Chapter 8

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Chuya’s return to school was a bit disheveled.
He had been skeptical at first; after all, he had never heard of a school holding classes at night.
From his previous investigations, he knew that almost every school had something akin to the "seven great urban legends of the campus," many of which involved someone forgetting something and having to return after dark.
In the pitch-black, empty school buildings, eerie things would happen—like the piano in the music room playing by itself or the skeleton in the infirmary mysteriously changing.
He had his suspicions about that so-called "homeroom teacher’s call."
He wondered if it was one of those supernatural phone calls in horror stories, where later when you ask the person, they say, "I never called you."
If it really was some scary trick, he thought he could just crush it all with his gravity ability.
He reasoned quietly to himself that this might be one of those "appropriate situations" for using his power.
A little understanding dawned on him.
With a faint joy in his language skills, Chuya returned to the school at night.
Before him stood the brightly lit school building.
Every classroom was flickering with light; from the outside, the building looked like a cube propped up by countless white grids, dispelling much of the night’s darkness.
“...”
For a brief moment, Chuya was stunned.
He had never seen so many lights shining at once.
From his past experience, lights at night meant more than just brightness—they signified danger. A light in the dark would attract enemies. Not only would shallow organizations like "Sheep" be drawn in, even the port’s established mafia wouldn’t allow the glass of the five buildings to reveal the indoor lighting so plainly.
Chuya stared at the brightly lit building, momentarily doubting his own eyes.
It was no wonder he thought this way—though the building was lit everywhere, it was so quiet that no sound could be heard, as if the place were a ghostly scene devoid of people.
If Sui Zhengxuan knew what he was thinking, she’d quietly whisper:
“Because it’s Civilization and Discipline Regulation Month.”
This spectacle didn’t last long. As the bell announcing the end of class echoed throughout the campus, the school building seemed to come alive in an instant, bursting into noisy commotion within seconds.
Students began trickling out from the first floor.
Chuya passed by them with a strange feeling and made his way to the floor where his classroom was.
The feeling was novel.
So many classrooms lit up, so many seats in each room, but he knew one seat was his.
That sensation stayed with him until he reached the classroom door.
Dazai Osamu and Sui Zhengxuan were both there.
“Chuya... *pfft*,” Dazai Osamu barely held back his laughter after locking eyes with him, then turned and buried his head on the desk, his shoulders trembling—one could easily imagine how hard he was laughing.
Sui Zhengxuan was silent; she just glanced at Dazai and immediately turned her attention back to Chuya Nakahara.
Her expression was calm, too calm for a sixteen-year-old high school girl.
Chuya felt her expression was oddly familiar, then recalled that whenever he and Dazai went on missions, the logistics chief who tracked battle losses always looked at him like that.
Alive, but looking as if he wished he were dead.
At that moment, Chuya was sure he had been outplayed, and also certain Dazai had done it on purpose.
Because just after school that afternoon, out of camaraderie, he had kindly asked Dazai if he wanted to walk back together.
Dazai waved him off, saying he needed to stay a little longer and that they could meet later.
Though their relationship was strained, Dazai had been reliable during missions, so Chuya hadn’t thought much and left.
... Why hadn’t he suspected anything then?
Chuya quickly chastised himself, but even if he took ten percent of the blame for carelessness, Dazai had to bear ninety percent.
He gritted his teeth at Dazai, when suddenly someone coughed.
“...”
Sui Zhengxuan pulled out a chair and said in a soft but quick voice, “Nakahara-san, please sit down.”
Her tone was a little tense, which struck Chuya as unusual.
Furrowing his brow, he scanned the classroom and saw the homeroom teacher smiling at him from the podium.
Only then did Chuya realize that although it was break time and noisy outside, this classroom was incredibly quiet, as if it were an isolated, otherworldly space.
“Sit down.”
Sui repeated herself.
This time Chuya said nothing and obediently sat.
The homeroom teacher spent half the break emphasizing discipline and encouraged mutual help among students but didn’t mention Chuya skipping self-study (or maybe she knew it was pointless).
After the teacher left, with less than a minute before the next class bell, Sui tapped Chuya on the shoulder and said seriously,
“After the bell rings, no matter what happens, absolutely do not look up...?”
She immediately felt uneasy about how it sounded—like some rule from a horror story, as if something scary was about to happen.
After some tampering by that black big phone, who knew what Chuya had actually heard.
But Sui had no time to explain.
The bell rang. The homeroom teacher, who had never left the classroom door, stepped back inside, and the room instantly fell silent.
