Li Yichen believed mornings were invented by people who hated happiness.

The alarm on his phone rang at exactly 6:30 a.m., slicing through his sleep like an execution announcement. Without opening his eyes, Yichen swung his arm in the general direction of the sound and smacked the phone off the bed. The alarm continued ringing from the floor, louder and more smug than before.

“Stop,” Yichen muttered into his pillow. “We talked about this.”

The alarm did not care.

At 6:38 a.m., he finally reached down, found the phone, and turned it off with the heavy sigh of someone who had already lost the day. He checked the time with one eye open, confirmed that he was technically still alive, and closed his eyes again.

Five minutes, he promised himself.

Five minutes turned into a dream where he was late for school, tripped on the stairs, and everyone clapped.

At 7:15 a.m., reality intervened.

There was a knock on his door.

“Yichen,” his mother called, calm but sharp in the way only mothers could manage. “Are you awake?”

Silence.

“Li Yichen.”

Still nothing.

“Li. Yi. Chen.”

Yichen’s eyes snapped open. His spine straightened like he had been struck by lightning. He grabbed his phone and looked at the time.

7:42 a.m.

The world stopped.

“No,” Yichen whispered. Then louder, “No no no no no.”

He stared at the screen, hoping the numbers would change if he believed hard enough. They did not.

“This is sabotage,” he announced to the ceiling. “The alarm betrayed me. The bed trapped me. The blanket assisted.”

He jumped out of bed so fast he nearly tripped over his school bag, which had been sitting untouched in the corner for three days. His uniform was still half-wrinkled from yesterday because ironing required effort, and effort required motivation, which he did not possess before noon.

He brushed his teeth while hopping on one foot, rinsed his mouth without properly aiming, and grabbed the first pair of socks he could find. One was black. The other was dark blue. Close enough.

In the kitchen, his mother watched him shove a piece of bread into the toaster like he was feeding a dangerous animal.

“You’re late,” she said.

“I’m strategically delayed,” Yichen replied, grabbing the toast before it was fully done. One side was warm. The other side was a disappointment.

His mother sighed the sigh of someone who had given up years ago. “Eat properly.”

“I am eating,” Yichen said, already halfway out the door. “Just… emotionally.”

By the time he reached school, his breathing was uneven, his tie was crooked, and his soul had not yet arrived. The school gate loomed ahead of him like a judgmental monument.

He checked the time again. 8:03 a.m.

Barely acceptable.

As Yichen walked through the gate, something felt off.

It wasn’t obvious at first. No alarms. No teachers yelling. No sudden announcements declaring his failure as a human being. But then he noticed it.

People were looking at him.

Not the normal kind of looking, like noticing someone exists. This was the other kind. The kind that came with whispers, sudden pauses, and badly hidden curiosity.

Two juniors stopped talking the moment he passed them. One of them covered his mouth like he had almost said something illegal. Near the notice board, a group of girls leaned closer together and giggled.

Yichen slowed down.

“…Did I forget to wear pants?” he muttered, glancing down.

No. Pants were present. Slightly wrinkled, but present.

He continued walking, his steps slower now, more cautious. As he passed another group, he clearly heard someone say, “That’s him.”

Yichen stopped.

“That’s… who?” he whispered to the air.

The air did not answer.

His first instinct was denial. Maybe they were talking about someone else. Someone cooler. Someone taller. Someone with a life.

But as he reached the corridor near his classroom, the feeling intensified. Conversations dropped when he got close. Eyes followed him like he was a suspicious character in a drama.

This was bad.

Very bad.

He reached his classroom door just in time to hear a familiar voice.

“Bro, I swear I didn’t think he’d actually do it.”

That voice belonged to Zhou Minghao.

Yichen froze mid-step, one hand still on the door handle.

Do what?

He stood there for two seconds, replaying the sentence in his head like it might suddenly explain itself. It didn’t.

He pushed the door open.

The classroom went slightly quieter. Not silent. Just… wrong.

Zhou Minghao was sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. He noticed Yichen immediately and froze. His eyes widened. His mouth opened.

“Ah,” Minghao said. “You’re here.”

Yichen stared at him. “Where else would I be?”

Around them, people pretended very badly to focus on their books. Someone dropped a pen. Someone else coughed for no reason.

