12:40 PM. I reluctantly opened my eyes to the alarm clock’s buzz, still tangled in bed.

Mmm… So sleepy…

If only I could sleep another half hour…

I sat up and let out a huge yawn.

*Click-clack, clickety-clack…*

Only three girls remained in the spacious dorm: the one beside me slept soundly; across the room, another watched an idol drama at her desk; and their class monitor, Jiang Yuqing, played *Jian Wang 3*.

Her mechanical keyboard clattered rapidly—she seemed deep in a tense quest—but she clearly tried hard to muffle the noise.

And… she wore headphones.

Having napped barely ten minutes, I drowsily studied the e-commerce department’s monitor.

“Cangyun, Cangyun—over there… careful.”

“Badao Tianluo’s coming! Watch them!”

Her hushed commands drifted faintly through the quiet room, lowered deliberately for my sake and the sleeping girl’s.

Though my body begged to collapse back into bed, I pushed myself up, grabbed a towel, splashed cold water on my face at the sink.

Just get through this stretch.

The chill jolted me awake instantly.

Staring into the mirror, I silently fed myself encouragement.

*Hold on… happiness will come.*

Pay the loans. Live well. Grow in college. Save hard. So graduation won’t leave me helpless.

*Your family has little. You have almost nothing to lean on. Only you can carry yourself now, Xiao Xue.*

*In this world, discipline is the only path to freedom.*

After brushing teeth and washing up, I applied light makeup by muscle memory, smoothed sunscreen and lotion over my arms and hands.

Though “I” came from poverty, two things were non-negotiable for any girl: cosmetics and clothes.

A girl may lack anything—but never skincare, makeup, or cute skirts.

Freshened up, I returned to my bed, grabbed the black sheer pantyhose and outfit bought earlier from the supermarket, and slipped into the bathroom.

Pantyhose felt alien to both “Bi Xinxue” and “me.” Bi Xinxue never cared for so-called “2D culture.” She owned many dresses and pretty shoes, but only everyday socks—ankle, boat, frilly styles. Never thigh-highs, pantyhose, or garters.

Neither had I.

But as the saying goes: *Even if you’ve never eaten pork, you’ve seen pigs run.* As a (former) adult man, I’d seen heroines in doujinshi and anime wear them countless times.

Pantyhose? Ultra-long stockings from toes to waist. Main perks: tint your legs, +100% allure, harder bathroom breaks. Some even slim slightly—like this pair.

29.8 yuan. My heart ached.

350 − (350 × 0.02) − 29.8 = 313.2

After platform fees and pantyhose cost, Wang Lei’s gig should net ~313 yuan in seven hours. Reusable for future clients—decent value.

…

Changed into T-shirt, hoodie, mini skirt, and pantyhose, I opened the “Xiao Q Robot Settings” on my phone.

Last night, I’d discovered this pricey new phone held one vital feature for me: its AI, Xiao Q.

In advanced settings, I’d pre-set an event:

*[If phone detects “call police,” auto-dial 110 and switch to speaker.]*

Like coding in C, Java, or JavaScript—trigger on condition.

Verified the alarm event, then tapped “Add New Event.”

*Activate/Deactivate voice recorder.*

*[Record trigger phrase]*

“Really cute, isn’t it?”

*[Record end phrase]*

“Ara ara.”

*[Setup complete]*

I tested it softly:

“Really cute, isn’t it?”

Screen flashed: *Recording.*

“Ara ara.”

*[Recording ended. File saved to Android>data>video>2030102412532388.wma]*

OK. All set.

I tucked the phone into my hoodie’s inner left pocket, stretched my legs to smooth the pantyhose wrinkles, ensuring even black coverage, then opened the bathroom door.

“No way? Then what did your boyfriend say?”

“Ugh… most already have boyfriends. And they don’t even game.”

Jiang Yuqing’s screen still showed *Jian Wang 3*—players clustered in a bamboo grove, battle seemingly over.

“Is this *Jian Wang 3*?” I asked casually behind her.

“Huh?” She pulled off her headphones, eyes wide. “You *know* this game?!”

Her delighted face said it all.

“Mm, saw ads online. Supposedly the MMORPG with the highest female ratio. Lots of sweet in-game couples.” I smiled. “Downloaded Tieba yesterday—this bar pops up often. People say *Jian Wang 3* players are among the most respectful online.”

*To befriend someone, praise what they love—not them. —Steve Lu Xun.*

Jiang Yuqing wasn’t in my class, but I admired her: helpful, organized, articulate, never petty, jokes timed right. No “princess syndrome.” Calm in conflicts. Games without obsession. Disciplined. Knows when to act.

If she keeps this after graduation? I’ll never have too many friends like her.

“It’s not *that* great… so many ‘green tea’ players,” she giggled. “Wait—Xiao Xue, heading out?”

I nodded. “Part-time.”

“Wow? What kind?”

“Service role.”

“Got it.” She gave a warm “You’ve got this” look. “Same as yesterday? Until evening?”

“Mm. Nine o’clock.” I waved. “Running late—see you!”

“Bye!”

Stepping out, I faintly heard her hushed, excited whisper:

“Ah, no—it’s just our dorm’s super cute little sister off to a part-time job…”

“Probably a waitress? Maybe a cat café? Hehe… someday she’ll come back wearing cat ears and a maid outfit…”

“N-no! I mustn’t ship them…”

“But she’s just *so*… big… *sobs* I’m so jealous…”

I hailed a taxi and messaged Wang Lei on QQ:

*[Getting in. Arrive ~1:40 PM.]*

*[Copy. Tell driver: Shuiming Park main gate. Orange jacket, hat. Quiet spot—you’ll spot me.]*

*[Okay.]*

“To Shuiming Park. Main gate.”

“Sure thing.”

Fastening my seatbelt, I caught the forty-something driver glancing—*again*—at my chest.

Late October air was already chilly.

My outfit: black hoodie with yellow accents over a tee, black mini skirt, black pantyhose.

Honestly? Close to UMP45 from *Girls’ Frontline* or Amiya from *Arknights*.

Except… as the meme goes: if we both face-planted in snow, I’d just flop. Sister 45? She’d glide meters.

“Miss, Shuiming Park. Stop at the gate?”

The taxi slowed. His words pulled me from my thoughts.

“Here’s fine.”

Ahead—just as described—a guy in an orange jacket stood by the entrance.

*[Here. In front of you. Plate Bin A47263.]*

*[Seen you. Wait—tell driver I’ll pay.]*

Wang Lei approached. I rolled the window down slightly, unbuckled.

“So fast?”

He scanned the QR code. “Driver, how much?”

“18.5.”

*Beep.* He showed the screen. “All set.”

“Thanks.”

Beside him, I glanced at his clothes. “You always dress like this?”

“Nah. Chilly today. Threw this on—bought it in high school.” He adjusted his jacket, glancing down. “Not good-looking?”

“Ah… no…”

I channeled Kaguya Shinomiya from *Kaguya-sama: Love Is War*, voice light and teasing:

“Really cute, isn’t it…”