novelraw Chapter 62
Chapter 62
Chapter 62
"That's about it. On the Smith machine, keep your forearms perpendicular to the floor—good—now hold it."
Monday night, South District.
Inside a gym tricked out in what could only be described as "Syrian-blast-zone chic," Charcoal—real name Arakawa Kyoji—watched Yan Huan lying on the bench, coaching him through his very first set of presses.
"Huff... huff..."
"All right, rack it. Last set. Beginners start at this pace: five sets per move, twelve to fifteen reps each, until failure."
Charcoal sounded matter-of-fact, but the moment Yan rolled off the bench he looked half-dead.
He knelt on the rubber mat, gasping, cradling one arm where the pain flared like a hot wire.
"Sss—"
Without Bare Skin's boost I'm really not ready for the side-effects of this efficiency ramp.
The stabbing ache was one thing; the real problem was that Yan honestly felt another session would either cripple him or finish him off.
He lifted his head toward the muscle-piled Charcoal and asked, voice thin, "Coach, any way to train at home?"
Charcoal sat, offered him a paper cup of water. "Don't like the gym? Hashimoto said it's close to your place and cheap—only the décor's tragic. Management's non-existent, but the gear works and the owner hasn't skipped town. Not bad."
Charcoal had texted Yan and Hashimoto around ten that morning: free trial session for Yan. That was when Yan learned the couple lived in the same district. With nothing scheduled for the night, he'd crammed his homework and tagged along.
One trial later, Yan felt close to death.
Two rounds in, his pecs and triceps threatened to file for emancipation.
He glanced at the wall sign: NO SHIRTLESS TRAINING. A rule he usually applauded now felt like a personal vendetta.
He managed a crooked smile. "It's not the gym. I work odd shifts—home workouts would just be easier."
Charcoal nodded, all business. "Same deal at home: split by muscle group. I'll DM you a no-equipment routine—follow the cues.
Mind you, that's beginner-level. If you want real size later, you'll still need iron and diet control or the results will suck."
He tilted his head toward the cardio zone. "You could also tag with Hashimoto, mix in some fat-burn."
Yan logged every word, then hauled himself upright. "Got it, Coach—thanks."
"No problem." The shy coach looked embarrassed and turned toward the treadmills—just in time to spot Hashimoto sprawled beside one like a fallen gamer.
Because, honestly, otaku cardio is a spectator sport.
"Rest up, both of you, then we'll hit the next move. I'll start my own circuit."
"Sure thing, Coach—don't mind us."
Yan smiled, took a long pull of water, and unlocked his phone.
Yuanyue Student-Council Management Group
Yua Lina: Phew, list's done! Names plus club suggestions are in the sheet. Transfer kids didn't list hobbies, so no recs~
Yan Huan: Received. Thanks for the grind.
Cat "thumbs-up" sticker.
Yua Lina: Hehe~
Yan opened the spreadsheet and skimmed the headcount—barely three dozen across all three grades.
The glance was fatal.
First-years
Bai Yi – no club – hobbies: singing – suggested: Choir, Light Music
An Le – no club – hobbies: ACG – suggested: Anime Club, Gaming Club
Aria Spencer – no club – hobbies: none – suggested: Track & Field
Second tab, second-years
Ye Shiyu – no club – hobbies: none – suggested: none
Great. Zero clubs between them.
What do you expect from Modifier hosts? All freak talents.
Bai Yi's absence was obvious: rare campus appearances, no time for afternoon clubs.
An Le was the type he'd mentioned earlier—ostracised, bullied. Yuanyue's class assignment was random, but Class C was notorious as the "nobles' den." Scholarship kids like An Le were easy prey.
He narrowed his eyes at the transfer students.
Ye Shiyu—normal.
Spencer, though—no hobbies, yet a club recommendation in red.
Definitely old Hermes cooking the books again.
Not that Spencer would bite me anyway.
Tomorrow noon Bai Yi and Spencer would attend the study group—he'd corner them then.
An Le was in the same grade; easy to find.
For now, Ye Shiyu first.
A weekend without contact—no telling what new Modifier she'd cooked up.
He stepped out of the gym and into the neon wash of South District's nightlife. A cool night breeze carried the smell of fried food and exhaust.
He dialled Ye Shiyu on Plane.
Ring...
Meanwhile, in the Ye mansion of Jinghe District, Ye Shiyu sat at her sewing machine, fingers guiding fabric. The phone lit up beside her.
