Zhou Yu, whose nerves were as thick as a highway, had also noticed something off about He Siheng these past few days.
The guy who usually slouched lazily through class had been grinding away at books and problems with full force over the two days after the monthly exam. Sometimes, as he scribbled away, he muttered something under his breath. When Zhou Yu perked up his ears to listen, eight out of ten sentences were curses aimed at someone’s ancestors.
Others wrote as if inspired by the gods, but He Siheng wrote like he was committing murder, channeling some kind of grief and indignation into the power of study, on the verge of transforming into a Super Saiyan (Cram King Problem-Solving Edition).
After hesitating for a while out of concern, Zhou Yu finally spoke up. “Heng Bro, didn’t you already get first place in this monthly exam? Why are you still so… tense?”
He tried to pick a description without any provocative edge.
He Siheng paused mid-stroke while buried in his problems, and when he lifted his head, Zhou Yu almost thought he’d gone berserk in the sea of questions, eyes glowing red. His little heart skipped a beat in fright.
“Joint first place is bullshit first place.” He Siheng’s pen nearly stabbed through the paper as he spat out his resentful words through gritted teeth. “I want to crush him outright, not scrape by ahead just because of some prefix letter in front of my name.”
He didn’t name names, but Zhou Yu knew he meant the other first-place holder, Tan Jing.
Thinking about it carefully, He Siheng and Tan Jing hadn’t exchanged a word in days.
The monthly exam had kept everyone separated during review, so he hadn’t paid attention then. But in the two days since the exams ended, he’d suddenly noticed the two were deliberately avoiding each other. He Siheng pulled a sour face whenever he saw Tan Jing, and there’d been a couple times they’d crossed paths in the hallway without so much as a greeting.
Zhou Yu asked, “Did you fight with the class monitor again?”
He Siheng dove back into his problems. “Fight my ass.”
Zhou Yu nodded knowingly. That meant they had fought.
He didn’t pry into the reason—anyway, all their fights boiled down to He Siheng’s one-sided frustration. The things that frustrated him were always the same: not beating Tan Jing in grades, not beating him in popularity, or discovering he was way shorter than Tan Jing.
Zhou Yu watched He Siheng’s low-pressure, fist-itching demeanor and shook his head helplessly. Better coax him a bit.
Zhou Yu cleared his throat to prepare, then put on an exaggerated tone of surprise. “Heng Bro, have you grown taller lately?”
He Siheng didn’t even look up. “Padded height insoles.”
Zhou Yu: “…”
His Heng Bro was brutally honest.
His phone vibrated in his desk drawer. Zhou Yu pulled it out and saw it was Xu Weiyang from Class 10 inviting him and He Siheng to the nearby internet cafe for some gaming.
Though Xu Weiyang had clashed with He Siheng before, they were both the type who didn’t hold grudges. One “daddy” and the hatchet was buried—they even teamed up for games on the down-low.
Perfect timing. Zhou Yu shoved the phone in front of He Siheng. “It’s self-study period anyway. Wanna go game?”
He Siheng, full of pent-up frustration with nowhere to vent, slammed down his pen. “Let’s go.”
They’d just reached the classroom door when they ran straight into Tan Jing heading back from the office.
He Siheng kept his eyes straight ahead, intending to brush right past him. But when he veered left, so did Tan Jing; right, and Tan Jing mirrored him.
He Siheng tsked loudly and glared at him irritably. “What’s your problem?”
This was their first exchange in days—four days and fifteen hours since the last one.
Tan Jing lowered his gaze to him. “Sorry.”
His mouth apologized, but he didn’t budge. His tall frame filled the doorway, solidly blocking He Siheng’s path.
He Siheng’s voice was icy. “Move.”
Tan Jing didn’t. “Director Yan’s checking attendance tonight.”
Director Yan spot-checked self-study periods once or twice a week. Getting caught meant a full combo: public criticism, self-reflection, demerits.
Zhou Yu chickened out at once and tried to dissuade He Siheng. “Heng Bro, maybe next time?”
Normally, He Siheng might’ve listened, but seeing Tan Jing right now put him in a foul mood to the max. He had to do the opposite. “Next time my ass. Skipping class won’t kill us.”
He Siheng unceremoniously shoved past Tan Jing’s shoulder and stormed toward the stairs without looking back.
Zhou Yu stood awkwardly at the door, unsure whether to follow or not.
“I’ll go.”
As he dithered, Tan Jing dropped that line and turned to catch up with He Siheng.
He Siheng heard it and picked up his pace, but Tan Jing kept up anyway.
He Siheng ignored him, treating him like air, and headed straight for the internet cafe near school.
Xu Weiyang had arrived early. Spotting him from afar, he jumped up from his seat and waved. “Heng Bro—”
Then he saw the guy trailing behind He Siheng, and his words—and himself—shrank back under the table in a second. Fuck fuck fuck, why’s Tan Jing here too?
His teammate at the same table was clueless at first, then spotted Tan Jing approaching behind He Siheng and reflexively did the same.
He Siheng speechless yanked Xu Weiyang out by the collar. “Coward much?”
Xu Weiyang was a chronic skipper with solid self-preservation instincts. Hands over his head, he whined indignantly, “Heng Bro, that’s not cool! You brought the Student Council President down on us!”
“…Brought my ass. He followed on his own.”
He Siheng didn’t bother explaining more. He dragged out a chair, sat down, and grumpily urged, “Get online already.”
Led by Xu Weiyang, the guys all glanced at Tan Jing. Unfazed, the latter sat in the seat next to He Siheng, booted up a computer, and politely asked, “Mind if I join you?”
