Winter Time Rendering

Chapter 12: Chapter 4: The Goal is to Become a Pokémon Master

They say half of a guy’s school memories are made in the bathroom, and Zhang Shutong thought there was some truth to that.

He lifted the rubber curtain and found it packed with people, as bustling as a meeting.

He didn’t actually need to use the restroom, nor was he there for the "meeting." He just wanted to reminisce a bit, but this particular memory stank too much. So after a quick glance, he pinched his nose and backed out.

Just then, someone clapped him hard on the shoulder, and a voice followed:

"Bro, no need to thank me!"

Zhang Shutong was genuinely startled.

He had just been stabbed a few hours ago, so now he got the creeps whenever someone approached him from behind.

He turned to see Du Kang’s grinning face.

His many thoughts converged into a single sentence:

"You really haven’t changed a bit."

Zhang Shutong felt a wave of emotion. The other guy had a baby face, which made him look younger than the rest of them now, but it also meant he wouldn’t show his age later on.

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It’s a compliment. You look young. What were you saying just now? ’No need to thank you’ for what?"

"I turned in your homework for you. It was nothing. You gonna buy me some spicy strips?"

"Pick whatever you want. But I’ve got something to do after school, so it might be a little late," Zhang Shutong said with a laugh.

The two of them fell into easy conversation, just like they would eight years later. But after only a few words, Du Kang glanced at his watch, turned, and bolted, shouting as he ran:

"I’m going to get the milk! Don’t forget what you promised me for next class—a KFC meal!"

’Wait, what did I promise him?’

Now it was Zhang Shutong’s turn to be utterly confused.

He stood there for a good while, thinking, ’This kid is just like his future self, always leaving things half-said.’

That was Du Kang for you—the kind of guy you’d find in every class, always rushing around in a flurry, busy with God knows what, but definitely, incredibly busy.

However, "getting the milk" was a legitimate task.

The "milk" referred to the student milk program. It came in a small rectangular carton, a product of a nutritional initiative launched at the beginning of the century.

It came in all sorts of flavors: vanilla, strawberry, papaya, chocolate... and plain milk, which no one ever drank.

Zhang Shutong knew that at most schools, the student milk was distributed in the morning, probably during the break after second period. But since they were on a small island, the milk had an extra leg of its journey to travel by water. It couldn’t arrive in the morning, and noon was too close to lunchtime, so it was simply moved to the afternoon.

Each class had a "milk monitor" who would fetch the milk from the warehouse behind the school building and bring it back to the classroom for distribution. It was considered an official position.

They say student positions before university are useless—no real power, no extra credit. But the milk monitor, as far as Zhang Shutong knew, could actually skim a little off the top.

It basically came down to the extra milk left over each day.

Perhaps to account for shipping damages, they always delivered a few extra cases. For each class, this meant several extra cartons. How these were distributed was up to the milk monitor; the teachers couldn’t be bothered to manage it.

Du Kang was obviously a loyal friend who believed in keeping the good stuff for his own. The extra cartons always ended up in the hands of their small group of best friends. Over time, it felt like they were getting regular shipments.

He even remembered that Qingyi liked chocolate, Ruoping liked papaya, and Du Kang himself liked vanilla... Zhang Shutong was a little surprised he recalled so many details.

But that’s just how it goes. Many things you think you remember, you’ve actually forgotten. And many things you’ve forgotten can suddenly resurface at any moment. They’re always there in the back of your mind, never really gone.

But the reason he remembered so clearly was because of another melodramatic situation—he liked the strawberry flavor, and as it happened, so did Lu Qinglian.

And so, who to give the extra strawberry milk to—his best friend on one side, the girl he liked on the other—became an agonizing dilemma for Du Kang.

But the guy was truly loyal. Though he always clutched the carton so tightly he nearly crushed it, gazing at it with the reluctance of a man parting with his wife, it always ended up in Zhang Shutong’s hands.

Though sometimes he would plead pitifully, "Just one carton, let me keep just one extra carton," of course.

Then the three of them would start teasing him.

"Forgetting your friends for a pretty face." That was Ruoping.

"Putting a crush before your buddies." That was Qingyi.

"Couldn’t agree more." That was from the sole beneficiary—himself.

Thinking back on it now, it was truly shameless. Zhang Shutong chastised himself while laughing.

’After all these years, Du Kang never managed to win Lu Qinglian’s heart. Maybe those few cartons of strawberry milk were all that stood in his way?’

’This really did have something to do with me.’

’Yep. Next time, I’m definitely not drinking it.’

He then went back to the classroom to grab his schoolbag and lined up in the hallway, waiting for the seat change next period.

The homeroom teacher was already standing at the front. He rolled up his sleeves and bellowed:

"Hurry it up, you little rascals! If you gotta go to the bathroom, make it quick! You’ve got five minutes..."

"Move, move, move! Yeah, I’m talking to you! Why are you sneaking around like a weasel stealing a chicken? Can’t you just pick up your bag?"

"Oh, Shutong! Come to the front. You’re first anyway."

The man was about twenty-six or twenty-seven, a little older than Zhang Shutong’s pre-regression self. He was over six feet tall, with an aquiline nose, a long face, and a square jaw that gave him a resolute air.

His voice was so loud it almost echoed, and he’d shove the shoulder of any student who annoyed him, showing none of the gentlemanly demeanor he had when speaking to Lu Qinglian earlier.

But the students he yelled at didn’t get angry; some would even grin and talk back.

This was their homeroom teacher, and Zhang Shutong’s favorite teacher of his entire student life—Song Nanshan.

Song Nanshan was a classic rough-and-tumble guy. The top button of his shirt was always missing, his hair was unkempt, and his chin was covered in blueish stubble. He was a bit sloppy, but it gave him a rugged, manly charm.

During class, his sleeves were always rolled up to his elbows. Once, during an open-class observation for the city, the grade-level director sitting in the back coughed several times, but he remained completely oblivious. With one hand, he filled the blackboard with flamboyant script, sending spit flying everywhere.