You squinted at the math textbook like it was written in an alien language — which, at this point, felt accurate. The equations jumped off the page like they wanted to fight you. And fight you they did, repeatedly.

Momo Yaoyorozu sat calmly across from you, legs crossed, notebook poised with a pencil in perfect hand. The textbook was open between you, but the tension was all on your side.

“You’re staring at the quadratic formula like it just insulted your family,” she said, voice smooth but with a trace of amusement.

“I think it did,” you grumbled. “It’s definitely personal.”

Momo smiled, the kind that said you can do this, but don’t make me beg. “Okay, step one: the quadratic formula isn’t out to get you. It’s a tool.”

“Sure, a tool. Like a chainsaw in the hands of a toddler.”

She laughed softly. “Maybe a bit. But once you understand the parts, it becomes a lot less scary. Here—”

She drew the formula slowly, her pen gliding like a calligrapher’s brush: x = (-b ± √(b² - 4ac)) / 2a.

You blinked. “I’ve seen this a hundred times. Doesn’t help.”

“Because you’re trying to memorize it without knowing what it means.”

You sighed. “Explain it like I’m a five-year-old.”

“Fine.” Momo leaned in, lowering her voice like a magician revealing a secret. “It’s a recipe. You have ingredients: a, b, and c from your equation. You mix them according to this formula, and boom—you get your x.”

“Sounds like cooking.”

“It kind of is,” she smiled. “Except the results are numbers, not cookies.”

You rolled your eyes. “Cookies would be better motivation.”

“Maybe we should try edible math,” Momo joked. “But for now, focus.”

You squinted at the next problem, which involved physics. “And this one?” You pointed at a problem about forces and acceleration.

“Newton’s second law,” she said. “F = ma.”

“Force equals… mo-what now?”

“Mass times acceleration. Think of it like pushing a shopping cart. The heavier it is and the faster you push, the more force you use.”

“That’s simple.”

“Simple to understand. The math is just plugging in the right numbers.”

“Easy to say when you’re the walking encyclopedia.”

Momo flushed slightly but said, “I’m here to help you, not judge.”

“Glad someone’s on my side.” You paused, watching her carefully arrange her notes. “Seriously, you make this look effortless.”

“That’s because I studied.”

“Somehow I think the ‘some people are just born smart’ theory applies to you.”

Momo’s smile softened. “It’s mostly hard work. You’re just getting started.”

You groaned. “I need to pass this exam or I’m doomed.”

“You will,” she said firmly. “You’ve been asking for help. That’s already more than most.”

You nodded, trying to focus, but your brain was a scrambled mess. The equations blurred and twirled like a dance you had no idea how to follow.

Suddenly, Momo pointed at a problem you’d been stuck on for a while. “Try breaking it down into smaller parts.”

You took a deep breath and gave it a shot. Slowly, the problem started to make sense, piece by piece.

“You’re getting it,” Momo said, pleased. “See? You just need a little patience.”

“Patience,” you muttered. “My least favorite word.”

“Mine too, sometimes.” She laughed. “But it’s key. You’ve got the brains—you just need to train them.”

You glanced at the clock. Hours had passed. Your notes looked like a battlefield of crossed-out mistakes and frantic scribbles.

“You’re a patient tutor,” you admitted. “I’m a hopeless student.”

Momo shook her head. “You’re not hopeless. You just haven’t found your groove yet.”

“Thanks for sticking with me.”

“It’s my job—and I like it.”

You smiled, feeling a flicker of confidence. Maybe this exam wouldn’t be a disaster after all.

“So,” you said, gathering your things, “same time tomorrow?”

“Absolutely,” Momo replied, already ready with her notebook.

“God help me.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”