"Sorry, can I use your restroom for a second?"
Tiffany blinked, then pointed down the short hall. "Left side."
He nodded, slipped inside, locked the door, and leaned over the sink. From his pocket, he drew out the small vial—nine capsules left. He stared at one for a brief second.
No risks today. He had to perform.
He popped a pill, dry-swallowed, and breathed. The familiar tingle rolled across his scalp and down his spine, then settled behind his eyes like someone cleaned a foggy window. Lines, rules, and patterns from Calculus clicked into focus.
He washed his hands, stepped out, and returned to the dining table.
"All good?" Tiffany asked, already flipping open a thick reviewer.
"Yeah." He sat, pushing his notebook between them. "Let's start with the exact kind of problem your prof loves—implicit differentiation with traps."
He began talking her through it, step by step, breaking the solution down in plain words instead of just rushing through formulas. "Every time you see a term with y, you treat it like it's a function of x. That means whenever you differentiate it, you attach a little tag—dy over dx. Most students forget that. That's where the mistakes happen."
Tiffany nodded slowly, following along as he circled parts of the example problem.
"You keep those dy/dx terms together," Timothy continued. "Once you collect them on one side, you can factor them out and then divide. That's the cleanest way. Don't waste time trying to shuffle them around randomly."
She scribbled notes, lips pressed together in concentration. "I… usually convert everything into sine and cosine. It's messy but at least I feel safe."
"That's fine if you've got twenty minutes per problem," he said, his tone almost teasing. "But in exams like yours? Don't. Stick with the native forms. It's faster."
Her pen paused for a moment before she nodded again, conceding. "Alright. Faster."
Timothy leaned back slightly, watching her try a similar problem on her own. He let her stumble for a bit before cutting in. "Careful. You missed the inner derivative. See it? You need to multiply by that too. Otherwise, your answer will be short by a whole factor."
She cursed softly under her breath and corrected herself.
"Good," Timothy said. "That's the adjustment you need—spotting where the inner functions hide. It's always about layers. Outer, middle, inner. Label them in your head if you need to."
Tiffany glanced up at him, a faint crease between her brows. "You make it sound simple."
"It is simple," he replied, "once you've burned the patterns into your head. That's all calculus really is—pattern recognition. The faster you see it, the faster you solve."
They moved on to another set of problems. Timothy kept his explanations sharp and focused, never letting her drift into unnecessary detail. When she overcomplicated a solution, he cut her off. "Stop. Don't expand that. You'll drown yourself. Keep it in compact form. See? One line instead of five."
Her eyes widened slightly as the shortcut clicked. "That… actually makes sense."
"Exactly. Less writing, less chance for errors. And your professor? He loves clean answers. If you give him messy work, he'll dock you even if you're right."
By the third example, Tiffany was starting to anticipate his cues. When he asked how to start, she already muttered the correct approach before he even explained. Her pen moved faster, more confident than before.
Timothy smirked. "Not bad. Looks like you're getting the hang of it."
She leaned back in her chair, exhaling. "It's… clearer when you say it. The textbooks always make it sound like a puzzle. You make it sound like steps."
Timothy laughed. "Well, I have no choice. If I want to graduate and have a better future, I must study hard."
"But weren't you failing in your prelim? I think you were one of the students who got lowest scores," Tiffany asked.
"Well that's because I have no time to review the lectures because I have a part-time job. I figured that if I am going to pass this program I must know how to manage my time effectively," Timothy explained, of course most of it is lies.
There was really no time for him to interview because he had worked. Even at work when he had an opportunity to review, he wouldn't even remember it. So, it's practically hopeless. That's why he envied other students who only need to study and their parents will take care of the rest.
Because for him, he has to earn a living so he could support his studies and family.
"You have to use your advantage in life, Tiffany. You got all the support you need, heck you even have your own chauffeur, a condominium, everything…"
He trailed off, realizing how bitter that sounded. He forced a small laugh and shook his head. "Sorry. I don't mean it like that. Just saying, you don't have to carry the same weight as some of us."
Tiffany's pen stopped mid-scribble. For a moment, she didn't respond. Then she closed her notebook softly, her expression unreadable.
"You think having all this means I don't have weight to carry?" she asked quietly.
Timothy blinked. "Well… yeah? I mean, you don't have to worry about bills, or rent, or your mother's medicine, or… anything like that."
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Maybe not those exact things. But you don't know what it's like on my side, either."
Timothy tilted his head, curious despite himself. "What do you mean?"
"My dad's a lawyer. My mom runs businesses. They expect me to perform perfectly. Grades, reputation, everything." Her voice was steady, but there was a tightness underneath. "I'm not allowed to fail. Not one subject, not one exam. Because if I do, they'll see it as weakness. And weakness isn't tolerated in my family."
Timothy frowned. He hadn't expected that.
She went on, eyes hardening. "So yes, I have a condo. I have a car waiting outside. But every privilege comes with strings tied around my neck. If I stumble, it's not just about me—it's about disappointing an entire family that doesn't know how to accept less than perfect."
The silence stretched between them.
He cleared his throat. "Guess… we're both fighting different battles, huh?"
She gave a small, humorless smile. "Looks like it."
Timothy tapped his pen against the table, trying to ease the heaviness. "Well, if you're serious about passing, then stop overcomplicating problems. Stick to what I showed you. Clean, fast, accurate. That's what will save you."
Tiffany nodded, pulling her notebook open again. "Then don't hold back. Teach me everything, and I will pay you."
And so the tutoring session lasted until afternoon, with Tiffany ordering foods from Grab so they could eat while studying.
And at 5 p.m, Tiffany asked something.
"Timothy, what is your dream?"
"My dream? Well my dream is simple, to finish my studi…" Timothy paused, well that was his dream first before he got the reconstruction system, but now armed with one, it has changed.
"My dream is to become a businessman, buy and sell, and I'm planning on starting one soon," Timothy said.
Tiffany tilted her head to the side. "You were supposed to say finishing your studies but you want to start a business? What kind of buy and sell?"
"Jewelry, cars, anything that the middle to upper rich class wants," Timothy answered coolly.
"But how will you get the capital for that?"
"I have been saving a lot of money," Timothy said, though it's a lie. "You'll see in the coming weeks."
Tiffany smiled. "Very well, I'll pay you 2,000 now, I hope that it will help you build your capital. And if you did start a business, please show me around, I'd like to see."
"No problem," Timothy said, extending his hand, offering a handshake.
Tiffany took it and shook his hand.