Jiang Juan stood by the bus stop, a warm spring breeze carrying gentle sunlight that lifted the hem of his uniform. It only heightened his ethereal aura.

Passing students kept stealing glances at the rare sight. A few bold ones considered approaching him, but one look from his cool, distant gaze drained their courage.

Jiang Juan had been in a foul mood these past two days. That afternoon, he’d even coldly reprimanded several slacking student council members—a stark contrast to his usual habit of brushing off minor flaws with a smile and gentle advice. He knew this was just him taking out his frustration. It wouldn’t fix the strange changes happening to him. But then, wasn’t he just an ordinary person?

Snapping his thoughts back, he pulled out his phone. Unlocking the screen, he scrolled once more through his notes app: a carefully curated list of affordable cosmetics—base makeup, eyeshadows, colored contacts—sourced from apps and beauty gurus.

"All except the lipstick can be cheaper," he murmured to himself. Though his natural lip color was vivid, he needed different shades for streams. Plus, lipstick doubled as blush. For anything that went near his mouth, he believed in "you get what you pay for."

What began as fumbling in the dark, copying beauty gurus’ tutorials, had gradually become second nature. He could even swap tips with Chacha now—a thought that made him wryly smile.

Streaming had shifted from a chore to something he almost enjoyed. Not because he’d developed some weird fetish, but because he craved that easygoing atmosphere—no heavy masks, no rigid paths to follow.

Still, he never expected a little "acting" to cause such huge trouble. He hadn’t quit streaming, though. Saying he felt no regret would be a lie. But a mature person does what they *should*, not just what they *like*. After all, no effort meant no food on the table.

"Those guys gathering over there—they’re not from our school. No uniforms."

"I know them. Vocational school students. That one with dyed hair? Always causing trouble."

"Let’s keep our distance."

The whispers of nearby students reached Jiang Juan. He followed their gaze toward the school gate. Five or six boys huddled together, smoking cigarettes.

Jiang Juan’s brow furrowed slightly. None of his business. He looked back at the road, waiting for the bus.

Minutes later, more murmurs rose: "They’re coming this way. Let’s go—skip the bus today. Grab a taxi instead."

Jiang Juan locked his phone and slipped it into his pocket. Lifting his eyes, he saw not just the outsiders—but familiar faces among them.

The tension was thick. The vocational students subtly encircled Guyen and his two friends. No words passed between the groups as they walked.

Guyen spotted Jiang Juan by the bus stop. He raised an eyebrow but gave no sign of recognition—just a stranger’s glance.

The group passed Jiang Juan, moving farther away.

"Wasn’t that Guyen?"

"Think they’ll fight? Guyen’s trouble too."

"Fight? Maybe they’re friends. Looked pretty chill to me."

Some students recognized Jiang Juan—the student council president. Their eyes instinctively flicked to him. Curious yet worried, they silently rooted for Guyen out of school loyalty. But no one wanted to be the hero. Fear of retaliation was only human.

Now, the ball landed squarely at Jiang Juan’s feet.

He kept his gaze lowered, irritation simmering. He disliked Guyen. He was selfish. Why step into a mess that gained him nothing? Yet all eyes waited for his move, pushing him toward a choice.

*Fine. Guess he’s lucky today.*

Shaking off his mood, Jiang Juan set off after them.