Without looking, she reached to decline, then caught the caller ID:
Xiao Huan
She blinked, switched off the machine, and lifted the phone.
"Hello—"
But before she could speak, the background exploded: car horns, chatter, and two unmistakable female voices.
"Hey, handsome, want Big Sis to buy you a drink?"
"Me too, me too!"
"Cutie, my place is huge—wanna come up and see?"
Ye Shiyu's expression stayed flat, but her eyes chilled; the phone glowed faint violet against her ear.
"No thanks—excuse me."
Thankfully, Yan's voice cut through the chorus.
"Shiyu sis?"
"Ah, sorry—bit noisy. Let me find somewhere quiet."
The din faded.
"Better now?"
"Mm."
Ye Shiyu glanced at the half-finished garment on her table—clearly men's wear, sized for only one person she knew.
Her thumb brushed the tiny "Ye Shiyu" tag hidden inside the collar.
"Xiao Huan, where are you?"
"Just near home—getting a workout in."
She frowned. "That area... isn't great. Why not stay at the mansion this weekend? I'll have Auntie pick you up."
Downstairs for a quick workout and already getting hit on—how many women had been eyeing him all these years?
Unacceptable.
Staying at the mansion carried risks—her rational side admitted desire was a losing battle—but nightly hypnosis beat random female ambushes.
She waited.
"This side's fine, Shiyu sis."
His refusal came swift and clean.
The uniform Ye Shiyu had returned was still sitting in Yan Huan's closet—he didn't dare wear it, didn't dare throw it away. If she ever found out he'd noticed the tiny embroidery she'd hidden inside the collar, he'd probably unlock an unknown CG titled "Social Death."
He tapped "decline."
The line went eerily silent; Yan Huan couldn't read Ye Shiyu's mood across the void.
A heartbeat later her voice returned, level as flat water.
"All right. So why did you call—need something?"
Yan Huan smiled.
"Exactly. Shiyu sis, you must've gotten the email. According to Linmen policy, any student not in the student council, Discipline Committee, or other recognized group has to join a club. You're on the naughty list."
"We're handling it, so I thought I'd save you a trip—tell me what sounds fun and I'll pull the strings."
Classic Xiao Huan—always thinking ahead.
Ye Shiyu blinked, stretched across her bed with the phone to her ear, and looked thoughtful.
Xiao Huan's the council president...
"Then instead of a club can I just join the student council?"
Silence.
Yan Huan nearly dropped the phone.
One-step promotion, huh? Last time you visited the office you almost came to blows with the defenseless Sakuramiya. If you actually joined—
He cleared his throat.
"Shiyu sis, I already nominated and locked in the new board last semester. Next year's president will have to nominate you."
"You'll be president again next year, right?"
"Probably... not."
He hadn't thought that far, but his gut said deny now.
"Oh."
Disappointment colored her tone.
Yan Huan kept the ball rolling, strolling along the quieter edge of the street.
"But the school clubs are great, and Club Wars are coming—should be epic."
Ye Shiyu had heard of Club Wars; she and Gongzi had been getting close lately. Gongzi's boyfriend Owen captained the track team, and she wouldn't shut up about their daily training.
"Are you in a club, Xiao Huan?"
"Nope—too busy. But as president I can drop in anywhere. Once you pick one, I'll come cheer."
Among the council heads, only he and Sakuramiya Hitomi weren't in clubs.
Hashimoto handled the Computer Club.
Ashley demolished people at kendo—he'd watched her pummel half the team.
As for Yua Lina, she was in Model UN. Give her any country and she'd rattle off its language, once proposing "a global kangaroo-sales boom" because a kangaroo had kicked her in the head on vacation.
"So, Shiyu sis, any talents or hobbies?"
"Nothing special... took some classes when I was little."
Yan Huan drifted past the gym entrance and into the narrow alley beside it.
"Such as?"
"Piano, guzheng, tea ceremony, flower arranging, art, embroidery—"
"Whoa, hold on."
He rolled his eyes at his phone—then caught a familiar click from the alley.
Click—lighter flint.
"All settled?" A woman's calm voice.
"Done, Sis Tong. One guy shipped out of Linmen last night—ten days by sea to Phnom Penh, where our people will pick him up. The other—"
The voice sounded like the gym owner who'd nodded at Charcoal earlier.
"Stop. I don't want details. Bury him, burn him—just keep the cops away."
