Returning home, Leng Shuang saw his mother—the woman who had never truly cared for him.

"You're still here?"

"I'm heading out."

Hearing her words, a quiet sigh of sorrow stirred within him.

Between them lingered little emotional bond—only the cold thread of blood relation.

"Oh, you're an adult now. There are things I won't say. I know I've been a failing mother. So the path ahead is yours—I won't interfere."

Leng Shuang nodded, flicked his lighter, lit a cigarette, and stepped out.

"At least... she doesn't meddle in my life."

He gave a faint, helpless smile.

Back in his room, he sat on the bed and scrolled through his phone.

"*NATO Gun King*, starring... Kazue Iinoue..."

"This movie's been out forever. Why's it still trending?"

He opened the comments. Uniformly: "Here for Kazue Iinoue!" "Supporting Sister Kazue!" "Admit it's trash—but who cares when *she's* the lead?"

Occasional critics could only call her acting stiff or "poker-faced." Beyond that? Truly nothing to fault.

"The only one to win Best Actor on pure visuals—and still this iconic. Film history has no equal."

"Hmph. Kazue Iinoue probably scorns your 'Best Actor' anyway."

"------"

Leng Shuang rarely watched videos—only comments.

"Kazue Iinoue..."

After a pause, he clicked play.

Her acting *was* weak. But with looks and figure that flawless? Who watched for the plot?

Yeah. He was exactly that kind of guy.

Two hours later, phone set aside, eyes closed.

Scenes crafted to highlight Kazue's beauty flashed behind his lids.

"Movies max out filters and beauty modes. No way she looks *that* perfect IRL."

He mused: heavy editing was standard. Real-life Kazue was likely just well-proportioned—not cinematic fantasy.

*Ding! You dummy!*

His phone chimed—a "Special Care" alert. Only two contacts had it: Yu Mo and Lin Mo.

"Leng Shuang! Check my TikTok! HOLY—3M views! Everyone's arguing LOL! Watch NOW!"

A cheerful voice message burst out.

He remembered: Yu Mo posted their group photo. But blissful time with Lin Mo made him forget.

"On it."

He replied, opened TikTok, navigated to friends.

Truth was, Leng Shuang disliked TikTok. Everything felt fake—everyone "millionaire," "Ivy League," "porcelain skin, perfect legs..."

Too exaggerated.

"Hey fam! My friend says he's 'just average-looking.' Judge for yourselves!"

He tapped in. A seconds-long clip: 3M views, floods of likes and dislikes.

Over-the-top BGM made him frown. *So* TikTok.

"WHOAH! 'Average'? Then every TikTok guy's a monster!"

"...Can't even argue."

"Photoshopped! A guy this ethereal *and* tall? Impossible!"

"Street has zero hot guys. Videos? All edited."

"Hehe~ I saw him! Sakura First High! So fairy-like, almost taller than me... I even followed to smell his scent~ [Blushing]"

"FUJOSHI SPOTTED! CALL POLICE!"

"------"

Top comment: "He's just average."

Tens of thousands liked *and* disliked it.

"Big bro says 'average'? Show *your* face then~"

"Waaah! Little ethereal boy calling others ugly? Your profile's a 180-pound fatty. Absurd~ [Heart]"

"Makeup + filters = pretty. IRL? Hmph."

"Without edits? Totally average."

"'Average'? Then why not say TikTok = all millionaires?"

"------"

Below: full-blown gender flame war. No wonder the chaos.

Leng Shuang scrolled once more and closed TikTok.

"So? Realize how unreal you look? Posted that—guys jealous, girls think you're CGI."

"Uh... hahaha."

He sent a goofy emoji, cheeks warm.

Picking up a mirror, he truly looked.

He'd thought he stood out only because handsome guys were rare.

But Lin Mo's fervent attention + this online storm... he finally understood:

His looks weren't *relatively* special.

They were *uniquely* in a league of their own. No comparison needed.

---

Meanwhile, in Sakura City's upscale district...

A girl with sakura-pink hair lowered her phone. TikTok displayed Yu Mo's exact post.

"Leng Shuang..."

