Chapter 1
"Honestly, our school isn’t anything like the one you came from. We don’t have the best rates for admissions, we lag behind in graduation statistics, and our overall ranking just doesn’t compare…" "However, there is one thing. Our school is absolutely exceptional," he said with a wink. "It's the atmosphere." "I don't mean the competitive spirit around studying. I mean the vibe among students. Everyone here is super friendly; we never have any fights." William Stark's head was still clouded with confusion. He hadn't been paying attention until he heard the last part, “never have any fights.” Still half-asleep, he mumbled, “Never have any fights? That sounds so boring…” "Exactly! Never any fights, isn’t that just so—" “Boring!” The word got stuck in Mr. Thorne's throat as he abruptly stopped. “Samuel Lark, what did you just say?” "What I meant was, never having fights...” Just as he started to repeat it, William suddenly realized something was off. He lifted his eyelids slowly to see Mr. Thorne, who was sitting behind the desk, staring at him with a mix of confusion and surprise. "Wait, what did you just call me?" “Samuel Lark,” Mr. Thorne blinked, astonished. “Do you have a problem with that?” For William, the name rang in his ears like a strange echo. He had assumed he would seamlessly blend into this new life after… Well, it wasn’t exactly a pleasant way to start over. The first day back to school had already become a shock, not only because he had to retake his senior year but also due to the large guy—a total heartthrob—who kept trailing him like a lost puppy. Nathaniel Shaw was his name, the school's "Ice Prince" as they called him. But whether he was truly as icy as his title suggested, William couldn’t tell. What he did know was that Nathaniel was relentless. On the first day they met, Nathaniel had reached out and touched his hand, casually rolling up his pants leg in an act that had William exploding with indignation, "What’s wrong with you?!" The days unfolded, with Nathaniel playfully nudging him every chance he got until William's heart raced uncontrollably. He overheard murmurs about Nathaniel harboring feelings for someone—someone described as a “bright moonlight.” Hearing that made William’s heart sink into a pit of sour lemons. In a fit of rage and jealousy, William found himself late one night revving up his motorcycle, desperate to release the build-up of chaotic energy. Just as he swung his leg over the seat, Nathaniel swooped in from behind, grabbing him and lifting him effortlessly. "Little One, with all this energy, you want someone to take a joyride with you?" Days later, during gym class, he witnessed Tobias Bright—the ever-composed Ice Prince—laughing like a delinquent while playfully slamming William against the ping pong table. Tobias flashed an unmistakable grin, "C'mon, call me ‘Good Brother’ and I'll let you go." In an instant, the entire school was buzzing about how the icy prince’s moonlight was none other than the transfer student, Samuel Lark, right there before them. The first day of school had barely begun, yet William felt a whirlwind of emotions—a mix of confusion, jealousy, and an undeniable attraction. This new life was going to be quite the ride, and just maybe, it wasn't going to be as boring as everyone claimed. **，，。**
Chapter 2
William Stark took a moment to observe the man before him. With a balding Mediterranean look and a round belly stretching his dark gray shirt, the man resembled a plump little sparrow, especially with that bewildered expression in his eyes. "Uh, Mist—Mistress Sparrow, you’ve got the wrong guy. I'm not Samuel Lark," William chuckled to himself at the absurdity of his own thoughts. Master Thorne opened his mouth but couldn't find the words. His mind raced with all the late-night readings he’d crammed in over the last week on adolescent psychology. The textbooks had mentioned that people under prolonged oppression could develop a second personality, often vastly different from their primary self—one that might closely mirror the traits of the person oppressing them. After a moment of hesitation, Master Thorne cautiously probed, “If you know my name, how could you mistake me for someone else?” William Stark furrowed his brow, “I don’t even know your name.” Things were getting complicated. The books also suggested that whether two personalities share memories from before their divergence depends on individual circumstances. At this moment, though, Master Thorne felt lost. Instead, he opted for a safer question, “Can you tell me your name, then?” William raised an eyebrow, pulled out a stick of mint gum from his pocket, plopped it into his mouth, chewed a couple of times, and even blew a big bubble before replying, “William Stark.” “Uh, okay…good. William Stark. That's a nice name,” Master Thorne said as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. William stared at him as if he were losing his mind, then nodded slowly, “I guess it’s all good. Anyway, I’m leaving now.” With that, he turned and headed toward the door without waiting for Master Thorne's response. "Hey," just as he stepped out, Master Thorne called after him, “Uh, William Stark, if you happen to see Samuel Lark, could you let him know I’d like to speak with him?” William barely registered it, assuming it was yet another troublemaker who’d gotten into a fight and run off. He gave a couple of absent nods as acknowledgment. But just as he reached for the doorknob, Master Thorne’s voice boomed once more, “William Stark, our school has a fantastic environment! We never get into fights here!” William didn't comprehend why Master Thorne was so hung up on that point. He felt too impatient to delve into it, so he skipped a glance back and yanked the door open. In the next moment, he collided with someone. “Damn it!” William exploded, catching only a brief glimpse of the person before cursing, “In a hurry to deliver dinner to the Grim Reaper, huh?” “That’s rich coming from you,” the stranger shot back with equal venom. “Did you have to fight a dog for your food this morning?” “Flora Ember,” William's retort was cut short as he heard the name; he fell silent, instinctively turning to the voice behind him.
