It was a dim classroom—Ye Chang'an hadn’t even gotten a full look at it yet.

Within his field of vision—

A sharp gaze. The cold gleam of a short dagger slicing through the air. Both shot straight toward Chang'an.

*Clang!*

The blade slammed into the door behind Ye Chang'an, quivering violently.

The girl’s arms were slender yet taut with strength, sleeves rolled to her elbows as if enduring something with gritted teeth.

Chang'an’s mind went blank.

Cold sweat instantly drenched his skin.

He finally grasped it… he’d nearly bought it.

The girl before him still seethed, fury blazing in her eyes at this intruder who’d shattered her ritual.

Having narrowly escaped death, Ye Chang'an’s thoughts slowly cleared—and he took in the room.

A standard classroom, yet every desk and chair was piled deliberately at the back, clearing a central space. All curtains drawn tight—even the rear windows—sealing the room like a tomb. The door should’ve been locked too… but he’d stumbled in by sheer accident.

What made his breath catch: frantic scribbles covering the blackboard—chalk, paint, and a suspicious liquid Ye Chang'an dared not name.

Weak daylight filtered through the curtains, casting a hazy glow onto the center of the floor… illuminating a massive, perfectly drawn… magic circle?

Forgive Ye Chang'an—he wasn’t exactly a scholar. “Magic circle” or “ritual array” was all he had.

One thought screamed in his head:

*Oh no. I’m gonna be silenced.*

*Did I crash some ghost-summoning ritual?!*

Atop the circle lay a girl’s school uniform, arranged meticulously to form a human silhouette: wig, blazer, tie, pleated skirt, white thigh-high socks, black flats…

Only the girl herself was missing.

A chill slithered down his spine. This was no ordinary classroom.

Including the girl standing before him.

Medium-length hair, damp and disheveled. Eyes sharp as blades, blazing with rage and something unhinged. Her own uniform stained with paint—splattered across arms, calves. She’d clearly poured sweat and soul into that ritual behind her. And now… an intruder.

Chang'an’s mind raced for escape—but the dagger was already back in her hand, leveled at his throat.

Trapped. Door locked by his own stupid hand. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

Sure, a guy *could* overpower a girl in a burst… but one stab? Blood loss. Pain. Game over.

Then—her eyes flickered with confusion. At the “girl” before her?

In one shocking move, dagger still aimed, she reached out and *squeezed* his crotch.

—“Ah…!”

A choked, strangled groan.

*Right…* Chang'an realized through the haze. *It’s not just blood loss that cripples you. A hit below the belt—especially the “Miyazaki Hidetaka” special (a pun on “gōng qí yīn gāo”—“attack the groin”)—does the trick too…*

“A… a *boy*? You’re a *guy*?!” Disgust flashed across her face. She snatched her hand back, dagger raised defensively as she stepped two paces away.

She’d mistaken him for a girl—fair skin, delicate features, androgynous style weren’t uncommon at school.

…Until she’d “verified” his anatomy firsthand.

Truly a “down-to-earth” soul who lived by “no investigation, no right to speak”—a “new-era woman,” indeed.

*What normal girl the hell gropes a stranger’s crotch to check gender?!*

Chang'an crumpled to his knees, clutching himself, utterly wrecked—body and soul.

Minutes passed. The agony slowly faded.

The girl had calmed. She offered a hand, gaze averted, voice icy yet laced with faint apology.

“Sorry…”

“…”