Chapter 910: Take the Front Door

She is probably having her mind jump back and forth between "wanting to refuse" and "not knowing how to refuse" right now.

Refusing the teacher's kindness goes against the conduct she's followed all her life.

Accepting a home visit also makes her feel embarrassed to let the teacher see the chaotic state of her home.

These two forces clash fiercely in her mind; the deep pink flush on her face never fades, and her lips move several times without forming a complete sentence.

Heimu watches her struggle and decides to add another blow.

She lifts her hand and naturally rubs Hua's hair.

Her palm rests on the gray‑blue crown, her five fingers gently combing from the bangs to the hair whorl, moving leisurely with an obvious tenderness.

"It's settled then."

Heimu pulls his hand back to his side, tilts his head at her, and the dark‑purple pupils reflect the cold white light of the restroom's fluorescent lamp, looking unusually bright.

"After school today, shall the teacher go home with you?"

Hua's fingers have already twisted several fine creases into the school uniform skirt's hem.

She lowers her head, staring at the tip of her shoe, her ear tips reddened to near transparency.

She remains silent for two seconds.

Then she gently nods, accompanied by an almost inaudible "mm".

Heimu's mouth corner deepens ever so slightly.

She pats Hua's shoulder and says the standard gentle‑teacher line.

"Good then. Go back to class with peace of mind. After school, wait for me at the school gate; we'll leave together."

Hua nods again, still keeping her head down, still with reddened ear tips.

She probably regrets wildly in her heart why she didn't persist in refusing, yet part of her secretly delights in the teacher's praise, and the two emotions twist together in her stomach like a knot.

She bows to Heimu, her waist bent low, the gray‑blue low ponytail slipping from her shoulder and swaying twice, then turns and briskly walks out of the restroom.

When she pushes the door open, her left foot nearly trips on the threshold; flustered, she grabs the doorframe to steady herself, then darts away to the end of the hallway, as fast as a cat that, after its Tail is touched, bolts in panic.

Heimu stands in the restroom, watching Hua's silhouette disappear down the hallway.

She maintains a gentle smile for about three seconds, then lets out a long sigh.

She turns back to face the mirror, looks at the woman in it, and reaches to adjust the school‑badge pin on her collar.

"Alright."

Heimu says to his reflection, the smile at his mouth corner returning to the casualness only one alone has.

"This time we won't take the Backdoor. We'll go through the front door."

He picks up a black hair tie from the table, gathers his gray‑white long hair behind his head, loosely ties a low ponytail, and a few stray strands escape the tie to hang by his ears, which he ignores.

Then he pushes the door, exits the restroom, heads toward the office, preparing the dialogue and props needed for the "home visit".

Perspective shift.

Heimu walks on Hua's right, hands in the pockets of his teacher's uniform, the gray‑white low ponytail swaying lightly behind his shoulders with each step.

Her dark‑purple eyes are half‑closed, watching the watch as if enjoying a leisurely afternoon stroll.

In fact, she silently tallies a mental account:

The distance from school to Hua's home is about two kilometers; walking takes fifteen to twenty minutes, while riding a motorcycle only takes three minutes.

Three minutes.

Lightning‑fast.

The purple‑black motorcycle is parked now beneath the phoenix trees at the school gate, sunlight glinting off the metallic paint on the fuel tank side with a deep violet sheen, handsome enough that every passing male student can't help but glance again.

He then turns his head toward the diligent Class Monitor beside him, about to say "The teacher will take you to ride that cool motorcycle," but before the words leave his tongue, Hua, as if having anticipated the line, naturally picks up the conversation.

"Teacher."

Hua's voice is steady and proper, "Minors may not ride motorcycles. They also may not sit on a motorcycle's rear seat. That's explicitly stipulated by traffic law."

Heimu's lips remain slightly open, the shape for the word "motorcycle" still hanging at the corner of his mouth.

She blinks; a hint of utter bewilderment flashes in the dark‑purple pupils.

She looks down at her teacher's uniform; the outfit looks unmistakably like that of a proper teacher.

Then she glances again at Hua, who still wears that earnest face that makes one reluctant to contradict, his ice‑blue eyes looking at her openly.

"…You even know what I'm about to say?"

Heimu finally closes his mouth, his tone between admiration and resentment.

"When the teacher looked at that motorcycle at the school gate earlier, there was a spark in his eyes."

Hua shifts his gaze to the road ahead, his tone still the standard report‑style steadiness, "Then you turned to look at me. That expression is exactly the same as the one my desk‑mate makes every time she wants me to help with her homework."

Heimu pulls his hand from his pocket and rubs his temple with his index finger.

That's terrifying.

The student's observational skill is literally sharper than that of a Former Genius Club member.

She begins to reflect whether her recent facial management slipped a tiny flaw due to repetitive fatigue.

A three‑degree upward turn of the mouth corner can be read; if Hua never becomes the head of a Martial Arts Hall, he'll certainly be an interrogation expert.

"…Fine. Walking. Walking is good." Heimu lowers his hand from his temple, slips it back into his pocket, and says in a tone mixing optimism with a hint of bitterness, "Exercise, breathe fresh air, soak up the sun. It's good for the body."

"It's wonderful that the teacher thinks that way." Hua slightly bows, his tone still proper and serious, but his mouth corner lifts an extremely slight about half a degree — a curvature that probably expresses his pride in "successfully Persuasion the teacher," though he probably isn't aware of it.

The two continue walking forward along the sidewalk.

Afternoon sunlight filters through the gaps in the trees' leaves, scattering a dusting of gold across the paving stones.

The road isn't bustling; on either side stand low‑rise shops and residential buildings of the old town, occasionally a convenience store with a faded banner, or a hardware store with a few wilted potted plants at its entrance.

The air carries a faint osmanthus scent, mingling with the scallion‑oil aroma drifting from a distant pancake stall.

Heimu walks while glancing peripheral vision at the surrounding streets, unable to help but mutter that it's still quite idle; this world's perfection is more absurd than imagined.

"Hua, classmate."

She suddenly spoke, her tone casual, "During this period when your father's health is poor, have you been handling all the household matters?"

Hua was slightly startled, probably because she hadn't expected the teacher to bring this up suddenly.

She thought for a moment before answering, as if carefully arranging her words.

"Mostly, yes. Not many people come to the Martial Arts Hall, so I mainly clean and organize the members' records. Father said I didn't need to do these tasks, that I should focus on my studies, but when he himself feels unwell—"

She paused, a hint of shadow flashing across her ice‑blue eyes, then quickly covered by a courteous smile, "—I can tell even without him saying so. So I finish the household chores in advance, so he doesn't have to worry."

Heimu nodded, offering no reply.