Chapter 3

Chuya Nakahara sat back down in the classroom, his eyes cautiously scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. He was not the only one left behind; three others remained in the room.

When the music from the loudspeaker shifted from a piano piece to a cadence resembling a bugle call, one person took a water cup and left the classroom, while the other two gathered to chat quietly.

Chuya couldn’t understand why.

They seemed accustomed to the bugle sounds, suggesting daily military-style training, yet none bore the demeanor of soldiers. Each appeared weary and listless...

Yes, something was definitely odd.

The country they were in—Hua Kingdom—had always been known as a powerful and mysterious nation. Rumors spoke of a barrier sealing it off from the outside world, allowing passage only to those granted official permission who could traverse the fog and reach this place.

Chuya had no way of verifying these stories, but their flight had indeed passed through a foggy region.

Due to the kingdom’s secrecy, they had been unable to gather much information beforehand. All entry and transfer procedures were handled strictly through official channels.

Their boss had paid local contacts to smooth the process, enabling them to pose as high school students pursuing studies.

Speaking of which, when they selected the prefecture—or province, as it was called here—for enrollment, the official handling their paperwork had behaved strangely.

She repeatedly confirmed their destination and, upon realizing it was indeed that province, fell silent.

Chuya wanted to ask about the environment but the official pondered deeply before finally uttering:

“This is difficult to assess. I wish you success.”

What did that mean???

Having only completed five days of rapid Chinese lessons, Chuya was bewildered. Instinctively, he felt something was amiss, but from all appearances, the province seemed fine—populous and economically prosperous.

There were almost no international students, and some schools even had to meet an “internationalization” criterion, so admission slots were readily available.

Yet everything else felt strange.

Take their homeroom teacher, for instance. After merely greeting the principal in the office, he never glanced at Chuya again, instead chasing after the principal, repeatedly asking:

“His grades don’t count toward our class average, right?”

“His grades don’t count toward our class average, right?”

“His grades don’t count toward our class average, right? Principal, look at me and say something!”

Before coming to Yokohama, Chuya’s friends had told him through “gifts” that he had attended school before, but he had no memories of it. Even if he did, he likely wouldn’t grasp what “class average” meant.

Not only he was confused— even the professional team the port mafia had prepared suffered from culture shock. With insufficient intelligence, they relied on mechanical analysis and could only offer crude translations, unable to adapt to local nuances.

Moreover, their entry permits registered their supernatural abilities, stating they could only use these powers “under appropriate circumstances.”

What exactly were these “appropriate circumstances”?

People here seemed to favor ambiguous expressions.

Chuya felt mystified. Although they had entered the country, it was as if they were still enveloped in the fog they had encountered earlier, leaving them utterly perplexed.

Lost in thought, he failed to notice when the bugle call ended.

The once empty school building quickly filled with students. Nearly two-thirds of the class had returned to the classroom.

Strangely, no one used the back door.

The classroom had two doors on the same side—front and back.

Du Zhengxuan’s seat was in the last row near the door, backed by a row of lockers. Chuya sat right beside her.

Why was it that people had used the back door earlier, but now no one did?

Chuya tried to observe, but when he looked up, almost everyone in the class was quietly watching him. When he appeared to notice, they quickly averted their eyes, as if trying to hide something.

This made Chuya frown even more deeply.

Forget professional composure—these people lacked even the slightest subtlety, more innocent than children on Lebo Street.

As he puzzled over this, a voice came through his earpiece: the logistics support team, perhaps trying to make up for the silence during the first class, was now translating eagerly.

“Lord Nakahara, many are commenting on your appearance—your features, looks, figure... Many call you the big brother and the campus heartthrob.”

Chuya: “...”

Though no one else could hear, he felt a bit embarrassed.

Before the voice in his earpiece finished, it went on to translate the scene outside the classroom:

“The mission target is right outside the corridor, just beyond the wall. The target is praising her companion’s competence and asks her to come and... remove her pants... uh—”

The translator suddenly faltered, realizing the awkwardness of this translation, stammering several times before falling silent.

What use was this?!

Still outside, Chuya didn’t respond aloud but tapped his earpiece three times with his index finger—the prearranged signal to “stop external support.”

“Enough help, you lot.”

...

Du Zhengxuan was the one who removed her uniform pants in the corridor.

