The Retired CEO's Guide To Being Spoiled-Chapter 244: A funeral dirge that they dedicated to their own lives

The next day, Julian Sterling went to school as usual. However, the atmosphere this time was entirely different from the day before. Because he had intentionally given them orders, the bodyguards did not stick closely to his side, but rather stood silently a good distance behind Julian Sterling.

From the moment he appeared on the campus, Julian Sterling could feel several scrutinizing gazes directed at him. Initially, there were not many. Perhaps they did not recognize him. It was only when the murmurs of discussion grew louder that he increasingly felt more and more eyes resting upon his figure. What started as merely curious glances gradually transformed into pointing fingers, critical judgments, and even traces of sympathy.

Feigning intimidation, Julian Sterling lowered his head slightly and quickened his pace, hurrying into his classroom.

For the entire morning, Julian Sterling sat through his classes in a state of torment, as if sitting on pins and needles. The sharp, piercing glares from behind continuously stabbed into his back. Naturally, deep down inside, he remained completely indifferent. The primary objective was simply to carefully perform the role of a frail and vulnerable victim for the audience to see. Today, Kian Foster arrived a bit late, his breathing still somewhat ragged and hasty. Just as he carried his backpack into the classroom and settled his bottom onto the chair, the professor also stepped into the room. There were several times when he turned his body, intending to open his mouth and say something to comfort Julian Sterling, but in the end, Kian Foster did not dare to utter a single sound because the professor standing on the podium would occasionally cast a strict, sweeping glance downwards.

This morning, they had a single class that dragged on through the entire morning session. A suffocating atmosphere enveloped the entire classroom, leaving Kian Foster acting as though he were sitting on a pile of hot coals all morning, constantly chewing on his pen and shifting his sitting posture. He appeared to be even more anxious and restless than Julian himself. If nothing was said, people might easily mistakenly believe that Kian Foster was the actual protagonist of the recent drama.

However, the moment the bell signaling the end of the class rang out, the professor gathered the materials on the desk, intentionally cast a profoundly deep look at Julian Sterling, and then withdrew his gaze before slowly walking out of the classroom. That look was incredibly complex. It was impossible to clearly articulate what it meant. After all, this individual was famously known as the most bitter and demanding person in his entire department. Perhaps for someone like him, the fact that he did not utter a single harsh or sarcastic comment throughout the entire lecture was already an exceptionally good thing.

Or perhaps, it was simply that the professor was normally a bit venomous with his words, but deep down, he still possessed professional conscience. At the very least, Julian Sterling did not sense any malice or contempt within the eyes of this old professor. On the contrary, whenever the professor was present in the room, the environment was always maintained at a certain level of order. If anyone sitting below started to whisper and gossip even slightly, and the faint sound of Julian Sterling’s name was heard, the professor would immediately frown and knock his hand against the blackboard, forcing everyone to refocus their attention back onto the lecture.

That action, although very small, felt exactly like a form of silent protection dedicated to him.

Suddenly, Julian Sterling felt that this university perhaps was not so terribly bad after all.

It was just that, the very moment the professor’s back vanished behind the door, the reluctant order that had been maintained in the classroom completely collapsed and could no longer be controlled. Although they were not quite courageous enough to march up, point directly at his face, and speak right in front of Julian Sterling, everything unfolded exactly as Ethan Caldwell had predicted the day before. A university, after all, had always been inherently a miniature society filled with all kinds of people.

Just as the anonymous post on the forum had fragmented into multiple factions with differing streams of opinion, the crowd of students present in the classroom right now behaved exactly the same way. There were those who curiously tugged at their friends’ sleeves, only to be met with a frown and an immediate reminder not to casually attack others before being swiftly dragged out the door. Then there were groups of people gathering in the corners of the room, incessantly whispering and gossiping with an attitude of sheer indifference, entirely uncaring about the feelings of the person actually involved.

