"Sir, your Americano." The waiter gently placed the coffee on the table.

"Thank you." Jiang Juan nodded, his lake-blue eyes betraying deep exhaustion.

After last night’s livestream ended, the unbearable pain lasted mere minutes. But then his bones felt soaked in acid—an indescribable itch tormented him all night.

Early this morning, he took sick leave from his homeroom teacher. Dark circles shadowed his eyes as he visited a well-regarded city hospital.

Jiang Juan spent the entire day there. He had MRIs for his head, neck, and spine; a CT scan for his lungs; ultrasounds for his liver and kidneys; blood tests; even a urine test.

He’d paid a semester’s dorm fees. What did he get?

A handful of scan reports, test files, and a bag of stomach medicine!

Yes—Jiang Juan, a 17-year-old high schooler, was perfectly healthy after full-body checks. Just mild hypoglycemia and a slight stomach issue.

That was the greatest abnormality. Jiang Juan knew his body was changing—the pain, the vanished beard. His routine shattered, leaving deep unease in someone who always planned ahead.

"Can staying up late and irregular meals really cause low testosterone?" Jiang Juan recalled the doctor’s words, chuckling slightly as he lifted his coffee.

Bitterness flooded his taste buds, jolting his tense body awake.

He pulled a notebook from his backpack, clicked his pen, and connected the past two days’ events.

Changes began after Saturday night’s livestream. Visible proof: his beard disappeared.

Physical shifts—low hormones, aching bones, a dull chest pain.

Saturday. Saturday night. Changes. Jiang Juan frowned slightly, circling "Saturday" repeatedly with his pen. Finally, he wrote two words: "User."

An absurd idea flashed through his mind like lightning.

"Impossible. This can’t be." He set down his pen, sipped his coffee, and gathered his exhaustion-scattered thoughts.

But that bizarre notion had taken root in his mind—impossible to shake.

...

"Guyen, wanna play ball?" After evening self-study, Zhang Ning sauntered to Guyen’s desk.

"Busy." Guyen tossed textbooks haphazardly into his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and strode toward the door.

"What’s the rush?"

"He looks like he’s heading to war," Zhang Ning said, tapping Zhao Zhuoyang’s desk.

"Not sure. He’s been distracted all day. Didn’t you notice he left meat on his plate at lunch?" Zhao Zhuoyang set down his book, swiveled his chair, and faced Zhang Ning.

"Damn, I’m not gay—I don’t watch how Guyen eats! You don’t—" Zhang Ning theatrically hugged his shoulders, stepping back.

"You should really be a comedian."

...

"Classmate? Classmate." Guyen stood at International Class 1’s door, stopping a girl about to leave.

"Ah—Guyen? What is it?" she stammered, eyes downcast. Guyen’s reputation made outsiders wary.

"Hello. Is Jiang Juan here? Could you call him for me?" Guyen softened his tone.

"Class rep Jiang took sick leave—he’s not here." At Jiang Juan’s name, she dared a glance at Guyen, then lowered her head further, ears faintly flushed.

"Sick leave?" Guyen’s voice rose involuntarily. Nearby students turned; the girl trembled slightly.

"Sorry to bother you." Guyen left, looking dazed.

After he vanished, the girl’s face burned crimson. She pulled out her phone, opening her best friend’s chat.

"Ahhh! Guyen just came to our class asking for Jiang Juan. Gu-Juan is REAL!"