A perfectly idle day—that description fit like a glove.

The streetlamp at the corner flickered on. Without realizing it, the sky had turned pitch-black. Rain clouds swallowed the stars, and pedestrians hurried home, desperate to rescue their laundry.

I yawned behind the counter of *Youjia Bookstore*. Bad weather meant no customers. Mrs. Nalan was out, leaving only Xiao Qiuqiu upstairs doing homework.

Alone, my mind slipped into overthinking mode—wild, pointless thoughts swirling. My gaze drifted upward, fixed on the ceiling.

No denying it: I was a creep. At least, I used to be. But why had the old priest insisted I was fine after all these years? Or had I completely misread him?

Sure, I’d never earned half a merit certificate or been named "Model Student," but compared to my shameless past, I’d improved. At least… I didn’t skip class anymore?

That old priest and his chapel-turned-barbershop reeked of weirdness. He spouted grand philosophies, but it felt like empty excuses. When I left, he looked utterly relieved. If I *really* wanted a buzz cut, shouldn’t I find a Buddhist monk instead of a priest? (I chuckled.)

Curious about the old district’s chapel, I later asked the square-dancing aunties. Wild rumors flew: Yakuza godfathers, battle nuns, Mafia outposts. The only confirmed fact? The old priest and his adopted daughter, Maria, had taken over the run-down chapel a decade ago.

A sky-high-imagination priest (allegedly a retired vet) and a hyper-athletic, violence-prone nun. The world truly held all kinds.

Bored, I flipped through the latest *Hime Monogatari*. Yuzuru Sensei’s lovers clung to each other like life depended on it. Saccharine Mary Sue romance seeped from the ink into my brain, making my scalp prickle.

Why would a mentally sound (perverted) high school boy read shoujo manga? Absolutely *not* for filthy reasons. As a cashier—*ahem*, book recommender—I had a duty to understand customer tastes.

This was my first proper read of Nan Dongye’s novel. Her writing flowed as gently as her personality, though the dialogue felt overly dramatic—fitting for her theater club ambitions. It read like Broadway on paper. Smooth. Never confusing. Maybe that was her characters’ charm.

They say reading a book is like peeking into the author’s soul. Especially when it’s written by your childhood friend and desk partner. Guilt and excitement tangled in my chest.

"Huh. Judging by the rankings and page counts… is Yuzuru Sensei secretly a best-selling author?"

I grabbed last year’s issue from the shelf, curious how this tear-jerking tale began.

"Ah. Under the moonlight, the clumsy heroine bumps into the cold-but-warm-hearted hero. Cliché? Sure. But classics work. Like knights saving damsels."

"The heroine’s loud, careless, loves books, and’s the sweet, popular class rep. Textbook ‘dumb pretty’? Feels… familiar. They say authors base protagonists on themselves. Is she lost in a fantasy where she’s a respected class rep? We’re equally invisible, honestly."

I flipped to the next chapter. Predictably, the heroine discovered the mysterious boy from last night was her classmate. He skipped school or slept at his desk—no one knew him. Such a tired trope.

"*Jiang Wuque lazily lifted his head, tsked softly, his face dark as storm clouds. Narrow eyes icy as winter.*"

I muttered the lines under my breath, frowning. *Seriously? It’s just homework collection. Why the dramatics?* Do girls nowadays crave this aloof, tsundere vibe? But what really unsettled me was the hero’s name. No relation to me, yet it prickled my skin.

"*The boy before her was a silent grave—no smiles. But the moonlit boy from that night had grinned so dazzlingly. Were they the same person? A dream unbroken? Or a twisted lie? Lu Yao didn’t know…*"

The rest? Obviously a cringe-worthy rom-com dripping with teenage hormones and secondhand embarrassment. Anything reckless gets forgiven if you slap "youth" on it. Utterly boring.

I snapped *Hime Monogatari* shut, shoved it back onto the shelf, and took a deep breath. No more. It left a taste like swallowing a fly. How could Nan Dongye write something this mortifying? Why did so many lovestruck girls devour it?

"Xiao Lanzi! What’re you muttering about alone?"

