Charming Imbecile

Instructor Dave keeps rejecting Charles's papers and keeps asking him to redo them. After the fourth time his papers were rejected, Instructor Dave became impatient.

"It's all because of his luck. Maybe what it takes to be a good detective is being the right person at the right time," Instructor Dave said, smashing the papers in Charles's face. His eyes glared angrily. "Baxter, you really have no clue, do you?"

"Sir, I'm trying my best, sir!" Charles remained firm.

"Go back to your dorm now and wait for further instructions," Instructor Dave commanded. Charles tapped his boots, gave a salute, and then left.

Charles sat in the academy's garden, where he could watch the other cadets playing sports or eating snacks outdoors. He was feeling really disappointed right now. Not only was his pride crushed because he had been defeated by someone he thought of as an imbecile, but he also had to write an essay about why he failed and why this imbecile succeeded. It felt like dragging all his pride through the mud and running over it.

Out on the field, Jared was playing basketball. He really shone like a leader among his peers. Like a bull, he breached through the opponent's defense and confidently slammed the ball into the basket. Another score, and his friends respected him. Why? Why was the world accepting brainless people like him? It must be because he was handsome. That was why he had all the luck in the world.

"Look out!" someone shouted, and before he knew it, a basketball smashed into Charles's face. For a few seconds, everything went pitch black, and he lost his balance.

He could hear people shouting, panicking, but he couldn't comprehend what they were saying. He could feel people surrounding him, trying to help, but he couldn't move his hand to let them know he was fine. Finally, Charles felt someone carrying him, lifting him off the ground. Not sure who it was, but Charles could feel they had strong arms.

And he smelled like...

Oh, Charles recognized this smell. It was so familiar because it was the smell of worn clothes from his unit—because Jared was too lazy to do laundry! It's Jared!

As his consciousness returned, along with his balance, Charles saw Jared waiting patiently in the infirmary, watching the doctor check his physique.

"He just needs to rest, and he can get back to the field again," the doctor said. Then she turned to Jared and playfully warned him, "You have to be careful when throwing the ball."

"He's the one who sat in the wrong place," Jared sulked, although a glimpse of guilt was clearly visible on his face.

Jared then walked over to Charles's bed, where he was lying down resting.

"Hey, how are you doing?" Jared greeted his roommate.

"Dizzy," Charles replied.

"Sorry about that, but well, it's the basketball field," Jared shrugged.

"I acknowledge that the fault lies with me... for becoming preoccupied with my own thoughts and neglecting situational awareness..." Charles massaged his forehead.

Jared chuckled. "Still? You never break out of your manual book language, do you? I guess that's just who you are. I thought you were just trying to annoy me."

"Maybe let him rest, Jared?" The infirmary doctor called him from her desk.

"Yeah, you're right. Alright, buddy, rest well. Do you want me to pick you up in an hour?" Jared asked kindly.

"Negative. Assistance is not required." Charles looked away from him. Getting pity from someone who had destroyed his pride felt like a total humiliation.

"Good old Charles bot. Well, this is my code. If you ever need me, I'll be there," Jared took Charles's wrist and a jingle sound is heard when he copied his contact info to Charles's smartwatch. Now they had each other as contacts. After that, Jared nodded politely to the doctor and left the infirmary.

"You will need his help, Charles, and the infirmary will be closing in a few hours," the doctor warned Charles.

"I do not wish to engage with individuals of such a disposition. He exhibits a lack of regard for literature, consistently disregards established protocols, and his success appears to be a result of mere chance," Charles replied.

The doctor found Charles's words cute. "Why do you talk like that?"

"Because my cognitive abilities surpass those of the individuals in my vicinity," Charles replied.

"Ooh... my... you must be popular among your peers," the doctor said before leaving him for the medicine room. She probably needed to do something there, but it was also to avoid Charles.

Even though he was rejected, Charles still found Jared waiting for him outside the infirmary. Jared was practicing card tricks to pass the time as he waited for Charles to come out.

"Hey, you're out!" Jared said, putting his deck of cards back in his pocket and walking toward Charles.

"Mr. Gauthier, may I inquire as to your purpose for being here? I have explicitly stated that your assistance is neither required nor requested." Charles responded sharply.

Ignoring Charles's hostility, Jared took his hand. "Just to make sure you don't trip on the stairs."

Charles yanked his hand away and pushed Jared back. "Your assistance is neither required nor requested."

"Okay," Jared said, slipping his hands into his pockets as he watched Charles walk. Charles's balance had returned, but he still clearly needed more rest. At some point, the blond boy tripped, and Jared was ready to catch him before he fell and sustained further injuries.

"See? I got you," Jared said with a smile.

Once again, Charles pushed him away, but since his balance was still unstable and Jared was as solid as a wall, Charles ended up losing his footing instead. Jared caught him again by gripping his elbow. Without saying much, Jared put Charles's arm around his shoulders.

"Don't resist me this time," Jared whispered into his ear.

For some reason, it felt like a flirt, although maybe Jared didn't mean it.

"Why do you persist in helping me, even though I have consistently regarded you with disdain?" Charles asked when Jared helped him onto the bottom bunk in their dorm.

"Have you ever found an injured hawk?" Jared said casually as he washed his hands. He continued, "That hawk had been pierced through its chest, impaled by an arrow. At first, when I tried to save it, it kept attacking me, but that only worsened its injury. Still, I ignored its resistance and focused on helping it. It scratched me all over my arms—they were bleeding—but when it understood I was trying to help, it stopped struggling. And we became friends."

"Establishing a friendship with you is not my objective, and for the record, I am uninjured." Charles replied curtly.

"I don't expect anything from you," Jared said, shrugging. "I judged that you needed someone to help you back to the dorm, so I did it. How you choose to take it is beyond my control. So why bother?" With that, Jared entered the bathroom to take a shower.

And then it hit Charles: Jared was popular because he was kind. He had a good heart—not just because he was handsome. He had real empathy. Imagine if this kind of person becomes a police, he would be a great one who really save the world the way Charles imagine it.

Maybe they need to work together after all.