Chapter Text
The hum of the overhead fluorescent lights did little to temper the stifling afternoon heat inside Room 402. Outside, the courtyard of the academy buzzed with the frantic, restless energy of late-May freedom, but inside, the air was heavy with the scent of dry-erase markers, worn paper, and collective anxiety.
Teacher Keng adjusted his black-rimmed glasses with the knuckle of his index finger. He did not look up from the stack of mock-exam papers on his desk, yet his voice cut through the low rustle of shuffling shoes and whispered complaints with absolute clarity.
"Three minutes, class."
A unified, collective groan rippled through the third-row desks.
Keng’s fountain pen glided across a marginal note, marking a red check next to an exceptionally elegant calculus proof. He was twenty-nine, but he carried the quiet, unyielding weight of a man who had never allowed himself the luxury of wasting a single second. With a broad shoulders set in perpetual alignment, his honey-brown skin and tailored dark gray trousers gave him the imposing aura of an officer rather than a high school math teacher. As the firstborn son of a traditional household, efficiency wasn't just a habit; it was his religion.
"Teacher Keng!" whimpered Win, a boy sitting in the back who spent more time adjusting his fringe than solving quadratic equations. "Can we get an extension on question seven? It’s not humanly possible to integrate that polynomial without a scientific calculator."
Keng finally raised his eyes. Dark, sharp, and entirely devoid of pity, his gaze locked onto the boy. "Question seven is a standard application of integration by parts, Win. You were taught the method in February. If you spent less time looking at your reflection in your phone screen and more time reviewing the assigned problem sets, you would have finished five minutes ago. Two minutes remaining."
Win squeaked and dropped his head back to his desk, scribbling furiously.
Sitting in the front row, directly in Keng’s line of sight, was Nat. Unlike his peers, Nat wasn't sweating. His pencil moved across the graph paper with rhythmic, mechanical precision. Nat was Keng’s top student, a quiet senior whose analytical mind mirrored Keng’s own, though lacking the teacher's stern rigidness. Where other students saw Keng as an unapproachable fortress, Nat saw him as the ultimate mentor, the only person in the entire school who treated mathematics not as a chore, but as an art form.
Keng laid his fountain pen horizontally across his leather blotter. The digital clock on the wall clicked to 4:30 PM sharp.
"Pens down. Pass your papers to the center aisle!"
The room erupted into a flurry of papers, heavy sighs, and the scraping of chair legs against the linoleum. Keng stood, his tall frame instantly drawing the room’s focus as he smoothed the front of his crisp white button-down.
"While I collate your mock finals," Keng began, his voice deep and measured, "I have an announcement regarding the upcoming End-of-Semester Advanced Mathematics Examination."
The students paused, several holding their breath. Keng’s exams were legendary throughout the school for their brutal difficulty. A passing grade on a Keng Harit paper was considered a badge of honor, an 'A' was practically a myth.
"This semester's curriculum has been demanding," Keng continued, stepping around his desk to lean against the front edge, crossing his ankles. "And because this cohort is preparing for university entrance exams, I require absolute perfection. Mediocrity will not secure you a place in the engineering or science faculties."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing.
"Therefore, I am setting a benchmark. If anyone in this class achieves a raw score of ninety-eight percent or higher on the final exam next Friday..." Keng folded his arms over his chest, his expression unreadable. "...I will personally grant that student one wish. Anything within reason, within the bounds of legal and ethical limits, and within my personal capability. I will pay for it, arrange it, or fulfill it."
Silence stretched across the room.
For three seconds, no one spoke. Then, Win raised a trembling hand. "Teacher Keng... are you serious? Like... a pair of original new Jordan sneakers serious?"
"If you manage ninety-eight percent, Win, which would require a miracle of cosmic proportions given your performance today, yes. Jordan, it is." Keng’s tone remained deadpan. "A trip to an amusement park. A specific reference book from overseas. Whatever the top scorer desires. But make no mistake here, ninety-seven percent is a failure to meet the contract. The terms are absolute."
A buzz of frantic chatter broke out. Students exchanged wide-eyed looks. Keng never made idle promises. He was a man of strict routine, a workaholic who taught at the high school by day and ran elite tutoring sessions by night, barely taking time to breathe, let alone play games with his students. If Teacher Keng said he would grant a wish, he had the integrity, and the strict obsession with honor to follow through to the exact letter.
