They Hated Me in My First Life, But Now I Have the Love System Chapter 517: Suicidal Guts

"Relax," she said quietly, but firmly. "She is going to fail. These exams aren’t easy. And if her second major really is martial arts, then she will fail that too. Especially with us in year three."

Her voice carried a quiet edge, full of pride and sothing darker.

But behind all that, neither of them could shake the gnawing question...

What if she did not fail?

"No one can possibly master all four majors in just a few months," soone scoffed.

"Exactly," another added. "Her failure will start with her very first paper."

That seed to settle it. Nicholas finally relaxed in his seat, his clenched fists loosening. Stephanie gave a slow nod, confident once more.

The rest of the class followed suit, exhaling like a tension string had finally snapped. It was true, she could not succeed. But even they had to admit... the courage to try was impressive.

"Still," soone muttered, "you have to respect the guts."

"Yeah... suicidal guts, but still."

anwhile, Elder Ben had already located Nnenna where she sat at the front. His wise old eyes lingered on her a second longer than necessary, not with scrutiny, but recognition.

He had heard of her. From Carl. From Somto. Even Elder Knox, her instructors... and Arthur.

Now he was seeing her in person, and sothing about her calm gaze struck him.

With a small, approving nod, he said aloud, firm, clear, and for the whole hall to hear

"Good luck, young lady."

His voice held no sarcasm. Just solid faith.

And for a mont, the entire class froze.

Because if soone like Elder Ben believed in her, even just a little, then maybe...

Maybe they had been too quick to judge.

With Elder Ben’s final words hanging in the air like a bell toll, the exam began.

The Second MBBS, the first true gatekeeper in the path of becoming a doctor.

It wasn’t just another test. It was the test.

The day was split into four sections, each covering a major component: Anatomy, Physiology, Biochemistry, and an Oral/Practical segnt. Each portion would assess not just mory, but application, analysis, and reasoning under pressure.

First was the written exams.

Thick question papers were passed around. Students sat two chairs apart, examiners patrolled like hawks. The first was Anatomy. Short answer questions, diagrams to label, clinical cases to dissect ntally.

Nnenna read each question slowly.

Think. Don’t rush.

Her pen danced quietly across the page, her answers neat, her logic sharp. She didn’t submit early like she did during her year one first sester. She had to learn two years of academic work in 6 months. It was a lot. She didn’t want to take any chances of losing marks for any reason. So instead of submitting early, she reviewed everything carefully. Triple checked.

Behind her, a boy clicked his pen nervously. Another girl’s hand trembled so badly she dropped her ruler mid diagram.

One student actually raised a hand halfway through and whispered with panic, "Can I get another sheet? I—I think I ssed up everything."

The invigilator just nodded solemnly, handing him a fresh script.

Next was Physiology.

Application heavy. Diagrams of muscle contraction, nerve conduction pathways, ECG interpretation. This was part of Carl’s territory. Part of his teaching. And it showed.

Every question Nnenna saw felt like a conversation she had once had with Carl, his voice replaying in her mind.

"What happens to blood pressure when standing suddenly?"

"Explain the feedback chanism of the hypothalamus in plain terms, Nnenna. Now simplify again, pretend I’m five."

She smiled slightly, even as her hand scribbled at full speed.

The third paper was biochemistry.

The paper that separated the pretenders from the truly prepared. Pathways, diseases, enzy defects, clinical links. Everyone’s worst nightmare.

The tension in the room reached a peak. You could feel it. Even the walls were sweating.

Stephanie clenched her jaw as she glared at the paper.

Nicholas rubbed his forehead like the formulas would seep in through skin contact.

Several students broke down mid way, begging for a restroom break just to breathe.

But Nnenna... she didn’t panic.

It was hard. Brutal even. But she approached it like a puzzle. Slow. Steady. Logical.

When she wrote her last answer and dropped her pen, Elder Ben, who had quietly walked past her table twice, paused once more, just behind her. He didn’t say a word.

But he nodded silently.

Finally, the oral/practical rounds started.

This was the scariest part. Face to face with professionals. Stations set up in the lab. Diagrams, models, preserved specins, slides under microscopes, questions from live clinical cases.

Students moved from station to station. Ten minutes per station. No second chances.

One student was asked to identify cranial nerves on a model. He blanked out entirely, shaking as he muttered, "I—I studied this... I swear I know it..."

Another burst into tears after mislabeling a liver slide.

But Nnenna? She didn’t ace it by rushing. She was calm. Collected. Her answers weren’t just correct, they were confidently delivered.

One examiner whispered to another, "Are we sure she’s not year three already?"

At another station, she described a biochemical pathway linked to a case of inherited tabolic disease, and recomnded a theoretical managent plan. Elder Ben, who had taken over that station midway, smiled so broadly his white beard practically shook.

When Nnenna bowed respectfully after her last oral station and walked away, Elder Ben wrote a note in the margin of his observation sheet.

"Candidate White: Remarkably composed. Brilliant mind. Carl, Somto, and Arthur’s teachings have not gone to waste."

As the day ca to an end, students stumbled out of the hall, exhausted, pale, so almost crying, so already crying.

Stephanie stord out first, fuming.

Nicholas looked drained, his tie loosened and face wet with sweat.

But Nnenna walked out last. Quiet. No dramatic exit. No need to prove anything.

And yet sohow, everyone looked at her.

So with disbelief.

So with curiosity.

So with a growing, unspoken respect.