Cheating

The contestant originally assigned to this seat from South Korea had been replaced. Now they had swapped in someone with a special ability.

Just as expected. They were definitely up to something.

They never fail to disappoint.

That person tilted his head and spoke in Korean, his voice pitched low:

"With you sitting next to me, I'm guaranteed a perfect score this time. I really have to thank you."

The smugness in his tone wasn't even concealed.

The other guy didn't seem to care. He just smiled and turned back around.

The broadcast sounded.

There was no useless chatter in the competition process, no flashy opening ceremony.

Contestants took their seats, test papers were handed out face-down on the desks, and they could only turn them over to start answering once the timer began.

The bell rang.

Lin Mo flipped open his paper. He had already scanned all the questions earlier with his spiritual sense.

Six problems, covering algebra, combinatorics, geometry, and number theory.

The difficulty wasn't higher than yesterday's sample problems, but it was still tough.

He picked up his pen and started writing.

When he reached the second problem, Lin Mo's spiritual sense naturally extended outward.

The person to his right was also writing.

At a very fast speed.

No, not fast—more like the same speed as Lin Mo.

Lin Mo wrote an equals sign, he wrote an equals sign.

Lin Mo started a new line, he started a new line.

Their steps matched perfectly, down to the omitted intermediate calculations.

Just a tiny lag in speed.

This wasn't problem-solving. This was photocopying.

Lin Mo's pen paused.

He understood now.

This person's ability was probably something similar to spiritual sense, allowing him to read what Lin Mo was writing without using his eyes. No need to glance over, no need to turn his head, not even any physical movement required. Sitting right next to him, he could just copy Lin Mo's answers in real time.

Cheating at this level took some skill.

But damn it, how dare you copy off me!

Too bad—you hit a wall!

Lin Mo kept writing.

Whoosh!

A thin layer of spiritual barrier radiated outward from Lin Mo, not even half a meter wide, cleanly severing all of the other guy's mental tendrils.

Smooth and sharp.

That person's pen stopped dead.

He had been smoothly copying the derivation process for the second problem a moment ago, and then suddenly, the image in his mind went completely blank. No signal at all.

Not that the signal got weak—it just vanished.

He tried to release his mental energy again, but nothing came out.

He tried once more. Still useless. It was as if something had choked off his power at the root, leaving him with no room to even channel it.

His fingers began to tremble.

He looked down at his half-finished paper. The first two problems were copied beautifully, nearly completed. But the last three problems were completely blank.

He never knew how to solve them in the first place.

He wasn't a math person.

He was just a tool.

He had been sent in to replace the original contestant, with the sole task of sitting next to Lin Mo and copying down the answers.

Now that his ability was gone, he was no different from an elementary school student walking into a college entrance exam hall.

He stared at the third problem on the paper. The symbols and letters blurred together, reading like a book written in a foreign language to him.

Cold sweat dripped down his temples.

His job was to bring glory to South Korea. If this mission failed, then he would probably…

He made one last desperate attempt, stretching his mental tendrils in another direction, hoping to steal from someone else nearby.

Not a flicker of movement.

He was locked down tight.

It wasn't a system failure—someone was actively suppressing him.

When that realization hit, the man spun his head around.

Lin Mo was looking sideways at him.

With a brilliant smile.

It was a smile laced with provocation and glee.

The man's face twisted, jaw clenched tight as he sat still for a few seconds.

Only one thought ran through his mind: exposure.

Then: it's over.

The next second, he made an extremely foolish decision.

"Fine!"

He growled, shoved his chair back, and stood up, shouting in Korean, "If you won't let me compete, then I won't let you compete either!"

Dozens of contestants in the exam hall looked up in unison.

He charged at Lin Mo.

Lin Mo sat motionless at his seat.

Then, in full view of everyone—

The man's own right fist slammed into his own face.

Smack!

A crisp sound echoed.

His body staggered.

Then came the second punch, the third punch, all landing precisely on his own face.

The disguise, once perfectly fitted, shattered under the violent assault of his blows. The edges of the skin mask peeled up, revealing a completely different face underneath—at least ten years older than the face he had been wearing.

The entire exam hall fell silent.

Everyone was watching.

A South Korean contestant, mid-competition, suddenly jumped up, started beating his own face, and then ripped off a layer of fake skin?

What kind of performance art was this?

Lin Mo looked up, mouth agape, wearing an expression of pure, exaggerated shock.

He looked exactly like a good student startled by an unexpected incident.

Security staff swarmed in from all directions.

Two guards grabbed the struggling man, one on each arm.

An exam proctor walked over quickly, first examining the remnants of the disguise on the man's face, then looking at the fragments on the floor, frowning deeply.

Then he turned to Lin Mo.

Lin Mo blinked innocently.

He still held his pen, a few steps written for the third problem on his paper.

The proctor looked back at the restrained impostor.

"Notify the South Korean team leader. Have them come here immediately."

Chaos began to spread across the room.

Lin Mo lowered his head and went back to solving his third problem.

This proctor wasn't from South Korea—he was from the Olympiad Committee, with no bias toward any side.

Meanwhile, two men in security uniforms walked over.

It was Han Junhao and Smiling Face.

"Heh, I knew that kind of cheap trick wouldn't work. Whoever came up with that idea has got to be brain-dead."

Han Junhao didn't say a word. He knew perfectly well that South Korea craved honor, even if it meant cheating. Their government officials would just claim that the other side was cheating too.

Han Junhao had no objections.

After all, having someone like Lin Mo in the competition was practically cheating in itself.

"Bro, since the match is still going, how about we grab some coffee? It's not like he's suddenly going to kill everyone in here."

"Shut up."

"Hey, actually—" Smiling Face started to say more.

But Han Junhao shot him a glare, looking ready to start a fight at the slightest excuse.

Smiling Face immediately shut his mouth.

"Fine, fine. I'll go get a coffee then, and bring one back for you."

With that, Smiling Face walked off toward the exit.

Han Junhao didn't bother stopping him. Without that guy around, he actually felt more comfortable.

His only target was Lin Mo. Just keep an eye on Lin Mo.

But barely thirty minutes had passed when Lin Mo raised his hand to submit his paper.

Not even pretending anymore.