From noise to deathly quiet—this seamless shift happens a dozen times a day in a high school class.
Sui was used to it; she had been in school her whole life, but she worried about Chuya.
Because it was Civilization and Discipline Regulation Month.
Seven simple words that struck terror into every high school student.
In essence, it was a time-limited campaign focusing on strict discipline enforcement to raise students’ self-awareness and foster a good school atmosphere.
Specifically, it meant constant checks that uniforms met standards, no trash in bins, harsh penalties for being late, leaving early, or eating snacks in class, and so on.
This time, they added a new rule: “Zero Looking Up.”
This rule mainly applied during evening self-study sessions.
Some education official had creatively assumed that if students were focused enough during evening study, they wouldn’t look up no matter what happened outside.
If no one in the class looked up even once during a session, they achieved “Zero Looking Up.”
Sui thought this idea wasn’t too bad.
But to enforce it, they assigned people to peek at the classroom door every so often, deliberately making noises to see if anyone looked up. She found that utterly ridiculous.
Anyone sane would want to look to see what’s going on.
This rule was a bit inhumane, but as everyone knew, students adapted quickly, especially high schoolers.
Besides the initial curiosity, everyone gradually got used to it.
After all, it was always the same few teachers checking, and no one’s face would break out from a glance.
And the teachers didn’t stay at school at night pretending to be corridor ghosts, peeping into classrooms for fun.
—Rumor had it they didn’t get extra pay for this either.
All in all, it was a miserable endeavor for everyone.
But the principal was always like this: the fervor would flare up then die down, and everyone waited for him to forget about it after a few days.
The newly transferred Dazai Osamu didn’t understand but respected and adapted, though it was a struggle for him.
Sui noticed then that Dazai overreacted a bit.
Though he disguised it well, his body’s instinctive reactions were hard to fake.
Sui guessed that, considering the news reports about foreign citizens suffering, maybe his original home wasn’t very safe.

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However, she never expected Chuya Nakahara’s reaction to be even stronger than Dazai’s.
Before the grade director even reached the glass, Chuya stood up!
Immediately, the whole class looked up; the look-up rate soared from zero to one hundred, with everyone glancing twice, unsure whether to watch Chuya or the grade director’s thunderous face, causing a commotion.
Sui Zhengxuan: “...”
The grade director said nothing, looked repeatedly at Chuya’s seat, then scowled and walked away.
Long Wan glanced sympathetically at her and said, “It’s over, the school heartthrob just got a mark from Mr. Yan.”
Sui: “... Why tell me?”
Long Wan: “Because he wouldn’t understand if I told him.”
Sui: “...”
She felt she was bearing too much.
The grade director went first, followed by the discipline committee member.
At the end of the second self-study session, mere seconds after the bell, the discipline committee member arrived.
She relayed the grade director’s emphasis on discipline and said since it was the first offense, only a symbolic 0.01 points were deducted, advising Chuya to adapt quickly, cherish his time, and study hard.
All familiar words to Sui.
But after saying this, she didn’t leave and instead reached out to Chuya:
“You brought your phone, right? Phones aren’t allowed at school. Mr. Yan said to take it to him first, and you can get it back after evening study.”
“...” Hearing the voice from the translator, Chuya’s gaze shifted suspiciously, and he replied,
“I don’t... have a phone.”
This excuse usually worked; as long as it was well hidden and not found, the discipline office had no proof even if suspicious.
Besides, if teachers weren’t present, students usually let each other off.
More puzzling to Sui was that Chuya had only been at school for one class session; as his deskmate, she had never seen him take out a phone. How did others know?
The discipline committee member answered immediately.
“Heartthrob, nobody wants this to happen," she said, "but this time I really can’t help. Mr. Yan found it directly; you have no defense.”
Sui: “...?”
“Isn’t this it?”
Long Wan, sitting in front, pulled out her phone and showed Sui the Bluetooth search page with “Chuya Nakahara’s iPhone” displayed.
Sui was speechless.
This was a bit too much.
“Thanks for cooperating. Next time, remember to rename your phone.”
The discipline committee member left with Chuya’s phone.
Two more self-study sessions passed, with three teachers checking for looking-up violations. By the time evening study ended at 10 p.m., Sui thought Chuya might want to go home.
Not the rented apartment in the complex, but the one across the sea.
Hesitating, she called out to him: “Hey, you know you have to be at school by 6:30 tomorrow morning, right?”
Chuya stopped and looked back at her:
“...?”
