He didn't copy the answers that night. Instead, he wrote about the "Oblomov" living inside his own smartphone—the way he spent hours scrolling just to avoid the "Stolz" of his real life.

Dima looked at the bright screen. There it was: Analysis of Oblomov’s Dream . It was all laid out—the symbolism of the dressing gown, the contrast between Stolz and Ilya Ilyich, the tragic stagnation of the Russian soul. It was perfect. It was easy.

"Still staring at Goncharov like he’s going to talk back?" a voice whispered.

Suddenly, he didn't see a "literary archetype." He saw himself on a Sunday afternoon, ignoring his alarms, drifting in that comfortable, dangerous fog of "later."

Lena pulled out her phone and tapped the screen. "You know, there’s a 'GDZ' (ready-made homework) for this, Dima. Everyone uses it when they're stuck."