Snowball fight

Time flies, and the cool autumn quickly passes. The cold winter sweeps down from the north, followed by several days of heavy snowfall.

Before crossing over to this world, I had always lived in Kunming, where the weather is like spring all year round. Therefore, I despised this ghostly weather that made me want to wrap myself in a quilt to attend classes. The snow outside grew thicker and thicker. The students, who were almost adults, turned into children again, starting to build snowmen and have snowball fights. Lyon even built a lifelike big bear, with bright glass marbles as its eyes, giving the impression of containing real life under the pale light.

Some people were indifferent to this kind of game, and Napoleon was one of them. She was someone who enjoyed taking walks. However, due to the snow being several feet deep, she couldn't walk outside. So she paced back and forth in a large hall, constantly passing by me, annoying me endlessly.

"Can't you just sit still for a while?" I asked.

"I'm bored, I don't want to sit still," she replied thoughtfully.

After a while, Napoleon had a sudden idea and suggested that everyone clear a path in the yard, build a fort, dig trenches, and construct breastworks.

"Oh God, just drag me out into the snow and let me freeze to death. It would be easier that way," I complained to myself.

I was surprised to see that the other classmates all agreed with Napoleon's suggestion, looking eager to try it out. They enthusiastically rushed out to find shovels and brooms.

Once these idiots ran outside to freeze, the vast hall was left with just me. Fantastic! It was so quiet, and even the spot near the fireplace was all mine. I smiled, leaning on the table, watching the flames dancing in front of me, feeling the warmth on my face. It was truly blissful.

"Why don't you join the snowball fight, Marcus?" Lyon appeared at the door, covered in snowflakes, with cheeks flushed from the cold.

At that moment, I found myself inexplicably thinking of a line from the novel "Rickshaw Boy": "Just come in quickly, my lord, don't let all the heat in this room escape."

I shifted closer to the fireplace and gazed out at the snowy scene with waning interest. "It looks a bit cold outside!"

"Are you really planning to stay here all alone?"

I hesitated. In communal living, the atmosphere is irresistible, so sometimes people have to take actions that go against their will, or else they will be seen as antisocial and attacked by the group. Because "everyone" says so, because "everyone" does so, if you don't do the same, you won't be able to fit in with "everyone." So I forced myself to leave the warmth of the fireplace and walked out of the hall with Lyon.

The snowflakes continued to fall, dressing the winter world in a white robe. Branches kept breaking under the weight of ice and snow, with rows of glistening icicles hanging from the eaves. Over a hundred students were busy in the yard, shoveling snow and sweeping. Their breath turned into warm mist in the air.

Napoleon walked over the crunching snow and handed me a shovel. "All this is yours, from here to there."

"You're even taller than me!" I replied.

Napoleon chuckled, "I advise you not to always poke fun at my height."

I quickly plunged the shovel into the snow and started working. After a grueling thirty minutes, the large project was finally completed!

"Alright, now we can split into two groups and practice a kind of siege," Napoleon told everyone.

"Who will be the commander?" Lyon asked.

Everyone immediately started arguing, either self-nominating or recommending others. I realized who the most suitable candidate was and walked over to Napoleon, lifting her delicate arm. "Let this giant command."

Napoleon misunderstood and punched me. "I warned you not to make fun of my height."

"That's right, it's indeed suitable for you to command, Napoleon," a student said.

"Alright," Napoleon said, "I invented this new game, so I'll lead the attack."

"I'll lead the defense," announced Hos.

I was unfortunate enough to be assigned to the defense team.

here is an unbeatable presence known as "So-and-so from the other side"; there is a lagging presence called "So-and-so from our home." When these two entities coexist without reservation in the same competition, defeat in this showdown is inevitable. This is what I realized after experiencing 5000 matches of League of Legends in my original world. I call it the First Law of eSports. Now I realize that this law applies appropriately to any competition.

In this snowball fight, there was no such thing as a "lagging presence." To be honest, Hos did command well, but still not as good as Napoleon. However, someone still needed to take the blame. After any setback a group faces, there needs to be a scapegoat for people to blame specifically, pointing fingers and saying, "How useless are you, why don't you just go die." It's like a sacrifice, sacrificing an individual to appease the collective anger.

Undoubtedly, including myself, everyone was having a great time. Time flew by unnoticed, the overcast sky gradually cleared, and the sun peeked out for the first time that day. I gradually stopped feeling the cold, stopped noticing the sweat dripping into my eyes, and all worries were cast aside. Napoleon probably felt the same way, standing behind the chest-high wall, her clothes covered in frozen snow, shouting and laughing.

Is this the Emperor the French are willing to sacrifice themselves for? She smiled, and you only then realized how beautiful she was. I fell in love with a girl as white as winter snow, the sunlight shining on her hair.

