novelraw Chapter 91
Chapter 91
Chapter 91
"Mm." Early-morning light slipped through the curtains and chased away the night's gloom.
On the bed, Ye Shiyu's long lashes fluttered; a trace of drowsiness leaked through. She opened her eyes in a haze, and only when she sat up did she realize an extra quilt lay over her—different from when she'd fallen asleep.
She stared blankly for a second, memory rushing back.
She looked around; the boy was gone. The balcony door was shut, and without the wind the curtains hung lifeless.
When she reached for her phone to check the time, she noticed the jellyfish plush that usually sat on her shelf had been pulled down and now faced her, wide-eyed.
A sticky note—torn from the pad on her craft table—was taped to one of its tentacles, as if the plush were offering her a message.
I'm off.
Good night, Shiyu sis.
—Yan Huan
Ye Shiyu ran a fingertip over his name at the bottom of the note. She had never labeled the plush before; now it carried his handwriting and sat on her nightstand.
And... she didn't mind.
She stared at the note a long while, then rose, fetched correction tape from her desk, and carefully erased the top line—"I'm off." Satisfied, she put the plush, now bearing only the gentle good-night wish, back beside her pillow.
Her phone read 7:11 a.m.
After a moment of silence she opened Plane and tapped a message to her mother, Ye Lan.
Mom, teach me.
What does it feel like to like Xiao Huan?
She lowered her head, cradling the phone, waiting. Seconds later it buzzed.
Okay.
––––––––––
Tuesday, noon, Room L501 in the library—the study group's official first meeting. Membership was... modest.
"Commander, sortie with me! Pink, sparkle!!"
A cutesy voice burst from Hashimoto's phone as his fingers blurred across the screen, swapping characters and unleashing skills to mow down endless mobs.
Beside him, Spencer puffed her cheeks. On her screen the last golden bomb-pig soared from a slingshot toward the birds' crystal palace—then missed.
Boom!
A single pig was never enough; even the mightiest gilt bomber couldn't crack the birds' fortress.
FAILED!
Spencer's teeth clenched; a vein throbbed on her forehead. One second later she slammed the table and whirled on Hashimoto, who sat a little apart, glued to his own gacha game.
"It's your fault! Can't you play with the sound off? I keep failing!"
Hashimoto lowered his phone, incredulous. "How is your losing my problem?"
"That awful squealing—why do the girls keep shrieking?!"
"Git gud, scrub." He flashed crab-claw hands. "Even grade-schoolers clear that level. You're just sweating and blaming everyone else."
Spencer shot to her feet. "Say that again—come on, say it!"
Seeing her about to flip the table, Hashimoto paled. "It's true! Quack—what are you doing?!"
Click.
The door opened, and Yan Huan walked in carrying three cups of milk tea.
"President, save me!"
"Huh?"
Spencer's fist froze mid-air, eyes locking on the three plastic cups.
Yan Huan set one in front of Hashimoto. "Thanks, President."
Spencer glanced at Hashimoto, then at the two remaining teas in Yan Huan's hand. She counted heads: one, two, three...
She smirked. So the guy who claims to hate me still bought me a drink. Classic tsundere.
Let's peel off that fake mask, President Yan.
Spencer cleared her throat, flicked her golden curls, and sat opposite Yan Huan with a soft smile propped on her palm.
Yan Huan slid a reading packet toward her. "We'll work through two of these today. Have a look."
Spencer blinked at the papers, then at the untouched tea beside him. Tch, typical—makes me wait half an hour even after buying the drink. East-Zhou types...
Fine, I'll play along, little fish.
She took the packet, scrawled her name at the top, and declared, "See? I'm not half bad at reading. I understand every question!"
Yan Huan said nothing, busy sorting another set.
Hashimoto wandered over, sipping pearls through a straw. "Obviously. These are sixth-grade grammar drills. If you can't handle them, reroll your life."
"Sixth grade?"
Spencer's eyes snapped to the footer: Linmen Sixth-Grade Grammar Test. Her face darkened. She watched the black pearls slide up Hashimoto's straw, inhaled sharply, then turned to Yan Huan.
He sighed, assuming she was upset about the low level. "We'll start with diagnostics this week."
But Spencer's gaze was fixed on the second milk tea now being unwrapped beside Yan Huan's elbow.
Heh. Both cups are open now.
Only one set of papers remained.
Way too obvious, Yan Huan~
Can't hold back much longer, can you?
If you're about to crack, just hand that bubble tea over already—stop pretending to be all shy and refined.
So why hasn't he moved yet?
Could it be... that finishing this test is actually the "reward" he promised himself?
Spencer scratched her chin, and a scene bloomed in her mind:
A dazzling peacock and a pitch-black crow circled a golden bomb-pig, eyes fixed on the pig as it wrote out problems.
