Chapter 83: Class

Time flew by; after lunch, Luo Quan only scrolled through her phone for a while before it was already time for class.

For the first class of the new semester, Luo Quan had no intention of being late and arrived early to take her seat.

Because linguistics is a niche major, the number of students choosing it is small, so the classrooms assigned are mostly small ones of just a few dozen square meters.

Large lectures are usually held in tiered auditoriums, which feel truly collegiate; studying in these small classrooms gave Luo Quan a strong sense of being back in middle school.

The classmates in the room came from all over the world; Luo Quan glanced around and spotted only two East Asian students with yellow skin, but she couldn’t tell which countries they were from, so she didn’t approach them.

The advantage, however, was that no one in the class knew her, making student relationships feel more natural.

Of course, attractive girls usually attract more attention from boys, and in this class, Luo Quan was the only girl—literally a scarcity of meat among many wolves.

Fortunately, the professor arrived just in time; otherwise, several eager white male students had already prepared to strike up a conversation with Luo Quan.

This American German professor was exceptionally muscular, likely over 1.9 meters tall, with a flushed face and neck; from the open collar of his T-shirt, a few curls of white chest hair were visible—a classic Anglo-Saxon white man.

Teaching at the University of Tokyo, he showed no consideration for local students; perhaps noticing few Asians in the class, he launched into a rapid-fire stream of American English, waving his hairy hands as he spoke.

In the past, her English had been barely sufficient for simple daily conversations with ordinary Americans, and she could generally read and write common vocabulary—but keeping up with this professor’s pace was clearly difficult.

Fortunately, Luo Quan had previously exchanged for a Language Proficiency talent in the mall, and this expense was even cheaper than improving her singing ability.

Seeing how practical each skill cost less than 500 Heat Points, she exchanged for all five major world languages: English, Russian, French, German, and Italian.

The consequence was that four new languages suddenly flooded her mind, as if four chatterboxes were arguing inside her head, bombarding her neural pathways with endless vocabulary and sentences, leaving her mentally drained for several days afterward.

But after enduring those few days, Luo Quan discovered she had unconsciously mastered all these languages, reaching simultaneous interpretation level, switching effortlessly between them.

Although the German professor spoke quickly and used obscure vocabulary, few students for whom English was a second language could fully understand him.

Fortunately, the Language Proficiency talent Luo Quan obtained from the system contained no filler; what the professor said sounded to her no different from hearing Chinese spoken directly.

On the first day of class, Professor Frantz briefly introduced the purpose of the course—the significance of studying German history—and then expanded further to explain the broader meaning of linguistics.

In his words, linguistics had nothing to do with how many foreign languages a person knew; if you truly mastered a dozen foreign languages, you might be called a polyglot, but not a linguist.

A true linguist studies human language itself, exploring its nature, function, structure, usage, and related questions.

Learning the historical development of language is a necessary path for every beginner in linguistics; the four years of university merely introduce you to the field; to truly delve into linguistics, you must first pursue a master’s degree—the equivalent of a graduate student in Huaxia.

In short, linguistics is a complex, tedious discipline requiring years of solitary dedication, with extremely poor employment prospects; if you graduate after four years, your level will barely qualify you to be a foreign language teacher—unless you continue your studies, in which case you might eventually secure a position at a specialized research institute.

Many students felt a chill hearing this; none of their professors had mentioned these facts last semester, and they had all assumed linguistics meant learning multiple foreign languages, only studying language itself after gaining depth.

In their view, mastering so many languages would at least allow them to become translators after graduation; they never expected this professor to tell them linguistics had nothing to do with learning foreign languages—it was purely about studying language itself.

Of the twenty-some students in class, more than half had already begun considering switching majors.

But transferring majors at the University of Tokyo was extremely strict: you needed to have studied for at least one semester, ranked in the top 10% of your year in your current major, have no disciplinary record, and be in good health.

The first few conditions were manageable, but one requirement—“demonstrating special circumstances necessitating a major change”—was entirely at the university’s discretion; whether your reason was special enough, or whether you truly needed to switch, was up to them alone.