"Class dismissed.” Keng said, turning back to his desk to neatly align the collected test papers into a precise stack. "Do not forget chapters six through nine for tomorrow's review."
As the classroom emptied with unusual speed, the students eagerly discussing the impossible challenge, one figure remained behind.
Nat stood by his desk, carefully zipping his pencil case into his backpack. He hesitated for a moment before stepping up to Keng’s desk.
"Teacher Keng?"
Keng didn't look up from sorting the papers, but his tone softened by a fraction. "Yes, Nat? You made a slight arithmetic error on question four, by the way. Check your signs when expanding the brackets."
Nat flushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck, but a quiet, determined fire burned in his eyes. "I'll fix it tonight, sir. But... about the reward for the final exam."
"What about it?" Keng paused, resting his palms on the wooden desk, looking up at his star pupil through his silver frames. "Are you already planning your request?"
"I am!" Nat said candidly. "Because i intend to get a hundred percent."
Keng allowed the ghost of a smirk to touch the corner of his lips. He appreciated confidence when it was backed by competence. "Is that so? And what does the school's brightest mind want? A scholarship sponsorship? A recommendation letter for the university dean?"
Nat took a deep breath, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his smartphone. He tapped the screen a few times before turning it around and sliding it across the polished desk toward his teacher.
"I want this, Teacher Keng."
Keng leaned forward, his brow furrowing slightly as he inspected the image on the screen.
It was a promotional poster designed in hyper-saturated pastels, glitzy typography, and shimmering lens flares. In the center of the graphic stood a young man who looked like he had been sculpted out of porcelain and sunlight. He had fair, flawless skin, soft brown hair styled in effortlessly tossed waves, and broad, expressive eyes that seemed to gaze straight through the glass screen. He was wearing an oversized designer blazer over a silk shirt, smiling with a mix of innocent sweetness and effortless, high-fashion charm.
Bold text flared across the top: NAMPING NAPATSAKORN: THE FIRST TOUCH - EXCLUSIVE VVIP FANMEETING IN BANGKOK.
At the bottom, in smaller text, the ticket tiers were listed. The highest tier, VVIP PLATINUM ULTRA, was highlighted in gold foil. The price tag listed next to it made Keng’s left eye twitch.
It was an obscene amount of Baht. Enough to pay for two months of Keng’s groceries, or a high-end graphic calculator for every student in the front row.
Keng blinked, looking from the extravagant poster back to Nat's serious face.
"...Who is this?" Keng asked, his voice deadpan.
Nat looked as though Keng had just asked who the Prime Minister was. "That’s Namping, Teacher! Namping Napatsakorn Pingmuang! He's the top supermodel in Thailand right now, he just starred in that record-breaking romantic drama, and he’s the global ambassador for three global luxury brands!"
Keng stared blankly. "He is an entertainer."
"He is an icon," Nat corrected passionately. "And this fanmeet sold out in four seconds! The VIP ticket includes a guaranteed high-touch, 5 minutes chat, exclusive merch, signed posters, and a raffle entry for a 1 on 1 private photo op on stage! But the re-sell market prices are astronomical. If I get a hundred percent on your exam... will you buy me the ticket from a verified reseller?"
Keng adjusted his glasses again, pinching the bridge of his nose. For a man who lived his life governed by equations, logical structures, and disciplined schedules, the concept of spending a small fortune to watch a fellow human being waved at a crowd of screaming teenagers felt entirely absurd. It defied all principles of financial management.
"You want me to spend two month's tutoring income so you can look at a celebrity in a crowded hall?" Keng asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You said anything within reason, Teacher!" Nat reminded him, leaning forward, pressing his hands on the desk. "It’s legal. It’s within your capability. And I will get a hundred percent."
Keng looked at the screen again. The model on the display, Namping, seemed to smile out at him with an annoying, effortless radiance that practically screamed 'superficial’. Keng scoffed softly under his breath. Celebrities like this lived in a completely different universe, a world of light, vanity, and shallow praise, entirely disconnected from the real work of equations, responsibility, and hardship.
Yet, a contract was a contract. Keng had stated the terms himself.
"Very well," Keng said, sliding the phone back to Nat. "Secure your one hundred percent, Nat. Prove to me that your mind is as sharp as your ambitions. If you score ninety-eight or higher, the ticket is yours. If you fall short by even half a point..."
"I won't!" Nat interrupted, a confident grin spreading across his face. He grabbed his phone and bowed deeply. "Thank you, Teacher Keng! I’m going home to study right now!"
