Chapter 4 – Almost Heroic, Mostly Idiotic

If Li Yichen had learned anything from the past three days, it was this:

Silence was dangerous.

The moment people were left alone with their imagination, they created entire dramas, complete with background music and emotional close-ups. And right now, the school had been very imaginative.

So when Yichen woke up the next morning, stared at the ceiling, and felt an unfamiliar sense of determination, he knew something was wrong.

“I’m ending it today,” he told himself.

The mirror reflected a boy with slightly messy hair, dark circles under his eyes, and the expression of someone about to make a poor life choice. Yichen pointed at his reflection.

“Be calm. Be mature. Be reasonable.”

His reflection did none of those things.

At school, the atmosphere felt… expectant.

Whispers followed him openly now. People no longer tried to hide it. Someone even asked, “So, what happened yesterday?” like they were discussing a show episode.

Minghao met him at the classroom door. “You feel it, right?”

“The tension?” Yichen asked.

“The audience,” Minghao corrected.

Yichen took his seat. Lin Xinyue arrived a moment later, placing her bag down quietly.

“They think something big will happen today,” she said.

Yichen nodded. “So will I.”

That was his mistake.

By lunchtime, Yichen had formed a plan.

Calling it a plan was generous. It was more like a vague idea wrapped in confidence.

“I’ll explain everything,” Yichen said, standing in the middle of the canteen with Minghao and Xinyue beside him. “Publicly.”

Minghao nearly dropped his spoon. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll clarify,” Yichen continued. “In front of everyone.”

Xinyue studied his face. “You understand that if this goes wrong, it will go very wrong.”

Yichen swallowed. “Yes.”

He did not, in fact, understand.

Word spread fast.

Too fast.

By the end of lunch, half the grade had gathered near the open courtyard—the same area with the old stairwell, because of course it was.

Yichen stood near the steps, heart pounding. The sky above was clear today, mocking him.

Minghao leaned in. “You can still run.”

“I cannot,” Yichen replied. “If I run now, they’ll say I ran because of guilt.”

“That’s accurate.”

Yichen ignored him.

Students formed a loose circle, pretending not to stare while staring very hard. Someone whispered, “This is it.”

Xinyue stood beside Yichen, calm as ever.

“You don’t owe them anything,” she said quietly.

“I know,” Yichen replied. “But I owe myself peace.”

He took a step forward.

The courtyard fell silent.

Yichen cleared his throat.

“Everyone,” he began, his voice louder than he expected. “I need to say something.”

So far, so good.

“There’s been a misunderstanding this week,” he continued. “About me. And about Lin Xinyue.”

People leaned in.

“We did not meet secretly,” Yichen said. “Nothing happened. I was just waiting for the rain to stop.”

There was a pause.

Then someone clapped.

Just one person.

It was the worst possible response.

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

“That’s it?”

“That explanation feels incomplete.”

“He looks nervous.”

Yichen felt his confidence slip.

He opened his mouth again, desperate to fix it.

“And also—” he said, then stopped.

Also what?

His mind went blank.

The silence stretched.

Xinyue glanced at him.

The crowd waited.

And in that terrible, quiet moment, Yichen made a decision.

He turned to Xinyue and bowed slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Gasps exploded around them.

Minghao’s soul left his body.

“I’m sorry,” Yichen continued, panic driving his words. “That you got dragged into this. It wasn’t your fault.”

The crowd did not hear that part.

They heard sorry.

They heard bow.

They saw eye contact.

Someone whispered, “So it’s true.”

Yichen realized it instantly.

This was not heroic.

This was catastrophic.

Xinyue stared at him for a second, then sighed.

She stepped forward.

“No,” she said clearly. “It’s not true.”

The crowd froze.

“I did not confess,” she continued. “He did not reject me. This story exists because people wanted it to.”

Her voice was calm, steady, impossible to twist.

“Please stop,” she finished.

Silence fell again.

This time, it stayed.

One by one, people looked away. Some laughed awkwardly. Others suddenly remembered urgent places to be.

Within minutes, the courtyard emptied.

Yichen stood there, frozen.

“…Did it work?” Minghao asked carefully.

Xinyue exhaled. “Mostly.”

Yichen let out a long breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“I’m never doing that again,” he said.

Minghao clapped him on the back. “Almost heroic.”

“Mostly idiotic,” Yichen replied.

As the bell rang, Yichen felt lighter than he had all week.

For the first time, the whispers stopped.

But somewhere deep inside, he knew—

The universe hadn’t finished with him yet.

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