This single condition alone effectively trapped most students in their original majors.

Of course, some students remained calm; they were genuine linguistics enthusiasts who had thoroughly researched the major before enrolling and intended to pursue it long-term, so when the professor revealed the truth, they felt no surprise—only serene acceptance.

Luo Quan belonged to a third category: she had already achieved considerable success outside school; employment prospects meant little to her—she only needed to graduate smoothly with a University of Tokyo diploma.

After all, in today’s society, employers first look at your degree, then your major; whether you studied linguistics or foreign languages, as long as you held a University of Tokyo diploma, plenty of institutions would welcome you.

Facing the students’ varied expressions, Professor Frantz was unsurprised; he had taught generation after generation, and nearly every time he said this, they all looked exactly like this.

Of course, each year, some students remained utterly unmoved, steadfastly devoted to linguistics.

Right now, the blonde girl buried in her book was a perfect example.

Frantz felt he needed to use her to set an example—at least he couldn’t let everyone think linguistics was truly hopeless.

“What’s your name?” Frantz asked Luo Quan.

“Student, the professor is asking you,” whispered a nearby Indian male, gently tapping her desk.

“Ah… me?” Luo Quan snapped her head up, staring at the professor.

“Yes, you,” Frantz smiled.

“My name is Luo Quan,” Luo Quan stood and said.

“Rachel?” Frantz doubted his aging ears; how could that word sound so strange?

Luo Quan shook her head: “Not Rachel. Luo Quan. I’m Huaxian—surname Luo, given name Quan.”

“Huaxian…” Frantz stared at Luo Quan with suspicion. “Did both your parents become Huaxian citizens?”

Luo Quan sighed: “Actually, I’m mixed-race—my mother is pure Huaxian, my father is Anglo-Japanese.”

Frantz muttered under his breath: “Three-nation heritage, yet entirely a white face—uncommon indeed.”

“So, Professor, why did you call me up?” Luo Quan asked curiously.

Hearing this, Frantz straightened his chest: “I wanted to ask you—why did you choose linguistics?”

This question genuinely stumped Luo Quan.

Previously, she had intended to major in literature, but due to an input error during registration, she ended up in linguistics—this was never her intention.

But revealing this would be too hurtful, so she lied: “I thought this major would let me learn many languages, which sounded interesting, so I picked it—never realizing it had nothing to do with learning languages.”

The classmates laughed; many of them had chosen linguistics for precisely this reason.

“This…” Professor Frantz frowned slightly. “Regardless, you’re here because of linguistics—what are your plans after graduation?”

Luo Quan tilted her head to stare at the ceiling as if thinking: “No real plans. I’ve already debuted as a singer—just need to get my diploma.”

“Alright, sit down,” Frantz sighed helplessly. Clearly, linguistics was never a popular major—he shouldn’t have entertained such hopes.

The German history class dragged on for half an hour in this awkward atmosphere; when it ended, both professor and students felt a sense of relief.

Luo Quan felt the same—linguistics was indeed dull. She had hoped to flip through the textbook for something that might spark her interest, but was disappointed to find nothing at all.

These four years of university would be a trial—studying a subject so dull and uninteresting, passing would be no simple task.

Fortunately, she had the system; she could cram before each exam and get by.

Fortunately, the afternoon’s Japanese conversation class was canceled because the teacher had an emergency, so all students were dismissed early, packing up amid cheers to return to their dorms.

The boys, who had held back all afternoon, finally mustered courage to approach Luo Quan—only to find she had already vanished.

As the saying goes, don’t stand beneath a crumbling wall; though Luo Quan was no longer a gentleman, she wouldn’t foolishly wait for the wall to fall on her.

As soon as class ended, she grabbed her bag and fled the campus, avoiding wave after wave of advances and friendship requests.

Her first day of classes ended with no homework assigned; the two classmates she’d just met gave her one task—to win the championship in the two-month-long Koma Campus Festival singing competition.

For her, this task should be effortless.