After hearing both sides’ conflicting accounts, I got the gist of what happened.

Just as I suspected—the previously approved show got flagged during final review. The auditor spotted some sensitive content and feared the higher-ups would fly into a rage.

I skimmed their synopsis. Huh. A sitcom about two girls fighting societal norms to be together. Honestly? I get it. Why’s this beanpole guy—the loudest third wheel here—making such a fuss over two girls dating?

I shot a glance at the shouting boy. Felt a twinge of pity deep down.

Still… it’s true. Though same-sex relationships are gaining visibility worldwide—and some regions even recognize marriage equality—in our relatively conservative country, homosexuality remains stigmatized. Many still see it as a mental disorder.

After all, humanity’s purpose is procreation. Same-sex couples can’t fulfill that "duty." Evolution hardwired us for male-female pairings from the start.

So… no helping it. Truly impossible. The vice principal looked terrifying. I knew they’d practiced hard, but that face? When he snapped, none of us could handle it.

I stepped forward.

“Let them perform. I’ll take full responsibility if anyone blames us.”

Silence crashed over the room. Everyone stared, dumbfounded. The female auditor’s jaw hung open like she’d just met me for the first time.

Seriously? Underestimating me that much? Was it so weird for me to act responsibly? Yeah, I’d been pissed when you all shoved the "scapegoat-in-charge" title on me. I even ghosted duties like revenge. But swear on heaven—I *am* a responsible man.

At least… until next week.

Why the sudden change of heart? Oh right. Next week, poor me becomes a girl forever. Married off to some man. Wahhh! Why did evolution trap us in this cage of gender? I like girls!

I choked back tears, forced their act onto the lineup, and walked out without glancing at the tearfully grateful girls. Those two leads… ignore the world’s judgment. Be happy together!

Truth is, I’d done little for this school festival beyond PR and "diplomacy." The real prep was all them. But "diplomacy"? Annoying.

PR meant online ads and forum posts. "Diplomacy" meant personally delivering invitations to student council presidents at elite schools. For peers or lesser schools? Posters and portals. For prestigious ones we needed to flatter? Hustle over, find their student president, and hand the invite respectfully with both hands. Hence: "PR" for normal schools, "diplomacy" for nobles.

I was less a "Head Organizer" and more a goodwill ambassador. That fancy title? Just to show sincerity.

I sank back into my chair and opened the schedule drafted with the teacher last week.

*This afternoon: Lanying High.*

Not just city-famous—province-famous. Students there came from wealthy families, aced every exam, and upheld impeccable conduct. In over a decade, they’d racked up endless awards. Every top student at our school would do anything to get in.

Heard they had loads of beautiful, well-bred young ladies too.

Somehow, my otaku heart fluttered nervously. That place felt… terrifyingly intense.

*Please be paranoia.* I pocketed the schedule and headed to Teacher Liang’s office. Afternoon classes? Skipped. Needed a leave slip.

Easy enough. Teacher Liang knew my situation. Signed without fuss. Then he added, “Did you call your mom? She doesn’t know where you are. She’s worried.”

Oh crap! I’d forgotten to tell my hikikomori mom I was safe.

I borrowed his phone, fumbled through explaining this morning’s chaos (she knew about the festival duties, so no deep questions), endured her fussy care, and finally hung up.

I smoothed my new pants, checked my pockets—coins, student ID, invitations, scenic postcards. All set.

Off to the school for young ladies!