After school ended, the campus buzzed with news.
"Did you hear? There's going to be a school-wide martial arts showcase next month!"
"They're letting students volunteer to spar in front of the whole school!"
Yan Xiyan didn't react. She merely walked to her locker, slowly and deliberately. Noise swelled around her like fog—students laughing, lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking against tile floors. And then—
"Hey. Transfer girl."
She turned slightly. Qiao Zeyan stood behind her again, arms casually resting in his pockets.
"I saw you again last night."
Xiyan's breath stilled. "…Excuse me?"
"I was out late. Thought I saw someone scaling the school's back wall. Hoodie. Black boots. Pretty sure it looked like you." His eyes searched hers, probing, testing.
She didn't blink. "You should get your eyes checked."
For a moment, neither of them moved. A standoff in the middle of a noisy hallway.
Then, as if bored, he shrugged. "Whatever. I just think it's weird. Someone that quiet, that obedient… doesn't twitch even when Mr. Han slams the chalkboard."
He leaned in closer. "People like you either break... or they're hiding sharp edges."
Yan Xiyan's gaze sharpened—just a flicker—and then returned to blank stillness. "And people like you talk too much."
Zeyan smiled slowly. "Touché."
That night, at her private training facility, she knelt before Sergeant Zhang with her arms outstretched, holding ten-kilo weights in each hand.
"Mind wandering again?" His voice cut the air like a whip.
"No, sir," she replied.
"You've made it this far. Don't let your emotions burn your discipline."
She clenched her jaw, sweat dripping down her temple. "Understood."
The next week, the martial arts club was doing a demonstration at the end of gym class. Students cheered, cheering on flashy kicks and flips.
The instructor, a former provincial champion, called for volunteers to spar.
To no one's surprise, Qiao Zeyan stepped forward. "I'll go."
Then he pointed, grinning. "Let's have our quiet sniper girl give it a try."
The whole class turned toward Yan Xiyan.
She froze.
No.
Too risky.
She opened her mouth to decline—but then saw the glint in his eyes.
He wasn't just teasing.
He was testing her.
"Alright," she said, removing her blazer and stepping barefoot onto the mat.
The instructor smiled. "Don't worry, we'll go easy. Just simple form, no real attacks."
Zeyan assumed a lazy stance, fists raised without tension. "Let's dance."
But the moment he lunged forward—
CRACK!
Xiyan moved.
She didn't think. She didn't hesitate.
She twisted, grabbed his wrist, flipped him over her shoulder, and pinned him before he could blink.
The gym fell dead silent.
Zeyan stared up at her, winded and stunned. His lips parted to speak—but nothing came out.
She let go and stepped back.
"I was trained… in self-defense," she said calmly, brushing dust from her skirt. "Reflex."
The instructor laughed nervously. "Incredible reaction time. You're full of surprises!"
The class erupted in applause, masking the crackle of alarm that now tingled beneath Zeyan's skin.
Yan Xiyan turned away, but her eyes were cold.
Too close.
She had revealed a fraction too much.
And from the corner of the gym, Qiao Zeyan sat up slowly—smiling to himself like a hunter who had finally caught scent of something interesting.