out her last two hazelnut chocolates and pressed them directly into Warren’s hand.
“Here. Eat these. They’ll help you get your energy back.” She checked her watch and glanced toward the main field. “I have to go. I’m needed everywhere right now.”
She was essentially a human brick today—wherever the class needed support, she was thrown into the foundation.
Warren knew how chaotic her logistics role was today. He gave a sharp nod.
The autumn air was crisp and clear. He stood perfectly still, watching her retreating back get smaller and smaller.
Suddenly, a heavy weight crashed down onto his shoulders. He didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was.
Gary hooked an arm tight around Warren’s neck, dropping his voice into a teasing sneer. “Soul. Return. To. Body.”
Payback was a beautiful thing. Warren had used that exact line to mock Gary’s crush weeks ago. Now, looking at Warren staring after Julie, Gary wasn’t about to let the hypocrisy slide.
Warren remembered the incident perfectly. He let out a low, helpless laugh. “You’re crazy.”
“Am I crazy?” Gary snorted. “Or is there something wrong with you?”
Waking up at the crack of dawn just to run laps on the track? Volunteering for the brutal 1500-meter race? If Gary hadn’t known him for years, he would have genuinely been moved to tears by Warren’s sudden burst of intense collective class honor.
This entire situation was going to fuel Gary’s jokes for the next calendar year.

Julie absolutely loved chocolate, and she had stocked up specifically for the sports meet. But she operated on a strict, ruthless hierarchy. The chocolate was exclusively for the girls. The boys got nothing.
Warren Gale was the sole exception.
He was the future boss. He had just run 1500 meters. He won a medal. He deserved it.
The guys who ran the 100-meter dash and shamelessly begged her for a piece of chocolate were instantly rejected.
Warren hadn’t known about this exclusive treatment until he walked past the boys' javelin group and overheard them complaining.
“Julie is so biased,” one guy whined. “I told her I was literally going to pass out and needed a chocolate to save my life. You know what she told me? Pass out after you finish throwing!”
The other guys cracked up. No one was actually mad; they just thought her ruthless efficiency was hilarious.
Dan Butler immediately fired back, defending her honor. “She bought that with her own money, not the class fund! I didn’t even get a piece, and you think you deserve one? Get out of here!”
Standing quietly in the background, Warren shoved his hands deep into his sweatpants pockets. His fingers brushed against the smooth foil of the two hazelnut chocolates.

As the athletic events finally wrapped up, Julie sprinted over to Miss Bell.
Since she had a camera and the lighting was currently spectacular, why not take a massive class photo to remember the day?
Bell looked at Julie’s flushed, glowing face. The girl looked happier than she had in weeks. “You really know how to organize things, don’t you?” Bell praised genuinely.
“Well, it is our last high school sports meet ever!” Julie replied, her chin lifting with pride.
Hearing that, Bell felt a sudden, sharp pang of nostalgia. She looked out at her energetic, chaotic students. Julie was right. This was the last time. Time moved far too fast. By this time next year, they would have taken the Gaokao and scattered in a hundred different directions.
“Alright,” Bell decided, her voice firm. “Call everyone over. Let’s find a good spot and take a bunch of photos! I’ll pay to have the film developed!”
“Boss teacher!” Julie cheered, shamelessly kissing up.
Bell laughed, waving her off. “Go! Hurry!”
Julie didn’t waste a second. The sky was currently painted in breathtaking strokes of violet, orange, and gold. A sunset this perfect wouldn't wait, and they might never get another one like it.
She ran across the field, texting and shouting for everyone in Class 3 to gather on the track. Within minutes, the entire class had swarmed the rubber lanes. Above them, the vast, painted sky looked like a scene ripped straight out of a cinematic comic book.
Standing near the back, Warren watched Julie dart around, aggressively directing where everyone should stand.
A faint smile touched his lips.
“The C-position naturally goes to our bo—” Julie caught herself just in time, swallowing the corporate slang. “Goes to our wonderful Miss Bell!”
Bell knew exactly what kind of nicknames the students gave her behind her back. But right now, her face was completely radiant as she stepped into the dead center of the formation, exactly where Julie pointed.
Julie stepped back to assess the group. It looked great, but something was missing.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, finally landing on Warren standing quietly in the back row. Inspiration struck. She asked the PE teacher, who was holding the camera, to wait one more second.
She practically skipped to the back row, stopping right behind Warren.
No one knew what she was doing. Even Warren looked confused.
Julie pointed down at the metal medal gripped in his hand. She leaned in close, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Can we let Miss Bell hold that?”
The students who had won medals were scattered all over the formation. If they held them up, they’d block people’s faces. Putting the gold medal in the center with the homeroom teacher was the perfect aesthetic choice.
Warren looked down into her bright eyes. The burning colors of the sunset were perfectly reflected in her dark pupils.
He offered a low, quiet, “Mn.”
Without hesitation, his long legs carried him straight to the front row. He stopped right in front of Miss Bell. Under her bewildered gaze, he opened his palm, offering the gold medal. “Here, Miss Bell.”
Bell blinked, touched by the gesture. She smiled warmly and looped the ribbon directly over her neck.
Seeing Warren make the move, the other medalists quickly followed suit, rushing to the front to drape their medals over the teacher.
Andrew Cantu instantly seized the political opportunity, shouting at the top of his lungs, “That’s right! Our medals are all thanks to your tireless dedication and hard work, Miss Bell!”
What the hell? Julie stared at him in pure awe.
This guy is an absolute genius. No wonder he successfully tested into a high-level government job in the future. His kissing-up skills were flawless.
Bell, utterly defenseless against such aggressive flattery, laughed so hard her eyes crinkled shut. Even the PE teacher was laughing as he crouched down to take the photo. “Are the watermelons sweet?!”
“Sweet~!”
With the flash of the camera, Class 3’s final sports meet was permanently immortalized.