"Got it. Leave it to me."
"Good. If the gym needs anything, call. I'm heading back."
"Sure thing, Sis Tong. Take care."
Yan Huan stared as smoke curled from the side door and the gym boss slipped back inside.
Another figure pushed off the wall: a stunning redhead with drooping eyes, cigarette dangling. She took one step, looked up, and froze.
Their gazes locked; the cigarette fell from her parted lips.
. . .
Yan Huan snapped his eyes away, turning up the volume on his call.
"Well then, I'll drop by later and we can talk clubs in person—mm-hmm, sounds good."
He pivoted toward the gym, but the rapid clack of high heels drummed behind him—too fast.
Before he'd gone three steps a hand clamped his collar. Pain flared across his overworked chest as Tong Yingying hauled him back into the alley.
Thud—he hit the wall.
Eyes wide, he killed the call.
On the other end Ye Shiyu blinked in confusion.
Yan Huan produced a bright "fancy meeting you" smile.
"Oh! Sis Tong, what a coincidence!"
Tong Yingying didn't answer, eyes half-lidded.
She lifted her index finger and tipped his chin up, studying his face like a judge weighing evidence. Shadows he'd never seen before flickered in her gaze.
"Just now—what did you hear?"
Yan Huan blinked, staring at her slightly glossed lips—sweet gloss laced with tobacco.
His dry throat bobbed; words failed him.
. . .
His phone rang.
Ding-ding-ding—caller ID: Shiyu sis.
—Elsewhere, Luoqiao District, An Le's house—
"Wow, this kid can eat. Here, have another scoop."
An Le's parents gaped at the blonde girl demolishing rice like a harvester.
They could already picture the caption for their next short video:
"My daughter's classmate just downed five bowls."
An Le watched in awe as Spencer polished off the last serving.
Burp—she set the bowl down and patted her stomach.
Lacking chopstick skills, she'd used a spoon to shovel rice and side dishes together. Lucky for her, everything tonight was comfort food.
"Delicious!"
"Glad you like it. Come again anytime, sweetheart. An Le, clear the table."
"Oh—sure."
As An Le stood, Spencer moved to help, but Auntie waved her off.
"Oh my, sit, sit—An Le can handle it."
"Kay-ay."
Spencer plunked herself down, patted her stomach, and didn't budge.
An Le's mother blinked, then hid a chuckle behind her hand.
She carried the spotless plate into the kitchen with An Le, while Dad stayed behind to wipe the table.
Inside, Mom laughed softly.
"Foreign kids really are straightforward, huh? No beating around the bush."
"Spencer isn't even from Longguo—she can't even use chopsticks."
"Nothing wrong with that. She's pretty cute."
Mom rolled up her sleeves.
"All right, let your dad wash up. If your homework's done, go hang out with your classmate."
An Le nodded, stepped out, and hollered,
"Dad! Mom says you're on dish duty!"
The middle-aged man who'd just settled on the sofa with the remote shot her a look.
"Again? I cooked! Make your mom do it!"
From the kitchen drifted Mom's lazy reply,
"I'm not feeling well~"
"Oh, come on—you're 'not feeling well' every day!"
Still grumbling, he heaved himself up and trudged toward the sink, muttering,
"From now on, cash up front—fifty a load! I need a new fishing rod!"
"Sure, sure. Hurry up—I'll whip you both some dessert."
Arms folded, Spencer watched the kitchen comedy. Her gaze lingered on An Le, who stood in the doorway beaming.
A couple of seconds later An Le stepped closer.
"Come on, I'll show you my reptiles. There are games in my room too."
"...Kay."
Spencer rose and followed her down the hall. At the last second she glanced back toward the kitchen.
Click.
The bedroom door shut. An Le unhooked her bra strap and dropped it into the hamper, then stretched luxuriously and sat at her computer.
"Um, Spencer, wanna see the geckos?"
Spencer peeked into the terrarium, went a shade paler, took a step back, and shook her head.
"No thanks!"
"They're gentle, really cute—"
"I'm not scared! They're just... not cute!"
"Mm, games then?"
Spencer eyed the aging tower PC. It could handle galgames, but anything 3D—her kind of racing—would crawl.
"Pass. You play."
With that, she flopped onto An Le's bed, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling.
An Le walked over, worried Spencer's mood had soured.
"Sorry my place isn't much fun, Spencer."
"Nothing to be sorry for. Just..." Spencer rolled over irritably—and froze.
