Chapter Text
Words flow over his mind like water on stones, heard but not understood, as Techno slowly rouses to consciousness. He manages to catch the last part of someone’s tirade.
“...and I want that paper done by this Monday. Do you hear me Jacob? Done. I am not giving you another extension,” Phil rants. That along with the shuffling of book bags, shoes, and interspersed cheap chairs screeching on tiled floor is probably what woke Techno from his sleep.
He yawns, tapping his phone to check the time. Damn. He was out for a while.
“Allison, don’t give me that look. I know what you kids get up to these days, you can spend a least a bit of that time–
Techno sighs, putting his phone in his pocket and slinging his bag over his shoulder. Well, now he’ll have the brain energy to finish that required reading, at least. Maybe he can pick up a coffee from the cafeteria on his way out too. Knock out that five page analysis…
“being pro– Oh! Techno! You’re awake.” Phil smiles brightly, derailing Techno’s train of thought. “In case you can’t tell, uh, class just ended, so really you’re right on time!”
“Yeah, sorry.” Techno looks to the side awkwardly. “Didn’t mean to sleep for that long.”
“But you did mean to sleep?” Phil probes.
Shoulders tensing, Techno suddenly finds his shoes scuffing against the floor the most interesting thing in the room. “...Maybe.”
Luckily, Phil just laughs. “It’s alright, mate. Could I ask you to stay after for a bit though? Just to chat.”
A few of his remaining classmates ooh in that classic ”Somebody’s in trouble” tone. Phil sends them a glare, and quiet giggles ensue as they file out. College is really just a bunch of elementary schoolers pretending to be adults, after all.
“Uh, yeah, that’s… fine,” Techno agrees.
Phil beams. “Thank you. Let me clean up a bit, and then we’ll talk.”
He does just that for the next few minutes. Wiping the chalkboard clean– who uses chalkboards in this day and age anyway?-- packing up his papers, and tidying up the room in comfortable silence. Technoblade takes the time to check his schedule. There really is no reason to be in a rush, this is always his last class on Fridays.
Once the final stragglers of the lecture room are gone, Phil pulls up a chair, sitting down in front of Techno’s desk. “So,” he begins.
“So,” Techno repeats mockingly.
The professor gives him a look. Technoblade returns it.
“Seriously, why am I here?” Techno asks.
Phil makes a face like he’s just about bit into a lemon, but finally talks. “Well, you seemed to be a little… stressed, lately, and I-”
Techno glares. “We’re not talking about this again.”
Phil looks exceedingly exasperated, but Technoblade finds no sympathy for him. “Mate, you can’t just pretend that part of you doesn’t exist. It’s only going to make it worse. You need to learn to manage–”
He cuts the professor off again. “I’m managing just fine.”
“Oh, are you?” Phil says. “Managing by sleeping through lectures because you don’t get any sleep at night?”
“I didn’t mean to–”
“It doesn’t matter what you meant to do, it matters that you had to.” Phil returns the favor, interrupting him. “You shouldn’t be this exhausted in the middle of the day, not to mention high strung.”
“I am very averagely strung. The mean of strung, you could say. My strings are median,” Technoblade deadpan delivers.
“Yes, yes. You’re fine.” The professor sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Techno, I’m not judging you. Nobody here would. A double major, and straight A student? That’s going to take a toll on anyone, your… fragile constitution only makes it even more impressive. It just– Also makes me worried.”
Phil is trying to be empathetic. Tiptoeing around the minefield, avoiding saying the words Techno knows he wants to say so badly. Avoiding admitting that Technoblade is prey. Not only that, but he’s the prey of all prey, a rabbit hybrid that could simply keel over and die if his anxiety got out of hand.
There is always that instinct in the back of his mind; The one that tells him to run, hide, cower every time he is faced with a challenge. About half the population had a similar issue, this wasn’t any rare ailment, but for Technoblade it was dialed up to eleven. He has spent most of his life trying to prove it wrong– Proving the world wrong.
Mortifyingly, he feels that same instinctual urge to flee from this conversation. From kind words and a hawklike gaze that pinpoint every single one of his weaknesses in a single glance. From condescending ideas that something he can’t control has already determined what Techno can or cannot do for the rest of his life.
In short, he feels like prey.
“Worried,” Techno repeats. “Well, you know what I’m worried about? The fact a supposed professional is singling out one of his students after school hours.”
Phil’s expression turns pained. “Techno–”
“Yes, I’m very worried about how a professor is intimidating a star student into giving up on his dreams because he thinks it’s “too much for them.” He stands to his feet, bag slung over his shoulder.
The sound of a cheap metal chair scraping against marble flooring sounds as Phil reaches out to stop him. “Techno you know that’s not what I’m–”
Techno continues to the exit, furiously calm. “And I’m most worried about why he only seems to care for that one particular student.” He looks back over his shoulder. “Maybe, he should learn some boundaries, and leave well enough alone.”
At that, Phil visibly wilts. The last thing Techno sees of the professor as the door closes behind him is that crushed, pitying expression.
Techno taps his foot impatiently, exclamations of joy and mumbled disappointment filling the classroom as the professor returns their papers, one by one. He politely ignores how obviously the professor was ignoring him, walking right by Techno’s desk multiple times while passing out quiz grades to his fellow students. It was annoying, but typical.
