This little brat is trying to stir up trouble.

Class Eight’s first-round opponent was Class Twenty, a group they hadn’t interacted with much.

Students who weren’t selected to compete stood on the sidelines as cheerleaders.

Many students from other classes also gathered around to watch the match.

Lin Mo stood at the very back, gripping the rope alone.

Jiang Yunlu glanced back and pursed her lips. Initially, she had wanted to stand beside Lin Mo—she thought it would have felt nice.

But who would’ve guessed Lin Mo would position himself at the rear?

At that moment, Lin Mo shouted from behind, "Listen to my count, and pull on my command!"

Before the match began, Lin Mo had already discussed tactics with the others.

Tug-of-war, after all, required strategy.

Whether it was pulling first and then exerting force, or coordinating efforts with a count—there were all sorts of methods.

"Tug-of-war comes down to weight.

According to Newton’s Third Law of Motion, the forces exerted by both teams through the rope are always equal in magnitude and opposite in direction (action and reaction). So raw strength alone can’t determine victory.

Our team has the most people weighing over 150 pounds."

The Class Twenty monitor lectured everyone on physics.

Of course, he wasn’t wrong—the heavier you are, the greater your friction against the ground.

Meanwhile, Lin Mo’s team was already prepared.

"On your marks! Get ready!" Jiang Daming called out.

"BEEEP!!!"

Everyone pulled with all their might at once.

Class Eight leaned back in unison, legs braced firmly.

Following their strategy, they held steady at first, keeping their stance rooted.

They’d wait for the opponents to tire before making their move.

Standing at the back, Lin Mo felt the tension in the rope begin to weaken.

He roared, "On my count—one! Two!"

Lin Mo started pulling at the same time.

With his tug, Class Eight found the opening to redouble their efforts.

Like crumbling deadwood, the red ribbon tied to the center of the rope crossed the line.

Class Eight won.

"Woohoo! We did it!"

The team dropped the rope, cheering in triumph.

Lin Mo stepped forward. "This is just the first round. Don’t get too excited—there’s more ahead."

After the 20-to-10 elimination, it was 10-to-5, then 5-to-3.

As for the extra team, they’d get a bye by random draw.

It all came down to luck.

The first round ended quickly, and Chen Xiaoya went to draw the second-round matchup.

As fate would have it, they drew Class Seven—a familiar opponent.

Lin Mo scanned the opposing team and noticed Xie Yuling wasn’t there.

Good. That meant they didn’t need to hold back.

Using the same tactic, Class Seven was easily overturned.

Though, to be fair, Class Seven simply didn’t have the same bulk as Class Eight.

For the third round, however, Chen Xiaoya didn’t draw a bye—instead, they faced Class Five.

Seeing how many heavyweights Class Five had, the team’s morale wavered.

"Boss Lin, do you think we can win this?"

Gao Yunqiang eyed the opposing team nervously—at least two of them looked to be over 200 pounds.

That kind of weight was no joke.

"Don’t back down. Believe in the team—remember our bonds!"

Lin Mo’s words resonated with everyone, and they rallied each other with renewed determination.

Truthfully, Lin Mo knew Class Five had been the original champions.

In fact, they’d won the tug-of-war competition for years.

But that was in the original timeline.

He, Lin Mo, was the biggest butterfly effect of all.

The match began.

Not only did Class Eight employ their stalemate tactic, but Class Five did the same.

The two sides were deadlocked instantly.

Yet everyone was still straining with all their might.

The Class Five monitor, positioned at the front of the rope, saw the red ribbon hadn’t budged an inch and maintained his stance.

It was a battle of endurance—who would break first?

The next moment, he heard Lin Mo’s booming voice.

Sure enough, Class Eight had cracked first. Or so he thought—after all, their team had more bulk, so a prolonged struggle should’ve favored them.

But then, the red ribbon began sliding toward Class Eight’s side.

They were being pulled?!

No—this was bad! The Class Five monitor immediately shouted for his team to push back.

But whether it was because they reacted too late or simply lacked the strength, the ribbon moved even faster toward Class Eight.

A second later, it crossed the line.

"Class Eight wins!"

Lin Mo released the rope.

Right now, he could clearly feel that he alone could’ve dragged both teams with one hand.

In terms of raw power, he could probably rip through enemies like paper.

Class Five was left wallowing in frustration while Class Eight celebrated.

Such was the divide between joy and sorrow.

In the final round, Class Eight got a bye and then effortlessly defeated Class Eleven.

"Gotta admit, Class Five gave us way more trouble."

"Absolutely! Class Eleven was nothing compared to them."

Class Eight took first place, while Class Eleven settled for second.

But in Class Eight’s eyes, Class Five deserved to be the runners-up.

Still, the tournament format was what it was—this wasn’t a ranked ladder where second place was definitively stronger than fourth.

The fun sports event also included three-legged races and other games.

But Lin Mo hadn’t signed up for any, choosing instead to pack up at the team’s base.

Just then, Qin Ran, the monitor of Class Twelve, approached.

His face was dark as he glared at Lin Mo.

"Lin Mo! Tell your classmates to take down that forum post!"

Lin Mo looked up, puzzled.

He’d gone home last night and hadn’t checked the forums. Fang Jun hadn’t mentioned anything either.

Come to think of it, he’d been too busy.

So he casually pulled out his phone and logged into the forum.

Lin Mo didn’t see Fang Jun’s post, but he did spot a few trending threads.

One titled "Class Twelve Challenger Has No Shame—Welshes on a Bet After Losing."

It had already racked up 300 replies and was still growing.

Lin Mo clicked on it and read with amusement.

"Hey, not bad—they even wrote it in detail."

The post didn’t just describe how Huang X. Lin got utterly crushed in badminton—it also called out Qin Ran for his shameless remarks.

Seeing Lin Mo scrolling with a grin, Qin Ran’s anger flared.

"Lin Mo! Get your class to take that post down now."

Lin Mo blinked innocently.

"Wait, why do you assume it’s someone from our class? The internet’s anonymous, you know. Maybe you should message the moderators instead."

Lin Mo played the fool, unfazed by Qin Ran’s threats.

Qin Ran trembled with rage.

He didn’t care about the post mocking Huang X. Lin—but when it targeted him personally, that crossed the line.

So he pointed at Lin Mo. "Don’t push your luck."

Lin Mo chuckled. "I’d love to see you try."

"Hmph!" Qin Ran spun around and stormed off.

Lin Mo’s eyes narrowed slightly.

He hadn’t paid much attention to Qin Ran in his past life. He’d have to ask Fang Jun about his background later.

But to Lin Mo, it was just a matter of adapting to whatever came his way.

His divine sense enveloped the entire school, and soon he spotted Qin Ran—still fuming—heading straight for the discipline head, Li Yan.

That little brat was planning something.