APLUS

As a qualified transmigrator, after ten-plus days, Song Ya had calmly assessed his starting situation, and the conclusion... was quite pessimistic.

First of all, there was the poverty. Welfare really only covered the bare essentials of life, and the extra income Aunt Susie earned by babysitting for neighbors on weekdays was a drop in the bucket for such a large household. As for any transmigrator's starting capital, don't even think about it; right now, there were only three quarters in his pocket, and those were kept in case of an emergency to use a public phone.

The situation for the other siblings was much the same, most obviously reflected in their clothing. Tony's and his own clothes were basically all donations from churches or charities. The dark coat Tony was wearing now should have been a uniform from some factory; the cuffs and elbows were almost worn through. His own black suede jacket came from some Air Force veteran, with "U.S.A.F 1969" still visible on the inner label, and the condition was equally abysmal.

Connie and Emily, the two girls, were treated much better. Aunt Susie wouldn't let them dress too shabbily, but unfortunately, the lingering aesthetic poison of the eighties combined with the African American penchant for overly bright colors made the overall effect hard to compliment. Of course, that was just the personal opinion of Song Ya, the transmigrator.

Poverty was one thing, but personal safety was the real issue. The public security in the South Side of Chicago was among the worst in the United States. Poverty, guns, gangs, and vendettas influenced one another, and now it showed signs of an incurable malaise. A major shooting case that would shock all of China was nothing here; several would occur every so often, and there were even frequent news reports of random passersby being accidentally struck and killed by stray bullets from warring gangs.

Besides shootings, low-intensity crimes like theft and robbery were even more commonplace.

"Yooo, Tony."

Fortunately, they were all neighbors. Among the older boys, one wearing a baseball cap took the initiative to greet Tony, "You hanging out with Little Lowry now?"

"Hey."

Tony sent Emily onto the elementary school bus that had just arrived and fist-bumped the baseball cap wearer with a smile. "Let's talk over there." He deliberately avoided Song Ya and Connie, walking toward the other end of the station.

The baseball cap looked a bit familiar. Song Ya had only heard others call him by his nickname, "ET." It was likely because his large, noticeably protruding eyes bore a striking resemblance to the alien in that movie that had swept the globe in the eighties. However, from the corner of the colorful bandana vaguely visible under the brim of his cap, he knew that this "ET," who was no more than two years older than him, was definitely a ruthless character. In the South Side, a colorful bandana wasn't something you could just wear on your head casually.

Tony had a wide circle of friends. The high school bus arrived soon after, and he went to the back row with "ET" and his group to continue chatting and laughing. Connie also gathered with her friends from the same grade.

"Morning, APLUS!"

The small circle of ninth-graders where Song Ya belonged was in the front rows. As soon as he sat down, someone shouted, and the boys and girls of the same grade nearby laughed in unison.

"Morning..."

Song Ya squeezed out a smile in response, helpless, then leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes to pretend he was asleep.

He couldn't find a way to solve poverty and safety for the time being, but another problem was right in front of him: "school bullying."

The thing was, the original Alexander Song's grades were probably below average in class. But after his soul was replaced by Song Ya ten-plus days ago, he had easily scored a perfect mark on a math test.

It wouldn't have been a big deal if it were the United States decades later, where no student would ever know anyone else's grades. But unfortunately, the political correctness of the current United States hadn't "evolved" to that extent yet. The math teacher was very happy to announce his "A+" grade in front of the whole class, praised him heavily, and used him as an example to spur on those who were "lagging behind."

And so, the trouble began...

In his past life, Song Ya was a standard, laid-back Chinese youth. His family was comfortably off, his grades were above average, and just after he graduated from college, his parents had already prepared a house for him with their "six wallets." He had spent a few years coding, saved up for a car, and was looking for a wife. His life had been smooth sailing, and being suddenly thrown into this environment made him truly unable to cope.

Besides, in China, who would be isolated or bullied just for getting a perfect score? Not to mention being given stupid nicknames like "100 Points" by classmates. The most unjust part was that although his math grades had improved by leaps and bounds, his grades in PE and art had plummeted. For a U.S. high school with a credit system, it was hard to say whether this was a gain or a loss!

Could the transmigrator's golden finger just be the Chinese racial talent? If so, I might as well give up on PE and art credits and focus on math and natural sciences. Right, I can't let English and social sciences slide either...

Even so, at most I'll finish my credits a year or a year and a half early, which means I still have to survive in this environment for at least three years...

Planning his future along the way, before he knew it, the school bus had reached its destination.

"Ya, don't rush off after school, wait for me." Tony came over to instruct him before they parted ways.

"What for?" Song Ya asked.

Tony leaned close to his ear and whispered, "Little Lowry."

"Playing basketball again?" Song Ya's spirits sank as soon as he heard it. "Can I not go?"

Ever since he transmigrated, the original athletic foundation of this body was completely gone. Playing basketball was simply torture for him. This was street basketball in a black slum, not at all the same sport as the casual shooting around he did in PE class before he transmigrated.

"FXXX you! No bargaining! And don't try any tricks on me!" Tony's face changed immediately. Before leaving, he added a softer remark: "Just consider it a favor to me!"

"Fine, you're the boss." Song Ya had no choice.

Passing through the rowdy crowd and entering the classroom, he saw that the chair behind his desk had been thrown into the corner of the room. "Childish..." He couldn't be bothered to pursue it, picked it up, wiped it off, and set it back in place, thus beginning another day of American high school life.