“S-Sister An? Why are you here?”

Feng Mengmeng stared at the doorway, surprised to see Nana Toki standing under the dim porch light, night pooling like a quiet pond. She had no clue why she’d come.

“Nothing big. I came to check on you.”

Nana Toki wouldn’t admit she’d been pacing the villa like a caged cat. She worried the Protagonist Lord would grind back the favor he’d lost with Mengmeng if she let her guard down.

This was the urban plane; you had to keep your guard up against male leads like storm shutters against sudden rain.

She also feared Mengmeng might mirror those brainless heroines in city stallion stories. They know the guy rides N boats, yet cling like ivy, willing to share one husband with a bouquet of other women.

If so, that was a cliff with no ledge—no saving her.

But right now she looked mostly okay; pallor like moonlight on paper, yet nothing broken beyond repair.

She let her worry fold like a paper crane and set it aside.

“Do you live here alone?”

At the threshold, Nana noticed the living room: dim lamps like tired fireflies, curtains pulled tight as night blinds; the house swallowed light, a quiet cave for one.

“My parents work late. They don’t get back till night’s deep.”

She paused, breath snagging like thread, then answered.

“Sister An, do you want to come in and sit? I’ll pour tea.”

She spoke and moved, hands fluttering like sparrows, ready to play hostess.

But Nana cut in before Mengmeng turned, her voice a soft wind cutting across the room.

“No need to fuss. I came to check on you; if you’re fine, I’m at ease. It’s getting late. I still have to cook dinner for my lady. If anything happens, call me.”

“W-wait! Sister An!”

Mengmeng’s hand shot out, clutching the hem of Nana’s maid skirt, fingers trembling like reeds in wind.

“What is it?”

The sudden tug snagged Nana’s step. Confusion flickered like a lantern; she turned back. “Mengmeng, is there something else?”

“Um… Yiwei Yang’s coming later. I’m scared… so I want you to stay with me, Sister An.”

Head bowed, clutching the maid’s skirt, her voice was mosquito-thin; if Nana hadn’t leaned close, she might’ve missed it.

“Huh? That idiot—uh, Yiwei Yang’s coming to see you?”

It felt like explosive intel. Seeing the girl nod, Nana’s mind galloped—alpacas stampeding through dry dunes.

This Protagonist Lord really is a Hero.

Huaiyue Qin had barely left him for half a day, and he was already hunting new prey. Was the Protagonist Lord’s hunger for women that ravenous?

If she hadn’t gotten a spark of caution and dropped by, Mengmeng might’ve fulfilled his canned storyline tonight.

You couldn’t relax even a thread against the Heaven’s script; vigilance had to be taut like a bowstring.

“Hey, why won’t you let go? You know Yiwei Yang, that idiot, doesn’t only like you.”

She sighed, lifted Mengmeng’s bowed head like setting a fragile bowl upright, and soothed, “Forget it. This isn’t on you.”

It’s that damn Heaven’s script.

“Let’s go in and talk.”

They went inside. In the living room’s dim glow, Nana sat with Mengmeng and talked about Yiwei Yang, the way you trace storm maps before rain.

From her words, it was clear: since that day, Yiwei hadn’t reached out beyond routine greetings at school—no call, no warmth, just empty footprints.

He treated Mengmeng’s feelings like a tool—pull her close when useful, kick her away when not, a tide that washed in and out on his schedule.

He’d perfected both titles: scumbag and sea-king, sailing a fleet of hearts.

Of course.

What baffled Nana most: Mengmeng was already despairing, yet she still nursed a filament of hope, as thin as spider silk in dawn light.

Were lovers just built for self-inflicted storms?

System: “…”

Host, don’t speculate blindly. In this plane, the male and female leads carry thick fate; they complement each other and inevitably converge.

It’s not the idol-drama kind of love-and-hate tug-of-war.

“Ding-ling.”

Her inner gripe hung like thunder behind clouds.

The bell at Mengmeng’s door chimed again, a silver drop in the dark.

Nana didn’t need to guess. The Protagonist Lord had arrived, like a shadow on schedule.

Mengmeng’s slender frame shivered with the bell. Nana gave her a calming gesture, a palm like still water, then rose to open the door for Yiwei Yang.

