Author's Note:

*(Filtered per Step 1 – non-plot author commentary)*

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Six months ago—

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"Can you just stay away from me?"

The first words Yumo heard that morning were icy words from a pretty girl.

"...Ah. Sorry."

Before Yumo could respond to his sister’s coldness, she slammed the bathroom door shut. He stood frozen outside, toothbrush and towel in hand.

Mornings were always rushed for high schoolers. Their cramped apartment—burdened by a twenty-year mortgage—had only one bathroom. Sharing the sink was routine.

Except Yumo was never part of that "sharing."

His father had remarried six years ago. That’s when Yumo gained a stepsister—Li Yuxin. For reasons unknown, this charming, beautiful girl treated only him with icy distance. She refused to share anything with him. This had gone on for over five years.

"Breakfast’s ready..."

Yumo shuffled to the crowded dining table, toothpaste still on his brush. Four plates sat on the worn checkered cloth:

His programmer father had a sandwich, boiled egg, and milk.

His stepmother—a fitness trainer—ate a balanced chicken salad.

His honor-student sister enjoyed a sandwich, fruit platter, and pastries from a trendy bakery.

Yumo’s plate held two slices of plain toast.

"Eat up."

Stepmother Chen Xiang pushed the toast toward him without looking up from her phone. His father, Yutianqiao, crunched his sandwich while blasting news audio about Eastern European wars.

*Can’t you use headphones?* Yumo thought, forcing down the dry toast with water. *Breakfast just needs to fill the stomach.*

Then his sister emerged from the bathroom. Glistening droplets dotted her porcelain cheeks. Her raven-black hair was tied in an elegant high ponytail. Dressed in a pure white dress, the eighth-grader radiated youthful energy.

"Morning~"

"Yuxin! Breakfast’s here!" Chen Xiang beamed. "Honey, your dad bought these pastries from MeeLin Bakery after work yesterday!"

"Really? Thanks, Dad!"

Her dazzling smile made their father nod warmly, his thinning hair swaying slightly. Yumo wondered if he’d inherit that.

Watching this harmonious trio, Yumo felt like a stain on pristine paper. He finished his toast in three bites, brushed his teeth in three minutes flat, and grabbed his backpack.

The family’s electric car carried his parents and sister toward work and middle school. Yumo pedaled his rattling bicycle alone into Haiking’s December morning rush—a tide of steel and concrete.

The city was a living beast.

Roads were its veins.

Cars, its blood cells.

Bikes and scooters, platelets drifting in the current.

Day after day, people moved through this forest of steel, trapped in roles they never chose.

But away from home, Yumo breathed easier.

It wasn’t cold violence. Just... distance.

His father rarely showed emotion. Neither did Yumo. After his birth mother’s death, they’d forgotten how to talk.

His stepmother didn’t know his favorite food or hobbies. He’d never told her.

And his stepsister? She’d clung to him when they first became family. Then, five years ago, she froze him out. He never learned why.

Especially after that awful incident two years ago—when he was falsely accused of harassing his cousin. Now they were strangers under one roof.

*(Sigh...)*

Yumo pedaled toward Haiking No.1 High. The closer he got, the heavier his mood sank. As usual, he detoured to the riverbank beneath the cross-river bridge. The roar of traffic above became white noise. He watched ice chunks drift on the dark water—his sanctuary.

Then he spotted an anomaly.

Under the distant bridge arch lay someone wrapped in a threadbare blanket. December’s bite would pierce that thin fabric. Through his ill-fitting glasses, Yumo could just make out a young woman with snow-white hair.

*Weird...*

A prickle of unease shot through him. He shook his head and pedaled away.

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"Class rep~~ Sorry I’m late! Holding you up?"

"No problem. I finished your share..."

"Oops! I tossed trash in the wrong bin. Hope that’s okay?"

"Next time, ask before you mess up..."

"Class rep, I can’t reach the top of the blackboard..."

"Fine. I’ll do it."

By the time morning self-study began, Yumo had done at least seventy percent of the cleaning duty. The other three duty students had long ago learned to dump tasks on him. He never knew how to refuse.

