The pretty little follower gets targeted by the crazy guys at the elite academy

Li Ruo withdrew her gaze, turned around, and continued walking.

The gaze from behind felt glued to me, burning from my shoulder blades all the way down to my lower back.

She didn't turn around, her back was very straight, her steps were neither fast nor slow, and her milky white skirt swayed gently in the wind.

Zhou Si stood still, his hand still in the position of catching the ball.

"Zhou Si? Zhou Si!"

Lu Ran ran over, picked up the ball that had rolled far away, and twirled it twice on his fingertips:

"Who's that girl? Do you know her?"

Zhou Si withdrew his gaze, his tone indifferent: "I don't know him."

Lu Ran followed his gaze and glanced at Li Ruo's back.

The milky-white dress swayed briefly at the end of the tree-lined path, then turned a corner and disappeared.

"It's best if you don't know them."

He slammed the ball to the ground, caught it, and slammed it again.

"Women only slow down our speed when we're playing with knives and cars."

Zhou Si didn't respond.

He bent down, picked up the mineral water bottle from the ground, unscrewed the cap, and took a big gulp.

Water spilled from the corner of his mouth, trickling down his jawline and dripping onto his black jersey, blurring into a small dark patch.

Lu Ran dribbled the ball twice, jumped, and shot.

The ball bounced off the backboard and returned.

"Hold."

He ran over to retrieve the ball, and paused for a moment as he passed Zhou Si.

"but--"

"Um?"

"She's quite pretty."

Zhou Si paused for a moment while twisting the bottle cap, then threw the bottle to the side of the field. The bottle rolled twice and hit the foot of the fence with a hollow sound.

"I'm leaving," he said.

"Not playing anymore?"

"I'm not playing anymore."

Zhou Si bent down to pick up the black T-shirt draped over the fence, casually tossed it over his shoulder, and walked shirtless towards the edge of the court.

Sunlight fell on his back, the muscle lines undulating beneath his skin, like a mountain ridge warmed by the sun.

Lu Ran watched his retreating figure, then glanced in the direction where Li Ruo had disappeared, and slammed the ball to the ground.

"What good is being pretty?"

He said in a low voice, then patted the ball again: "It can't be eaten as food."

He tucked the ball between his waistband, bent down to pick up the water bottle from the ground, unscrewed it, and took a big gulp.

The water was lukewarm, but after being exposed to the sun all afternoon, it tasted like plastic.

He frowned, threw the bottle into the trash can, and chased after Zhou Si.

"Zhou Si! Wait for me!"

Li Ruo walked along the tree-lined path, with Xia Qinghe beside her, still muttering about what had happened on the basketball court earlier.

"You really have never practiced basketball? If my brother saw the way you toss the ball, he would go crazy! He's played basketball for ten years and he can't even throw the ball in that arc."

Li Ruo tucked a stray strand of hair that had been blown across her forehead behind her ear: "Perhaps... a special talent?"

Xia Qinghe was taken aback by her nonchalant attitude, then laughed.

"Li Ruo, do you know how infuriating you are to see this!"

"What does it look like?"

"It's that kind of person... who's actually really good, but acts like it's nothing special."

Li Ruo tilted her head and thought for a moment: "It's really nothing special."

Xia Qinghe: "..."

They walked past a white building with ivy climbing its exterior walls and arched windows adorned with European-style carvings.

A bronze plaque hangs above the door, engraved with four characters: St. Lia Art Building.

As Li Ruo passed by, her steps unconsciously slowed down.

She didn't know why she had to slow down.

That building had nothing to do with her.

She wasn't an art student; she couldn't draw, couldn't sculpt, and hadn't even studied sketching.

But her feet slowed down, as if something had gently tugged at them.

The innermost studio on the third floor of the art building.

The curtains were half-drawn, and sunlight squeezed in through the gaps, drawing a thin golden line on the floor.

The studio was large and empty, with paintings hanging on the walls.

One after another, densely packed, like a wall covered in graffiti.

A boy stood by the window of the art studio.

Very thin.

The outline of his thin shoulder blades jutted out from under his white T-shirt, like two closed blades.

His skin was very white, almost transparent, and you could see the bluish veins under his temples.

Her hair was very long, almost covering half of her face. On the half of her face that was exposed, the contours of her cheekbones were so sharp that they looked as if they had been carved with a knife.

He looked out the window.

I watched that milky-white figure pass by downstairs.

Watching her hair being blown by the wind, watching her skirt sway above her knees, watching her turn her head slightly to talk to the person next to her, a faint smile curving her lips.

His lips moved slightly.

"She's so beautiful."

The voice was very soft, as soft as a breath escaping from the throat.

He pulled his hand out of his pocket; his fingers were long, pale, and had distinct knuckles.

He raised his hand, put his index and middle fingers together, pressed them to his lips, and then gently pressed them against the windowpane.

The glass was cool, and the warmth of my fingertips left a small halo around it.

Then the corners of his lips slowly curved upwards.

The curve was shallow, but it carried a chilling, morbid quality.

-

The door to the student council president's office was pushed open without any knocking.

When Pei Qingrang walked in, sunlight was pouring in through the windows, illuminating the entire office.

He didn't look at the mahogany furniture, the photos of past presidents hanging on the wall, or the neatly trimmed asparagus fern on the coffee table.

He walked directly to the desk, placed his hands on the surface, leaned forward, and looked down at the person sitting in the chair.

"Don't touch that girl."

His voice wasn't loud, but every word sounded like it had been pulled out of ice water, chillingly cold.

The eyes behind the gold-rimmed glasses were expressionless.

But those who know him know that this expressionless face is more terrifying than any anger.

Guo Yiling leaned back in her chair, holding a fountain pen in her hand, the nib hovering above the document, hesitant to put it down.

He looked up at Pei Qingrang's face, which was as cold as if covered with frost.

Then he slowly turned his chair around and looked out the window.

From this angle, you can see the tree-lined path outside the basketball court on the other side.

The milky white skirt had just disappeared around the corner, and her chestnut brown hair shimmered in the sunlight like a fleeting ray of light.

Guo Yiling turned her gaze back to Pei Qingrang.

He smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes: "Why should I listen to you?"

The two of them just stared at each other in a stalemate.

The sound of students chatting and laughing drifted down the corridor, coming closer and then receding, like a thin veil covering the frozen air, unable to conceal the cold beneath.

Pei Qingrang slowly straightened up, took his hands off the table, and put them into his pockets.

He looked down at Guo Yiling for a few seconds, then turned and walked towards the door.

He took two steps and then stopped, without turning back: "Because I like the scent on her."

Guo Yiling: "..."

After Guo Yiling left, he looked down at the pen in his hand.

A drop of ink, bluish-black, clung to the nib, gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

He pressed the pen tip against the document and wrote one word:

黎。

Each stroke is meticulous and precise, as if it were carved in.

He finished writing, but didn't continue.

The pen tip hovered above that character, not falling for a long time.

Ink seeped from the pen tip, spreading a small patch of blue next to the word, like a flower blooming on the paper.

He stared at the flower for a long time, lost in deep thought.