A few others acted far more excessively, intentionally repeating the filthy and malicious words taken straight from the internet. They merely pretended as if they were not targeting anyone by name, yet they deliberately raised their volume, their voices echoing loudly throughout the classroom as if they wanted to guarantee that Julian Sterling heard every single word. This clamor dragged on without an end. Facing this scene, he did not feel surprised in the slightest. Simply put, because he wanted to make the play he was putting so much effort into staging appear even more beautiful and authentic, Julian Sterling was forced to continue acting with all his might.

He thought to himself, this life truly owed him a prestigious golden Oscar statuette.

Thus, as reflected in Kian Foster’s eyes at this moment, when that tactless crowd began speaking increasingly vulgar and excessive things, the complexion of his friend sitting right beside him instantly turned pale and entirely ashen. In truth, from earlier until now throughout the class, Kian Foster had constantly been secretly observing. He noticed that Julian Sterling kept his head perpetually bowed towards the desk, both hands tightly clasped together, his soft hair falling down to obscure his eyes and half of his face. Now, upon lightly turning his head to take a quick glance, Kian Foster was startled to discover that, since who knew when, the rims of Julian Sterling’s eyes had become flushed red.

He appeared so frail right now that it was utterly pitiful, an image completely contradictory and worlds apart from the confident, sharp-tongued demeanor he had displayed while retorting to Vince Sutton word for word on that other day. Perhaps, the pressure from public opinion had truly pushed him past his breaking point. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

Suddenly reminded of the name Vince Sutton, Kian Foster realized that the guy’s usual desk was still sitting empty. Who knew why he had not shown up for class today. Yet, thinking it over again and again, his absence today was actually a very good thing. Otherwise, with that terrible and arrogant personality of his, he would undoubtedly be the first person to jump out to mock, provoke, and humiliate Julian Sterling. It would not even be surprising if, with his vicious nature, he marched right up to Julian Sterling to loudly laugh and jeer at his face.

Seeing that the situation did not look good, Kian Foster timidly inched his chair closer, carrying genuine worry as he softly asked Julian Sterling a question: "Are... are you okay?"

As if he had only been waiting for this single sentence, Julian Sterling’s eyes acted as though a floodgate had been opened, with drop after drop sliding down his cheeks like falling crystals. His voice was also choked with deep resentment and grief.

"I didn’t do anything wrong, so why are they scolding me?"

"The criminal isn’t me, so why don’t they go and curse at the perpetrator?"

"Has wearing whatever clothes I want become a sin? But isn’t this exactly the excuse that perpetrators give to justify their own heinous crimes?"

"Why must the victims endure the abusive insults of others? Why? Is it because those people have no conscience, no education, no class, and no morals?"

His voice grew louder as he spoke, as if to ensure that everyone could hear it. Only, it was completely soaked in tears, overflowing with grievance and humiliation.

Julian Sterling was not just speaking those words for himself, nor just for this theatrical play. Rather, it was the tragic, questioning cry of all those who had once stood on the edge of the abyss. Being the victims, yet still driven to the point of suicide. Was there anyone among them who had not questioned things in such a way, yet regretfully, no one had ever listened. It was merely a screaming wail from the very depths of the soul, filled with agony that nobody could hear.

It was a funeral dirge that they dedicated to their own lives.

The questioning cries echoed like a lingering song, while the choking sobs resonated akin to a mournful melody played at a farewell banquet bidding a final goodbye to the mortal realm.

And they, those very individuals who rightfully deserved to experience a vibrant and beautifully youthful prime, had their entire existences tragically buried in the dark simply because they were viciously framed by others during that one fateful time. When the official mandate of the court was finally handed down, even before the actual sinners could step forward to receive their rightful sentences, the heavy, resounding thud of that judging gavel had already fallen like a sprawling veil of mourning bands.

That definitive sound completely shrouded the fleeting youth of those innocent souls who, by all rights, were supposed to embrace an incredibly brilliant and radiant future.