Otaku Translation: Literary Genius: This Kid Was Born Smart C119

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Chapter 119: A Call for Help

“How big?” Gu Lu tilted his head, curious.

“He’s actually gone and submitted a proposal to restart ,” Wan Bai said. “He handed it over to Mr. Wu, who’s already pushed it up the chain. Now it’s just waiting for school board approval.”

So it wasn’t just talk.

Gu Lu couldn’t help but recall an old school slogan from back in the day: Seniors step down, freshmen rise. The year is the . Let the world rejoice.

Wan Bai, having jotted down the details Gu Lu shared about the park, gave a quick wave and jogged off. His club was still deep in its chaotic preparations for the school’s anniversary celebration—every member was pulling their weight.

Every student seemed to have their own mission these days. Gu Lu was constantly reminded of the energy unique to high school life. It pulsed through the halls, vibrant and unstoppable.

A fun detail: the basketball club wasn’t required to perform on stage during the school festival. Instead, they’d set up a hoop challenge on the field—make a basket, win a prize.

And those prizes? Handcrafted by the . A perfect little economic cycle—production, promotion, and distribution—all within school grounds.

“High school life is way more colorful than I expected,” Gu Lu thought as he stepped out of the school gates. “Glad I didn’t end up in like in my past life.”

Indeed, within those school walls, everyone had a goal. Some loud, some quiet, but all of them burning with purpose.

---

“Lu Yi, why are you working so hard on your dancing?” Qi Caiwei asked, brows furrowed in confusion. Lu Yi wasn’t even an arts student.

Over the past two weeks, Lu Yi had plied Qi Caiwei with snacks and treats, convincing her to be a stand-in practice partner. And though Qi Caiwei had grumbled at first, she couldn’t resist the combination of sweet offerings and a friend’s determination.

“You’ve been doing nothing but studying and dancing lately,” she continued. “If it’s for the school festival, you’re already more than good enough.”

Not that Qi Caiwei had anything against hard work—she herself had been dancing since she could walk—but the intensity Lu Yi was putting in was on par with professionals. It was excessive. And frankly, risky. Pushing that hard without proper training could hurt her.

“Unless…” Caiwei gave her a sideways glance. “You’re actually doing this out of love?”

Lu Yi’s cheeks turned pink. “I… I just want to be more fashionable,” she mumbled.

“Come again?” Qi Caiwei blinked. Was that even a valid sentence?

Dancing… fashionable?

“In middle school, I was always at the top of my class,” Lu Yi said, her voice quieter now, as if confessing a secret. “I got straight As, won all the competitions. But when graduation came around, I looked back and realized—I didn’t have a single close friend. My best memory of those three years was standing on stage receiving awards… alone.”

She paused, then lifted her chin slightly, voice suddenly stronger. “So I want to be fashionable now.”

The word still felt off, but Caiwei was beginning to get the picture. “You mean… you want to be more outgoing. More social.”

Lu Yi nodded eagerly. “Exactly. I want to make lots of friends this time. Be someone people actually remember.”

That’s why she’d run for Class Monitor. That’s why she’d chopped off her long hair and joined the dance club—steps toward becoming someone new.

Now it all made sense. Caiwei’s expression softened. “Alright. Tomorrow, during club practice, pull me aside for a bit. I’ll go over your routine more thoroughly.”

Lu Yi blinked. That was asking a lot. They weren’t even in the same club. Snacks or no snacks, this felt like a big ask.

But then Caiwei grinned and added, “I’ll make sure you shine on that school festival stage. Guys will line up to ask you out, and girls will line up to be your best friend.”

Lu Yi was touched. So much so, she threw her arms around her in a spontaneous hug.

“If you ever need help with schoolwork,” she said earnestly, “ask me anything. I’ve got most subjects down.”

Caiwei smiled. She didn’t doubt it one bit—though, truthfully, she already had a reliable desk mate helping her with the humanities.

---

By the time Wednesday rolled around, the club gathered for its weekly meeting. But this time, the atmosphere was unusually tense. The dozen or so students sat in stiff silence, expressions grim.

Their advisor had just delivered some unwelcome news.

“This year, only two schools have been approved to participate in the : and Southwest University’s affiliated high school.”

No. 8 High’s MUN chapter—one of the school’s most elite clubs—had been snubbed.

Among the Big Three of student organizations (the , , and MUN), the Model United Nations was especially unique. It wasn’t just a school-level group. It was global. Local, national, international—students who joined could simulate real-world diplomatic negotiations, representing countries, drafting resolutions on topics like global health or currency policy.

Sure, it sounded abstract on paper, but there was no better way to learn than to dive in, research, and debate head-to-head. That hands-on experience shaped global perspectives in a way no textbook could.

“I’m going to the principal,” declared Mi Zan, club president and acting secretary-general of No. 8’s MUN.

He was already on his feet, fire in his eyes. For him, sitting back and doing nothing was never an option.

If they couldn’t make it into Chongqing’s inaugural MUN conference, what was the point? They might as well be role-playing in a vacuum.

“It won’t help,” their advisor said with a sigh. “Those two schools? They were the ones who founded the city’s MUN council. They’ve been developing this for years. Compared to them, we’re just late to the game.”

“So what?” someone shot back. “Why should that matter?”

The advisor hesitated, clearly reluctant to say it outright: if the school couldn’t be a frontrunner, then the administration had no interest in participating. No. 8 prided itself on leading the pack. Coming second wasn’t their style.

“Is there any other way we can get in?” Zhou Lin asked.

The advisor shrugged. “You can try applying directly to the Chongqing High School MUN Association. Just don’t get your hopes up. Without school backing, your chances are slim.”

“Even slim odds are better than none,” Zhou Lin replied, eyes shining with determination. “We can all try to find another path in.”

She was, without a doubt, the most passionate member of the club.

Zhou Lin had a dream: that one day, China would take the lead on the global stage. And for her, that journey began here—at a high school MUN.

She planned it all out: first, get into Chongqing MUN. Then rise through the ranks—city secretary-general, then national, then Asia-wide. One day, she'd reach the top: secretary-general of the .

Historically, that role had always gone to American students. After all, MUN was born in the U.S. back in the 1950s. But Zhou Lin believed—no, knew—it was time for that to change. The world stage deserved a Chinese voice at the helm.

Their advisor didn’t share her optimism. A minor official in the local United Front department, he treated his school posting as a convenient side gig—low stakes, low stress. If a bigwig didn’t intervene, there was no way this club would break into the conference this year.

Their meeting that day had been meant to simulate debate on a . But after the bad news, everyone’s motivation fizzled out.

As the group disbanded, Mi Zan approached the girl whose passion had burned brightest.

“Zhou Lin, do you have a plan?” he asked. He wasn’t ready to give up either.

“I want to reach out to an old classmate,” she said.

Mi Zan sighed. “I asked the advisor already. He said individual student applications basically have zero chance. Without the school behind us, we’re out of moves.”

“It’s still worth trying,” Zhou Lin insisted.

Mi Zan looked at her, a flicker of hope rising again. “Wait—does your friend have some kind of connections?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “But back in middle school, he was kind of a legend. Everyone knew who he was. He was… impressive.”

The hope vanished just as fast. Mi Zan frowned. How useful could some school legend really be? He’s just a student, too.

Still, he forced a smile. “Well… if he can help, no matter what happens, I owe him one.”

Zhou Lin didn’t argue. She could tell he didn’t believe her.

But that was fine. She’d make them believe—once he answered her call.

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