"Liming... Class Nine, Grade One monitor..."

Some things were just *that* serendipitous. Like how Senior Bailin happened to flip straight to Liming’s file among countless student records. Like how she’d happened to show a flicker of surprise right in front of Wu Shaoze. Like how she’d happened to plant Liming’s name firmly in the Student Council’s memory.

The student profiles prepared for recruitment captured nearly every detail of their first weeks at Qianning High School.

Interpersonal skills. Work efficiency. Moral character. Academic performance. All these were quietly assessed long before the next batch of juniors even knew the Student Council existed.

“Have you observed this one closely?”

She spread open the file. Every detail of Liming’s conduct was recorded—even his subject-by-subject entrance exam scores for Qianning High.

Anyone who caught Senior Bailin’s eye was bound to be extraordinary.

Never doubt her judgment. Back in their first semester of Grade Ten, she’d pinpointed each member’s strengths and flaws, placing them exactly where they belonged. Those who’d doubted her later discovered hidden weaknesses in themselves through her assignments.

“Liming. Class Nine, Grade One monitor. Responsible, diligent, gentle-natured. His work ethic is exceptional—even our veteran council members call him a ‘monster’ and admit they can’t compare. Rarely do you find someone excelling in studies, duty, *and* character.”

The Life Department head, usually so rigid, rattled off Liming’s merits like a machine gun. Coming from his stiff lips, the praise held zero exaggeration.

But could someone this perfect really exist?

Absolutely, Senior Bailin thought. Even after over a year apart, she knew Liming’s every move. Knew him inside out from longing.

She also knew the string of setbacks he’d faced after she left Zhenzhong High. Knew how he’d faded quietly after it all.

But a broken Student Council? Barely worth calling a foundation. She’d crush her own life’s work without blinking if it meant her dear Junior Liming could grow.

“Praise like that,” she mused, chin resting on interlaced fingers, “might make me think the Council’s already rotting from within—if anyone else said it.”

A rare, genuine smile played on her lips as she watched Department Head Shaoze fluster into silence at her teasing.

That warm, unguarded smile—not the polished one she wore for ceremonies—softened her usual distance. For a moment, she seemed less like an untouchable senior, more like a fond elder sister.

Shaoze’s stern face flushed. He averted his gaze slightly, afraid prolonged eye contact might betray the gentleman’s upbringing drilled into him since childhood.

“I’m not exaggerating! Junior Liming truly is exceptional. I hope—”

“Basic manners,” she cut in gently, “require meeting someone’s eyes when you speak. Focus between the eyebrows. Must I remind you?”

Shaoze’s words died in his throat. He forced his gaze back to her calm, tea-colored eyes.

Clear as polished amber, they held a faint, knowing warmth. Any stray thought felt washed clean under that gaze.

“I hope,” he pressed on, professionalism overriding his fluster, “Junior Liming receives an *exceptional* appointment—not the standard one.” His eyes burned with urgency. A talent like this could skyrocket his department’s performance for years.

“Exceptional appointments…” Bailin’s smile dimmed. “The school board will resist.”

A shadow crossed her face. The board’s stubborn opposition to the Council was an open secret. As president, she balanced both sides while keeping the Council running—a crushing weight on her slender shoulders. Had his request been selfish?

Shaoze’s face paled. He fumbled for an apology, guilt tightening his throat.

Bailin’s smile returned, erasing all traces of worry as if it had never existed. Only Shaoze knew she buried such burdens deep. He’d seen her quiet sighs whenever the board’s rejection letters arrived—secrets every council member silently kept.

“Haha, enough for now,” she said lightly, stretching her stiff limbs. She drew back half the curtain, flooding the office with light. “About Junior Liming—he was once under my command. Since you three department heads are competing so fiercely this year… don’t let him slip away.”

“What? Junior Liming worked with you before?!”

“Mm. In middle school, I ran a practice Student Council—the prototype for this one. Junior Liming helped me immensely back then.”

Bailin’s past was campus legend, yet she never volunteered details. Few dared ask.

Rumors about her love life divided the school. One camp insisted she was single: she walked alone, carried no gifts from admirers, and had once dumped a mountain of Valentine’s letters straight into the trash bin. The other camp swore she hid a secret lover—pointing to the mysterious disappearance of chocolates she’d bought on Valentine’s Day.

The truth? Only Senior Bailin knew.