"So you knew all along."

Xuye Cheng's voice began to tremble.

He Xiaohan fell abruptly silent.

The tip of Xuye Cheng's nose stung, and a wave of grievance surged in his heart.

"Amusing, isn't it?"

Xuye Cheng let out a choked laugh, tears spilling from his eyes. He instinctively turned away, but He Xiaohan still saw them slide down his cheeks.

"Joking about me like that in front of her—I thought your bragging was unintentional. Turns out it was all for my benefit."

He Xiaohan took a deep breath, his expression turning awkward.

"Is it fun watching me make a fool of myself?" Xuye Cheng's voice grew thick with sobs. "Yeah, next to you, I'm nothing. You get to enjoy my humiliation while I'm kept in the dark. I can't do a thing. And now you lay it all out, just to watch me crumble. Real amusing, right?"

"If that's how you see it, I have nothing to say," He Xiaohan replied flatly.

"Then... what else should I think? Did I actually expect comfort from you?" Xuye Cheng's voice cracked, hoarse and broken.

"Just stop mocking me," he whispered. "You've laughed at me long enough. Why pretend to care now?"

He Xiaohan watched him wipe his tears, complex emotions flickering in his eyes.

"What I fight for is just trash in your hands. You flaunt it, watch me break over it, then twist the knife."

"To you, I'm just a joke, aren't I?"

He Xiaohan inhaled sharply.

"You should calm down—"

"I'm not calm," Xuye Cheng rasped. "But what does it matter? You'll never feel this pain. To you, I'm just a kid crying over spilled milk—pathetic, laughable."

"But that milk was my whole world."

"He Xiaohan, I actually trusted you as a friend."

He Xiaohan froze. He watched Xuye Cheng turn and walk away slowly, sighing quietly.

*Should I not have come?*

He frowned and headed for the sports field exit.

Xuye Cheng bit his lip, slipping to the field's farthest corner. Other runners were still circling—he couldn't let them see him like this.

So it was all just his delusion.

That earlier sense of fulfillment? Just shallow self-deception.

He suddenly felt utterly ridiculous.

Resentment, loss, anger, and hurt crashed over him. Warm tears streaked his cheeks; he wiped them away frantically.

So weak. So useless.

He didn't want to face the dorm.

He never imagined this person had such cruel amusement.

He looked up. The night sky was pitch-black, starless.

A cold drop hit his face. Then another. Then the downpour began.

Zheng Wenxuan glanced at He Xiaohan on the balcony, rain pattering softly. His eyes drifted to Xuye Cheng's empty seat.

"Holy crap, it's pouring! Baby Cheng didn't take an umbrella, did he?"

"No," He Xiaohan answered. "Xuan, why don't you fetch him?"

Zheng Wenxuan frowned. "This sounds harsh, but why aren't you going?"

He Xiaohan shrugged. "Aren't you the one who calls him 'Baby'?"

*Damn this romantic umbrella act.*

Zheng Wenxuan sighed, grabbed an umbrella, and texted Xuye Cheng:

"Got an umbrella? Need me to come get you?"

He hit send—the door swung open. Xuye Cheng stumbled in, soaked through, and slammed it shut.

Liu Xianlin turned, stunned.

"Tsk, what's the word for looking this cool?" he teased.

"Cool my ass," Xuye Cheng shot back, raking wet hair from his face. "If it's so cool, go get drenched yourself."

Liu Xianlin chuckled but stayed quiet.

Zheng Wenxuan's brow furrowed. "Why not call us?"

Xuye Cheng met his gaze flatly. "I was 500 meters short on my run when it hit. Figured I'd finish. Ended up like this."

Zheng Wenxuan's eyes softened with sympathy. He knew that feeling—forcing a rain-soaked run to hit the target distance.

"Showering," Xuye Cheng muttered. He yanked open his wardrobe, pulled out dry clothes, set his phone on the desk, and tucked his keys into a drawer. His gaze snagged on the mask inside—a fresh wave of emotion surged.

*He probably never guessed the girl he's after is actually him.*

Clarity cut through Xuye Cheng's chest. A flicker of smugness followed.

*Let's see how he handles a girl who hates men.*

He grabbed his clothes and headed to the bathroom.

Undressing, he faced the mirror. Frustration washed over him again.

Something felt off about his face.

He blinked, focusing on his forehead. The stubborn acne scars? Almost gone.

He paused. His skin had cleared up lately—without any skincare.

A chill crept up his spine. He hung his clothes, turned on the tap, and let hot water soothe his body.

But his fingertips brushed his chest—a dull ache pulsed there.

*Still not healed... days now.*

He sighed inwardly. *Need a hospital check-up.*

The thought of spending money darkened his mood.

Pajamas on, the post-shower comfort lifted his spirits slightly.

He lay on his bed—and saw a message from Doudou.