The school required full uniform during morning exercises, but high schoolers, caught in adolescence, cared about appearances. The uniform jacket was tolerable, but the sack-like pants were aesthetically unappealing; many wore them over their regular clothes before exercise and took them off immediately after.

Du Zhengxuan did the same.

Though occupying a strategic position as critical as the Malacca Strait, she had never felt ashamed to change pants in full view of passersby—it was perfectly natural.

Until Chuya transferred here. From the moment she pulled her pants back on, she wanted to find a place to take them off.

Though everyone in the high school was used to changing uniform pants openly, the thought of such a crude act in front of Chuya made her uneasy.

“‘Crude’?” Long Wan looked puzzled. “Don’t be so cultured. Didn’t everyone just take them off at their seat? Don’t chicken out. Just go for it—single file, just do it.”

Du Zhengxuan replied, “If you’re not scared, you try taking them off in front of Chuya.”

“Yeah, I’m not brave enough,” Long Wan said.

So the two of them leaned against the wall near the back door to remove their uniform pants.

Du Zhengxuan then returned to the classroom, put her uniform and down jacket in her locker, tidied the books on the windowsill, and went to refill her water cup.

After handling these trivial chores, the dreaded long break had less than ten minutes left.

“...” She poked the upright Long Wan sitting in front of her and asked casually, “Bathroom?”

Long Wan looked unusually out of sync today, surprised: “Huh? Again? Didn’t you just go after morning exercise?”

Du Zhengxuan had no reply, laughing nervously. “Haha, I forgot.”

Perhaps due to proximity, each time she spoke, the big old cellphone on Chuya’s desk would diligently ring once.

Caught red-handed, she didn’t know whether Chuya had noticed but obediently returned to her seat.

Usually, the long break flew by, but today it dragged like years.

Du Zhengxuan fidgeted in her seat, finally feeling awkward and stammering to Chuya:

“Sorry, I was a bit sleepy this morning... not fully awake.”

After the machine translation finished, he smiled and said, “It’s... okay.”

Du Zhengxuan felt a flutter of what might be called affection.

Slowing her speech, she changed the topic, then couldn’t resist asking:

“What made you want to study abroad here?”

Not exactly a conventional question.

“...”

Maybe after chatting a little, the distance between them lessened, and Chuya’s face showed a flicker of hesitation before he composed himself and said plainly:

“...For... you...”

Du Zhengxuan: “...?”

No way.

What?

She stood frozen.

She had hoped for a close relationship with the cosplay teacher, but not this kind of relationship... this was just too sudden.

She looked into those beautiful blue eyes, about to succumb to a crush, when a sudden thought struck her:

Wait—his eye color doesn’t conform, does it?

Bang bang—

Just as this eerie thought surfaced, there was a knock on the door behind her.

Turning around, she saw the class president standing there with a complicated expression.

The president scrutinized both her and Chuya several times before saying briefly to Chuya:

“The grade director wants to see you upstairs in his office.”

“...Okay,”

Chuya nodded calmly and stood to leave.

The president glanced once more at Du Zhengxuan and then left.

“What’s going on?” Long Wan asked eagerly as soon as they left. “Did you already know the school heartthrob? What were you talking about just now? I’m low-key shipping you two.”

Du Zhengxuan knew how to handle her gossiping friend. She stretched out her hand and said bluntly:

“Fine. When he comes back, I’ll tell him I want to start dating early. Will you give up your lucky movie ticket for us to build our relationship?”

“That’s not right,” Long Wan immediately protested seriously. “High schoolers shouldn’t date early. Just stay home and scroll on your phone—that’s way more cost-effective.”

Du Zhengxuan gave her a speechless look.

Long Wan, knowing she wasn’t serious, laughed and changed the subject:

“Seriously though, aren’t you coming with me to see that movie this weekend? The guy playing the vampire is really handsome. The film’s got a limited release, so tickets are hard to get.”

“Then you watch it twice and cover my share,” Du Zhengxuan replied.

Though they got along well most of the time, their tastes belonged to different circles. But when faced with mainstream culture, subculture fans naturally banded together.

Du Zhengxuan wasn’t much into live-action films; Long Wan knew that.

Their chat soon veered elsewhere, but Chuya never returned after being called away by the grade director.

--- End ---