In a spacious room, Nikawa Yuriko lay staring blankly at the ceiling, mind adrift.

In just over a month, her vibrant glow had faded.

Pink hair tangled. Her fox-like eyes—once sparkling with charm—now dull with weariness. Dark circles whispered sleepless nights.

*Haa...*

She lit a cigarette. Smoke curled upward... carrying her back.

To that day: Leng Shuang, cheeks flushed with shy youth, stepping onto the rising Ferris wheel with her best friend, Lin Mo.

A sharp ache pierced her chest. Color flickered back into her eyes.

"Why... *why* can't I forget you?!"

Her lips trembled. Ash fell onto her pink hair—she didn't brush it off.

Since seeing them together, her world turned gray.

She'd believed he liked her too. Only to learn it was all her fantasy.

Now? She felt like a clown.

Three years of secret love. A future husband she'd already chosen in her heart... loving her best friend instead.

The betrayal. The hollow pain. It haunted her daily.

"I hid here to forget... Why do you still haunt me? Cruel man... If you don't want me, just vanish."

She stared at his photo—gaze tangled with hurt.

*How?* Looks, figure, status—she surpassed Lin Mo. Yet *he* chose *her*.

The tighter she gripped the memory, the deeper the ache. Her eyes darkened, shadowed.

As if buried resentment was twisting into something dark... slowly consuming her.

"Yuriko? What's wrong? Talk to Dad."

The door opened. A dignified man entered—age softened his features, but bone structure hinted at youthful handsomeness.

"Dad."

Yuriko hesitated, stubbed the cigarette, turned off the AC, pulled the curtains.

"I thought post-exams relaxation... but this?" Her father's eyes swept snack wrappers, ash-stained sheets. "This isn't rest."

"Dad... I'm just in a mood. Please don't." She turned away.

"A *mood* for over a month? This is despair!" He stepped closer, voice earnest. "You're the Nikawa heir. An adult. Time to learn the company. How can you inherit like this?"

"I..." Words failed her.

"Tell Dad. You have everything..." His expression shifted. "Is it... love?"

As the privileged heir, only heartbreak could wound her this deeply. Her silence confirmed it.

"Don't bottle it. It'll break you. What would I do if you broke?" He sat before her, worry and sorrow in his eyes.

"Dad... I wanted to confess to him. But I saw him... with my best friend."

Her voice cracked. This thorn was buried deep.

Three years of silent devotion—shattered. Every day, the sting remained.

Her father fell quiet. A flicker of old memory crossed his eyes.

"How long did you love him?"

After a breath:

"Three years. All through high school."

Her father’s brow furrowed slightly. He let out a sigh. “Ah… Three years. When feelings run this deep, it’s truly painful if you can’t let go. But…”

Hearing the pause in his voice, Yuriko lifted her head and met his gentle gaze—eyes brimming with the quiet regret of memories.

“Yuriko, I’ll tell you something. Truth is… I didn’t like your mother at first either.”

“Dad?! What do you mean?”

“Shh~”

He raised a finger to his lips, then gently ruffled her hair. “Yuriko, if you *truly*, *truly* like him… work hard to take over your mother’s company. When the time comes, confess—and be bold about it.”

“But… Dad, he’s my best friend’s boyfriend. If I do that…”

“Yuriko!”

His voice rose just a little. “Listen: feelings aren’t only nurtured slowly—you can *seize* them.”

Seize them…

Confusion flickered in Yuriko’s eyes.

“Yes—*seize* them! Feelings have no chains. If you want him, go take him! You owe no one an apology. Don’t carry guilt. If you want it—do it boldly!”

“Do it boldly…”

Yuriko echoed the words. A shadow stirred in her gaze, spreading like wildfire, reshaping her from within.

“Dad… I think I understand.”

She nodded, as if a veil had lifted.

Seeing that long-absent light return to her eyes, her father smiled. “Now go tidy your room, take a shower. Tomorrow, you start learning your mother’s work. I know my daughter will shine.”

“Mm!”

After he left, Yuriko clenched her fists tightly.

Feelings… can be seized.