Since Warren held the class funds and Julie needed to expense the photo developing, he hung back to walk with her. Tania, seeing that they were actually discussing logistics, didn’t want to be a third wheel and ran ahead to catch up with Beth.
Within minutes, the massive field was nearly empty.
“How many pictures did you take?” Warren asked as they walked shoulder-to-shoulder across the quiet track. He matched his long stride to her slower pace.
“I lost count.” Julie pulled up the camera’s digital gallery and handed it to him. “I made sure to get close-ups and candid shots of everyone. I’m going to make sure every single person gets a copy of the group shot and a solo photo.”
She was going to specifically instruct everyone not to lose them.
This is probably the skinniest we’ll ever be, with the most hair we’ll ever have, she thought fondly. They might think they looked messy and bare-faced right now, but ten years down the line, this was exactly what youth looked like.
Warren scrolled through the gallery as they walked. There were dozens of photos. But as he reached the end of the roll, his dark brows pulled together into a tight frown.
Julie caught the shift in his expression instantly. “What’s wrong?”
Did he think she took a bad photo of him? That wasn't her fault! He was completely allergic to the camera.
In her past life, she had known guys with half his looks who posted eight selfies a day just to force everyone to look at their jawlines. When a genuinely handsome guy actually knew he was handsome and tried to weaponize it, it was a disaster. Warren's awkwardness was actually his best feature.
She leaned in closer, trying to see the small screen to find out which photo had offended him.
Warren stopped walking. He looked up from the camera, his dark eyes locking onto hers.
“There aren’t any solo photos of you.”
To be exact, the only photo she was in was the massive group shot. Other than that, she didn’t exist on the camera.
Julie froze. The question caught her completely off guard.
“...Well, yeah,” she explained slowly, as if stating the obvious. “Because I was the one holding the camera.”
The person holding the camera was the recorder. They documented the memories. They couldn't be in them.
But as the words left her mouth, a strange, hollow feeling washed over her. She had meticulously ensured that every single one of her classmates had a tangible memory to keep. She knew how valuable these moments were. But she hadn’t even thought to ask someone to take a picture of her.
Because deep down, her 27-year-old soul still viewed herself as a witness. A spectator to their youth.
Not a participant.
“I forgot,” she whispered, her voice suddenly sounding very small.
Warren looked out across the empty, darkening athletic field, and then back down at the lost, dazed expression on her face.
He shifted the camera in his hands, his voice dropping into a low, quiet register.
“How about… I take one for you?”
Before she could worry about his lack of photography skills, he added, his dark eyes never leaving hers, “You can teach me.”