X
iao Yu lay in bed, utterly drained. His head ached, his heart felt bruised, and all he wanted was to cry until the mattress swallowed him whole. His best friend hated him. His idol-turned-enemy wouldn't even look at him. And every attempt to fix things only seemed to make everything worse.
"I didn't even do anything this time…" he whispered, voice cracking.
Just when he thought things couldn't get more chaotic, now he had some mysterious "special object" to find. What it was, how it would affect the storyline—he had no idea. But the universe clearly had no intention of letting him rest.
Still, he yawned, burrowing under the covers with a pout.
"A good beauty sleep will fix this. I'm sure of it."
And with that, he closed his eyes.
Xiao Yu walked through the hallway with his head held high—well, as high as it could be when every pair of eyes felt like daggers in his back. Whispering followed his steps like an unwanted fan club. He didn't need to look to know they were watching. Judging.
"Xiao Yu, please report to the principal's office," a voice blared through the intercom, crisp and unforgiving.
A beat of silence, then a mutter from somewhere behind him: "Finally... a suspension."
He didn't flinch. Not even a twitch. With practiced grace, he strutted toward his locker, pretending he hadn't heard a thing. But as he opened it, he frowned.
Zhao Chen wasn't there.
Weird.
They always had the same schedule. Same timetable. Same routine. The guy practically lived by a clock—and Xiao Yu had memorized that clock down to the second. So why was his locker closed and untouched?
His heart skipped, but he shook it off.
No. Don't overthink it.
He shut his locker with a quiet thunk and started walking.
Xiao Yu stood just inside the office, the heavy mahogany door clicking shut behind him with a finality that made his spine stiffen. The room was far too quiet. The kind of silence that didn't feel peaceful—it felt like the moment before a storm.
The principal sat behind her desk, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, fingers laced atop a manila file that Xiao Yu was willing to bet had his name scrawled in red somewhere inside. Rong Xichen stood off to the side, arms crossed, expression colder than dry ice. His sharp jaw was clenched, lips a thin line, but his eyes—that glint in them was pure, simmering fury.
"Xiao Yu," the principal said, her voice carefully measured. "Sit."
He did, back straight, lips pressed together.
She slid the file forward. "You are aware of the posts circulating online?"
Xiao Yu didn't answer.
"The ones suggesting you planned to drug a fellow student, and now, a leaked photo that compromises another's privacy?"
Still nothing. He only blinked.
The principal sighed and flipped open the file. "No hard proof has been submitted yet. But your name is entangled in both. This is serious, Xiao Yu. If it's proven that you were involved—"
"I'll be expelled," Xiao Yu said softly, finishing the sentence for her. His voice didn't shake. That was something.
"Yes."
He nodded. "I understand."
That was it. That was all he said. Not a protest. Not an excuse. Just polite silence and a calm nod that made the principal's expression twist with concern. But before she could say more, Rong Xichen's voice cut in like a blade.
"You're not going to talk your way out of this."
Xiao Yu finally looked at him. "Pardon?"
Rong Xichen stepped forward, eyes gleaming with a restrained rage that seemed to pulse just beneath his skin. "Don't play innocent. You've been clawing your way into everything—into people's lives like a weed. First the rankings. Then the post. The photos. You've done nothing but bring drama and attention wherever you go."
"I didn't—"
"You'll be ruined," Rong Xichen snapped. "If no one else makes sure of it, I will. I'll make you regret everything you've done."
Xiao Yu stared at him for a moment, then—he smiled.
It wasn't the sweet, bubbly smile from his livestreams. It wasn't even the passive-aggressive smile he gave Zhao Chen when he was irritated.
No. This one was pretty. Dangerous. Hysterical.
"Oh?" Xiao Yu tilted his head, eyes sparkling like glass about to crack. "Then ruin me. Do your worst, your best, your everything. I'll even applaud you for the effort."
Rong Xichen's gaze darkened. "You think this is a joke?"
"I think it's poetic," Xiao Yu replied with a laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "The school's top beauty turning into a tragedy. Maybe next week they'll vote me number seven and I can finally sleep in peace."
The principal looked between the two of them, clearly regretting her life choices.
"I suggest you both leave. Now."
Xiao Yu stood, offering a perfectly rehearsed bow before heading for the door. As his hand touched the knob, he spoke again, soft this time.
"But, just so you know, Rong Xichen… even tragedies have fanclubs."
Then he walked out.
He didn't go back to class. He went straight outside, where the breeze hit his face and tugged at the strands of his hair. His chest ached. His stomach twisted. But he smiled anyway, because that was all he had left right now. A smile, a reputation, and a pile of misunderstandings so high he could build a damn penthouse on top.
He made it halfway to the school gate before he realized he had nowhere to go. No Zhao Chen. No Shiroi. No backup plan.
So he turned back. Walked the halls slowly, ignoring the whispers and pointed stares. People gave him a wide berth now, as if scandal was contagious.
Xiao Yu walked through his classes like a ghost—silent, distant, trying to keep himself together with sheer willpower and peach-flavored bubble gum.
He hadn't seen Zhao Chen all day. Not in class, not by the lockers, not even in the cafeteria where Zhao Chen always sat with that straight back and judgmental frown, like a bored emperor overseeing the masses. It was unnerving.
By fifth period, his nerves had frayed enough to call on the one person who always had answers, even if she rarely gave them kindly.
"Hey, Shiroi," he muttered as he leaned against the window, eyes scanning the hallway for any sign of either boy. "Is Zhao Chen sick or something? He didn't show up at all."