Though silent, Sui read his meaning and nodded:
“Yes, I know it’s already 10 p.m., but tomorrow is 6:30 arrival. ‘Arrival’... never mind, just come with me tomorrow morning, okay?”
The translator babbled her words. Chuya nodded, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Then 6:15 at the door tomorrow. Don’t be late. If you’re late, I’m not waiting.”
Chuya nodded seriously and said, “Okay... I understand.”
Sui found it fascinating—though the same person, his stilted Chinese and native speech gave very different impressions.
She left the classroom, walked a bit, then came back to say:
“Nakahara-san, your haircut doesn’t need to be cut; hiding it inside your clothes is fine.”
She demonstrated with her nonexistent long hair how to tuck a small braid into a collar.
She felt guilty doing this.
She thought herself weak, acting so eager just because of his good looks.
If it were someone else, even living across the hall, she’d at most knock on their door in the morning, never suggest walking together.
Waiting for people is inefficient; she’d rather sleep more.
But faced with such handsomeness, she broke her own rule.
She reasoned it was understandable to glance more at such a handsome deskmate.
While thinking this, she nervously glanced around, fearing Long Wan would appear and call her out, “Last time we went for water, why weren’t you so helpful?”
Thank heavens, Long Wan had already left.
Sui felt a little relieved.
*
Having accepted Sui’s invitation, Chuya felt more at ease but also guilty.
His original purpose here was not pure; it was to obtain something from Sui. Moving opposite her apartment and transferring into her class were all means to that end.
Yet Sui warmly helped him integrate and had even helped him greatly in Yokohama.
Theoretically, she should know nothing about his identity or abilities; her kindness was likely genuine.
This made Chuya feel a twinge of guilt.
He had long sensed that his peers here were unbelievably pure.
Compared to Dazai, who was extraordinarily cunning, these students were unlike any he’d met before.
Like smudges on a blank sheet of paper, he felt shame.
This feeling quietly grew inside him, and he was so lost in thought he didn’t hear Sui calling his name.
“Can you hear me?”
The girl waved her hand in front of his eyes. Chuya snapped out of it, ready to apologize, but she shook her head and repeated herself slowly, mixing Chinese, Japanese, and English in a childlike but earnest manner.
She asked, “Among the nine subjects in the monthly exam, do you have a specialty?”
Chuya was confused: “What difference does that make?”
She stared at him for a few seconds, as if not expecting that question, then said disappointedly,
“It makes a big difference! If you can get first in any subject, or better yet, first in the whole grade, forget about bringing your phone, even if you play with your phone in class, the teacher can pretend not to see.”
Chuya had rushed back and left his team of translators behind, still in Yokohama deciphering Sui’s mysterious language test.
The machine translation was obviously not very intuitive. After listening to the mechanical voice, he asked uncertainly, “What’s ‘to succeed’?”
“It’s ‘to succeed,’ like getting first place, to be number one, understand?”
She explained a bit, then sighed helplessly and whispered, “It’s okay if you don’t understand; you’re so handsome I’ll spoil you...”
She lowered her voice, speaking quickly as if the translator wouldn’t catch it.
In fact, the real-time translator’s hardware was excellent, capturing an unusually wide range of speech, despite poor software.
Chuya understood but pretended not to.
Even he knew reacting to such blatant words would make things awkward.

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So he feigned ignorance, though his ears burned quietly. Luckily, Sui was ahead and didn’t notice.
Unintended confessions were more trustworthy than direct statements.
After they said goodbye and went home, Chuya rested briefly and then remembered his suddenly appearing brother.
Yes, the so-called “Assassin King” Weilun, who planned to kill his friends, claimed to be his brother and said no one could understand their loneliness, blah blah...
Usually, Chuya might have listened or even argued, but he had just returned to Yokohama and was still recovering; he felt overwhelmed by verbose, cryptic ramblings.
He didn’t take it in or understand what “Weilun” was saying.
He only recalled that after Weilun’s long speech, he sneered and said,
“First, just by looking at hair and eye color, the odds of us being real brothers are low. You know recessive and dominant genes? Mendel? He was a pea grower...”
—Stop!
Before recalling more irritating arguments, Chuya stopped his thoughts.
He composed himself and contacted his friends still in Yokohama. After Weilun’s attack, they were prepared and mostly in survival mode.
Though Weilun was powerful, scattered survival gave them a chance.
Moreover, Weilun’s goal wasn’t to kill.
According to Weilun, those people wanted to use Chuya, and he was “cutting the ropes that bound you one by one,” “giving you freedom,” “this is brotherly love.”