The moment the golden bomb-pig dotted the last period and handed the sheet to the two birds, the crow recoiled.
"Ssss! Every answer's right?! This kid is terrifying!"
The peacock lowered its proud neck. "Never thought you were this smart, Bomb-Pig. My apologies."
The golden bomb-pig lifted its snout in smug silence—peak expert energy.
Crow: "So brilliant and so modest—I could cry~"
Peacock: "As an apology for misjudging you, this QQNeNe so-good-it-makes-you-bleat-tea is yours, Bomb-Pig."
Head held high, the pig glanced sideways at the offering: a pearl milk-tea wrapped in what looked like golden Buddha-light.
The legendary... QQNeNe so-good-it-makes-you-bleat-tea!
Back in the real world, Spencer ran her tongue over the little fang that stuck out—she was clearly drooling.
She gripped her pen, suddenly pumped, ready to scribble like her life depended on it.
Yan Huan sipped his own drink, wondering what on earth had lit a fire under the fool.
Not a bad thing, though.
He glanced at his phone and murmured,
"Right on schedule."
Just as Spencer hunched over her paper, the door creaked open again.
"Eeeek—"
She looked up to see a girl in a pale floral sundress under a white cardigan standing in the doorway.
A small handbag dangled from her wrist; a red flower pin held back silky black hair that spilled like starlight over her shoulders.
It was Bai Yi.
She offered the room a shy smile.
"Sorry, Yan Huan, Hashimoto, I'm a little late."
Hashimoto waved his half-empty cup. "No worries—we just started."
Hashimoto and Bai Yi were both in Class B, so they knew each other.
Spencer blinked. The simple outfit made the girl look like a slender red-crowned crane gliding into the room.
Yan Huan gave Bai Yi a quick once-over, then lifted a fresh set of papers.
"Materials for you."
"Thanks~"
Bai Yi's smile turned sweeter as she took the packet. Yan Huan slid the last untouched bubble tea toward her.
"Brought you a drink, too."
"Thank you!"
Snap.
Spencer had only been sizing up the pretty girl she'd met yesterday, but then she watched the coveted milk-tea rise, float across the table, and land in Bai Yi's hands.
Her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish.
So the tea was never for her—it had always been for Bai Yi.
Click.
Her pen rolled off the desk and clattered loudly. Hashimoto glanced over, then glanced again at Spencer, who was staring at the cup like it had personally betrayed her.
He couldn't hold it in.
"Spencer, you didn't actually think the President bought that tea for you, did you?"
Spencer's head swiveled toward him, stiff as a ventriloquist's dummy.
Hashimoto's grin stretched wider—he looked exactly like the orange-cat meme pointing and wheeze-laughing.
"You're dreaming if you think the President's getting you bubble tea!
Does that make sense, Spencer?!"
"HAHAHAHAHAHA—"
Yan Huan blinked.
Bai Yi hugged her drink, utterly lost.
But no one missed the color flooding Spencer's cheeks or the way her face puffed up.
Surrounded by three pretty birds, the little golden pig swelled, glowing ominously from within.
Bomb-Pig... ARMED!
Spencer's fists clenched. Hashimoto kept laughing, doubled over, treating the scene like free stand-up.
Only Yan Huan realized Hashimoto was one step from death.
"Hashimoto!"
"You've got a death wish, Hashimoto!!"
Spencer exploded out of her chair, fist rocketing toward his skull.
Whoosh!
The punch tore through the air. Hashimoto's grin was still stuck on his face, but the incoming fist grew larger by the millisecond.
His expression upgraded in stages:
Laughing
Smiling
Shock
Terror
Mercy
"President, save—"
He threw himself backward, as if time had downshifted to slow-mo.
Good news: Spencer's fist seemed to decelerate.
Bad news: his own body moved even slower!
Move, legs—move faster!
Or your head's going on a one-way trip!
Just as Hashimoto braced for a game-over screen, a calm voice floated in from behind.
"Spencer, right? How about you take this bubble tea instead?"
Whoosh!
The fist froze an inch from Hashimoto's cheek, the breeze ruffling his bangs.
He sagged in relief. Spencer and Hashimoto turned.
Bai Yi stood there, offering the cup with a sunny smile.
"I can grab another later. This one's for you."
"..."
Spencer stared, taken aback by the genuine warmth on Bai Yi's face.
A second later the surprise hardened into a scowl.
"Tch—as if I'd want it. Gross."
"Eh?"
Bai Yi's goodwill bounced off cold steel. She stood there, milk tea in hand, not sure what to do next.
From the safety of the windowsill, Hashimoto yelled,
"She offers it from the kindness of her heart and you still give attitude? Forget the tea—go drink air!"
Spencer spun, murder in her eyes.
"Say that to my face, Hashimoto!"
