Melissa set the heavy hardcover on the coffee table with a muted thud, her brow furrowing deeply as she traced a line on the open page. "I think the author puts too much blame on teachers," she murmured, sinking into the cracked leather sofa and wrapping her arms tightly across her chest.

Across the room, Liao gently swirled his tea, watching its spirals of steam dissolve into the afternoon light. "It’s always tempting to single out one group," he offered, his voice low and measured. He paused, letting his gaze drift out the window for a beat before looking back at the group. "However, the truth is that we all share the weight of how the next generation is formed."

"Exactly," Melissa agreed, her expression softening into a somber reflection. "Teachers are trapped in the gears just as much as students. Ironically, we are both victims of the system as perpetrators of it."

Tim, who had been quietly tapping his pen against his knee in the corner, suddenly cut in, shaking his head with a sharp, incredulous laugh. "I think this whole narrative is askew," Tim insisted, tossing his pen onto the table and leaning forward, his eyes bright with conviction. "The author paints a rigged game. Teachers and students aren't just cogs—they both have the power to tear up the script and rewrite the scene."