80. A Zero Transformed

A Zero Transformed

Ted was still seated at Professor Johnson's desk, his fingers idly tracing the edge of the chair. His eyes landed on his own Electrical Technology project report, the one that had been returned with a glaring, undeniable zero.

Professor Johnson leaned back, exhaling slowly before fixing his gaze on Ted.

“How do you expect me to defend this to the board?” he asked, his voice measured, but not unkind. “How do I justify offering a prestigious teaching position to a student who—on paper—has failed?” His tone sharpened slightly. “What do you suggest I say, Ted, when they ask how I chose a student with a big, fat zero?”

Ted said nothing. There was nothing to say. He felt insulted by fate, by the cruel irony of being seen as both a failure and a prodigy in the same breath. He looked on, his face unreadable, but inside, a quiet storm raged.

Professor Johnson studied him for a moment, then did something unexpected. He picked up his pen and, with deliberate strokes, erased the zero from Ted’s grade.

“I must change it to something memorable,” he murmured, as if speaking more to himself than to Ted.

He turned to his secretary, who was watching in silent approval. She nodded.

With a flourish, he placed a 1 in front of the zero.

“No, that’s just a 10. Still a failing mark.”

He tapped the paper thoughtfully, then added another zero, turning the 10 into 100.

A chuckle escaped his lips.

“Many students before you have earned full marks,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “But none of them have shown this kind of dramatic ability. This… is PhD-level thinking.”

Ted sat motionless, as if the air had been knocked from his lungs. Was this a joke? A lesson? A test of fate itself?

Professor Johnson leaned forward, grinning. “Tell me, Ted—have you ever worked on a PhD dissertation before?”

Ted blinked, then nodded hesitantly. “Yes… I mean, I’m helping someone write their thesis.”

The professor’s smile deepened. “No wonder. You have sparks in your work.”

With playful exaggeration, he added yet another zero to the grade, pushing the number beyond any conventional limit.

“There,” he said, setting the pen down. “This score proves why you were offered this position.”

Ted sat frozen, staring at the numbers that should not exist, at the reality that should not have unfolded this way.

He felt like a small child, one who had suddenly been thrust into a world whose language he did not yet understand. Probably… this was fate’s way of making amends.