"..."
Hashimoto had already teleported to the far end of the room, pressed flat against the window like a wall decal.
She didn't dare answer, only stared back at her.
Spencer's tough talk died mid-sentence when a rolled-up test paper smacked the back of her head.
Smack!
"What the—?!"
She spun around and found Yan Huan holding the offending sheet. Before she could protest, he said flatly, "Are you doing the test or not? If not, you're out of the study group. I'll tell the principal. Once he phones your parents, you won't have to show up at all."
Spencer blinked, then snatched up her pen with a grudging, "Fine, I'll do it!"
Silence returned. Only Bai Yi, nursing her bubble tea, glanced at the now-docile Spencer and looked thoughtful.
She hadn't been kind out of charity. That milk tea had come from Yan Huan, and she'd had zero intention of sharing. But the chance to look gentle and generous in front of him was too tempting, so she'd forced herself to hand it over.
One look from Spencer, though, had made her feel as if every hidden motive had been laid bare—as if Spencer had sensed the calculation and instantly hated her for it.
Bai Yi studied Spencer again and, stung by that dislike, felt wariness and irritation rise. She didn't like this girl.
"Bai Yi, find a seat and try to finish the set before lunch," Yan Huan said.
Bai Yi surfaced from her thoughts, smiled sweetly, and answered, "Sure thing."
As the session neared its end, Spencer looked half-dead, eyes glazed as Yan Huan marked her paper in red pen. Hashimoto leaned against the wall, phone in hand, playing some gacha game. He snorted at Spencer's misery, then wisely decided not to push his luck.
"The club wars can keep you from getting expelled," Yan Huan said, tapping the graded paper in front of Spencer, "but what happens after? Even first place only cancels this dismissal; it isn't a get-out-of-jail-free card. You still need credits to graduate, and that means grades and exams. At the rate you're failing seventh-grade math, you're doomed anyway."
Spencer scowled but had no comeback.
Hashimoto chimed in, "You crawl through middle-school work like a snail. I finished Bai Yi's paper ages ago. Study on your own once in a while instead of expecting us to patch the sky for you."
Spencer glared, then reached over and plucked the phone from his hand.
"Hey! Give it back!"
"Hmm?" Spencer raised a fist; Hashimoto swallowed his outrage and watched her scroll through the game.
"What's this? A cartoon character keeps talking to you." She blinked, genuinely puzzled.
Hashimoto muttered, "Stick to Angry Piggies. This game's too deep for you."
"Oh, really?" Spencer gave a cold laugh. She had no idea how the game worked, so she jabbed the home-screen mascot at random.
"Eek~ Commander, no... but just a little is okay... After all, I like you best!"
Yan Huan and Hashimoto froze.
Yan Huan cocked an eyebrow. "I've never heard that voice line."
Hashimoto's jaw dropped. "How did you trigger that? It's a hidden line! I've never gotten it!"
"Hidden what now?"
He snatched the phone back and tapped the same spot.
"Commander, please don't... I'm... not ready yet..."
His face went pale. "See? That's the normal line!"
Spencer reclaimed the phone and hammered the screen. Every tap produced a new hidden voice.
"Mm, right there~"
"I love it~"
Hashimoto looked ready to cry. "No, no, no! Why did you corrupt my Hoshihime-chan?!" He clutched the phone as if to tear it apart and check what Spencer had done to his beloved mascot.
Only Yan Huan noticed the wicked grin on Spencer's lips and guessed the truth: her Modifier.
"Yan Huan," Bai Yi cut in, "about this weekend—let's meet Thursday to finalize the plan. I'm stuck on outfits for the MV. I'm hopeless with men's fashion, so..."
Bai Yi had actually enjoyed the session. Her grades weren't stellar, and she'd been nervous. Like everyone, she wanted to show her best side—especially to someone she liked. Girls often used the "Oh, I'm so bad at this, could you help me?" routine to let a guy shine. The key was to seem endearingly helpless, not outright stupid. She'd worried Yan Huan might think her hopeless if he saw her struggle. But with Spencer around, Bai Yi's own mediocrity looked almost impressive. She could relax and keep flirting.
Yan Huan rubbed his chin. "I'm no fashion expert either, but we can brainstorm together and consult someone who is."
"Great! I'll message you on Plane with any new ideas."
Across the room, Spencer eavesdropped while cradling the phone. Bai Yi's hungry gaze on Yan Huan didn't escape her. Spencer's golden hair shimmered, faint horn-like waves rippling outward. She glanced at Hashimoto's pained face—his cherished game tainted.
"Thursday," Spencer repeated softly, filing away the date. Another plan took shape behind her fanged smile.
"Don't forget," she whispered, "I still have five chances to make you fall, Mister President. What kind of face will you show me on Thursday?"
End of Chapter