On the nightstand sat a framed photo: two kids, a boy and a girl. The boy's easy grin was instantly recognizable—President Yan Huan. The little girl clutched his shirt, eyes shyly on him.
"Ooh." Spencer perked up, grabbed the frame, and studied it.
"Spencer, no—that's off-limits!"
An Le snatched it back, hugging it to her chest.
Spencer didn't mind. She tilted her head at An Le's flushed face.
"That precious, huh?"
"Of course! It's the only picture I have with Xiao Huan. The bookmark's one-of-a-kind too, so..."
"You guys are all, like, obsessed with that Yan Huan, aren't you?"
Spencer folded her arms again, eyes fixed on An Le.
"Besides looking pretty, what's so great about him? He's grumpy and tricks people. Half the girls at school go all weird when they talk about him. Bet he only got elected because of his face."
"That's not true!" An Le sputtered.
"Student-council elections are strict. Sure, some first-round votes were for his looks, but after debates, exams, events—he earned it."
She set the frame back on the nightstand.
"Xiao Huan isn't just a nice guy. When it counts, he's fierce and dependable. Last semester's final debate? He made the senior candidates cry on the spot. Yuanyue's packed with rich kids like you, Spencer. He won over most of them—looks alone wouldn't do that."
Spencer didn't get the appeal. Threatening Yan Huan had nothing to do with liking him. Sure, he was good-looking, but that wasn't enough. The guy was cold, scheming—why did everyone swoon?
She remembered his frown, the way he looked at her like she was trash—and smirked. With Plunder System in play, the more they hated her, the better.
Still, studying An Le's pink cheeks, Spencer tapped her chin.
"So he's a 'gap moe,' huh? Acts one way, but underneath—"
An Le's face flamed. She puffed her cheeks.
"Spencer! Stop reading that stuff! You'll go rotten!"
"Huh?"
Spencer pulled out her ever-present black folder and flipped to a page.
"But isn't this what you meant? Sweet smile on the outside, totally different inside—what else is gap moe?"
An Le was losing a battle of wits to an amateur. Spencer had learned a term and was already misusing it; if she ever got online, it'd be chaos.
Pouting, An Le yanked the folder away and stuffed Pure White Ballet back inside.
"Use the right word! It's sexual tension—sexual tension, okay!"
"...Meh. Same difference." Spencer's brain felt full; she couldn't be bothered.
Knock-knock.
"Come in!"
The door opened; An Le's mom entered with a plate of sliced apples.
"Here, girls—have some fruit."
"Ah, thanks, Auntie!" Spencer sprang up so fast she startled Mom, who laughed at the girl licking her lips like a hungry cat.
Mom glanced between Spencer and An Le, pulled up a chair, and asked curiously,
"So, Spencer—do you mind if I call you that?"
"Whatever. Aw-roo."
"Auntie just wanted to ask—since you and An Le are in the same class—how is she doing at school? The kids there aren't easy to get along with, and she only moved to Linmen recently. Her dad and I worry she might not fit in."
Spencer balanced an apple in each hand. At the question she glanced at An Le, about to blurt out the truth.
"Oh, that Park—"
"No!" An Le cut in, cheeks scarlet. "I'm doing great! Everyone—the teachers, the students—they've all been really kind, Mom."
Spencer met An Le's eyes. The girl was pleading with her: Please, not now.
"...Right."
"Is that true, Spencer?"
Not sure what to say, Spencer bit into her apple and nodded.
An Le's mother finally relaxed. Rising, she smiled at Spencer. "Then I can stop worrying. You girls enjoy yourselves. Just bring the plate out when you're done. If it gets late, stay the night—treat this as your own home."
"...Okay."
An Le gave a brittle smile and waved until her mother was gone.
When she turned back, Spencer had already demolished the entire fruit plate.
Licking juice from her fingers, Spencer asked, "Why didn't you tell her the truth? Park Seo-mun and her crew have been bullying you non-stop. The rest aren't as bad, but they still ignore you."
An Le looked down, twisting a strand of hair. "Yeah. Our class is famous in the school as the 'noble class.' Telling Mom would only make her worry—what else could it change?"
She tucked the strand behind her ear with a bitter smile. "Even Park Seo-mun, who looks down on me the most, only tosses a few barbs unless she catches me delivering love letters to Xiao Huan. I've been friendless since I was little. At least now I have you, Spencer."
Spencer studied the girl's forced smile and blinked.