Yumo was class monitor, cleaning duty captain, *and* chemistry representative. Everyone knew high school class officers were suckers for grunt work. His homeroom teacher had randomly picked him as monitor in freshman year. The other roles fell to him by default. Triple-duty sucker. The Ultimate Chump.

But someone did help—

"Um... Yumo? I finished mopping the stairs..."

A soft voice. Liyu, a round-faced girl with twin braids that looked either quaint or cute, depending on who you asked. If Yumo handled seventy percent of cleaning duty, she did the rest.

"Thanks. You... go read. I’ll take out the trash."

"Okay. You work hard."

Liyu tucked away her mop and hurried back to class. Girls by the door jeered: "Fatty! Your turn to clean today?" She ducked her head and scurried to her seat. Yumo saw it all.

*Too obvious... I’ll report it to the teacher again. Last time he ignored me.*

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"Students! New Year’s Day is near, but remember—'Prepare before the rain comes!' The college entrance exam is closer than you think! Holiday arrangements: blah blah blah..."

After morning reading, their homeroom teacher bellowed through oily lips, spittle flecking Yumo’s arm as he sorted papers at the podium.

"And Yumo—how’s the New Year’s gala planning? Budget reports? Sign-ups? We need—"

Yumo nodded mechanically. *Tool of the class. Just do it.*

The morning crawled by.

Yumo’s grades floated stubbornly in the middle. He didn’t hate studying, but lacked the fire to push harder—unlike his sister, who ranked top ten effortlessly.

No waves. No drama. His average grades meant no one sought his help during breaks. *Good.* He spent free periods counting crepe paper and streamers, organizing performance lists... *New Year’s gala? A social butterfly party. Just steals time from going home.* Though that cramped apartment held little warmth.

Lunchtime was worse.

Yumo ate quickly in the noisy cafeteria, craving quiet. Then trouble arrived.

"Hahaha epic fail!" "What a braindead move!" "He confessed to Ling Xue?!" "Delusional!" "What’d you get to eat?"

Five or six students crowded a nearby table, trays piled with expensive dishes. Yumo couldn’t stomach their neon hairstyles and piercings. He tried ignoring them, but their shouts cut through the din.

Their leader was Zhangyuanzhou—a brown-haired classmate with flashy clothes and a smirk. A classic rich-kid slacker: bad grades, good looks, endless swagger.

But the real eye-catcher was Tanglingxue. His classmate. Golden-dyed hair. Heavy makeup. Sparkling piercings. Thighs bare despite December’s chill. The school’s infamous delinquent queen. Undeniably stunning—but not Yumo’s type.

"Yuanzhou, you’re performing at the gala, right?" "His guitar solo! I’m hyped!" "Haha, just average~"

Everyone chattered except Tanglingxue, scrolling her phone. Their conversation was pure noise.

*Can’t you whisper in public?* Yumo shot them a glare. Zhangyuanzhou noticed.

"What’s your problem, monitor? Got something to say?"

"...Nothing."

Yumo shook his head and stared at his tray.

"Tch."

A soybean flew from Zhangyuanzhou’s plate—*thwack*—hitting Yumo’s forehead. His friends snickered. Yumo’s fists clenched. *Should I punch back?* But he’d lose the fight. Get detention. The teacher wouldn’t care.

*Don’t argue with idiots. One rash move ruins everything.*

"Wimp."

"...Huh?"

Tanglingxue hadn’t even looked up. Just kept scrolling.

"Hey! Why you staring at Ling Xue?!" "Yeah!" "Know your place!"

The group jeered. Another soybean flew. Yumo dodged, grabbed his tray, and left. Behind him, Zhangyuanzhou’s laughter echoed. Tanglingxue’s dismissive gaze burned. *Not worth it. This nonsense isn’t worth it.*

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Finally, evening self-study ended. Yumo still had homework, plus inventorying new chemicals for chemistry teacher Linqinglan, plus finalizing the gala program...

"*Sigh...*"

His nth sigh of the day escaped as he wheeled his rattling bike out the school gate.

School meant boredom and pressure.

Home meant pressure and boredom.

He detoured again to the riverbank beneath the bridge—his only peace. The white-haired homeless girl from morning was gone. *Probably left.*