Finally, a stapled stack of papers is dropped onto Techno’s desk. The professor doesn’t even spare him a second glance before continuing back to the front of the class. It’s pretty obvious he’s trying to give the impression that Techno doesn’t exist to him, but considering the guy went out of his way to avoid him, the effect doesn’t really work.
Looking down, Technoblade sees his grade in bright red ink: Fifty eight. His eyes narrow. Jerry.
Jerry is Technoblade’s least favourite professor… ever. He isn’t even awful in a new or unique way, just a failed writer turned narcissistic English teacher, constantly going on tangents about how none of them would ever make it in the “real world.” Ironic, considering Technoblae is certain Jerry only got his position as a professor because his younger brother is on the school board. He had evidence to back it up as well. Months ago, a huge scandal revealing it got swept under the rug, with Techno backing up any information he could about it onto a USB. While it hadn’t been enough to get the professor fired then– and therefore wouldn’t now– it could make for good blackmail in the future, if other allegations stacked up.
Aside from generally being an idiot who only got his job with the help of nepotism, Jerry was also one of those humans. A purist. Someone who thought that being a hybrid made you lesser, and that a pure human was inherently above others. It isn’t a common view in this day and age, and one typically frowned upon, but Jerry sadly is not stupid enough to yap about his beliefs openly. Shame. Techno is sure getting documentation of that would finally be enough to force him out of his position.
Technoblade didn’t need concrete evidence to know what Jerry thought of him, however. It’s obvious in how the professor looks at him, like gum stuck to the bottom of someone’s shoe. But this is playing with fire. Techno did not deserve that sixty eight.
He flips through the paper, seeing red ink scrawled over every page, circling words willy-nilly with no notes on why they were “incorrect,” and crossing out whole sections of Techno’s answers. Jerry’s criticisms were pedantic and imprecise, just like the thesis for his PhD. Yeah, Techno read it– how else was he supposed to make subtle, infuriating references about it to the professor?
The major problem with this clearly unfair grading is how Jerry does his quizzes. There are no multiple choice questions or other hard rubrics, just a few guiding questions, meaning most of Jerry’s grading is entirely subjective. That means there is also no easy way to dispute them.
Technoblade needs a 3.8 GPA to keep his scholarships. This won’t fail him, but it would drag his grade down to a C, and he can’t have that. It would ruin him.
As Techno deliberates on what to do next, Jerry clears his voice, tapping a marker on the white board to get everyone’s attention.
“As you all know,” he begins, “I have a very strict test retake policy. While I do want all of you to succeed, I also want to ensure we all get the grades we deserve. It’s only fair.” Technoblade swore the professor made eye contact with him at that moment. “So, let me reiterate: If you passed the test, that’s it. This is your final grade for the quiz. Even a flat seventy is still passing, so don’t even try it.”
Whispers and disgruntled chatter fill the room. Jerry taps the marker again, louder this time. It takes a bit longer for people to quiet down.
“However! If you got a failing grade, by even one point, you will be allowed to retake it– This obviously does not apply to exams. It is a policy only my class implements, so be grateful. You will have another chance in two weeks. Use that time to prepare accordingly.”
This time, there is no doubt in Techno’s mind that Jerry is looking straight at him.
The professor smiles. “Good luck. Class dismissed.”
Yeah right. If this guy is going to be petty, Techno will match him bar for bar. He does not lose in a battle of willpower.
As the rest of the students file out, Techno grabs his bag and his papers, marching over to Jerry’s desk. He does his absolute best not to allow a drop of emotion spill out onto his face. It will only incentivize him further, by showing this has an effect on Techno.
“With all due respect, professor,” Techno grits out, slamming the papers on the desk. This is a gross misinterpretation of my analysis. It feels as if, rather than reading my answers as a whole, you cherry picked certain sentences and words to criticise their usage."
Jerry’s smile doesn’t fade. If anything, he looks even more smug. “I’m sorry you feel that way. Sometimes, when we don’t understand what we did wrong, it’s simply because we don’t know enough to recognise our mistakes.”
“It sounds to me, professor, like you may be a bit biased as to what qualifies as a mistake in this context,” Techno argues, faux polite. “But I’m sure that can’t be right, personal bias has no place in the classroom.”
It’s obvious to the both of them what Techno is actually referencing, though neither move to acknowledge it. They don’t need to. Technoblade has been beefing with this guy for the past year and a half, he knows exactly when he’s hit the mark, whether or not Jerry’s face shows it– and boy is his face showing it.
Before Jerry can come up with some new sarcastic remark, Techno speaks again. “You know what? You’re right, sometimes we really don’t realise our own mistakes,” he agrees. At Jerry’s silence– conveying passive, suspicioned curiosity– he continues. “It’s just like how sometimes we blame our books' failure on the publisher instead of admitting we don’t know the difference between a semicolon and a dash.”
The professor’s tense, smug smile suddenly drops. Bullseye.
“With all due respect, Mr. Blade,” Jerry says. “Get out of my lecture hall. I will see you after class in two weeks.”