Originally she'd planned to snatch Yan Huan away from all the girls who liked him. After that—well, she hadn't thought that far ahead, just like the day she'd stolen a plastic pinwheel from a kid outside the aquarium. Maybe once she'd won, she'd lose interest in him instantly.
But this time... maybe she could change tactics.
Helping An Le—who had absolutely nothing—win Yan Huan wouldn't be so bad. After all, An Le had just called Spencer her friend.
"All right. Thanks for having me today. I'm heading home."
Spencer stood, plate in hand.
"You're leaving already?"
"Mm." Spencer yawned. "I'm sleepy."
"O-okay. I'll walk you out."
Spencer nodded and stepped into the corridor. She returned the plate to Auntie, exchanged polite pleasantries, and left with an unfamiliar "Come again anytime" ringing in her ears.
Downstairs, the black sedan and its driver were still waiting at the curb. Spencer opened the rear door, waved to An Le—who had thrown on a thick coat—and climbed in.
The car hummed to life.
"Miss, the AI just relayed a message from the president—your mother."
"Got it. Take me home."
"Yes, ma'am."
They rolled out of Luoqiao District, heading back to Jinghe, to the high-rise tower emblazoned with the Golden Lion emblem. Alone, backpack over one shoulder and a black tote in hand, Spencer rode the private elevator from the underground garage to the penthouse.
A fingerprint unlocked the door, revealing a vast, dim, silent flat.
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows Linmen's night lights shimmered like reflections in a watery mirror—until Spencer approached, and her own expressionless face appeared in the glass.
"..."
After a moment she turned, but instead of the warm kitchen noises from An Le's home, lights and screens flickered on, and the AI's mechanical voice greeted her:
"Welcome home, Young Lady."
"Mm. Mom left a message—what is it?"
"Regarding your conduct last week, Principal Hermes of Yuanyue Academy spoke with the president. You are on the verge of expulsion. The president is extremely displeased."
"..."
Spencer pressed her lips together, dumped her bag and tote on the floor, and flopped onto the couch.
"According to the recorded call between Principal Hermes and the president, you must meet one of the following conditions before midterms to avoid withdrawal.
"1. No more than half of your required-subject midterm scores may be failing. System analysis gives this a 15.32% chance of success.
"2. Your discipline record must exceed sixty points. You currently have twenty-nine. Raising it to sixty by midterms is calculated at 0%.
"3. Win honors in sanctioned competitions. The nearest athletic event is mid-March—after midterm assessments—yielding a 0% chance."
Spencer grew more irritated with every word. She hurled a cushion at the screen.
"So I'm definitely getting expelled? Then why bother?!"
"According to the recorded call, Principal Hermes suggests you join a club and achieve victory in the upcoming Club Wars. You may then petition the Board for any request."
The AI—its golden lion avatar staring blankly—continued in that same lifeless tone:
"Principal Hermes has recommended the Track-and-Field Club, this year's most likely champion. Student-council members will contact you within days."
"Hah. They'd trade their hard-won wish just to keep me in school? Fat chance."
"According to the recording, negotiations will be handled by others. Principal Hermes will amend certain rules to ensure the plan proceeds."
Spencer neither agreed nor refused. She simply hugged a throw pillow and lay back.
After a long silence she said, "Call my mom. Patch me through."
"Certainly. Connecting you now. Please wait."
The room fell quiet except for the dial tone.
Beep—
The penthouse was vast and empty; Linmen's upside-down skyline glimmered in the glass wall. Spencer's golden curls spilled across the couch, her sky-blue eyes fixed on the coffee table.
Beep—
Beep—
Beep—
"Sorry, the number you have dialed is not answering."
Spencer drew the pillow closer, as if cold. She seemed used to it.
Then the AI's calm advisory resumed:
"Young Lady, according to the recorded call between the president and Principal Hermes, I sincerely recommend—"
Spencer frowned, bit her lip, and buried her head in the pillow, shutting out the mechanical voice.
"According to the recorded call between the president and Principal Hermes..."
"According to the recorded call between the president and the psychologist Alina..."
"According to the recorded call between the president and Linmen Education Bureau's Shen Xueyuan..."
Spencer curled tighter into the sofa.
Outside, a winter wind rattled the glass, blurring the mirrored city lights.
In the reflection, the golden lion avatar opened its mouth and spoke like a nightmare:
"Sorry, the number you have dialed is not answering."