Yichen walked to his seat slowly, his bag feeling heavier with each step. He sat down and leaned closer to Minghao.

“What,” he said quietly, “did you mean by actually do it?”

Minghao blinked. “Do what?”

Yichen narrowed his eyes. “Don’t do that. You said it like there was a ‘thing.’ I need to know the thing.”

Minghao hesitated. That alone was terrifying.

“Uh,” he said. “Maybe you should hear it from someone else.”

Yichen felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Minghao.”

“Okay, okay,” Minghao said quickly. “But don’t shoot the messenger.”

“I don’t even have a gun.”

“Emotionally, you do.”

Before Yichen could respond, a girl from the front row turned around. Her name was Chen Rui. She adjusted her glasses and looked at Yichen with open curiosity.

“So,” she said, “is it true?”

Yichen stiffened. “Is what true?”

The class leaned in slightly.

Chen Rui smiled. “That you—”

“Good morning, class.”

Their homeroom teacher walked in, cutting her sentence in half. The moment was gone, but the tension stayed.

Yichen sat through attendance like he was waiting for a verdict. Every time someone whispered, he flinched. Every time someone glanced his way, his paranoia grew.

What rumor existed about him?

He mentally reviewed the last few days.

He hadn’t confessed to anyone.

He hadn’t fought anyone.

He hadn’t skipped school.

He hadn’t posted anything stupid online.

…Probably.

When the bell finally rang, Yichen grabbed Minghao by the sleeve.

“You’re explaining,” he said.

Minghao scratched the back of his head. “Okay, but promise you won’t overreact.”

“I am calm,” Yichen replied.

His left eye twitched.

Minghao leaned closer and lowered his voice. “So… apparently, people think you did something… bold.”

Yichen swallowed. “Define bold.”

Minghao smiled weakly. “The kind of bold that ruins reputations.”

Yichen leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

Somewhere deep inside, he felt it.

This week was not going to be normal.

And something stupid was definitely on its way.

---

Li Yichen learned two important truths during the first break.

First, rumors did not need evidence.

Second, rumors did not need logic.

They only needed boredom.

He sat at his desk, staring at the blackboard like answers might magically appear there. They didn’t. Behind him, the classroom buzzed with whispers that stopped the moment he turned his head.

This was psychological warfare.

“Okay,” Yichen said quietly, leaning toward Zhou Minghao. “You’re telling me everything. Slowly. Clearly. Preferably without ruining my life.”

Minghao looked around like he was about to confess to a crime. “So… this started yesterday.”

“Of course it did,” Yichen muttered. “Everything bad starts when I’m not present.”

“Someone saw you near the old stairwell after school,” Minghao continued.

Yichen frowned. “I pass that stairwell every day.”

“Yeah, but you were… standing there.”

Yichen blinked. “I stand in many places. That’s how legs work.”

Minghao ignored him. “And then someone else said you were waiting for someone.”

Yichen opened his mouth, then paused. “…I was waiting.”

Minghao’s eyes widened. “You were?”

“For the rain to stop,” Yichen snapped. “It was pouring.”

“That detail did not make it into the rumor,” Minghao said carefully.

Yichen rubbed his temples. “So people saw me standing near stairs. And?”

“And then,” Minghao said, lowering his voice dramatically, “someone said you looked nervous.”

“I always look nervous,” Yichen said. “That’s my face.”

“And then,” Minghao continued, clearly enjoying this, “someone said you were holding something.”

Yichen froze. “Holding what?”

“No one knows.”

“That’s worse.”

“And then,” Minghao finished, “someone said you left… disappointed.”

Yichen stared at him.

The classroom felt very quiet.

“…That’s it?” Yichen asked. “That’s the rumor?”

Minghao nodded. “People filled in the rest themselves.”

Yichen leaned back in his chair, letting out a hollow laugh. “So let me guess. I was secretly meeting someone. I was rejected. I’m heartbroken. And now I’m mysterious.”

Minghao winced. “Actually…”

Yichen closed his eyes. “Actually what.”

“They think you rejected someone.”

Yichen’s eyes flew open. “Who?”

Minghao hesitated. “That’s the thing. Everyone has a different answer.”

Yichen felt his soul leave his body again.

During the next class, the rumor evolved.

By lunchtime, it had a plot.