Chapter 3
It was a tall guy, a step behind the one who had just bumped into him. His hair was a little tousled, and his sharp, angular features seemed almost severe. Whether it was from the pain or something else, his brows were slightly furrowed, a thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, and his skin had an unnaturally pale hue. When their eyes met, there was a moment of surprised recognition. The boy's eyes widened slightly, but it was brief; he quickly resumed his usual indifferent expression. William Stark paused, deliberately avoiding looking at the boy's face and shifting his gaze down to the arm being supported by someone else. It was painfully obvious that both of his arms were injured, and the wounds were severe. Blood oozed through his school uniform, creating a large, vivid stain. Even more bizarre was how symmetrical the cuts appeared on either side. William Stark had grown up in the thick of brawls and knew those kinds of injuries all too well; a glance was enough to tell him they were inflicted by a knife, probably from a rather sharp utility blade. Suddenly, he recalled something Mistress Sparrow had said just two minutes prior, with an emphasis that lingered in his mind. With a smirk, he turned to her and quipped, "Mistress Sparrow, I get it now. What you meant by ‘never fighting’ is really ‘never throwing a punch if I can use a knife instead.’” “That’s not how it is,” groaned Master Thorne inwardly, having pieced together what had likely occurred. He feared provoking this student with ‘tendencies’ and replied, “You misunderstood. Here’s the deal—head to The Classroom, and I'll explain everything personally later.” “Why should I explain anything to him?” the boy who had just collided with William protested, his tone icy. “No need for an explanation,” William cut in, clearly annoyed, “It’s not my problem if he’s hurt.” “Don't be like that—” The words never fully left the boy’s mouth, as Master Thorne slammed his palm on the desk, his voice firm, “Flora Ember, can you please prioritize the situation here?” Flora Ember fell silent, refraining from further confrontation with William as she helped guide the injured boy past him into the building. William ignored them, muttering, “Dad's waiting,” before slamming the door behind him. What the hell was going on here? William was perplexed by the sudden wave of irritation washing over him as he descended the stairs. He fished in his pockets, hoping for something to ease his agitation, but all he found was a stick of peppermint gum. “Damn it.” He cursed quietly, pulling his hand from his pocket and running it through his hair. An absent glance out the window made him freeze. Outside stood a robust ginkgo tree, but it was completely bare—no leaves whatsoever. A loud ringing filled his head as realization struck him. This wasn’t his school; it wasn’t even his city. William grew up in the South, where ginkgo trees stayed lush and green year-round. How could it be stripped bare like this? But that wasn’t even the most critical part—the most jarring fact was that he was supposed to be dead. Having downed an entire bottle of sleeping pills was no exaggeration, and slitting his wrist in his own bathtub was an indisputable reality. The pain had been real; the blood had been real… So, what the hell was happening now? He hurriedly reached for his right wrist, panic setting in.