“Meng—what the—how is it you?”

Seeing the woman at the door, Yiwei almost went in for a warm hug. Then his eyes met Nana Toki’s familiar dead-fish stare, and shock yanked a curse from him.

How did these two even know each other?

“Why can’t it be me?” Nana half-lidded her eyes at the Protagonist Lord. “I’m her friend. She’s sick; I came to see her. Problem? Or am I in your way? Cramping your performance?”

Yiwei Yang: “…”

He felt the barbs under her words, like hooks under silk.

And.

This Shutong An felt off. She used to greet him with sunlight smiles; now, every meeting was frost on glass.

It was like he’d become her sworn enemy overnight.

Was she mad about him standing her up?

He remembered ditching the original appointment to care for Huaiyue Qin. He’d already crafted excuses like paper shields.

But with Mengmeng right here, he couldn’t explain to Nana without setting fires.

“I’m here to see my girlfriend. What performance are you even talking about?”

He put on a show of annoyance, lifting the white plastic bag in his hand—fever meds rattling like pebbles. “You came, you saw. Now you should go.”

“Well, listen to that tone. You step into Mengmeng’s home and throw me out? You still think you’re her boyfriend?”

Nana glanced at the bag and said, “You make me sick, honestly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her chill made Yiwei’s brows twitch. He sensed this wasn’t simple; the air carried storm-salt.

“Guess you don’t know. Miss Mengmeng and I saw you that day—Michelin dinner with Huaiyue Qin, then heading into a hotel together.”

Nana smiled gently at his stunned face. “And my lady knows too. Yiwei Yang, you’re bold—cheating on Miss Mengmeng and going to bed with another woman. Do you think you’re an ancient emperor with a harem?”

“What bed with another woman? Shutong An, stop talking nonsense!”

His heart kicked like a trapped bird, but he kept a flat face. “Jokes like that will make Mengmeng misunderstand.”

He’d calculated everything except that Mengmeng and Nana would witness him enter the hotel with Huaiyue Qin.

“Keep acting. Put on that mask.”

Her smile turned eerie, like moonlight on knives. “You escorted Huaiyue Qin to a gala and you call it fine? Yiwei, do you still have shame?”

Behind Nana, Mengmeng’s face went pale as rice paper when she heard it; her eyes drifted toward Yiwei.

A gala. He hadn’t told her.

So it was true—he liked that woman more than her.

“Th-that was for work!”

Seeing the pain in Mengmeng’s eyes behind Nana, sweat beaded on Yiwei’s brow. “Huaiyue and I are clean.”

“Clean, huh. So the hotel part was also ‘work’?”

Nana chuckled. “Huaiyue Qin must have great gigs—pays you and lets you play with her. No wonder you don’t like guarding my lady. If I were you, I’d switch to Huaiyue too.”

“Shutong An, will you stop!”

Yiwei snapped, voice cracking like dry wood; resentment seeped into his gaze at Nana.

Was this woman sick in the head?

She was dismantling his stage plank by plank.

“What’s wrong? You got exposed and now you’re raging from shame?”

Nana shielded Mengmeng behind her, arms crossed, a cold laugh curling. “You do dirty things and forbid people from speaking?”

“Mengmeng, listen. It’s not what you think.”

Yiwei tuned Nana out; all he cared about now was Mengmeng’s favor, the needle dropping like rain.

The System had just warned him—her goodwill was plunging fast. If he didn’t steady her emotions, he’d lose the System points he farmed from Mengmeng.

“It’s not what she thinks, then what is it? Did you book a room to play cards?”

Nana blocked him like a mountain gate, needling their bond. “Say it out loud—do you even believe yourself?”

Yiwei Yang: “…” He hadn’t even claimed they were playing cards.

“A-anyway, Mengmeng, let me explain first.”

He truly feared she’d give up on him. Then his conquest quest from the System would count as a failure.

That wasn’t a result Yiwei wanted to see.

“What’s left to explain, Yiwei Yang?”

Watching his panic fray like torn silk, Nana quit deflecting and asked plainly. “If you can strip other girls’ clothes, will you be responsible enough to dress them in wedding veils and walk them into the hall?”