"Study calculus, Nat, not this... Namping guy." Keng called out sternly as the boy scrambled out the door, his heart light and motivated.
The classroom fell dead silent once more.
Keng stood alone in the quiet room, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the chalk dust on the floor. He picked up his pen, tapped the stack of papers against the desk to align the edges perfectly, and let out a long, slow exhale.
"Namping..." he muttered to himself, shaking his head with a quiet sigh of disdain. "Nonsense."
He slipped the stack of papers into his leather briefcase, locked the classroom door, and walked down the quiet corridor toward the faculty room, already forgetting the face on the screen as his mind returned to its rightful place: formulas, schedules, and the relentless pursuit of absolute perfection.
The morning sun hit the glass of Keng’s desk at a precise forty-five-degree angle, illuminating the final paper at the very top of the stack.
Keng held his crimson fountain pen mid-air, his sharp eyes scanning the final lines of an intricate vector space proof. Every step was flawless. The margins were neat, the logical jumps were fully justified, and the final answer was underlined twice with a ruler.
At the top of the page, in dark blue ink, was the name: Natthawut Srivisai.
Keng dropped the pen back into its display tray. He reached for his red scoring stamp, pressed it into the ink pad, and brought it down on the top right corner of the front page with a firm, decisive thwack.
100 / 100
For a quiet moment, Keng leaned back in his leather chair, tapping the frame of his glasses. A contract was a contract, but the mere thought of what that score entailed made his temple thrum with a faint, dull headache.
"One hundred." Nat breathed, his fingers trembling as he held the graded paper in front of his face. The rest of the morning study hall was still settling in, but Nat looked as though he had just been handed the keys to the kingdom. "A literal hundred percent, Teacher Keng. You checked question eight? The matrix transformation?"
"I checked it three times." Keng said flatly, standing behind his podium with his arms crossed over his chest. His honey-brown skin looked sharp against a freshly starched light blue shirt, his posture as rigid as ever. "Your proof was cleaner than the answer key I drafted. You earned the mark."
Nat let out a triumphant gasp, hugging the paper to his chest before looking up at Keng with eyes full of shameless, sparkling expectation.
"So..." Nat dragged out the word, a massive grin spreading across his face. "About the VVIP Platinum Ultra ticket for Namping's The First Touch fanmeet..."
Keng closed his eyes for two seconds, letting out a long, slow breath through his nose. He opened them, reaching into his inner suit pocket, and pulled out a sleek, heavy gold-embossed envelope.
"I don't make promises I cannot keep." Keng said, holding the envelope out between two fingers.
Nat’s jaw dropped. He snatched the envelope like it was made of solid gold, carefully pulling out the thick ticket voucher. The gleaming gold foil print screamed at Keng: VVIP PLATINUM ULTRA - ROW A, SEAT 4.
"Teacher!" Nat squealed, catching himself before he shouted too loudly in the quiet room. "How did you even get Row A?! The scalper prices for Row A were astronomical! People were bidding their entire monthly salaries online!"
"I am a man of my word." Keng replied coldly, though he preferred not to dwell on the sheer number of after-school tutoring hours it had taken to secure that specific seat from a verified proxy site. "I set the condition, you met the condition. The transaction is complete."
"This is the best day of my entire life!" Nat gushed, staring at the glossy image of Namping printed on the ticket stub, the superstar smiling radiantly in a high-fashion cream sweater, looking effortlessly ethereal. "He’s going to be standing right there! Ten meters away from me! Teacher Keng, you have no idea what this means to me!"
"What it means to you is that you now have a duty to score equally well on your national university entrance exams," Keng said, picking up his dry-erase marker and turning toward the whiteboard. "If your mind strays back to this entertainer during next week's integration practice, I will personally confiscate that stub until the day after the event."
"No way! I'll study double! Triple!" Nat tucked the golden envelope carefully into the innermost pocket of his school bag, zipping it up as if guarding state secrets. "Thank you, Teacher Keng! You really are the greatest!"
Keng didn't look back as he began writing a set of differential equations on the board. "Open your textbooks to page 142. We have no time to waste on nonsense."
Yet, as the dry-erase marker squeaked against the board, Keng’s eyes briefly flicked toward the window. The deal was done. He had fulfilled his obligation as an educator, paid the exorbitant price, and secured his top student's absolute dedication for the upcoming entrance exams.
He was officially done with this Namping Napatsakorn name. Or so he believed.
( to be continued... )