System: …Host, do you have to be this real? The second you heard Nesting Phoenix, you flipped faster than an opera mask in mid-swap.

In short, treat this as a little vacation and stay in this world for a while. The System’s tone thinned like mist before dawn. There’s no preset male or female lead here, so when you receive the plot, you’ll only get the original owner’s memories. How the world unfolds after that is a blank field—up to how you till it.

Oh, sure. Nana Toki’s mood was light as a paper kite in a spring wind. Find that blockhead Nesting Phoenix, spark a campus romance, done. This is my lane—even blindfolded, I can drive it.

System: …Feels like you always put your skill points into odd trees, and they still bear fruit.

She pushed open a bathroom door, casual as a drifting leaf. Cool tile smell rose like damp stone. Nana Toki meant to splash her face awake, but the scene hit like a pail of sleet.

Girls in the same uniform hefted a metal bucket, and dumped dirty water toward another girl a few steps off.

Splash— The murk spread over the floor like a slick pond, mixing with the bathroom’s sour reek, rank as a clogged ditch.

Bullying? The word pricked like a thorn behind her ribs before she breathed in. She watched, eyes lazy as a cat under eaves, and took an extra glance at the victim.

Her angle hid the girl’s face, but the pale skin showing through told a bruise-blue story, like storm clouds pooling under bone. This had gone on a while.

Is this plot the campus world’s shared script? Nana’s annoyance rose like steam off hot asphalt. To dodge useless trouble, she decided to ignore it, wash up, and go.

“Damn it, silent again? Playing dead? You were all tough this morning. Where’s that fire now?” The ringleader’s voice clanged like a loose lid.

Clang, clang… They dropped the bucket, metal barking on tile. A blonde at the front strode in and kicked the girl’s belly, hard as a boot to a door. She never noticed a new shadow had joined this cramped stall of a room.

“Mm—” The girl folded like a shrimp in boiling water, body shaking on the ground like a leaf in a gutter.

From her corner, Nana Toki clicked her tongue, the sound dry as a pebble. Civilized society, same uniform, but those feet hit like iron. Don’t they fear breaking something that won’t mend?

“Right, that’s the spirit we like,” the blonde laughed, wild as a stray firework under a low roof. In Nana’s head, labels slid into place like cards in a deck: vicious side-character cannon fodder.

If this world had a male lead or female lead, this is where a hero bursts in to save the day like a banner cut from the sky.

No one came. Nana waited, counting heartbeats like dripping taps. The hallway stayed quiet as snowfall. Without a brave bystander, this would never end.

“Wenquan, stop pretending to be dead. It’s after school. Teachers and students are gone like birds at dusk. No one’s coming. Apologize for this morning, and I’ll be merciful. Otherwise, I don’t mind playing longer.”

…

The girl on the floor stayed mute, her eyes dark and still as a winter pond. No ripple, no wind.

“W-what’s with that look, Wenquan?” A vein jumped on the blonde’s forehead, sharp as a blade-edge. “You mocking me?”

She yanked Wenquan up by the collar. The girl’s gaze was hollow as an empty shrine, but her mouth held a ghost of a smile, thin as smoke.

“You—” The blonde’s teeth ground like ice. She hated that distant, proud look, and lifted a fist, ready to educate with knuckles.

Click.

The sound cut in from behind them, crisp as a twig snapping.

“Ah… forgot to turn off my phone’s shutter.” The bathroom fell silent, like someone pressed mute on a storm. Nana Toki stood by the vanity, dead-fish eyes flat as a lake at midnight, phone raised. “Uh… you can keep going. I’ll turn the volume down?”

“Who the hell are you?” The blonde flinched at the extra body in this narrow space. Curiously, she didn’t go for the phone first, just demanded answers like a guard at a gate.

“Jiajia… that’s Lu Qiqi from the class next door,” a lackey whispered, voice fluttering like a note in the wind. “We met at that joint class mixer.”

“Met?” He Jiawen stared at Nana for a beat, attention thinning like smoke, then waved it off. “Don’t know her. Not the point. You took photos, right? Hand me the phone.”

Only then did He Jiawen really see the white phone in Nana’s hand. Paired with that shutter click, odds were high the bullying just got caught like fish in a net. That couldn’t be left with some barely-acquainted girl. Too dangerous.

No. Nana’s answer dropped like a stone in a well.

…

Air hung heavy for a few beats, sticky as honey.

He Jiawen’s face soured, clouds bundling in. She shoved aside her hangers-on and stepped close, words squeezed through teeth like ice chips. “What did you say?” Where did this girl find the guts to push back? She had four on her side like four stakes in the ground.

I said, no. Nana’s blank face didn’t ripple. Same sentence, second drop. “Are you hard of hearing? Don’t make me say it a third time.”

Her gaze carried that faint, surgical pity you reserve for a broken toy. He Jiawen felt it like a thorn under the nail: she’s looking at me like I’m stupid.

“Lu Qiqi! You looking to get expelled?” He Jiawen’s anger crackled like dry wood, but with her handle in Nana’s hand, she didn’t swing. “Understand this: you’re one. We’re four.”

So what? Nana lifted a brow, lazy as a breeze. “You gonna kill me to keep me quiet?”

…What is with this woman? He Jiawen’s thoughts hopped like startled sparrows.

“Lu Qiqi, stop running your mouth. Hand over the phone, and I’ll let you walk. Otherwise, whatever happens to Wenquan today will be your daily weather.”

She stepped aside, showing Wenquan’s disheveled state like a warning sign.

Nana’s reply came cool as a shaded stream. “Yeah, rough ending. But unless fate trips me, I won’t ever look that pathetic.”

Wenquan: …

He Jiawen: …

The other three: …

Silence returned, taut as a bowstring. Even Wenquan stared at Nana as if at a comet veering off its path.

“Is her brain… a little off?” He Jiawen muttered to the lackey who’d brought up Nana’s background.

The lackey’s expression twitched like a paper lantern in wind. “I… I don’t know.” They’d only met at a mixer. What was she supposed to know, psych eval and all?

“Anyway, can we not dissect my brain right now?” Nana’s voice spread calm like tea steam in winter air. “I only want to know: are all students and teachers really gone?”

“What, getting scared?” He Jiawen’s smile curled like a cat’s tail. “Hand me the phone, I delete the photos, and I might spare you.”

No need. Nana slid the phone into her pocket, movement smooth as a sheathed blade. Then she drew a small fruit knife, its edge neat as a moon sliver, and set it where all could see. “I’m only worried someone will pass by and see me do something. That’d be troublesome.”

…

Her eyes smiled, but her voice moved cold as a night wind over graves, slipping under collars and into bone.

Only now did He Jiawen feel something off in “Lu Qiqi,” wrong like a winter blossom in a summer field.

What kind of ordinary high school girl carries a fruit knife like a tucked-in fang? Forget safety—why bring a blade to class at all?