Light footsteps *pitter-pattered* down the stairs. A petite girl bounced toward me—only Nalan Qianqiu, Mrs. Nalan’s daughter, called me that. She looked grumpy, even her cowlick drooping sadly. Understandable. Their promised amusement park trip was canceled.

She squinted at me. My hand jerked back from the shoujo manga shelf like I’d touched a live wire—but I hadn’t fooled her.

"Ha! Slacking off *and* reading *Hime Monogatari*!"

I regretted digging into Yuzuru Sensei’s brain out of boredom. All I’d uncovered was a potential Mary Sue template. Zero useful intel.

"Impossible! I was tidying the shelves!"

Xiao Qiuqiu sniffed, hands on hips, head tilted up. Just a third-grader, yet she had me flustered. "Liar. You put the books backward."

I glanced at the neatly aligned *Hime Monogatari* spines. "No, I didn’t!"

"Guilty conscience!"

My words died. Cheeks burning, I rubbed my nose. Trapped by this tiny trickster again.

"Little adult in a kid’s body!"

Xiao Qiuqiu stood barely four-foot-eleven, but her tone was ancient. Her big eyes crinkled into crescent moons. "Hey, Jiang Lan! Which teacher do *you* like?"

"…"

Getting caught reading shoujo manga on my first try felt awful. I preferred sneaking peeks at Baoyu’s raunchy fanfiction and Yan Qing’s 18+ covers. Who knew a kid this small loved *Hime Monogatari* too?

"If you don’t tell, I’ll tell Mom!"

She stuck out her tongue, threatening me. But in her tiny overalls, she looked like a fluffy, needy teddy bear. Even a gyaru-lover would melt. Was this the power of little girls?

No instant surrender came. Xiao Qiuqiu’s pout climbed toward the ceiling. "Ungrateful brat! Next time Mom forces you into a dress, I won’t rescue you!"

*She came to save me last time?* A flicker of warmth. Worth all my efforts to befriend this little princess and breach Troy’s walls.

I crouched, smoothing her cowlick. *Fine. Being a Nan Dongye fan for five minutes won’t kill me.* "Sorry. Zoned out. Favorite author? Probably… Yuzuru Sensei."

Xiao Qiuqiu’s eyes lit up. "You’re a Yuzuru fan too?!"

"Huh? Uh… yeah! Totally!"

Rule for handling kids: *Always agree. Never argue.* (Worked on all women, honestly.) Never expected to catch Nan Dongye’s cutest mini-fan in my bookstore.

"So you were reading *Black Prince*, right?!"

*Black Prince?* That cringey title rivaled *Snow White*. I choked back laughter. "Y-yes! *Black Prince*!"

"Which character do you like?"

*Please spare me. I was bluffing. I only know the MCs’ names…*

"J-Jiang Wuque?"

The dumb pretty girl was useless beyond tripping and dragging teammates down. Only one name left—but Xiao Qiuqiu’s face said I’d chosen wrong *again*.

She gave me a weird look. "I thought you’d say the female lead’s rival… Xiao Lanzi, are you *really* a cross-dressing uke? Why else like Jiang Wuque, that scheming carnivore?"

*Nonsense! Cross-dressing’s for women’s sake!*

I forced a smile. "Jiang Wuque’s great! Cold personality, bad temper, failing grades… what flaws could he possibly have?"

Xiao Qiuqiu rolled her eyes, jabbing a finger at me. "By that logic, the brothers should swap names! Top grades, sports genius, gentle and kind—*Jiang Xiaoyu* is the one without flaws."

*What?!* Jiang Wuque had a brother named Jiang Xiaoyu? A chill ran down my spine. *Never underestimate the theater club’s literary girls.*

But wait—if the heroine met Jiang Wuque in the prologue… was he actually Jiang Xiaoyu? My curiosity surged. If Xiao Qiuqiu weren’t here, I’d rip open the next issue right now.

"Huh. You look… different today." Xiao Qiuqiu studied my face, puzzled.

"No I don’t."

I tugged my cap lower, already planning to slick back Maria’s trimmed bangs with wax at home. *Show the forehead. Maybe they’ll stop mistaking me for a girl.*