Chapter 18

Page 1/3

Long Wan let out a doubtful, "Huh?" and asked, "Is there even fraud at our school? The only thing I've seen is people walking their dogs on the playground."

The class monitor beside her chimed in, "Did he tell you that for senior-year internships you need to buy a neutral pen?"

Du Zhengxuan didn’t mention nearly getting scammed abroad; he simply pulled a small wallet from his backpack and proudly declared, "I didn’t bring my wallet out, didn’t get scammed a single cent!"

High school life was dull and uneventful; even trivial matters could quickly become the talk of the entire grade, let alone something serious like a classmate falling victim to a scam.

Everyone showed deep respect. Long Wan kept praising him, and even the class monitor gave a thumbs-up in admiration.

Du Zhengxuan’s seat was near the door, so students from other classes curious about the commotion peeked inside, making the classroom suddenly packed with people.

Nakahara Chuuya had just stood up from his seat and vaguely saw Du Zhengxuan return, but still couldn’t quite grasp what was going on.

He had seen such lively scenes before, but only at victory banquets.

...There was no way Du Zhengxuan had destroyed the enemy’s arsenal during half an evening self-study, right?

Nakahara quickly shook his head, banishing from his mind the wildly different images that clashed with the school’s atmosphere.

He asked his desk mate, who was enthusiastically clapping, “What happened?”

The boy replied joyfully, “I don’t know.”

Nakahara: “...”

Don’t you know why you’re clapping?

He scanned around and finally locked eyes with Dazai Osamu standing outside the door.

Dazai was dressed exactly as he had been in Yokohama. Nakahara wondered how he managed to keep that style despite the school’s strict dress code. Yet seeing him stuck outside the classroom, blocked by the crowd, looking quite embarrassed, unexpectedly stirred a bit of sympathy in Nakahara.

He recalled his own first day after transferring—the self-introduction he had carefully prepared, concise and distinctive, written by someone he entrusted with the task.

He had memorized it thoroughly, intending to capture everyone’s attention right away, only to face a classroom full of students lying face down on their desks.

His heart sank halfway then. He had hoped the self-introduction would salvage the situation, but the homeroom teacher’s words, “A new student has transferred to the class,” were immediately followed by, “Time is tight and the tasks are heavy, so we won’t introduce him for now.”

No one in the class heard that announcement, which gave rise to the rumor that he had entered the classroom by helicopter through the window on his first day.

To this day, Nakahara still didn’t understand how that story spread.

He furrowed his brow and met Dazai’s gaze again. Before his faint camaraderie could grow, he saw Dazai glance around, realize he couldn’t push through the crowd, and promptly turn to leave.

Nakahara thought: ...

He wanted to leave too, but he couldn’t get out.

He looked at the overcrowded classroom and hallway, then glanced at the clock nearing 10 o’clock.

In the streets of Yokohama, this time would only mean a few more people at fight spots. But here, it was full of students just finishing evening self-study.

As he glanced at the clock for a few seconds and then turned to find Du Zhengxuan, who had been in the middle of the crowd, now missing, the feeling of being out of place hit him hard.

“Chuuya, aren’t you leaving?” his desk mate asked, tidying a huge hiking backpack and stuffing several sheets of densely written notes into the outside pocket.

The bag was enormous; anyone seeing it for the first time would find it hard to believe it belonged to a student.

And indeed it was not, Nakahara thought.

The bag was bought with pooled money from other boarding students, intended to let his desk mate—a legendary day student—bring meals.

Four days into the week, Nakahara had already been nearly overwhelmed three mornings by the aromas of steamed rice rolls, sticky rice chicken, rice balls, and fried dough sticks packed inside the bag. Even the documents he was handling were infused with the food’s scent.

He didn’t even dare to send packages back home, afraid the dogs in Yokohama would chase the delivery man.

Page 2/3

The reason the breakfasts only crowded him for three days was because today his desk mate had brought too many servings of fried rice, causing the backpack to puff out steam.

The homeroom teacher called his desk mate out and kindly told him not to bring food delivery tomorrow.

At that moment, Nakahara finally understood why his desk mate was called the “Delivery Guy.”

Seeing him still organizing the bag, Nakahara couldn’t help but ask, “You’re going to...”

“Deliver, deliver,” his desk mate nodded, then asked, “Want to deliver together?”

Nakahara suspected he misheard, “...What?”

“This breakfast delivery. Want to join?” His desk mate stretched out a hand mysteriously: “Delivering breakfast to one person for a week, that’s the count.”

Nakahara rubbed the report in his hand through his glove—a confidential document about the black market for gemstones in Yokohama, printed with special dye.

The marked profits were an unbelievably large figure, with so many zeros they made people’s eyes cross.

His desk mate, a peer also involved in black market dealings, delivering rice balls, pancakes, and sticky rice chicken, earned in a week...

Nakahara looked at the five fingers, guessing: “Fifty... ten bucks?”

