The moment Ms. Fang stepped out—
The classroom exploded.
Like someone had flipped a switch.
The same students who were half-dead five minutes ago suddenly came back to life.
"BRO DID YOU HEAR—"
"WE'RE ACTUALLY GOING—"
"I'M NOT STUDYING ANYMORE TODAY."
Chairs screeched. Bags were kicked aside. People stood up, leaned across desks, moved in clumps like it was morning fish-market chaos.
Someone shouted from the back, "WHO'S GOING??"
Someone else yelled, "EVERYONE, OBVIOUSLY."
The class monitor sighed dramatically, already pulling out a sheet of paper.
"Okay, okay—if you know you're going, write your name," he said, tapping the desk.
"If you're not sure, say 'maybe.' If you're not going, say it clearly."
"Why are you acting like a teacher?"
"Because no one else will," the monitor snapped.
Students immediately started crowding.
"I'M GOING."
"Write mine too."
"Add me—add me."
Jian leaned back in his chair, laughing as one of his friends shoved another aside.
"Relax, idiot," Jian said. "It's not disappearing."
One of his friends pulled out his phone.
"Bro, bro—look at this manga panel."
Jian leaned over.
On the screen was some over-the-top character with impossible proportions and dramatic shading.
"No way," Jian scoffed.
"That's not even legal art."
"Author is insane," another friend said, wheezing.
"Physics left the chat."
"Why do they always draw characters like that?" Jian said, laughing.
"Who is this even for?"
"For us," his friend replied instantly.
"Don't lie."
They burst out laughing like idiots.
Yanyan rolled her eyes but smiled.
"You're all so stupid," she said, shaking her head.
"And you wonder why people don't take you seriously."
Jian grinned at her.
"You like us anyway."
She scoffed. "Barely."
The monitor slammed the paper lightly on the desk.
"HEY. Names."
One by one, students wrote.
Some confidently.
Some hesitating.
"Put me as going."
"No—write 'maybe.'"
"My parents haven't answered."
The paper filled fast.
Names stacked over each other, handwriting messy, overlapping. The monitor kept shifting his grip, trying to keep the sheet flat as people leaned in from all sides.
"Hey—don't push."
"I wrote already."
"Wait, add mine properly."
Someone laughed too loud. Someone else complained their name was spelled wrong.
At the back of the room, a chair scraped.
Wei didn't move.
He stayed at his last window desk, one earphone in, head resting sideways on his arm. His body was turned slightly toward the glass, winter light dull and pale against his sleeve.
From the outside, it looked like he'd fallen asleep the moment self-study started.
But his breathing wasn't slow enough for that.
The noise kept coming anyway.
Laughter bursting and fading.
The monitor calling names.
Someone arguing about room groups already.
Wei let it wash over him.
He didn't open his eyes.
A shadow stopped near his desk.
The monitor stood there for a second longer than necessary, pen hovering, unsure whether to wake him or leave him alone.
"Wei," he called, not loudly.
No answer.
A pause.
Then, softer—almost careful.
"Are you… going?"
Wei didn't move right away.
The earphone stayed in place. His head stayed against his arm.
"…No," he said quietly.
It wasn't sharp.
It wasn't dramatic.
Just an answer.
The monitor blinked.
"…Like— not going at all?"
Wei nodded once. Small. Almost invisible.
"Write no."
The monitor hesitated, pen still suspended, like he was waiting for a "maybe" to follow.
It didn't.
The pen scratched the paper.
Wei didn't look.
He shifted slightly, leaning back against the window again, eyes still closed — as if the moment had already passed, as if there was nothing left to explain.
The noise swelled again around him.
At the front, Jian's friend leaned over the desk.
"Let me see the list," he said, curious more than anything.
The monitor handed it over, relieved to move on.
The friend scanned it slowly this time, lips moving as he counted.
"Most of the class is going," he said.
"Some 'maybe's."
He laughed under his breath.
"Let's see who's acting mysterious."
Jian reached out without thinking.
"Let me see too."
His friend raised an eyebrow, grin already forming.
"Ohhh?"
"Looking for someone?"
Another friend leaned in, laughing.
"What— checking if Class B girls are coming?"
The joke landed instantly.
"See, Yanyan," the friend added, nudging Jian,
"your boyfriend is already planning ahead."
Yanyan turned toward Jian, mock-offended, voice softening into that half-playful, half-serious tone.
"Jian," she said, exaggerated just enough to sound teasing,
"you're already bored of me?"
Jian snorted.
"What? No."
He handed the paper back easily.
"I'm just checking," he said, light, careless,
"so we don't end up with boring people and ruin the trip."
That was enough.
Laughter again.
Someone clapped.
Someone agreed loudly.
"Fair."
"Valid."
Yanyan smiled, satisfied, leaning back in her chair.
Jian smiled too.
It didn't falter.
Only—his eyes had already done what they needed to.
Once.
Quick.
Wei's name wasn't there.
Not undergoing.
Not under maybe.
Not anywhere on the page.
Jian leaned back, posture unchanged, hands still loose, expression exactly the same as before.
Only his chest tightened—
slow this time.
Quiet.
Like something sinking instead of snapping.
Outside, the classroom kept buzzing.
Inside, something settled into silence.