He cannot appear in public and has never done group projects. His school exams are all applied for online; he gets through facial recognition and online Q&A sessions by relying on holographic projections to bluff his way through.
I'll take responsibility for the speech on stage.
Timothy raised his hand, taking on all the work that required appearing in public.
Colt's eyes grew brighter as he raised his hand to high-five him.
Pleasure doing business with you!
“A pleasure working with you!”
Timothy put one hand in his pocket and pressed a preset shortcut on his phone, sending a pre-written email to his socioeconomics teacher to confirm the study group and explain Colt's special circumstances.
No teacher would refuse a student who is both disabled yet possesses great determination and an eagerness to learn.
The library in the morning was sparsely populated, with only a few pairs of mandarin ducks fluttering about.
Timothy's private study room is on the fifth floor. Colt has come here to guard Timothy's sleep before, but this is the first time he has been invited to enter through the door.
To be precise, this was the first time he had been invited into someone else's private space.
Compared to Colt's tension, Timothy seemed overly relaxed.
He threw himself into the sofa and pointed to the seat opposite him, "Sit."
Colt tentatively touched the sofa.
His hand sank in.
"Why? What's the principle?" Tim rolled over, one hand pressing against the clearly physical sofa, while his other hand grabbed Colt's hand, which was also physical.
The next second, Tim also sank into the sofa.
Whoa, super invisibility! Now I'm a Ghost too!
Tim was like a child with a new toy, grabbing Colt as he went through sofas, through tables, through walls; after discovering someone having an affair next door, he covered Colt's eyes and retreated.
If you can walk through walls, why do I have to step on the floor?
Tim stomped his foot.
In the next second, the ground suddenly gave way beneath his feet, half of his body sank into the floor.
Colt squatted beside the detective who had fallen into the floor, resting his chin on one hand as he watched him, a hint of a smile in his eyes.
Because wherever I go, my spiritual power spreads with me. It's just like a game of crossing a river on wooden planks, right now, I've pulled the plank out from under your feet.
Tim plunged his head into the floor as well, only pulling it out after a long while, looked at Colt, who was still crouching in place, his eyes shining with the light of the pursuit of truth.
The human eye's accommodation is limited; theoretically, we can't see objects within one centimeter, but I saw the cross-sectional structure of the floor! There is a layer of power protecting me and allowing me to see! What would happen if I let go?
What would happen?
Your internal organs will fuse with the steel and concrete, becoming a new statue for the Gotham High Library!
Colt grabbed Timothy by the back, pulled him up, pushed him toward the sofa in front of the desk.
Tim reclined halfway in the sofa, watching Colt use the hovering skateboard as a chair. Colt took a laptop out of his backpack, prepared paper and a pen, then sat up straight at the desk, placing both hands on the keyboard.
Timothy observed closely, sliding a piece of paper under the computer, said with certainty, "It isn't resting on the table, just like your scooter isn't resting on the ground."
Colt tapped a few keys on the keyboard and turned the computer screen toward Timothy.
Yes, I didn't bring a table with me; it can only hover. Detective game is over, Drake.
“Tim.” Timothy looked serious. “Call me Tim, Colt.”
Colt's lips curled slightly as he continued typing: 【Tim, how should I write the theme of heroes and urban development? 】
Do you have a favorite hero?
Timothy sat down and began pulling things out of his backpack. A phone, a tablet, a laptop, a baby bottle..
Wait, a baby bottle? Who swapped his canned coffee for a baby bottle? There's even 180 milliliters of milk inside!
Tim quickly shoved the baby bottle back into his backpack and looked at Colt.
Colt had been staring at him the whole time, so he naturally hadn't missed the baby bottle just now. He watched as the confusion in his eyes gradually turned into shock, his gaze toward Timothy became increasingly eerie.
"No, it's not mine. I have a baby brother at home who hasn't even been weaned yet; this is his baby bottle!" Timothy decisively shifted the blame.
Although this baby bottle might have been a prank played by Jason and Stephanie, it didn't stop Tim from throwing Damian under the bus.
Colt believed the "coffee production line" had been weaned. Even if it hadn't, it wouldn't be perverted enough to use a baby bottle. But, would an arrogant child like Damian actually still use a baby bottle to drink milk?
Colt wrote: [Red Robin?]
Timothy narrowed his eyes slightly; Colt knew their identities.
You know there are several Red Robins," Tim said, pulling out a plastic container, "they each have their own unique characteristics.