“Exactly fifty cents!” his desk mate answered eagerly, then fell into inexplicable excitement: “Making fifty cents a week, two dollars a month. When I make ten dollars from one person, then I can take summer vacation! Haha!”

Nakahara: “...”

He wanted to ask what the point was but didn’t know how to phrase it, so he let it go.

He left his overly enthusiastic delivery friend, spent five minutes pushing through the crowd to exit the teaching building, then another fifteen to leave the school grounds.

Finally free of the crush, Nakahara sighed deeply.

This place was not for him, he thought.

...

By comparison, Du Zhengxuan was excellent at managing time and space. She could park her electric scooter neatly in one go between other vehicles early in the morning and swiftly break through the crowded hallway.

When the crowd started to swell, she slipped away in a flash.

Long Wan headed back to the dorm to grab a faucet to wash her hair; the class monitor stayed behind to roll up and lock the classroom door, while she went home to play on her phone—all of them with bright futures ahead.

Having finished the homework she had planned to take home, she happily took a detour to buy some grilled cold noodles, planning to eat a late-night snack while scrolling on her phone.

As for suddenly traveling abroad, she had no intention of explaining.

Lack of sleep diminished one’s motivation, and the thought of giving a long-winded explanation to prove she’d actually gone abroad made Du Zhengxuan’s head ache.

She was too lazy to even open her mouth. Besides, revealing this would probably get her sent to the hospital for a check-up, where the doctors would most likely say, “The child is under too much academic stress.”

...She’d just muddle through and deal with being transferred out when classes resumed.

Du Zhengxuan rode her electric scooter as usual, carrying the grilled cold noodles home. Halfway there, a night breeze suddenly reminded her of something:

Before her time travel, hadn’t she left Nakahara Chuuya at the research building?

...?

A chill ran through Du Zhengxuan’s body, and she almost turned back to the school.

Reason stopped her. She checked the time—almost half an hour after school had ended—and quickly hurried home to make a video call to Nakahara Chuuya.

Thank heavens, the phone barely rang before a louder voice echoed down the hallway, accompanied by quickening footsteps.

Du Zhengxuan hung up and waited at the door a moment before seeing Nakahara Chuuya coming up from downstairs.

“You scared me! I almost thought you were still waiting at the research building,” she sighed with relief and apologized, “Sorry, something came up, and I forgot to tell you.”

Page 3/3

Nakahara Chuuya shook his head. “It’s okay. As long as you’re fine.”

“...” Du Zhengxuan felt her respect for Nakahara skyrocket and asked guiltily, “It didn’t make you miss class, did it?”

Nakahara shook his head again. “I ran into the grade teacher; he told me to go back.”

“Grade teacher? You mean the dean of students,” Du Zhengxuan thought for a moment, then asked curiously, “Are you sure it was the grade dean? The guy who’s a bit bald on top?”

“That’s him.”

“That’s strange...”

Du Zhengxuan frowned, pulled out her phone, swiped a couple of times, and stared at the screen for a while. Then she asked again, “Are you sure it was the grade dean?”

“...What’s wrong?”

Repeated questioning was obviously suspicious.

“It’s just weird. Look.”

Du Zhengxuan showed Nakahara her phone, displaying the school’s most used social app—not the chat window, but a kind of leaderboard.

“It’s like this: the grade dean’s home to school is about a thousand steps. He usually walks around eight thousand steps a day. Before evening self-study, we check the step count leaderboard. If he’s already walked over eight thousand steps, it means he’s gone home and won’t come to evening study. If it’s still seven thousand, then be careful.”

Du Zhengxuan usually didn’t bring her phone to school; Long Wan logged in to check instead.

Besides the grade dean, she also checked the homeroom teacher’s step count and reported it to the whole class.

“The grade dean should have gone home early today...” Du Zhengxuan flipped through the step count screen several times, almost burning a hole in it, then asked Nakahara’s opinion.

Nakahara Chuuya: “...”

He stood there watching.

Sometimes he felt that the number of times he was speechless here might equal the total times he’d ever been speechless in his life.

There were so many things to complain about, yet he didn’t know where to start.

No wonder even the ever-mischievous Dazai Osamu was silent here.

Professional tracking technology was being used on matters like this.

At 2 a.m., after working overtime, Nakahara lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. He couldn’t make sense of this, so he took out his own phone and tried to pull up the step count screen as Du Zhengxuan had taught him.

Then something even more chilling happened.

Staring at the screen, he saw Dazai Osamu topping the leaderboard with seven thousand steps, silently watching the time.

4:32 a.m.

Four thirty-two in the morning.

It was truly spooky.

Nakahara scrolled the leaderboard over and over, confirming the majority were still asleep with zero steps, then kept his eyes on Dazai Osamu’s steadily increasing count.

It wasn’t until after 5 a.m. that Dazai’s steps finally stopped.

Less than an hour before wake-up time, Nakahara covered his face with his arm, sighed wearily, and felt as if he were surrounded by demons.

He had thought Dazai was just as out of place as himself, but the man had fully adapted.

The outside world was too complicated. He wanted to go back to Yokohama.