Has anyone ever fallen so desperately in love with a girl they felt they had to possess her?

I’m sure some have.

In his eyes, she was utterly enchanting. Her every smile and frown made the world burst into vivid color.

She was brilliant. Adored. The center of attention. Surrounded by admirers—while he was just the most ordinary one among them.

No. He wasn’t even that. He could only watch silently. Smile when she smiled. Cry when she cried.

Staring at his reflection, he saw plain features, average grades, unremarkable athleticism. Standing beside her dazzling light, he felt utterly mismatched.

"Just give up. She’ll definitely reject you anyway."

That’s what he told himself.

Then he’d willingly become her spare tire. Let their paths drift apart forever. If lucky, he’d end up as her consolation prize.

After that crushing blow, he’d retreat indoors. Play games. Binge anime. Devour light novels. Seeking comfort in fiction.

In those 2D worlds, he’d watch clueless male leads—just like him—do nothing special. Yet girls would flock to them. Harems would bloom. They’d become life’s ultimate winners.

He’d grin, as if he’d won too.

Lost in fantasy, he’d miss life’s most beautiful years. And the most beautiful her.

…

What a sad story.

Know why Japan’s birthrate is collapsing? Because anime-poisoned youth chase utterly unrealistic romances.

As citizens of the world’s most populous nation, why seek failed-love comfort in Japan’s childless fantasies? Why not learn advanced techniques from our own brilliant stories?

True, I’m just a high schooler focused on studies. Zero dating experience. But after devouring countless films and realistic novels? I’ve got a mature, foolproof method for winning girls over.

Before I share it, I’ve got questions for this tragic hero:

"Would you dare approach a stranger on the street?"

"Would you kick a girl’s leg under library tables?"

"Would you tug a classmate’s braid mid-lecture?"

If you answered "no" to all three? Don’t blame your looks. Your grades. Your clumsiness. Or "not being good enough."

Love means chasing boldly. Ignore the noise.

An old folk philosopher once said:

*"If you love her, force yourself on her. If you won’t even risk jail for her—how dare you call it love?"*

Extreme? Yes. But the core truth stands.

Of course, gentlemen pursue with honor. In a law-abiding society, we never cross that line. I quote this only to stress courage—not to encourage crime.

Remember that fiery Chinese rural romance drama? One scene taught me everything. Let me illustrate…

…

One sweltering afternoon, Old Man Li trudged home from the fields, exhausted. His wife was sobbing and refusing to cook dinner.

"Woman! What’s gotten into you? Done with this marriage?" he snapped, hangry and drained.

"Done with it! You’re sneaking off to that village tramp again!" she wailed louder.

Turns out, Li had been helping a widowed neighbor—a mother struggling alone. He chopped wood, fixed fences. The widow was pretty. Village gossips spun tales. His wife heard them all.

Li was innocent. But his wife wouldn’t listen. She threatened to hang herself.

"Hong! Let me explain! Nothing happened!" he pleaded.

"I won’t hear it! Won’t hear it!" she shrieked, tears streaming.

The kitchen-illiterate Li grumpily fried flatbreads. Stuffed them with raw scallions. A true Shandong man—rough, no-nonsense. He didn’t even rinse his mouth. Then he swept his wife into his arms. Kissed her fiercely. Carried her, struggling, straight to their bedroom.

That night, their bedframe never stopped creaking.

By dawn, his wife hummed while cooking his breakfast. Never mentioned the widow again.

…

Old Man Li proved one thing: primal desire cuts through chaos. And right now? Chaos was winning.

I ripped the stupid sticky note off my arm. Grabbed the orange juice on the table. Tilted my head back. Gulped it all down.

"Jiang Muqing!" I roared. "Today, I’m finishing what I started last time!"

The girl stared up at me, bewildered.

"How could you make a girl confess first? Do you even see me as a man? I’m not some guy who’ll fall for anyone who throws themselves at me!"

She fixed me with an empty gaze. Like nothing mattered anymore.

"Jiang Muqing—I like you! Will you go out with me properly?"

I bellowed from my gut. The 21st floor probably shook.

A cold smirk touched her lips. She opened her mouth to reply—

Joke’s on you. I’d never give her the chance to expose me.

I lunged forward. Slammed her shoulders against the sofa back. Then, heart pounding, I crushed my lips against hers.

Her lips were soft. Damp. With a hint of orange?

…Sorry I didn’t brush my teeth first.

She slumped against the cushions, letting me kiss her. Her warmth seeped into me. Growing hotter.

Honestly? It felt like licking a scalding orange lollipop. Physically thrilling—but inside, eerily calm.

Until wetness streaked my cheek.

Was I crying? Impossible. I hadn’t cried in years.

…

*She* was crying.

*Thump!* My heart lurched.

*Thump-thump!* It hammered again.

That ache. Familiar. Ancient. Piercing. I had to pull away.

Her eyes were glazed. A slight flush colored her porcelain skin. She panted against the sofa, chest heaving.

"What’s wrong?" I whispered. Guilt twisted my gut.

I’d scared her. Rushed too hard.

As I tried to retreat, her hand snagged my collar.

She studied my face. Wiped her tears. Then smiled—shy, radiant.

"Fan… I’m so happy."

"Yeah. I can tell." I managed a weak grin.

"Can we… keep going?" Her arms looped gently around my neck.

*Oh god.* Not this again. One wrong word and I’d ruin everything.

"Of course." I arched a brow, playing the rogue. Pinned her down like a starving wolf.

*Just a few more pecks. Seriously—Old Man Li can do this daily. I need an off-ramp.*

"Can we go to bed? It’s my first time… I want it to feel special." She ducked her head, blushing.

*Stop looking like that!* I’m a normal guy! Tease me harder and I might actually snap! Statutory rape’s a felony! You trying to destroy my life?!

I frowned. Hatched a plan.

Feigning urgency, I scooped her up. She clung to my neck.

"Fan’s… carrying me princess-style…" she breathed, delighted.

Yeah. "Princess carry" was the only term for it.

The black cat watching our drama leapt from the floor. Landed purring in Jiang Muqing’s arms.

I kicked open Room 212’s door. Time to escape this "Lu Fan"-covered nightmare den.

"Fan, my room’s that way! Wrong direction!" she chirped cluelessly.

"I’m taking you to *my* bed." Deadpan.

"Why not here? It’s closer." Her brow furrowed.

"Guys have this thing," I lied smoothly. "First time’s gotta be in the bed you grew up in. Honors all those… childhood dreams."

*How did I say that without vomiting?*

"Really?" She squinted skeptically.

*How filthy do I need to be for you to believe me?*

"Fine. Truth is? My right hand says I perform better in my own bed. Don’t wanna suck at round one…"

"Oh! *That* makes sense!" Her nod was way too earnest.

"Grab your keycard. Lock the door." I shifted her weight.

"Okay." She obediently snatched the card from the shoe cabinet.

…

*Click.*

The demon king himself sealed the nightmare den shut.

Mission accomplished.

"Fan… if your mom catches us at your place, I’ll die of shame." Jiang Muqing bit her lip.

"Don’t jump ahead! And who told you to call me that?!" I groaned.

…

*Sigh.*

Carrying Jiang Muqing, I stared down the endless hallway.

This was going to be a long walk.