Colt deliberately shook his head: "I thought Red Robin was a Peter Pan who never grows up, or perhaps a magical sprite as people say on Gotham, someone who could grow taller, shorter, turn male, turn female, or even turn into a starfish."
Timothy asked Colt seriously, "Which one do you like?"
Colt looked at the blueberries and cherries in the food container.
I like the cherries. They're bright red and large, with green stems; they look delicious.
"Which one do you like?" Colt asked in return.
The smartest one." Timothy opened the food container and pushed it toward Colt. "Here, try them.
[We can write Red Robin.]
Colt shared a coffee popsicle with Timothy in kind.
The thermos worked wonders; the popsicle didn't melt at all, a chibi Batman stood on the stick, looking at them with disapproval.
Wow!" Timothy marveled. "A perfect design; we could use it as a practical product for our research project.
Colt finished an exquisitely delicious cherry, then pushed the remaining coffee popsicle, along with the thermos, toward Tim.
We were just talking about Red Robin.
Timothy bit Batman's head off: "I think only Batman's great will could endure the pain of having his head bitten off by countless people every single day."
He narrowed his eyes and let out a sigh of satisfaction.
My God, this kind of life-sustaining thing, which used to exist only in dreams, was actually rolling across his tongue right now!
It's too wonderful!
Timothy announced: This is the coffee of his dreams!
Colt is doing group work with someone for the first time.
It felt great, it was much more efficient than working alone.
Timothy was like a smart search engine; he could pull up any data needed, from Gotham's annual financial reports down to the sales figures for superhero merchandise.
From determining the thesis topic to building the framework and then filling in the content.. they had almost finished it in just two hours.
Colt looked at the paper, which, even after being compressed again and again, still exceeded five thousand words.
With enough data for reference, it would actually be fine to be lazy, skip the actual work, just hand it in directly. After all, it was just a high school paper.
Timothy is a perfectionist; he insisted that Colt design the product, while he would handle the copyrights and sales channels, following through on the entire process together.
“Data is data, practice is practice. Being President doesn't require being good at making money, but understanding economic operations is a necessity.”
Colt was shocked: "You want to be President?"
Timothy seemed even more shocked than he was: "You don't want to?"
Colt shook his head; although any dog would be better than this one for president, Ghost President was still too far ahead of his time for the United States.
"What a shame, it looks like I won't be able to become the Director of the CIA after all," Timothy muttered softly.
Colt looked at him as if he were a patient and moved away slightly, afraid of being infected.
Timothy saved his essay and closed his laptop.
It's almost time. What's your next class?
Colt didn't believe that Tim didn't know, but he still replied: [Foreign Language, Third Tier Classroom, Chinese.]
I'm in French, at the Lakeside Pavilion." Tim put on his backpack and invited, "Want to have lunch together at noon?
Colt hesitated.
“My treat,” Timothy said, tapping the empty plastic food container. “No problem, my treat. I'll see you at the entrance of the International Canteen in an hour.”
Oh my god, why would Timothy come out of the library? I arrived at the lobby at eight, but I didn't see him go in..
Maybe he went through the south gate. He's different from us; he has a private elevator that goes straight to the fifth floor.
Colt caught the whispers.
Tim acted as if he hadn't heard anything, clutching his backpack with one hand while walking forward with his head down, staring at his phone.
Colt paused for a moment, then turned his skateboard and headed toward the Chinese classroom.
Normally, as long as the spiritual power does not perform a full coverage, any object touched will not be completely pulled into the Ghost field; instead, it enters a state of quantum superposition, existing simultaneously within the Ghost field and the real world.
Just like Birdie and his father, normal contact will not make them disappear from the real world.
Perhaps it was because the Spiritual Connection brought by the dream binding was tighter, causing the spiritual power to be exceptionally fond of Timothy, impatiently covering him every time it drew near.
If this continues, Timothy will become a new urban legend on campus.
..
International Canteen.
Timothy was right; you really could eat it.
Colt used a disposable spoon to put the fried rice into his mouth, his eyes brightening more and more.
Tim sat opposite him, watching the spoon in Colt's hand pass through the tray, mechanically chewing his fried rice as he fell into deep thought.
Food can be touched, the plate cannot, but a disposable spoon can..
“What is the principle?”
His brain was working at full capacity, looking as if it were about to smoke.
Colt thought for a moment, pulled out the pen and notepad he carried with him, wrote a single word, tore it off, handed it to Timothy.