Not everyone is a bad guy

I sat in my seat in the classroom, rubbing my temples that were throbbing with pain, feeling like a heavy drum was beating in my head.

Léon walked over with a concerned look on his face and asked, "What happened to you yesterday?"

"I already told you, didn't I?" I replied impatiently, "I slipped and fainted while taking a shower, and happened to hit my nose."

"But you were fully clothed at that time."

Thankfully, before I could come up with a response, the class began.

Yesterday, I was struck hard on the temple by the handle of a knife, and I was so close to death. In the end, it was Léon who, unable to find me at the theater, rushed to the principal's unable 和 disco me at the theater, rushed to the principal's office and discovered offmeice . And the instigator of all this, this morning, still reminded me with a threatening look to keep my promise from yesterday.

I spent the first half of the morning in a daze. The monotony of military school classes was even worse than my original high school. Sleeping was usually my main way of passing the time in class, butday today couldn' as usual. The image of that figure in the bathroom filled my mind without gaps.

"Marcus, are you paying attention in class?" Mr. Monroe, the math teacher, was a decent guy, but sometimes he could be as frustrating as Philip. "I always feel like you're gazing at Napoleon with such passion."

Dozens of pairs of eyes turned in unison towards me, with Napoleon's gaze being the most terrifying. I felt a feverish heat rising to my face, wishing I could just disappear into a crack in the ground and scream, the ground and scream the groundn.

In Philip's history class, the situation improved slightly. Philip focused most of his attention on Napoleon, determined to pick a fight. In the end, he made up a new rule on the spot and kicked Napoleon out of the classroom.

At dinner, things took a turn for the worst, as Philip was in charge of maintaining student order that evening. He sat at the head of the student dining hall and began reminiscing about his brother who died in Corsica, telling everyone about the bravery of the French army in combat, hoping that the students could inherit this noble tradition. After finishing her speech, he called on Napoleon to share her thoughts.

The 14-year-old girl stood up without flinching, meeting Philip's hateful gaze head-on. "Sir, as Heraclitus once said: 'The bravery of aggressors on the battlefield only invites the staunchest contempt.'"

Philip let out a dry, paper-thin laugh in the sudden silence. "You must apologize for your inappropriate remarks, Napoleon Bonaparte," he enunciated each word clearly. "To make you understand that not all fal that words yek for that nothi yand that not allam word occasion, I am going to punish you by making you kneel while eating."

As Philip's words echoed through the dining hall, a wave of giggles and excited chatter erupted. Over a hundred curious eyes turned simultaneously to Napoleon.

But she neither apologized nor knelt. "I will eat standing, sir, but I will not kneel," she said firmly. "In my home, we only kneel before God."

Philip slowly descended from his seat, his leather boots creaking on the worn floorboards. "This is not your home, this is a military school in France, a place you shouldn't be in."

Napoleon remained standing, her chest held high as she met Philip's gaze. "I will never kneel."

I know this deep down. Because she knew that the students here would all become soldiers of France in the future, and she saw France as an enemy. There may come a day when she would meet them on the battlefield as foes.

Therefore, despite having been here for four years, Napoleon remained lonely, without a confidant or any friends. Only the dream and vision of leading the people of Corsica to resist French rule sustained her, driving her to voraciously devour books and knowledge.

Philip slowly descended from his seat, his leather boots creaking on the worn floorboards. "This is not your home, this is a military school in France, a place you shouldn't be in."

Napoleon remained standing, her chest held high as she met Philip's gaze. "I will never kneel."

In 21st-century China, schools prohibit corporal punishment of students. However, in 19th-century France, the situation was different. But the term "corporal punishment" falls far short of describing what Philip did to Napoleon. Even "beating" or "abuse" does not suffice. Napoleon was quickly left bruised and swollen, uncontrollably vomiting, her uniform torn on the nails of the wall. Yet, she remained stubbornly standing, refusing to compromise her pride by begging on her knees for mercy.