According to the version Yichen overheard near the canteen, he had met someone secretly, turned them down coldly, and walked away without looking back. According to another version, he had done it “politely but cruelly,” which Yichen didn’t even know was possible.

One boy claimed Yichen had said, “I don’t have time for feelings.”

Yichen nearly choked on his water.

“I literally don’t have time for homework,” he whispered.

As he walked through the corridor with Minghao, people openly stared now. Some looked impressed. Some looked disappointed. One junior gave him a thumbs-up.

“Why are you encouraging this?” Yichen muttered.

Minghao shrugged. “Respect, bro.”

“I do not want this kind of respect.”

They hadn’t even reached the canteen when Chen Rui appeared in front of them like she had been summoned by the rumor itself.

“Li Yichen,” she said, arms crossed. “Can I ask you something?”

Yichen braced himself. “Legally?”

Chen Rui ignored that. “Is it true?”

He sighed. “Is what true?”

She leaned closer. “That you turned someone down yesterday.”

Yichen looked at Minghao. Minghao looked at the ceiling.

“No,” Yichen said flatly. “It is not true.”

Chen Rui blinked. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“…Not even a little?”

“No.”

Chen Rui looked almost disappointed. “Oh.”

She walked away.

Yichen watched her go. “Why did she sound sad about that.”

Minghao patted his shoulder. “Your legend collapsed for her.”

The worst part was that teachers started noticing.

In the afternoon, their literature teacher paused mid-lecture and looked directly at Yichen.

“Li Yichen,” she said. “Please focus.”

Yichen straightened. “I am focused.”

“Good,” she said. “Because distractions can… spread.”

The class snickered.

Yichen slowly lowered his head onto his desk.

This was not happening.

By the end of the day, the rumor had reached peak absurdity.

Someone claimed he had been seen walking away in the rain “like a tragic male lead.” Someone else insisted he had smiled sadly.

“I don’t smile sadly,” Yichen muttered while packing his bag. “I smile awkwardly.”

Minghao leaned over. “You know what the funniest part is?”

“There is no funny part.”

“No one knows who the other person is.”

Yichen paused. “So this is all about… nothing.”

“Yes,” Minghao said cheerfully. “Pure imagination.”

Yichen slung his bag over his shoulder and stood up. “That’s it. I’m ending this.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” Yichen admitted. “But I refuse to be the main character in a story I didn’t agree to.”

Fate, unfortunately, heard him.

As he stepped out of the classroom, he nearly collided with someone.

“Sorry—” he began.

He stopped.

The person standing in front of him was Lin Xinyue.

She was quiet. Smart. Known for keeping to herself. Also known for being involved in exactly zero rumors.

She looked at him calmly.

“Li Yichen,” she said. “People are talking.”

He exhaled slowly. “I know.”

Her gaze was steady. Too steady.

“They think it was me,” she added.

The hallway seemed to tilt.

“…What.”

Lin Xinyue nodded. “Apparently, I was the one you met yesterday.”

Yichen stared at her in horror. “I didn’t even see you yesterday.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why this is impressive.”

Behind them, someone gasped.

Yichen turned his head slightly and saw three students frozen mid-walk, eyes shining with interest.

The rumor had found a face.

Yichen straightened his posture.

This was no longer a misunderstanding.

This was war.

And he was losing badly.

---

Li Yichen did not panic.

This was important to establish.

His heart might have been racing, his thoughts colliding into each other like badly programmed NPCs, and his palms slightly sweaty—but internally, he was very calm.

Externally, however, he looked like someone who had just been informed that his name was trending for all the wrong reasons.

“You’re saying,” Yichen said slowly, staring at Lin Xinyue, “that people think you were the mysterious person.”

“Yes,” Xinyue replied.

“And that I—” he paused, choosing his words carefully, “—dramatically rejected you.”

“Yes.”

“In the rain.”

“Yes.”

“With emotional depth.”

Xinyue tilted her head. “Apparently.”

Yichen closed his eyes.

Behind them, the hallway had developed a strange atmosphere. Students were pretending to walk past while very obviously listening. One boy nearly walked into a wall.

Zhou Minghao appeared beside Yichen like a summoned creature. “Oh,” he said, eyes lighting up. “So this is the lead actress.”

“This is not a drama,” Yichen snapped.

