Five Days Before Something Stupid Happens

Chapter 1 – The Morning That Shouldn’t Exist

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.