The first teacher Alvin Satō had recruited after taking over the school was Professor Nicholas Cage, a retired mathematics professor from Columbia University.
The coincidence of his name always amused Alvin.
In his previous life, he’d known it as the name of a Hollywood actor.
The man standing before him, however, looked nothing like a movie star.
Professor Cage was heavyset, weathered, broad-faced, and carried himself with the stubborn confidence of an old cowboy who’d spent his entire life refusing to lose arguments.
He hadn’t wanted the job.
In fact, Alvin had practically dragged him to the campus.
More than once.
But after several “invitations” to tour the school, something inside the old professor had reignited.
According to Cage himself, this place might not produce another Einstein, but it could absolutely produce generations of outstanding mathematicians.
He adored the school’s system.
Students skipped homework?
Double the punishment.
Students disrespected teachers?
The disciplinary office would educate them.
Students committed serious offenses?
The converted isolation room behind the warehouse would make sure they never forgot the lesson.
Most people looked at the campus and saw something closer to a correctional facility than a school.
Professor Cage saw fairness.
Here, every student was judged by the same standards.
Grades mattered.
Effort mattered.
Nothing else.
Outside these walls, social class quietly determined a child’s future long before graduation.
Children from ordinary families enjoyed carefree childhoods but often lacked opportunities.
Children from wealthy families attended elite schools, endured relentless academic pressure, took music lessons, learned multiple languages, built polished résumés, and entered adulthood with advantages money had quietly purchased.
Here?
Everyone started from the same line.
Even members of the basketball, baseball, and football teams had to maintain passing grades before they were allowed to practice.
Alvin had never believed people were simply “bad at learning.” If someone could memorize playbooks, understand strategy, and execute under pressure on a football field, they could certainly pass a high school exam.
He still remembered a classmate of his son from his previous life.
The boy’s IQ had tested at only eighty-five.
His teachers never gave up on him.
By graduation, he’d managed passing grades in every subject.
So at this school, Alvin believed in report cards, not excuses.
“Dammit, Alvin!” Professor Cage slammed both hands onto the desk.
“You kidnapped me into teaching here, and fine, I came.
But what have you done since then?
You spent money making the walls higher!
You even installed electric fencing!” He jabbed a finger at Alvin.
“I’m not saying the walls are a bad idea.” “But could you buy the equipment I asked for first?
I don’t even have a decent computer!
If I don’t see the machines I requested by the end of this week, then I’ll…” Alvin stared at him expectantly.
Go on.
Say you’re quitting.
Please.
He’d happily drive the old man home himself.
A multimedia classroom had already been approved.
But now the professor wanted a supercomputer.
That was another matter entirely.
Even a decommissioned supercomputer still cost several million dollars.
Where exactly was Alvin supposed to find that kind of money?
March into Stark Tower with a few oversized dogs and steal one?
Professor Cage paused.
His expression shifted.
This school had become his final career, and somehow he couldn’t bring himself to threaten resignation.
After several awkward seconds, he finished instead.
“…I’ll file a complaint with the Department of Education!” Alvin sighed in disappointment.
“Professor Cage, you have to understand.
We’re not exactly wealthy.
What are you going to tell the Department of Education?
We only teach through twelfth grade.
They’re going to ask why a high school needs a supercomputer in the first place.” He gestured toward Principal Nelson, who stood nearby looking exhausted.
“Look at Nelson.
He’s practically gone gray trying to keep this place funded.
You’ve been in academia your whole life.
Surely you understand.” He smiled.
“I promise we’ll get one eventually.
Think of it as suffering now so we can enjoy the reward later.
Once the school’s finances improve, it’ll be at the top of the list.” Professor Cage looked at him with complete disdain.
“You really never attended college, did you?” “You think buildings make a school?” “The teachers make a school.” He leaned forward.
“Do you have any idea how many mathematicians and physicists across America spend months waiting for access to university supercomputers just to verify their research?” “If you own one, do you know how many brilliant people would line up outside your door asking for jobs?” “You ignorant fool.” “You know how to build walls.” “You don’t know how to build talent.” That one landed squarely in Alvin’s chest.
He hadn’t gone to college.
He knew talent mattered.
Did the old man really have to rub it in?
Despite feeling tempted, Alvin spread his hands helplessly.
“We don’t have the money.
End of story.” Professor Cage waved dismissively.
“No money?” “Collect donations from Hell’s Kitchen’s gangs.” Alvin blinked.
“Their children attend this school.” “If the school needs something, shouldn’t the parents contribute?” “I’ve looked into it.
There are over twenty gangs operating around Hell’s Kitchen.
Ask each one for a hundred thousand dollars and you’re basically there.” He grinned proudly.
“I’ve got an old friend in Columbia University’s procurement office.
They’re trying to transfer one of their supercomputers.
I can get you an excellent price.” He even wiggled his eyebrows, clearly expecting applause for his connections.
Alvin inhaled sharply.
Was this man really a retired professor?
Or had he spent seventy years leading highway robberies?
Which one of them was actually the gangster?
Still…
Two million dollars for a supercomputer was undeniably a bargain.
The problem was Professor Cage’s fundraising strategy.
Kingpin could shrug off that kind of money without noticing.
The smaller gangs couldn’t.
Every dollar squeezed out of them would be recovered fivefold from someone else on the streets.
Alvin refused to be responsible for that.
Besides, you couldn’t simply demand money from people.
If it ever happened, it had to be voluntary.
Once the school’s graduation rates improved and parents realized their children genuinely had a chance to escape the lives they’d inherited, then fundraising would become much easier.
Not now.
Alvin rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Maybe he could ask Kingpin for another favor…
Then again, there was only so much wool you could shear from the same sheep before it kicked.
Finally, he looked back at Professor Cage.
“Asking gangs for money is the worst possible solution.
We’re not doing that.” He sighed.
“Talk to your contact at Columbia and keep the offer open.” “If we have to, I’ll pull money from the budget for the new classroom building.
Nelson can also see whether we qualify for another loan.” “But this semester has to succeed.” He smiled tiredly.
“No other high school in America is crazy enough to buy a supercomputer.” There really wasn’t another option.
Alvin had tricked, negotiated, and improvised his way into recruiting an extraordinary teacher.
Professor Cage’s ability was unquestionable.
Unfortunately…
So was his temper.
The old professor adjusted his tie with obvious satisfaction.
“That’s more like it.” “There are several excellent students in twelfth grade.
I’ll write recommendation letters and see if Columbia University will take a look.” “I’ve spoken with Professor Wilson.” “This year’s ATC exam?” “I expect at least half of them to score above twenty-two.” He laughed loudly.
“You know, you idiot…
the only thing I truly like about you is your school system.” “You can’t train horses without a whip.” Then his expression instantly hardened again.
“Now hurry up and find the money.” “The supercomputer comes first.” “Delay the construction project.” “Let Nelson get the loan.” “I can introduce him to several banks.” “The branch managers are all former students of mine.” At that moment, Professor Cage looked less like an educator than a loan shark demanding payment.
Alvin and Nelson nodded obediently without daring to argue.
Satisfied, the old professor clapped Alvin firmly on the shoulder.
“You won’t regret it.”