That was insane.
Chuya felt communication was impossible.
Now that he had left Yokohama, customs restrictions made it hard for Weilun to follow, and others potentially affected were prepared.
He heard Weilun disappeared from Yokohama days ago.
It would be best if he gave up, but it seemed unlikely...
Chuya rubbed his brow, forced himself awake, renamed his phone, and handled some Yokohama matters online until dawn.
He remembered the 6:15 a.m. meeting but didn’t pay it much mind.
Though early, he could still wake up; he’d rest later.
The next morning, Sui knocked on his door at 6:10, and they left together at 6:15.
That day, Chuya attended the full two morning reading sessions and four regular classes. By the end of the morning reading, he yawned, vaguely understanding why so many people rested their heads on desks.
He worried Dazai would see and tease him again.
But glancing sideways, he was surprised to find Dazai also closing his eyes, resting.
Chuya was dumbfounded, wondering if the school had some magical power.
After two days of classes, he understood—it was just a survival adaptation.
Anyone who followed a 6:30 a.m. to 10 p.m. schedule for long would crave sleep intensely, even Dazai Osamu.
Honestly, Chuya was torn between facing Weilun in Yokohama or continuing school here—both seemed equally painful.
Even robots need to shut down and recharge.
And... wasn’t today Saturday? Why did Sui knock on his door at six in the morning? Even ten minutes early?
“I know you’re tired, but don’t get sleepy yet,” she said quickly as soon as he opened the door. “Sorry I forgot to tell you yesterday, but you have to get dressed and wash up now. We have to go to school today.”
Chuya, planning to catch some extra sleep, was stunned and managed to say three syllables:
“Saturday...?”
“What’s wrong with Saturday? We have school on Saturday too,” Sui said coldly and ruthlessly. “Hurry up and get ready; we leave in fifteen minutes.”
In those few words, Chuya watched her finish combing her hair and put on her watch with one hand.
With her eyes closed.
Worried she might bump into the door, he went out to steady her. She was completely unaware, didn’t say thanks, and closed the door.
She seemed not fully awake.
Fifteen minutes later, Sui knocked again on time. Chuya hurriedly got ready and sat in the classroom before dawn.
The homeroom teacher was already standing at the podium, watching everyone enter.
Sui took out a book and started reading, probably not even knowing what she was reading.
Chuya also took out a book—English.
After days of study, he found English was the subject he understood best, followed by physics and chemistry, which had fewer Chinese characters. Subjects like Chinese and politics were like reading an alien language, with “de” being the most recognized character.
He read silently, and sneaked a glance to find Dazai’s book was also English.
Dazai caught his eye, glanced at his book, paused for two seconds, and gave a fake smile.
The meaning of that smile was... “You finally noticed.”
Chuya flipped the English book back and forth twice; it was brand new, with no notes or secret messages inside.
What had he noticed? The book?
He tapped the spine on the desk; nothing happened.
Sui didn’t react to his strange behavior but was glanced at by the teacher at the podium.
Chuya quickly reopened the book.
Saturday classes were half-day; after noon, everyone went home.
By dismissal, Sui was mostly awake and reminded Chuya that they needed to return to school again in the afternoon, urging him not to forget.
Chuya didn’t understand why they sacrificed a whole day, but Sui said it was to study every day and keep the learning momentum.
Chuya: “...”
Seeing his silence, Sui comforted him: “It’s okay. After next week’s monthly exams, we get the Qingming Festival holiday.”
She paused, then brought up the topic from days before:
“If you’re good at English, try to get first place. Doing well in other subjects helps too.”
Chuya wasn’t here for college entrance exams and declined:
“Thanks, but I won’t...”
Mid-sentence, he suddenly remembered Dazai’s morning behavior.
Could it be that Dazai was...
Sui’s next words confirmed his suspicion.
“Don’t want to? I think it’s pretty useful.”
She looked around, lowered her voice, and whispered, “I heard Dazai’s grades are excellent, so the dean turns a blind eye. Everyone says Dazai is a top student recruited from abroad... No offense, but are you really from the same place?”
At this point, Chuya understood everything.
He understood perfectly!
Good exam results meant no haircut, allowed to bring phones.
Dazai’s Chinese was as shaky as his, and their strong subjects overlapped, so Dazai secretly studied English and biology to beat him in the monthly exam!
That explained why only Chuya was suspended and required a medical certificate, but Dazai was not.
With less than a week to the monthly exam, Chuya resolved to compete with Dazai for the top spot.