"Where were you just now?"

After activity class, Mo Xuan trudged back to the classroom, head low and spirits dampened. Just as he slipped through the back door, Yun Jiumo blocked his path.

She stood in the shadow by the door, turned slightly toward him—graceful and poised.

Mo Xuan froze mid-step, quickly averting his gaze. "Restroom," he mumbled guiltily.

"I called for you near the restroom forever. No answer."

"Not that one…" He dared not meet her eyes. One glance from Yun Jiumo would shatter the lie. He just wanted to brush it off. "I went to the teaching building’s restroom. Cleaner there."

True—the public restroom by the infirmary wasn’t as well-kept as the one in the main building. Plausible enough.

But Yun Jiumo wasn’t satisfied. She furrowed her delicate brows, studying his face. His evasiveness only deepened her suspicion.

Suddenly, her gaze sharpened.

"What happened to your face?" Unbeknownst to her, a trace of icy chill seeped into her voice.

"Hit myself."

"Yourself?"

"Yeah. This annoying mosquito kept buzzing around. Couldn’t swat it. So I waited till it landed on my cheek… swatted. Still got away."

Mo Xuan kept his eyes locked on his toes, scrambling for excuses. He braced for doubt—but Yun Jiumo stepped closer. Just one step away.

Her beautiful eyes fixed on his slightly flushed cheek. His pulse quickened.

*Not getting away with it? This woman really is something…*

"Does it still hurt?"

Huh? What?

"You didn’t go easy on yourself."

"It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt," he replied instinctively.

Shen Bingjing had been angry, but girls’ strength was limited. Mo Xuan had lingered deliberately; the red mark had nearly faded. Barely visible. Yet Yun Jiumo noticed instantly.

"Who slaps their own face *hard*?" He forced a joke to ease her suspicion.

Seeing him lively and unharmed, Yun Jiumo’s lips curved faintly. She stepped back, turned, and left without a word.

Mo Xuan watched her slender, tall figure disappear, then rubbed his cheek absently.

*Was she… concerned?*

Hmm. In his past life, he couldn’t recall a single moment like this. Time had blurred the memories. Their interactions had been scarce—any hint of closeness would’ve stuck. Since he remembered none… it probably never happened.

So… was she changing in this life?

He wasn’t sure. And honestly? He wasn’t sure he wanted her to.

If possible, he preferred the aloof, untouchable Yun Jiumo from before. With reborn memories, that version gave him an edge.

Afternoon classes dragged—lecture after lecture. Teachers, armed with summer-prepped notes, poured knowledge like force-feeding.

Seniors finally grasped the "dreaded sea of homework" upperclassmen warned about. Staring at blackboards crammed with text and test papers piled knee-high, faces turned ashen.

The dismissal bell? Pure heavenly music. Students erupted in cheers, bursting from the stifling classroom.

Mo Xuan rose to join them—only to be halted by the hygiene monitor. Cleaning duty. His turn.

Yun Jiumo, as always, was the last to stand. Unhurried. Calm. Even sorting textbooks by subject. *Severe OCD*, Mo Xuan thought.

Broom in hand, he swept diligently, eyes scanning the floor.

Until snow-white canvas sneakers entered his view.

No need to guess who it was. After today’s close encounters, his nerves had steadied. *If I set aside past memories… I could talk to her like any other girl.*

"Something up?" He kept his tone casual, wary of suspicion.

Her smile held surprise—like stumbling on unexpected good fortune. Sunlight haloed her; hair shimmered, skin fair as snow. She tilted her head, playful.

"You’re blocking my way."

"…"

Only then did he realize—he’d swept right up to her deskmate’s seat. Blocking her path.

Flustered, he stepped back. Cheeks burned.

She slipped past like a silent cat. A strand of hair brushed his cheek—carrying a faint, distant scent of roses.

She vanished around the corner, never once glancing back.

Mo Xuan stood rooted, a quiet ache of loss swelling in his chest.

His deskmate clapped his shoulder. "Hey. Spaced out?"

Mo Xuan jolted back.

"Man, you’ve got perseverance."

"What?"

"Still chasing her? Seriously, that takes guts."

Mo Xuan shrugged, offering a hollow half-smile.

His deskmate had watched the whole three-year saga. So had everyone.

They’d all seen Yun Jiumo’s perfection: top grades, athletic grace, wealth, beauty, talent, poise—a flawless dream goddess. Countless confessions. Countless rejections.

The consensus? *Yun Jiumo won’t date. Not in high school.*

Mo Xuan was different. He showed interest but never confessed. Hovered just shy of the line. Frustrating to watch.

Yet even the keenest eye saw it: a love going nowhere.

Mo Xuan caught the undertone. A mischievous idea sparked.

He cleared his throat theatrically. "How to put it… I still feel I’ve got a shot."

"Why?" Curiosity hooked.

"This morning—basketball accident, took her to infirmary?"

"Heard. She wasn’t mad?"

"Smiled. Said it was fine."

"Nice. But… so what?"

"The *real* part: I asked if I had a chance. Guess her reply?"

"What—"

"If I get into her university… she’ll say yes."

"No *way*!" His deskmate yelped.

"Ask her yourself." *Yeah, right. You won’t.*

After a pause: "Mo Xuan… with your grades… isn’t that just a polite ‘no’?"

Mo Xuan’s smile froze. *Crap. Forgot that part.*

"Pfft. Doesn’t matter. I won’t stay here. One year’s enough to catch up. Sweep, sweep!"

They returned to work.

But unease lingered. His deskmate’s words echoed: *Do you still like her?*

Of course.

But… how much?

And *what* about her?

He paused, gazing at golden leaves glowing beyond the window.

A deep sigh escaped.