The afternoon should have been uneventful after PE class.

But places buzzing with youthful energy always brewed surprises. This one, however, had nothing to do with Lu Huai.

Nor did it concern most students in the classroom.

During English class,

Xu Zhixi stood beside Li Xin’s desk and held out her hand.

“Hand over your phone.”

Her expression was icy—a look homeroom teachers wielded to press students into submission.

Lu Huai dreaded it. With few social ties, he avoided trouble to stay off teachers’ radars.

Phones in class—games, chats—never escaped Xu Zhixi’s notice.

Afternoon light caught her long hair; just looking felt like catching a hint of fragrance.

Her gaze locked onto Li Xin, now the room’s focal point.

Summer freedom hadn’t fully faded. Forbidden acts resurfaced.

Sweat beaded on Li Xin’s brow as he sat frozen.

Lu Huai figured he’d fake ignorance briefly, then surrender the phone under pressure—spending the rest of the day sullen and withdrawn.

Maybe even beg for its return later. Futile. No precedent existed.

Yet against all expectation—

Silence gripped the classroom. Every glance weighed on the boy.

Li Xin turned to Xu Zhixi.

Refused to hand it over.

“I wasn’t looking at my phone…”

A strained, defiant murmur. Xu Zhixi’s eyes stayed cold.

“I saw you.”

“I wasn’t!”

Li Xin’s voice rose. Classmates blinked—shouting at a teacher? Rare. Risky.

Xu Zhixi didn’t flinch.

“I saw you. Hand it over. Focus on class.”

“Can… can I get it back after school?”

Reluctance thick in his voice.

Of course he was reluctant. For teens, phones were lifelines—study tools, escape valves. Who could truly part with them?

“Give me the phone. Last time.”

She ignored his plea, voice sharpening. Pressure mounted.

Then—beyond imagination—

“I said I wasn’t looking! Why should I give it to you!”

He roared.

In the hushed room, he sounded like a trapped beast.

Lu Huai watched, uneasy. He wasn’t “heroic,” yet others’ conflicts twisted his gut.

Arguments. Fights. He hated spectating. Hated clashes that defied decency—especially with a teacher.

The outburst startled her. Xu Zhixi—barely past twenty—took a half-step back.

“You’re sure?”

Final warning.

Li Xin’s face burned crimson. Unseeing. Unheeding. Hands clenched deep in pockets. Lu Huai knew: heart pounding like a drum, pride overriding panic.

“I won’t! I told you—I wasn’t looking!”

“Fine.”

Xu Zhixi didn’t leave. Dialed a call.

Li Xin’s darkening expression confirmed it: his parents.

Class stalled.

Near dismissal, Li Xin’s father arrived.

Lu Huai assumed it was over. Office lecture. Dual pressure. A boy, head bowed, face flushed, voiceless under scolding—maybe tears of shame.

He hated that image. Yet understood: pride made admitting fault hard.

When Li Xin returned, red-rimmed eyes and nose gave him away.

Stubborn mask intact. But everyone knew—he’d cried.

The ripple touched no one else. Lu Huai attended class. Dismissal came.

He, Li Xin, and bespectacled monitor Lin Ruoxing stayed to clean—just sweeping, wiping the board.

Li Xin remained rooted to his seat. Lu Huai said nothing. He sensed the storm inside…

He felt emotions keenly. Handled them poorly.

So he swept. Quietly.

“I’m getting my phone back. She’s probably still here.”

Sunset bled across the corridor. Lu Huai swept; Lin Ruoxing wiped the board. Li Xin spoke—aimed at her.

The gentle-faced girl with smooth hair and glasses glanced over, tone flat.

“The homeroom teacher never returns confiscated phones.”

*Slam!*

Frustration exploded. Li Xin slammed the desk, stood, and turned to Lu Huai—who’d been carefully sweeping around his space.

“If I promise to take it home, not bring it back… will she give it?”

A tired student plea.

Lu Huai knew the chasm: what felt reasonable to Li Xin screamed “still scheming” to Xu Zhixi.

But he couldn’t say it. Eyes drifting to the quiet sunset in the hall, he murmured, “Maybe…”

He wouldn’t listen anyway. Let him try. He would.

Li Xin hesitated.

“She’ll give it… right?”

Repeating it. Knowing the odds.

“…”

“Talk! Damn it—I’m humiliated! Dragging my dad here?! All teachers do is call parents! I just checked a message! First day—so wrong? Why me?!”

He raged beside Lu Huai.

Venting on the one he deemed safe. Lu Huai—the “boring” boy no one bothered teasing. Too quiet. Too dull.

Pressure crashed down.

Shouting jolted Lu Huai’s heart. Alert. Anxious.

He wanted no trouble. No redirected fury.

