“Yiyi, help!” Marilyn’s voice fluttered like a startled sparrow, as a ring of girls pressed in, phones flaring like fireflies.

“Um…” Ye Yiyi tried to speak, but the hall was a storm; her words sank like pebbles in surf.

“Stop! Make way!” A loudhailer sliced through the noise like a bell at dawn. Two girls strode over from the far aisle, blue-and-white anime uniforms crisp as fresh sky. The taller one lifted the loudhailer, steady as a lighthouse.

“These three are with our anime community. Please don’t block their work, okay? If you want photos, hit our expo.” Her smile spread like a calm breeze.

“The Anime Club? Students?”

“Ah, they’re from the convention. No wonder the white hair.”

The murmurs ebbed like a tide, and space opened around Marilyn. The tall girl flashed a peaceable grin to the crowd, then faced the trio, voice soft as silk. “Please come with us.”

“Mm.” Ye Yiyi wavered, her heart bobbing like a leaf in rain. Tang Coco was faster; she nodded, then tugged Ye Yiyi and Marilyn along like a guiding ribbon.

They climbed to the third-floor lobby of a glassy tower, where the expo unfurled like a carnival garden. Cosplayers drifted by in bright plumage, and vendors hawked merch like buzzing hives.

“Our rest area’s this way.” Their guide smiled, leading them through staff corridors that twisted like narrow streams, into a lounge built from white partitions, clean as blank paper.

“Hi—Zhou Yi. President of the Anime Club at Ninghai Vocational University.” She turned, apology light as a bow. “Sorry I spoke for you without asking.”

“I’m Ye Yiyi.” Her relief warmed like sunlight after drizzle. “It’s fine. Thanks to you, we escaped.”

“Are you here for fun?” Zhou Yi’s tone was breezy, like wind through bamboo.

“Yeah. Just looking around.” Ye Yiyi’s smile sat shy as a crescent moon.

“This little sister is adorable.” Zhou Yi crouched, fingers brushing Marilyn’s hair like a soft river.

“How’d you dye it? It’s smooth… like silk.”

“Uh… I forgot.” Marilyn scratched her head, playful as a kitten, hiding the truth behind a coy cloud.

“Haha, so cute.” Zhou Yi’s eyes sparkled, caught by the sweetness like a firefly in a jar.

“And Ye-jie is gorgeous. Are you in college too?” Her gaze landed on Ye Yiyi, steady as a willow.

“Yes. Ninghai University.” Ye Yiyi’s answer was clear as water.

“Wow, impressive.” Zhou Yi turned, curiosity pricking like a needle. “And this other sister… such poise. Is she a celebrity?” Her eyes lingered on Tang Coco, whose aura rose cool as moonlight over a manor.

“Haha, no.” Ye Yiyi’s voice softened like velvet. “She keeps it this way to dodge trouble.”

Zhou Yi caught the undertone like a quiet current and let the question drift away.

“Um, Ye-jie… we need a favor.” Zhou Yi clasped Ye Yiyi’s hand, plea tremoring like a small bird.

“What is it?” Ye Yiyi’s doubt fluttered like moth wings.

“We’ve got a stage-play competition. Everything was set, but I just got a call—two members called in sick. It’s a big deal for us, so I went scouting for subs… and found you. Could you two help us perform?” Her smile was hopeful, yet tasted bittersweet, like tea left to cool. Her glance flicked to Tang Coco and Marilyn; their hair matched the two-dimensional theme like ink to rice paper.

“A performance? Yay!” Marilyn sprang up, joy popping like a jack-in-the-box.

“Er… not me.” Tang Coco waved off, her refusal smooth as a closed fan. Then an idea gleamed like a sudden star. “Yiyi, you go.”

“Ah? I—I can’t…” Panic skated through Ye Yiyi’s chest like ice, because she’d never done something like this. Zhou Yi blinked; she’d expected Tang Coco’s voice to be low and regal, yet it was fresh as mountain spring, easy on the ear like rain on leaves.

“Come on. You won’t know till you try.” Tang Coco’s mouth curved, a teasing crescent.

“But…” Ye Yiyi’s resolve quivered like a lamp flame. A timid thrill stirred too, a seed pushing at soil.

“Be good—go have some fun.” Tang Coco’s coaxing flowed like warm milk.

“…” Ye Yiyi bowed her head. After a breath, she nodded, small as a petal. “Okay.”

“Then let’s hit the changing room.” Zhou Yi’s cheer lit like lanterns.

“We have to change…?” Ye Yiyi’s cheeks blushed, pink as peach skin, afraid the costume might make her look too cute.

“Of course! Don’t be shy.” Zhou Yi laughed, bright as bells, and tugged Ye Yiyi and Marilyn toward the fitting room like a playful current.

“…” Watching them slip into the crowd, Tang Coco found a chair and sat, quiet as a lake. Around her, teens checked props and fussed with costumes, busy as bees. A pang of envy crossed her heart like a shadow of passing clouds—how lucky to do what you love.

“Hey, pretty.” A voice chimed at her elbow, quick as a sparrow.

