It was a teenager about their age.
Seventeen or eighteen years old, with glaringly bright yellow hair in the sunlight, wearing a short-sleeve shirt underneath, and the school jacket of Third High draped over his shoulders.
A car sped by on the roadside, causing a gust of wind that lifted his school jacket.
He folded his arms, and the jacket flared up, giving him the aura of a rebellious hero.
Chin slightly raised, he looked straight at Oliver Scott and shouted, "Oliver Scott!"
Marcus Shaw had a bag slung over one shoulder, holding onto the strap with one hand, and his school jacket draped over his elbow. He gave the yellow-haired kid a once-over.
Then, he slightly turned his head and asked Oliver Scott loudly, "Non-mainstream?"
"Non-mainstream."
Oliver nodded with a stomach-ache expression.
Upon hearing this, the yellow-haired teenager imdiately glared with rage and shouted irritably at the two, "What do you an? You’re the non-mainstream one!"
Paying no mind to his flustered anger, Marcus Shaw didn’t even glance his way, directly ignoring him.
He asked, "Who?"
"Don’t know."
After pondering for a mont, Oliver Scott couldn’t figure it out and had to honestly reply.
Obviously, their unabashed conversation reached the ears of the yellow-haired teenager.
"Don’t know?!" The yellow-haired teenager exploded at once, his hair shimring with golden light as he approached, glaring irritably, "Oliver Scott! How dare you pretend not to know ?!"
This guy was so immature, Oliver Scott really didn’t want to be associated with him, but due to upbringing, he couldn’t just turn around and walk away. After a mont’s stomach discomfort, he took a slight breath.
Asked, "And you are?"
"Harlen Johnson!"
The yellow-haired teenager raised his chin proudly as he announced his na.
"..."
Regrettably, still don’t recognize him.
Oliver Scott’s face remained expressionless.
Seeing this, Marcus Shaw glanced at his phone’s clock, pressed the lock screen button, and impatiently said to Oliver Scott, "It’s almost nine."
"Let’s go."
Oliver Scott said straightforwardly.
The two turned to leave.
"Damn it!"
Harlen Johnson cursed angrily, quickly taking large strides forward to once again block their path.
"Mathematics competition, we t there. Both of us got a second prize." Harlen Johnson stared hard at Oliver Scott, irritably questioning, "You really don’t rember ?"
For a seventeen or eighteen-year-old to behave so obstinately, it really was...
Oliver Scott suppressed his inner complaints and directly said, "Don’t rember. Are you here to reminisce or to challenge?"
"..."
Harlen Johnson, who ca to issue a challenge, was suddenly at a loss for words, feeling like he had been preempted and was lacking confidence.
Marcus Shaw and Oliver Scott waited for three seconds, saw Harlen Johnson silent, and didn’t continue waiting.
They sidestepped Harlen Johnson and headed towards the venue entrance.
It wasn’t until they passed by Harlen Johnson that he seed to snap out of it, imdiately cursing and turning to grab Oliver Scott’s arm.
However, just as his fingers touched Oliver Scott’s sleeve—
His wrist was suddenly grasped.
He instinctively struggled, but the grip was like a vise, immovable.
He raised his eyes in surprise to see the boy standing in front of him, a step behind Oliver Scott, with a cold expression and a faint aura of hostility and impatience in his eyes, making Harlen feel creeped out.
"Who the hell are you?!"
His voice trembled as Harlen steeled himself, trying to glare back.
"None of your damn business."
Marcus Shaw’s eyes were cool and his voice was cold, both arrogant and cool.
At the sa ti, he applied a little more pressure, making Harlen’s wrist hurt and causing him to grimace.
"Bro!"
Oliver Scott, sensing trouble, quickly called out to Marcus Shaw.
Marcus Shaw’s expression eased, and upon hearing Oliver’s call, he released his grip and pushed Harlen back, causing him to stagger but barely remain standing.
However, his school jacket fell off his shoulder and he stepped on it.
Several onlookers turned their gazes toward the scene.
"You—"
Filled with youthful vigor, feeling humiliated, Harlen, in a surge of impulsive heat and blood, raised his fist to strike.
Just then—
"Harlen Johnson!"
A calm and restrained voice stopped Harlen.
Harlen’s movents froze imdiately.
He was obedient?
Seeing this, both Oliver Scott and Marcus Shaw were a bit surprised, then raised their eyes to look toward the source of the voice.
It was another teenager.
Wearing the Third High School uniform, but unlike Harlen Johnson, he wore it properly without zipping it up, the front open, exuding no arrogance but a noble and cool deanor. His handso features gave the imdiate impression of a "good student." His every move exhibited "manners."
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