But the weight crushed him. Pulse hammered. He stepped back, gaze flickering away.

Li Xin’s face flushed, reckless in his anger.

“Don’t what?”

“She started it!”

Lu Huai retreated again, voice barely a whisper.

“Just… admit you were wrong…”

The weak, instinctive words ignited Li Xin further.

“Wrong?! Is glancing a crime?! Others do it! Why me?! Called my dad ’cause my grades suck?! Teachers cut slack for top students—that’s a double standard! She wanted me shamed! And now she won’t even return my phone—to spite me!”

A tidal wave of pressure.

Lu Huai felt storm-tossed. Danger prickled: Would he be shoved? Struck?

Then—chaos erupted inside his skull. Not outside. Within.

A roar of fragmented voices… painful… suffocating…

*“You just stood there watching…”*

*“My daughter is dead! How can you be so cold?!”*

*“Why isn’t he blamed?! He’s a child—wasn’t my daughter?!”*

*“If only he’d called for help sooner…”*

*“Why him? Why not him in the water?!”*

Accusations. Cameras. Shoving. Fear.

Like that summer’s icy lake water rising again…

Suffocation.

Stillness.

Silence.

Tears.

Withdrawal.

Locked doors.

Nightmares.

The devil’s teeth.

*Was it my fault? Truly? Is the fault mine…?*

“Wrong is wrong!”

Silence.

Total stillness.

Li Xin stared, stunned, at the boy who had roared.

Lu Huai stood head bowed, chest heaving—as if rising from deep suffering.

Lin Ruoxing paused, broom in hand. Sunset light traced his profile.

He lifted his head.

Li Xin stammered.

“Y-you… what?”

Lu Huai’s mind blanked. *Did I shout? What did I say?*

Consciousness flickered back. Head lowered again. Hands trembled on the broom.

He had to speak. Couldn’t bear more dumped emotions.

Enough. Truly enough. This dragged up wounds he couldn’t face.

Voice low, fragile yet firm:

“I said… wrong is wrong.”

“Where was I wrong?!”

“She’s… your teacher. How can you speak to her like that? And… Teacher Xu isn’t targeting you. You used it too long. Of course… you’d be caught.”

“Whose side are you on?!”

“It’s not about sides. If you ask… you… were wrong. I know you feel humiliated. But… no one dwells on it. If you keep believing she targeted you… everything will feel like targeting. But… it’s not true, is it…?”

“She IS targeting me!”

Li Xin’s anger seemed so fragile.

Before the blackboard, the girl pushed up her glasses. She saw Li Xin—tall in frame, yet somehow looking so small.

Her eyes shifted to Lu Huai, gripping the broom, his body trembling slightly as if charged with quiet intensity.

She watched the boy lift his head again.

His movements remained cautious.

“It’s… it’s not that anyone’s targeting you. You just can’t face your own mistake… But if you won’t face it, how… how can you ever stop repeating it? You should apologize…”

“Hah?”

Li Xin nearly laughed. The words felt utterly absurd.

“You want *me* to apologize? Are you crazy? Apologize to *who*? What ‘can’t face my mistake’? This isn’t even a big deal, I—"

“Please… just go apologize, okay?”

Li Xin met his gaze—eyes holding a trace of earnestness, even… longing.

“No, I—"

“Can we stop arguing, please…”

“It’s not me arguing, it’s *her*—"

“She’s the homeroom teacher. You’ll be with her all year. What if you clash again…”

“Wait, Lu Huai, you don’t get it—I was just being loud—"

“I know. But… please? Maybe… if you do, you’ll get your phone back soon… Teacher Xu… is actually really gentle…”

“This is so embarrassing. I—don’t look at me like that! Even if you say that, it’s not really my—"

“…”

Lu Huai stayed silent, eyes brimming with quiet hope.

*If only someone had looked at me like this back then… and said, “Don’t worry. It’s not your fault.”*

*If only…*

But words this weak—this close to pleading—who would even care?

He just didn’t want… didn’t want more pressure forced onto him.

He felt like he was seeing himself: the boy who tried so hard to stand firm, only to shatter in an instant—drowning in guilt, shame, regret.

Li Xin’s clenched fist loosened.

He sighed, slung his backpack over his shoulder.

“Fine. *You* told me to apologize. If she doesn’t give my phone back in a few days… I’m beating *you* up.”

He waved a fist—half-hearted, all bluster—and strode out of the classroom toward the office.

Lu Huai froze.

*What did I just do? He’s apologizing? To whom? Why would he beat me up?*

*He’s so weird!*

The girl by the blackboard set down her eraser.

She watched Lu Huai’s bewildered, fragile expression.

“How incredible.”

…Almost unbelievable.