“Hm?” Tang Coco turned. A short-haired girl in a yellow tee and denim shorts stood there, hugging a digital camera like a faithful pet.

“May I take your photo?” The girl’s smile shone like a warm window.

“Sorry… I don’t want photos.” Tang Coco’s hand moved, gentle as a falling leaf.

“Oh, okay… Are you here alone?” Disappointment flashed and sank like a pebble, then the girl sat beside her with an easy grin.

“No. My friends are inside.” Tang Coco’s words drifted like calm smoke.

“Wow, your skin’s so good. And… you smell nice.” The girl leaned in, eyes tracing Tang Coco’s neck like a curious butterfly, stealing a sniff like a mischievous breeze.

“…” Tang Coco deadpanned, a comic black line falling across her mood like ink.

“Sorry—got excited meeting a real beauty.” The girl tugged her earlobe, sheepish as a rabbit.

“It’s fine.” Tang Coco’s tone stayed even, cool as stone.

A chorus of gasps rippled from the front like sparrows lifting together. They looked over. Zhou Yi emerged from the changing room, and behind her Ye Yiyi led Marilyn by the hand like a red thread.

Ye Yiyi wore a red, cinched kimono, short hem brushing mid-thigh like a dancing petal. Her black hair coiled at the nape, fixed by a silver hairpin that shimmered like moonlit steel. On her feet—geta wooden clogs, awkward as a foal’s first steps.

Marilyn’s look was a black Gothic lolita dress with black-and-red leather ankle boots, her long white hair spilling down like winter waterfall.

“So pretty.” Voices rustled, admiration rising like warm wind.

“That little one looks cool too.”

Tang Coco stood to meet them, smile light as mist. “Mm—looks good.”

“Really?” Ye Yiyi’s delight bubbled up like spring water.

“Hey, those are your friends.” The chatty girl dashed to Zhou Yi, calling like a bell.

“Huh? Xiaofei? You’re here already?” Zhou Yi’s surprise popped like a firecracker.

“Of course. I promised to shoot for your club.” Xiaofei tapped her camera with pride, bright as sun on chrome.

“Forget me—do you know these three?” She tugged Zhou Yi’s hand, curiosity twitching like a whisker.

“No, we just met. I asked them to help with the stage play.” Zhou Yi’s hope glowed faint as a lantern.

“Ah, I see… what a pity.” Xiaofei sighed, air deflating like a balloon.

“What’s a pity?” Zhou Yi asked, eyebrow lifting like a reed.

“I wanted a keepsake photo of her, but she won’t.” Xiaofei glanced at Tang Coco, wistful as dusk.

“You’re too much. She doesn’t seem to like showing her face.” Zhou Yi murmured, a secret tucked like a note in a sleeve.

“Mm… okay.” Xiaofei let it go like a floating leaf.

Zhou Yi fetched a few pages and handed them to Ye Yiyi and Marilyn. “You’re on soon. These are the lines—please take a look.”

“Okay.” Papers rustled like wings.

Marilyn scanned once, quick as lightning. Ye Yiyi lingered over her part, eyes steady as a brush.

“All set?” A minute later, they returned the scripts like birds bringing twigs.

“You memorized them?” Zhou Yi blinked, surprise flaring like a match.

“Mm.” They nodded, calm as ponds.

Marilyn hardly needed effort; with a brain like clockwork gears, lines slipped in like threads. Ye Yiyi had earned Ninghai University on her own—her memory held tight like woven baskets.

“Alright, let’s queue.” Zhou Yi dropped the pages, choosing not to pry, letting the mystery drift like smoke.

She led Ye Yiyi, Marilyn, and the rest backstage, where the central stage loomed like a ship’s deck. They waited ten minutes, time ticking like a metronome, and their turn arrived like a curtain rising. Tang Coco drifted to the wings, eyes watchful as a hawk.

The play was simple as a folk tale. An ordinary girl, by chance, saved an angelic maiden. Then a demon lolita came knocking, shadows curling like ink. They fought under bright lights, blades and wills clashing like steel rain. In the end, the angel faltered, beauty dimming like a star at dawn. The angel, played by another member, looked fair yet spoke little, quiet as snow. The ordinary girl was Ye Yiyi. The demon lolita, of course, was Marilyn. The rest filled in like brushwork around the scene.

“Since you insist on protecting her, prepare to die.” The demon lolita’s voice slid cold as frost, convincing as winter glass. Marilyn lifted a cardboard scythe, its edge biting the air like a crescent moon, and swung toward Ye Yiyi. Ye Yiyi sat on the ground, sheltering the wounded angel like a hen over her chick. As the scythe fell, the girl’s eyes closed, soft as a flower folding at dusk, bracing for the dark.

The blade halted a hair’s breadth from her forehead—still as a held breath. And the story ended there, a cut thread shining in light.

Clapping burst up—papapapa—like rain on rooftops. The hall roared with applause, and even Tang Coco’s hands joined, palms ringing like two stones struck together.

o(*￣︶￣*)o