Monday morning, at the chemistry laboratory on the third floor of Midtown School of Science and Technology.
"Alright, my little Maries and Einsteins."
Mr. Cobbwell, the chemistry teacher, a middle-aged man with thick glasses and thinning hair, stood on the podium waving a test tube.
"Today's topic is the exothermic phenomenon of redox reactions. Although I know some of you would rather be on the field throwing a football, please note that chemistry is not child's play. If you don't want your eyebrows burned off, follow the steps on the blackboard strictly: hydrogen peroxide, potassium iodide, and dish soap. This is the basic version of what is commonly known as the Elephant Toothpaste experiment."
Alice, sitting at the lab bench by the window in the back row, rested her chin in her hand, bored.
"System, load character card — Ai Haibara."
Hum.
As the familiar cool sensation permeated her brain, the originally noisy and mediocre classroom was instantly reconstructed in Alice's eyes.
The students who were excitedly pouring liquids randomly into beakers looked like a bunch of chimpanzees playing with mud in her eyes, full of uncontrollable and dangerous variables.
In her view, the so-called rigorous steps on the blackboard were not only inefficient but also full of loopholes.
"The hydrogen peroxide concentration is only 3%, and the purity of the potassium iodide as a catalyst is insufficient. Sacrificing reaction rate for safety—a typical public school approach."
Alice commented in her mind and reached for the goggles on the table, putting them on.
"Hi, Alice."
Her lab partner, Peter Parker, seemed a bit excited.
He skillfully set up the iron stand and adjusted the height of the Bunsen burner, his movements as textbook-perfect as a manual.
"I heard you went near Willets Point this weekend? I think I saw you post..."
Before Peter could finish his sentence, he was interrupted by Alice's eyes, which, even behind the goggles, still emanated an icy blue chill.
"Parker, the lab bench is not a tea party. Also, your graduated cylinder is tilted at the wrong angle, and the liquid level reading will have an error of 0.5 milliliters. In a precision experiment, that 0.5 milliliters is enough to blow the entire laboratory to the sky."
"Uh, sorry."
Peter shrank his neck and quickly adjusted the graduated cylinder, secretly clicking his tongue in his mind: Why is this girl's aura today even scarier than Mr. Cobbwell's?
Just as the two were about to start the reaction, a disgusting giggling sound came from the neighboring lab bench.
"Yo, isn't this insignificant Parker and the little liar?"
Flash Thompson.
The school bully wasn't wearing his conspicuous varsity jacket today, but instead had on a lab coat that was clearly a size too small, making him look like a polar bear forcibly stuffed into plastic wrap.
He was winking and gesturing with a few cronies, one hand tucked into his lab coat pocket, and the other holding a giant graduated cylinder filled with a high-concentration dish soap mixture.
"Starting the experiment? Let me help you add some ingredients to make the reaction a little more intense."
Taking advantage of the moment Mr. Cobbwell turned to write on the blackboard, Flash leaned over quietly.
The hand he had in his pocket reached out secretly, clutching a small brown glass bottle tightly in his palm.
Although he consistently failed chemistry, he knew that there was a metal that would explode if thrown into water.
So, just now, while the teacher wasn't paying attention, he had pried open the hazardous materials cabinet in the back.
"Just toss in a small piece, and with a 'bang,' Parker's eyebrows will be gone. That would be so cool."
Flash calculated this in his mind, a wicked grin of a successful prank on his lips, as his hand reached over Peter's beaker, ready to unscrew the cap.
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