“……”
Sakiharu Wen watched Li Zuhao as he changed his own bandages, feeling a pang of conscience she could hardly suppress.
Li Zuhao tossed the discarded bandages into the dustpan, then stood up to grab the broom and dustpan, silently leaving to continue sweeping.
Watching his retreating figure, Sakiharu’s mind began to imagine the plot of a fifty-episode emotional drama.
A poor soul, forced into such a miserable state by persecution.
How vile and shameless he once was, now how lonely he seemed.
Her blows might not even be a hair on his head compared to what he endured—perhaps his family’s decline was why enemies bullied him.
Yes!
It had to be that!
Just as Sakiharu was lost in these wild thoughts, she noticed a strange notebook left on the bench.
It must have been dropped by Li Zuhao, but he was already sweeping on the other side of the wooded path.
“Li Zuhao, you dropped something.”
Sakiharu picked up the notebook, finally having an excuse to catch up and return it.
But unable to resist, she flipped open the wicked notebook and glanced inside.
Her expression froze on the spot, utterly incredulous.
The next second, Li Zuhao suddenly teleported back, swiftly snatching the notebook from her hands.
“What is this?”
Sakiharu asked in shock.
“Nothing. It’s none of your business. Thank you.”
Li Zuhao turned away, stuffing the notebook back into his waist bag.
“This notebook…it has the name of the Student Council President written on it…”
Sakiharu pressed further.
“Please, don’t say any more. Forget what you saw, please.”
Li Zuhao’s voice dropped to a desperate whisper, his tone tense.
Sakiharu sucked in a cold breath.
His nervousness only confirmed her suspicions.
Besides, he was badly injured like this and still had to be sent by the Student Council to sweep the grounds?
There was definitely something fishy going on here!
It was almost certain now that the Student Council was persecuting him!
“Don’t do anything reckless. Don’t say anything reckless. I’m leaving.”
Li Zuhao hurriedly said as he limped away, disappearing from Sakiharu’s sight.
Only Sakiharu was left standing in the wind, disheveled, her face grim with anger, fists clenched tight, yet powerless.
She had once been too afraid to say anything when small pests slandered and spied on her.
Now, how could she dare defy the Student Council President, whose power rivaled his?
Those minor pests had only resorted to slander and harassment before—his actions had been so overt they were barely threatening.
But crossing President Lei was another matter entirely; the consequence was disappearance without a trace.
To be fair, when Li Zuhao claimed every beautiful girl was his girlfriend, everyone knew his target, which sometimes saved her a lot of trouble.
Now, her desk was nearly stuffed every day with love letters from strange men she didn’t recognize at all.
What era was this?
Still sending love letters?
Didn’t they know texting was a thing?
Though these unknown men didn’t even have her number.
Sakiharu hated men; she suffered from misogyny, triggered by that despicable Li Zuhao.
Yet now, somehow, she didn’t dislike Li Zuhao as much as before?
“How could that be? How could I forgive that little pest?”
Sakiharu grew more confused, clutching her chest, trying to steady her pounding heart.
The cold wind howled as a strange ghostly figure gradually materialized behind her.
It was a swordsman ghost clad in tattered armor.
His entire aura spoke of failure and loneliness, his expression full of regret, clutching a chipped, battered sword firmly.
But the cold wind ceased, and the forlorn swordsman ghost quickly vanished, as if it had been an illusion.
“Little pest…”
Yet the Sword Club Ace’s sense of justice remained unextinguished.
Meanwhile, just after turning a corner, Li Zuhao dropped the act.
The humble expression and timid movements instantly vanished, replaced by a triumphant smirk.
He hurried ahead, putting away the broom and dustpan in the supply room before school ended.
His plan and mission were complete; now he just waited for the right moment.
In the following days, Li Zuhao behaved himself, causing no trouble while secretly awaiting the fallout from the upcoming major incident.
He attended school as usual, and the only classmate who spoke to him was the delinquent hothead Kaixin Min.
Of course, most of their conversations were her sarcastically mocking him, but with less malice, and she no longer bullied him.
The transfer student from the countryside, Miya, silently observed him every day.
Since he officially cut ties with her that day, they hadn’t exchanged a single word.
This was intentional on Li Zuhao’s part—though they saw each other at school daily, he deliberately ignored her, pretending she didn’t exist.
To prevent this good girl from falling into the trap he had laid, he had to treat her coldly.
Every afternoon, he wandered around the Sword Club, sweeping the grounds.
The Sword Club sisters watched him closely, but he didn’t mind.
Better to be watched deliberately than to be left alone.
But if Ace Sakiharu Wen appeared nearby, Li Zuhao would immediately vanish, never daring to approach her.
Sakiharu longed to talk to Li Zuhao once more.
Yet since their last encounter on the wooded path, they had no further contact.
Though that wasn’t entirely true, since Sakiharu saw him sweeping outside the Sword Club almost every day—so close yet so far.
That’s exactly the push-and-pull feeling she craved, the elusive distance that made him hard to grasp.
Almost forgot—there was one more bad woman.
The mysterious Mommy who had been secretly staying in her house.
She played her own reverse push-and-pull game, quietly helping with housework and restocking supplies.
Originally, she had knocked Sakiharu unconscious to play a confinement game, but now she had become a hidden housekeeper, the one taking care of her.
But since the day they drove away Student Council Vice President Hao Tianhui, Li Zuhao hadn’t seen Mommy even once.
He was beginning to miss her.
Spending every day alone at home, calling for her with no response.
To this day, Li Zuhao still hadn’t found any clue about Mommy’s identity.
Truly mysterious.
A week passed like this.
On Monday, the female members of the Disciplinary Committee came again to Class 1-9 to question Kaixin Min.
“What exactly happened last time?”
“Did you see anything?”
“How did the President fall unconscious?”
Each one arrived with ill intent, their voices low and heavy.
“I don’t know. I don’t understand. I didn’t see anything.”
But this time, Kaixin Min lacked her usual toughness, scratching her head and feigning ignorance, avoiding direct confrontation with the Disciplinary Committee’s executive officers.