“…?!”
Jaws hit the floor. Xu Weiyang gaped. So the Student Council President was skipping too! His Heng Daddy was a legend—he’d roped in the president!
Xu Weiyang scrambled over fawningly. “Jing Bro’s with us? Add me as a friend, I’ll pull you in!”
Tan Jing hummed. “Thanks.”
He Siheng, who’d ignored him the whole time, suddenly twisted his head around, deadpan. “Ugly talk upfront: in esports, sucking is the original sin. If your skills suck, don’t blame me for harsh words.”
This was the second time today Tan Jing had gotten him to speak first. Tan Jing’s eyes curved slightly. “I know. Curse me however you want.”
He Siheng snorted coldly. Easier said than done.
Xu Weiyang buttered it up even more, grinning obsequiously. “Don’t worry, Jing Bro. Skipping to game here is badass enough—we won’t curse you out.”
With a good student to take the fall if the sky crumbled, and the Student Council President leading the skip, Director Yan surely wouldn’t check tonight!
Xu Weiyang treated Tan Jing like a safety net. But half an hour later, Tan Jing’s trash plays had him choking back swears, leg jittering like a sieve.
Not just him—the other two guys’ faces flushed green and white with rage, dying to curse but too scared to start.
Heaven was fair after all. Tan Jing, ace at studies and sports, gamed worse than his grandma’s stewed pig trotters!
In esports, sucking was original sin—they all wanted to roast Tan Jing’s plays, but no one dared lead.
Xu Weiyang screamed internally: Heng Bro, say something! Curse first so we can pile on!
But the He Siheng they pinned hopes on stayed silent, face dark as he farmed minions and salvaged Tan Jing’s garbage plays.
Then someone suddenly yelled, “South crew, run! Old Yan’s here!”
Xu Weiyang cursed first. “Fuck! He’s still coming!”
Yet a weird relief washed over him. Finally, a curse I can let out!
He whipped around to He Siheng and Tan Jing at their computers. “Big bros, quit gaming—back door, now!”
He Siheng didn’t care much—caught meant public crit and a reflection write-up. Ignoring his goody-two-shoes previous semester, that was routine for him. But today, Tan Jing tagged along—the model student with just two write-ups in his life.
He Siheng logged off and shut down fast, stood to bolt. Two steps in, he glanced back—Tan Jing was still leisurely exiting the game, like doomsday meant time for tea, zero urgency.
He Siheng tsked, doubled back, and grabbed his hand. “Dragging your feet for the feast?”
Tan Jing got yanked hard from the chair, wrist aching, but he didn’t resist. Silent and obedient, he followed toward the back door.
Leading the pack, Xu Weiyang halted at the back door and hollered, “Goo~d evening, teacher!”
He Siheng swore, pivoted on his toes, and dragged Tan Jing into the bathroom.
They crammed into one stall. He Siheng strained to hear outside, catching Old Yan’s furious barking even through the wall.
“Fuck, it’s a full sweep today.”
Full sweep meant Old Yan brought a crew—front and back doors blocked, maybe combing the place. No escape here.
As He Siheng fumed, his peripheral caught the guy beside him staring. He shot back a blank look.
Meeting his eyes, Tan Jing didn’t dodge, staring openly, silent.
Even if Tan Jing spoke, He Siheng wouldn’t reply—he’d ignored his weekend messages and calls entirely.
Now crammed here, stared down like this, He Siheng cracked first, irritable. “How long you gonna stare?”
“Why didn’t you curse me out just now?” Tan Jing asked.
He Siheng pressed his lips. “Think I’m dumb? Can’t tell you did it on purpose?”
Tan Jing’s gaming account was one he’d set up during winter break, skills hand-taught by him—he knew the real level.
That grandma-level trash play was Tan Jing baiting his pre-game line, waiting for the roast.
“I didn’t expect a cursing to make you forgive me,” Tan Jing explained. “Just… holding in a sulk too long is bad for you.”
He Siheng scoffed unmoved. “So enlightened? Why not let me punch you instead—more satisfying.”
Half-gas, but Tan Jing agreed without hesitation. “Okay.”
He Siheng blinked. “For real?”
“I’ve been lying to you nonstop—my fault,” Tan Jing gazed at him. “So curse or punch, I take it.”
The cramped stall left He Siheng no dodge from the guy’s meek eyes and faint dark circles underneath.
He hadn’t slept well these days.
Look closer—complexion off too.
Pah pah pah, why care now?
Not scammed enough times? Don’t forget this guy’s pro at playing pitiful.
He Siheng turned away. “Even punching you won’t cool my anger.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I—”
He Siheng choked. He hadn’t figured what Tan Jing could do to make him forgive. He just got pissed seeing him.
Not entirely over Little Strawberry—more his inner turmoil.
He wasn’t sure why Tan Jing liked him.
Because he was He Siheng? Or because he was an S-Rank Omega?
Didn’t dare confirm.
First time in his life so lacking confidence and guts…
Mood like a cat-toyed yarn ball, no clue where to start.
Argh, so fucking annoying! Not even this bummed after a breakup. But damn it, he didn’t wanna mention breaking up, didn’t want Tan Jing to either! If it was the latter, staying used like this—what a love-brained loser!
Fuming harder, He Siheng grabbed Tan Jing’s collar. “Gotta punch you first then talk!”
Words barely out, Director Yan’s roar hit from the bathroom door. “He Siheng! That you in there? Who’re you hitting!”
He Siheng: “…”
Fuck, this bad luck?