Shiroi's voice came like a chime laced with warning. "No. He's not sick. Ask Rong Xichen if he can reach him. If not, I'll send you his coordinates. You might need to go to his house."
The hairs on the back of Xiao Yu's neck stood. "His house? Why does that sound like a death flag?"
"Because you like making things difficult," Shiroi said flatly. "Now go ask the ice block."
Xiao Yu took a breath, then spotted Rong Xichen seated in the corner of the classroom, the picture of aloof perfection. His hair fell slightly over one eye, his posture was effortless, and his expression was unreadable—like he was carved from cold marble and only ever warmed under Zhao Chen's touch.
Xiao Yu hesitated. Then walked forward.
"Xichen…"
No response. Typical.
"Did you get in touch with Zhao Chen?" he asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. "I haven't seen him today."
Rong Xichen didn't even look up from his book.
"What's it to you?" he said, voice frigid. "Haven't you done enough damage?"
Xiao Yu blinked. "I-I just wanted to check if he was okay."
"And what makes you think you're in the position to check?" Rong Xichen finally lifted his eyes, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop. "Last I checked, you drugged him and ruined his image. Or do you want to finish the job?"
Xiao Yu's lips parted. The words didn't come.
Everyone believed it.
Even Rong Xichen.
Even Zhao Chen.
Of course they did.
He tried to smile—he always smiled when he didn't know what else to do. "You care for him so much," he whispered, not bothering to hide the tremble in his voice. "It's sweet."
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Too bitter. Too exposed. But he didn't take them back.
He turned, his footsteps light but heavy, like walking through molasses, like dragging grief on his shoulders. His chest ached in ways he didn't know how to name. Maybe he didn't want to name it.
Behind him, Rong Xichen's gaze lingered.
That smile. It wasn't defiant. It wasn't smug. It was… hollow. Resigned.
And it bothered him more than it should.
Rong Xichen clenched his jaw and looked back at his book, but the words blurred. He'd noticed Xiao Yu was different lately. Less loud. Less chaotic. Still dramatic, still annoyingly theatrical, but there was something quieter underneath—something fraying at the edges.
Was it guilt?
A game?
Or something worse?
Whatever it was, it was unsettling.
But what unsettled him more was Zhao Chen's silence.
Zhao Chen didn't just disappear. If he was upset, he'd lash out. If he was angry, he'd say something scathing and walk away like a storm wrapped in authority.
But this?
Silence?
Something wasn't right.
Rong Xichen closed the book and stood abruptly, drawing the eyes of a few classmates. He didn't care. He needed answers. And he knew where to start.
After school, he would go to Zhao Chen's house himself.
And if something had happened—if Xiao Yu was involved in any way—he would make sure the boy regretted it.
No matter how sad his smile looked.
The sky had begun to darken by the time Xiao Yu got back to his dorm. He hadn't even taken off his hoodie when Shiroi appeared—hovering above his desk like a floating paperweight of doom.
"Xiao Yu," she said, voice more serious than usual. "There's been a shift in the timeline."
He froze mid-step. "What do you mean?"
"There's been a fluctuation. A ripple. Due to the changes you've caused in the plot, some critical events have been pushed forward."
"Forward…?" he repeated dumbly, heart sinking. "Like how forward?"
Shiroi's eyes narrowed. "Zhao Chen was not supposed to be in danger until Chapter 12. We're not there yet. But something you did—something someone did—moved the event up."
A sick feeling bloomed in Xiao Yu's stomach. "What kind of danger?"
"Fatal."
His knees nearly buckled. "WHAT?"
"If you go now," she said quickly, "you might still make it. If you wait… he dies."
Xiao Yu didn't even stop to grab his bag.
The cab ride was silent except for the thudding of his heart. His hands wouldn't stop shaking.
This isn't real. It's a story. A game. I'm not the hero. I'm not supposed to fix this. I'm just—
"Host," Shiroi snapped in his mind. "You're spiraling. Focus. The coordinates are correct. Zhao Chen is alone. His parents won't be back for another hour. He left the front door unlocked so they could get in."
"Wait, what?"
"There was no extra key. He left it open on purpose."
Xiao Yu's lips parted, then shut again. His stomach churned.
"He's always so careful," he whispered. "Why would he…"
"You'll understand when you see him. Go. Now."
He stood in front of the average-looking bungalow, trying not to hyperventilate. It looked painfully normal, like it should've smelled like dinner and soft laundry detergent. But the windows were dark. Too quiet.
Xiao Yu swallowed thickly and stepped up to the door. His hand hovered.
Unlocked. Right. Because his parents were supposed to come home soon. Because he's alone.
He pushed the door open.
It creaked.
Inside, it was cold.
Not in temperature—cold in that still, empty way that made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Like a place that had stopped breathing.
"Host, hurry," Shiroi whispered. "You're almost out of time."
Xiao Yu moved forward on autopilot, taking the hallway to the right like she instructed. His footsteps felt too loud. Like an intruder. But he didn't stop.
The door to Zhao Chen's bedroom was cracked open.
He pushed it gently.
And there he was.
Zhao Chen lay sprawled on the floor, one arm dangling off the edge of the bed, face ghostly pale, lips slightly parted. A shattered pill bottle lay near his fingertips.
Unmoving.
Xiao Yu's entire body went ice cold.
"No no no no no—"
He dropped to his knees beside him, grabbing Zhao Chen's shoulders.
"Zhao Chen?!"
Nothing.
His hands trembled violently as he shook him.
"Wake up! Please—wake up, damn it!"
Still nothing.
"SHIROI!" he screamed.
"I told you. You're late by minutes." His voice cracked. "But not beyond help. You can still bring him back."