Chapter 4
William Stark took a deep breath and scanned his reflection in the mirror. The surface was smooth, showing no signs of any previous struggles. An absurd yet all-too-fitting thought crossed his mind; he forced himself to stay calm as he hurriedly asked a passing classmate for directions to the restroom and dashed off. The restroom was at the end of the hall, and William sprinted there, barely breaking a sweat. He pushed the door open and rushed to the mirror. The face staring back was that of a young man, vaguely familiar yet distinct. It bore a striking resemblance to his own—perhaps an 80% match—but the other version had rounder eyes, a smaller mouth, and a more well-groomed fringe. Overall, he looked much more put together. As he pondered the implications of this realization, William found himself oddly calm. He even scoffed a bit; if he had traversed time and space, couldn't he have come back with a more imposing visage? He thought enviously of his neighbor Nathaniel Shaw. Wouldn't it have been great to look like him? But thinking of Nathaniel only led him back to the earlier encounter with that boy, which suddenly felt seared in his memory. At the time, he had only caught a brief glimpse, but now the details were crystalline—the zipper of his school uniform pulled up all the way, the collar expertly standing like a miniature mandarin collar that had been meticulously folded down. William could vividly picture the crisp lines of the collar. It was remarkable how someone could appear impeccably sharp, even with so many bloodstains on their shirt. He chuckled to himself, wondering if Nathaniel had looked just as polished during his high school days. “Come on in, come on in! I’ve got something cool for you!” The voice broke William’s train of thought. Startled, he quickly stepped into the nearest restroom stall, locking the door behind him without hesitation. Leaning against the wall, he regained his composure after three seconds, cursing himself for being so paranoid. He hadn’t done anything wrong, yet he felt as if he’d been caught in a scandalous act. However, venturing out now would be even worse, so he hesitated for just a moment before deciding to linger inside until they left. Outside, the two voices continued obliviously, perhaps not even noticing he was there. “My brother brought this back from R Country a couple of days ago—it's giant blueberry bubblegum,” one voice said cheerfully. “What flavor?” came the cool response from the other. “Blueberry, blueberry,” Flora Ember replied with a smirk. “Who doesn’t know your brother is a snob and only smokes blueberry-flavored stuff?” Nathaniel chuckled as he accepted the bubblegum and lit it, feeling the smooth surface under his teeth. He bit down hard, and a rich wave of blueberry mint burst up his nose. “How’s it?” Flora asked, puffing on her own cigarette with a grin. “Good stuff, right?” “Good stuff,” Nathaniel replied, standing up straight against the wall, his tone relaxed as he breathed out a cloud of smoke. “One puff feels like heaven, two puffs feel like a buzz, three puffs send you to paradise…”
Chapter 5
“Come on, Tobias Bright, can't you go one day without causing a ruckus?” Flora Ember said, playfully kicking him in the leg. “Hey, watch it!” Nathaniel Shaw replied, dodging her foot. “I'm a patient here.” The moment he said it, the teasing look on Flora’s face vanished. She bit her lip and asked, “Have you even seen a doctor recently?” “Honestly,” Nathaniel said, shrugging off her concern, “you know as well as I do that seeing a doctor won’t change much for me.” “Then at least try to be careful so you don’t get hurt,” Flora said, taking a drag from her cigarette and pinching it between her fingers. “Last time you just scratched your arm. Next time you could end up breaking your leg playing basketball. You really want to break the other one too?” “Stop cursing me, okay?” Nathaniel flicked ash off his cigarette. “Just give it a rest.” “Fine…” Flora scoffed, but her playful banter was interrupted by a loud clattering sound. William Stark walked out of the nearby lounge, frowning at the scene of the two slumped against the wall, the cigarette smoke curling around them. While Flora was her usual self, Nathaniel, whom she had just called Tobias Bright, looked notably tidied up. His hair was neatly styled, and his arm was wrapped delicately, as if he’d been made to look presentable, even with the symmetrical bandage tied in a neat bow. William's head felt scrambled, absorbing the scattered snippets of their earlier conversation mixed with the lingering scent of blueberry smoke in the air. It felt like something was scratching around in his brain, fighting to surface but caught in a haze. Perhaps he just really needed a smoke. The moment the two noticed William, they paused. Flora was the first to react, driving the end of her cigarette into the wall and whistling loudly. “Well, look who’s here! Little One’s got some guts to wait for me, huh?” William Stark was in no mood for a fight. The itch for a smoke was driving him wild; his hands shook slightly as he tried to soften his tone. “Uh, could you possibly spare me a smoke?” Maybe it was the desperation in his voice that caught Flora's attention. She looked amused as she dangled a cigarette in front of him like a tease, a smile playing on her lips. “Do you want it or not?” William nodded eagerly. “Only if you call me ‘Dad’.” Before he could even get out a full “D,” Nathaniel shot Flora a light kick. “Just give it to him.” Flora paused, glancing at Nathaniel, whose expression was stoic, though a glint of warning flashed in his eyes. Flora’s smirk widened, and she handed the cigarette to William without another word. “Thanks,” he said, accepting the cigarette but hesitating to take a puff, eyeing Flora with uncertainty. After a moment under her fixed gaze, Flora’s grin broadened. “So, no lighter, huh?” William remained silent. Looking at her face, he could tell her teasing wouldn’t be kind. Sure enough, Flora's next words dripped with mischief. “You know what it means to borrow a light from someone, right?”
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