Qi Yan’s heart lurched at the sudden prank, his body jolting slightly—especially as he’d been about to step into the women’s lingerie section, a notorious no-go zone for guys. Guilt prickled under his skin.

But the moment he heard that familiar “senpai,” everything clicked.

Out of seven billion people in the world, only one called him that.

*“Ah, ‘senpai’ sounds so ordinary. Overused. I’ve decided—I’ll call you ‘senior’ instead. Senior in art, senior in studies… and senior in love…”*

*“Shouldn’t it be ‘teacher’?”*

*“No way! ‘Teacher’ sounds like some old geezer.”*

Qi Yan still remembered that exchange vividly.

The escalator reached the bottom. Qi Yan pried the small hands off his face, turned around, and fixed her with a stern look. “Su Shiyu. What are you doing here? Didn’t the Provincial Academy of Fine Arts start classes already?”

The young girl before him stuck out her tongue playfully, stepping closer. “*Senior* should explain first—classes began two weeks ago. Why’s *senior* buying pudding in a place like this?”

“And,” she added, hands on her hips, lower lip jutting out, “calling me by my full name is so stiff. I’ve told you a hundred times—just ‘Shiyu’ or ‘Xiaoyu’ is fine.”

“Well…” Qi Yan faltered. Too many complicated reasons tangled in his throat.

“Shiyu! Where are you? Time to go!” a voice called from afar.

“Oh no—they’re coming to drag me back!” Su Shiyu grabbed Qi Yan’s hand and yanked him toward the shampoo aisles. “Senior, block me!”

“Who’s looking for you? Your sister?”

If it was Dr. Su, Qi Yan owed her a proper thank-you. Without her help during his darkest days after high school—when he couldn’t even afford tuition—he might not have survived. That summer, visiting his sister with job listings stuffed in his pocket, she’d casually asked if he’d tutor a student with good pay. For Qi Yan, starving and desperate, it was a lifeline. He’d agreed instantly. Only later did he realize the “problem student” was her sister.

Su Shiyu was mischievous but obedient. She aced her exams, and Qi Yan quietly slipped away afterward—no contact details exchanged.

“No, no! It’s the pyramid scheme leader!” Su Shiyu hissed, eyes wide with mock terror. “She’s brainwashing me! I barely tricked her into grocery shopping today.”

“You’re joking,” Qi Yan said uncertainly.

Su Shiyu’s words were always half-truths. For nearly a year, she’d spun him like a top. Most would’ve stopped believing her, like the boy who cried wolf. But Qi Yan feared the one time she *wasn’t* lying. If someone needed saving, what did it matter if he looked foolish?

“Closer, senior! Don’t look around—she’ll spot us!” Su Shiyu pressed her back against the shelves, cupping Qi Yan’s face to lock his gaze downward.

Their eyes met. In each other’s clear pupils, they saw their own reflections.

*“Ahem. Excuse me, customers. This is a public space.”*

The store clerk’s cough shattered the moment. Qi Yan stumbled back. Even Su Shiyu—usually the prankster—flushed crimson, jerking away like a startled rabbit. Her elbow knocked the shelf.

Shampoo bottles trembled like during an earthquake. One giant bottle teetered, then crashed down straight toward Su Shiyu’s head.

Qi Yan didn’t think of catching it mid-air like in manga. He dropped his basket and shielded her head with his arms—the only protection his clumsy self could offer.

The bottle slammed onto his hand. A red welt bloomed instantly, but Qi Yan’s expression didn’t flicker. Compared to his grandfather’s whip, this was a drop in the ocean.

Su Shiyu, however, panicked. She flipped his palm over, blowing warm air onto the angry mark. Tears welled in her eyes. “Senior! Your hand—is it broken? It’s all my fault…”

“It’s fine. Really.” Qi Yan flexed his fingers. The sting would fade.

“No! Hospital. Now. What if it’s fractured?”

“You’re overreacting. This won’t break bones.” Qi Yan chuckled.

“But these hands feed you! We can’t risk it!”

*“Ahem.”*

The clerk’s cough cut through again. Qi Yan grabbed his basket, seized Su Shiyu’s wrist, and fled under the clerk’s knowing stare.

Dusk settled. Old streetlights flickered on, casting two shadows walking side by side.

“I don’t have my phone. I’ll contact Dr. Su once I’m home. She must be worried…”

“No need, senior.” Su Shiyu smirked. “The pyramid scheme thing? Total lie. You’re so gullible—even obvious lies hook you. Seriously, any bad girl could swindle you down to your last dime.”

“I’m not an idiot. I’d rather believe and be wrong. Glad you’re safe, though.”

“I dropped out. Planning to retake senior year here.”

“You idiot! If you hate the Provincial Academy, just apply to CAFA! Your scores are more than enough.”

“What about you? You could’ve gone to CAFA too. Why choose the Provincial Academy… then quit?”

“For my sister.” Qi Yan’s voice was flat.

Choosing a nearby college. Dropping out. All for his sister.

Su Shiyu skipped ahead, turned, and walked backward, hands clasped behind her back, toes bouncing. “Me? I just… want to relive senior year.”

Qi Yan smiled helplessly. Who’d *want* to relive that nightmare?

*(She’s lying again. Not the right time for the truth. But she’s an aggressor by nature.)*

She looped her arm through his, pouting. “Senior~ Senior~ Will you take in this poor stray dog tonight?”

“Dinner’s fine. But I can’t host you—my place is tiny.”

“Dinner’s enough! I’ve only had noodles *from* you. Never *by* you. I’m excited!”

“Don’t say things that sound weird. My ‘clean plate policy’ means you eat everything—even if it’s awful.”

“No problem! You’ll eat my leftovers like always, right?”

“That was…” Qi Yan froze. *Dark history.* Back when he’d just started tutoring her, starving half to death. She’d craved noodle soup; he’d borrowed her kitchen. His first attempt failed. She took one bite and stopped. He’d finished it all—waste not, want not.

His apartment building came into view. Soon he’d see his sister. His steps lightened; a smile tugged at his lips. Su Shiyu watched every shift.

She bit her lip, tiny fists clenched tight. Just a trace of envy flickered in her chest.