Ningning stared at the numbers hovering in front of her.
Forty hours.
Sixteen.
Sixteen.
She blinked once.
Then again.
"…You know." she said slowly, "I was a fourth-year chemical engineering student."
[That's irrelevant.]
….
"No, very relevant," Ningning replied, tapping the air where the numbers floated. "Do you have any idea how much math I've survived?"
[Elaborate. I thought little dumpling only thought about men?.]
She snorted. "Partial differential equations. Multivariable calculus. Reaction kinetics that made grown men cry. I've modeled pressure drops through porous media and solved mass balances that spanned three chalkboards."
She crossed her arms. "Simple time redistribution isn't the problem."
[Then what is?]
"The fact that you shaved eight hours off the two tasks that already have ninety and one hundred and one percent difficulty," she said flatly. "That's not math. That's attempted murder."
There was a brief pause.
[Your tone suggests dissatisfaction.]