Xinyue glanced at Minghao. “You must be Zhou Minghao.”

Minghao straightened. “Famous already?”

“For spreading rumors,” she said calmly.

Minghao coughed. “Allegedly.”

Yichen rubbed his face. “Okay. Okay. This has escalated, but it’s still fixable.”

Minghao raised an eyebrow. “Is it, though?”

“Yes,” Yichen said, forcing confidence into his voice. “We just need to clarify things.”

Xinyue looked at him. “Clarify how?”

Yichen opened his mouth.

Then he paused.

Then he realized something horrifying.

He had absolutely no idea.

Lunch break arrived like an unskippable cutscene.

The canteen was louder than usual, buzzing with energy that had nothing to do with food. Yichen felt like every step he took was being recorded by invisible cameras.

“This is like walking through enemy territory,” he muttered.

Minghao grinned. “You’re popular.”

“I’m infamous.”

They found a table near the corner. Xinyue sat across from Yichen, calm as ever, eating like she wasn’t accidentally part of the biggest rumor of the week.

Yichen stared at his tray. He had lost his appetite somewhere between panic and social collapse.

“Okay,” he said finally. “Let’s think logically.”

Minghao leaned back. “That’s a bad sign already.”

“We tell people the truth,” Yichen continued. “We never met. Nothing happened. End of story.”

Xinyue nodded. “That would be reasonable.”

Minghao winced. “Which is why it won’t work.”

Yichen frowned. “Why not?”

“Because,” Minghao said, lowering his voice, “you denying it sounds exactly like someone trying to hide it.”

Yichen slumped. “I hate society.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

Then Minghao snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it.”

Yichen and Xinyue both looked at him.

“We create a new story,” Minghao said confidently. “One so boring that it kills the rumor.”

Yichen was suspicious. “Go on.”

“You say you were waiting near the stairs for me,” Minghao continued. “Because I borrowed your charger.”

Yichen blinked. “That’s it?”

“Yes. No emotions. No rain. No rejection. Just technology problems.”

Xinyue considered it. “That… is boring.”

Yichen felt a spark of hope. “It might actually work.”

They put the plan into action immediately.

During the next class, Yichen casually mentioned—very casually—that he had been waiting near the stairwell because Minghao was late returning his charger.

He repeated it twice. Once loudly enough for others to hear.

Minghao nodded along dramatically.

For a brief, beautiful moment, Yichen believed it was over.

Then someone from the back said, “Wow. He’s covering for her.”

Another voice added, “That’s actually kind of sweet.”

The spark died instantly.

By the end of the class, the rumor had mutated again.

Now, according to the latest version, Yichen and Xinyue were secretly protecting each other.

“This is worse,” Yichen said, his head on the desk.

Xinyue sipped water calmly. “On the bright side, they think you’re considerate.”

“I would rather be boring.”

The final disaster arrived in the form of their homeroom teacher.

“Li Yichen,” she said, looking over her glasses. “Please come to the staff room after school.”

The class went silent.

Minghao mouthed, Good luck.

Yichen stood up like a condemned man.

The staff room smelled like chalk and judgment.

His teacher gestured for him to sit. “There are… discussions.”

Yichen nodded. “I’ve noticed.”

She studied him for a long moment. “Is there anything you’d like to say?”

This was it.

The moment.

Yichen straightened his back. “Yes, miss. There is a misunderstanding.”

She waited.

“I did not meet anyone secretly,” he continued. “I did not reject anyone. I was waiting for the rain to stop.”

There was a pause.

“…Rain?” she repeated.

“Yes.”

She sighed. “Li Yichen, next time, avoid standing near stairwells looking conflicted.”

Yichen stared. “That’s… advice?”

“Yes,” she said. “You may go.”

He left the staff room feeling oddly victorious and deeply confused.

Outside, Minghao and Xinyue waited.

“Well?” Minghao asked.

“I survived,” Yichen said. “Barely.”

As they walked home, the sky darkened. Clouds gathered. A familiar heaviness filled the air.

Yichen stopped walking.

“No,” he said.

Minghao squinted upward. “Is it going to—”

Rain began to fall.

Xinyue looked at Yichen.

Yichen looked at the stairs ahead.

Somewhere in the universe, fate was laughing.

“This,” Yichen said quietly, “is not over.”

---