"What are you all doing?" a voice filled with anger echoed through the yard, as Philippe interrupted everyone's laughter. "Knock all this down for me, clean up the yard. Act now, quickly. Who's in charge? Show yourself!"

The scene fell silent, a drop of snow water trembling on the tip of my hair, then falling. I didn't see who threw that snowball, but it hit Philippe right between the eyes, blurring that bastard's vision. So the bald idiot didn't even have time to let out a fart before the whole yard was once again filled with flying snowballs. Whether from the attack team or the defense team, all students, as if by some unspoken agreement, threw snowballs at Philippe. In those exhilarating few seconds, over a hundred arms relentlessly launched revengeful snowballs.

"Bury him," a voice shouted, but no one responded. However, when Napoleon said, "Run," the students laughed and dispersed in a commotion.

I followed the crowd into the hall, my underwear already soaked with sweat and snow water. Lyon appeared beside me, looking somewhat uneasy as he asked, "Will Mr. Philippe be okay?"

"Evil begets evil for a thousand years, he'll be fine," I replied, somewhat annoyed. "What you should be concerned about is how he will retaliate against us, idiot." Although I said that, deep down, I didn't think it was a big deal, after all, one person shouldn't be held responsible for a group's actions.

The next day in history class, all the students watched nervously as Philippe walked into the classroom in a huff. He glared at the students with eyes that seemed capable of killing, tapping his palm with rolled-up textbooks.

"Now, let's review the questions from the last lesson," he said, squinting his eyes. "If anyone can't answer, I'll make sure they pay for it."

The first student called upon, as usual, was Napoleon. Despite Philippe's challenging question, she answered effortlessly. Philippe, somewhat disappointed, allowed her to sit down and moved on to the next student.

The second to answer the question was Alexander de Magis. He was a very quiet young man, with a neutral face and shoulder-length black hair. His deep blue eyes were always calm, and he spoke softly. Alexander began to answer the question in a whisper-like voice.

"Speak up!" Philippe slammed his fist on the table, the sound echoing like thunder. "Are you a winter fly?"

Alexander hesitated for a moment, then began to recite a bit louder than before.

"Speak up! Louder! Louder! Louder!" Philippe screamed three times in a row, each shout louder than the last, his presence becoming quite intimidating.

Despite the teacher's demonstration, Alexander couldn't say a word. His face turned pale, frozen in place, silent as a cicada.

"Speak up!" Philippe shouted, pulling at his throat. "You don't know this?!" He paced heavily across the platform. "Oh, I see. Your minds were all on throwing snowballs, right? Who was the first one to throw a snowball at me yesterday?"

The classroom fell silent, not a single person daring to meet Philippe's gaze.

After a while, Alexander recovered from his initial shock. "I know, sir," he said.

Philippe squinted, "Which little rascal?"

Alexander pointed with his hand, "Him."

I, sitting by the window, absentmindedly twirling a quill pen, completely clueless. The eyes of the whole class suddenly turned towards me.

"Huh?" I sat up straight in astonishment, only managing to utter that single word.

"It's you again, Marcus!" Philippe roared in anger.

"I didn't-"

"Don't argue with me, I don't want to hear your explanation. Go write your name in the discipline book." The teacher turned to Alexander, "You will also be noted down. I detest traitorous informants."

After a futile attempt to defend ourselves, Alexander and I walked dejectedly to the principal's office. Thanks to this nonsense, my name was about to appear in the discipline book for the first time.

"Are you out of your mind?" I started questioning Alexander as soon as we left the classroom. "You're blind as a bat, which eye saw me throwing the snowball first?"

Alexander remained calm and composed. "There's no way around it. Philippe is deliberately picking on us. If we don't find a scapegoat, we'll never have peace."

"Why choose me as the scapegoat then?"

"Because your dad is the principal, Philippe wouldn't dare touch you. If it were someone else, they would definitely have a worse fate than you," he gently patted my shoulder. "A few months ago, when you threatened Philippe by cutting yourself with a knife, everyone helped you out."

I didn't respond. We climbed the stairs together in silence and reached the principal's office. My father was sitting at his desk, reading a book.

"Dad, we're here to get the discipline book," I said.

My father set down his book and took out the small blue-covered notebook from the drawer. "What trouble have you two gotten into?"

I reached out to take the discipline book. "This incident wasn't my fault."

"What's going on?" Father interlocked his fingers, resting his chin on them.

Alexander pinched my arm.

"Alright, it's all my fault," I said, handing the discipline book to Alexander.

A few minutes later, Alexander left. I casually flipped through the discipline book and found Napoleon's name.