After the initial wave of frustration, Tony patiently continued walking Lina through every problem she didn't understand—even the ones she claimed to "get" but still messed up on the very next question.
It was oddly full-circle. In high school, Tony had often struggled alone. He rarely asked classmates for help, and he almost never went to teachers. Sometimes a single math or physics problem would take him an entire evening.
Now, watching his younger cousin stumble over the same hurdles, he couldn't bring himself to let her flail the way he once had.
After the multiple-choice section came the fill-in-the-blanks. After those, the proof problems. Then the application questions. Tony explained everything, from scratch.
"When you get to your second year of high school," Tony asked as they finally wrapped up her math homework, "are you thinking of taking the science track or liberal arts?"
"Liberal arts, obviously," Lina said without hesitation. "You've seen my math. If I go science, I'll drown. And don't even get me started on physics—I might as well be staring at an alien language."
As if on cue, she pulled out her physics homework.
Tony chuckled. "Yeah, no arguments here. Science would be academic suicide for you."
He wasn't trying to be harsh—just realistic. In their small-town school district, science was still viewed as the "superior" track. Parents pushed their kids toward it under the belief that liberal arts couldn't lead to stable jobs. But that logic didn't apply to everyone.
Given Lina's current academic level, forcing her into science would be like tossing a fish on dry land.
Not long after switching to physics homework, Lina came crawling back for help.
"An object with mass m₁ is thrown horizontally with an initial velocity of 5 m/s. It lands after 5 seconds. What's the change in momentum during the last 3 seconds?"
"A missile of mass 600 kg is flying. When its velocity becomes purely horizontal at 10 m/s, it suddenly explodes into two parts. One piece has mass m and a velocity of 40 m/s in the opposite direction. Find the velocity of the other piece."
Her mom had set a strict study plan for winter break—certain problems were circled for completion each day. Of course, the ones she didn't understand got pushed to Tony.
He went through each one thoroughly. Fortunately, she didn't bombard him with questions from subjects like history, geography, literature, or politics. Tony was still a science student at heart—ask him to calculate momentum and he'd explain it in three ways, but don't expect him to identify the capital of Bhutan off the top of his head.
Another day passed, filled with lectures, snacks, and head-scratching equations.
The next week flew by. During the day, Lina would follow Tony around the city, exploring parks, cafes, or local exhibitions. At night, she'd return to her study plan. Tony's thesis, meanwhile, had crossed the halfway mark.
Then came the final stretch before New Year's Eve. Tony's family started prepping to return to their hometown for the holidays. Lina was going too—after all, they were from the same rural county.
Lina's family lived in the small county seat; Tony's family was headed straight to the old family home in the countryside where his grandparents still lived.
On the way back, Tony sat quietly in the backseat, gazing out the window. The highway blurred past: farmland, trees, the occasional roadside billboard.
Ever since his last life simulation, Tony felt much calmer. That gnawing sense of urgency to constantly level up, to simulate again and again, had dulled. In truth, if he had started working on this paper immediately after the last simulation, it probably would've been through peer review by now.
Lina, sitting beside him, was curled up and miserable.
"Carsick?" Tony asked.
She nodded without enthusiasm.
"Sleep a bit. We'll be there soon."
"I don't want to sleep."
But twenty minutes later, her head was on his shoulder, fast asleep.
They dropped Lina off at her family's house just after sunset, and an hour later, Tony and his parents arrived at his grandparents' place. The old country home hadn't changed much—concrete floors, a tiled roof, and warm yellow lights flickering in the kitchen window.
His grandparents were waiting, dinner already set on the table.
Tony barely got out of the car before calling out with a smile, "Grandpa! Grandma!"
His hands were full of gifts—snacks, fruit, supplements, and health drinks—but his voice carried first.
"Oh my, Tony!" His grandmother rushed out, hugging him. "You've gotten thinner, haven't you? Are you eating well at school?"
"I'm fine, Grandma. I've been working out! Got stronger, not thinner."
He walked in like he owned the place—he had lived there for the first ten years of his life, after all. Everything felt familiar: the creaky wooden cabinets, the kettle steaming on the stove, the chilly stone floor beneath his shoes.
While Tony caught up with his grandparents, his parents settled in and started chatting in the next room. The usual small-town conversation followed—how things were in the city, whether money was tight, whether they were all in good health.
Inevitably, talk drifted back to Tony.
"So, does our boy have a girlfriend yet?" Grandpa asked with a grin.
"Any girls you're interested in?" Grandma chimed in.
Tony chuckled. "There's someone I like. But we're not dating."
That little admission earned him a raised eyebrow from his mother.
"You like someone? Since when?"
Tony shrugged. "Not much to say about it. We're not dating. And even if we were, you'd probably disapprove anyway."
His mom's voice sharpened. "What do you mean I'd disapprove? I'm your mother! Everything I do is for you—working two jobs, saving every cent, paying your tuition. And you think I wouldn't want to know who you're dating?"
"Can we not do this right now?" Tony muttered.
Thankfully, his dad stepped in.
"Let it go. The kid's in college. It's normal for him to like someone."
"You've seen how different he is this time," his dad continued. "He's grown up. The way he talks, the way he thinks—it's not like before. A relationship might even be good for him."
Tony's grandparents nodded in agreement, offering gentle reassurances.
Eventually, his mom cooled down, her frustration melting into concern.
It wasn't easy for either of them. Tony had spent most of his childhood with his grandparents—his parents had worked far from home. Only recently had they started living together again, now that he was in college. That distance couldn't be bridged overnight.
And his mom, for all her sternness, cared more than she ever admitted.
Tony knew that. That's why he never fought back too hard. He'd complain, sure—but deep down, he understood.
She was still his mother.
And he still had a long way to go.