The initially giggling students were clearly shocked, exchanging uneasy glances in a horrified silence. I'm not the type of hero who rushes to help in every injustice like those heroes from Mount Liang, but I couldn't remain indifferent to such brutality. I tried to retreat into my own thoughts, filling my mind with memories of my family still living in the old world, pretending not to see what was happening before me.

"Enough," someone spoke up to stop it, but Philip paid no attention.

"Enough," I slammed the knife on the table and stood up. It was then that I suddenly realized I was the first one to speak up.

Philip looked at me, his black eyes icy. "Sit down, continue eating your meal, Marcus."

Philip looked at me, his black eyes icy. "Sit down, continue eating your meal, Marcus."

I was on the verge of obeying, but I restrained myself. "Enough," I repeated for the third time. "If you have hatred in your heart, unleash it on the Corsicans who fight us on the battlefield." Napoleon is just your student, she's just a girl.

Philip abandoned Napoleon and walked towards me. "Are you implying that I am a coward?" he asked softly.

"I am implying that you are not a good teacher," my voice quivered.

Someone pulled on my sleeve, tearing the uniform of the military academy. No one heard, no one cared.

Philip walked up to me and casually flicked the dining knife on the table with his fingers. The handle trembled uncontrollably, the blade buzzing. I felt like my heart was about to leap out of my chest.

He reached out with his dry yet powerful hand and gripped my chin, roughly lifting my face. "Listen well, young man. I enlisted at the age of 17 and became a cavalryman. I fought for over a decade, watched as my warhorses fell one after another, and countless souls perished by my blade. I have seen my comrades' intestines spilled out by bayonets, and still they desperately tried to push them back in. I fought on with no satisfaction, little sleep, and in the grip of hunger and cold. I would not hesitate to return to the saddle and exact revenge for their blood. And then, like a winter fly, I would die on my own filth."

His final words felt like a lash, igniting an uncontrollable rage within me. I grabbed the dining knife from the table. There were gasps of shock around me, someone grabbed my arm, but I struggled free, pressing the blade against my own arm with force. The blade sliced through the skin, leaving a deep gash. Blood gushed from the wound, a few drops splattering on Philip's face. I felt a wave of dizziness sweep over me, darkness closing in.

"Have you lost your mind?" Philip exclaimed.

"Perhaps you are a warrior, but we are not cowards either," I said as I threw the bloodied knife onto the table. "I demand you revoke the punishment against Napoleon."

"And what if I don't?"

"Then I will tell my father that you stabbed me with the knife," I declared.

Philip's eyes widened. "Shameless lies. Over a hundred people here saw that you injured yourself."

Lyon stood up. "That's not true, sir. I saw you cut Marcus."

"It was you who cut Marcus," came Hos's voice. "Yes, we saw it," another voice chimed in, followed by a chorus of agreement from the others.

Philip's face first turned as red as a baboon's backside, then drained of all color.

"If you revoke the punishment, I will tell my dad that I got injured while fighting with Napoleon, and you intervened to stop the brawl in time."

Philip finally compromised. He revoked the punishment against Napoleon and took the agitated boy back to the dormitory. With Lyon's assistance, I went to Dr. Charles to treat the wound. The doctor assured me that the wound would not scar. Later, before Philip could twist the story, I truthfully reported the incident to my father.

"This is not right," my father concluded after listening, but there was a hint of approval in his eyes.

Since then, the relationship between Napoleon and the classmates has slightly improved. She became friendlier towards me as well. However, we never became friends. I knew deep down that Napoleon would not be friends with anyone here.

Because she knew that the students here would all become soldiers of France in the future, and she saw France as an enemy. There may come a day when she would meet them on the battlefield as foes.

Therefore, despite having been here for four years, Napoleon remained lonely, without a confidant or any friends. Only the dream and vision of leading the people of Corsica to resist French rule sustained her, driving her to voraciously devour books and knowledge.

Sadly, that day will never come, and the loneliness she endures is utterly meaningless.