I'll give you a city, and you'll protect me for life.

     Two minutes to go before being late, the girl hurriedly walked into the teaching building with her textbooks. The suddenness of the situation at noon had caught her off guard, causing her to miss her planned nap time. Coupled with her recent late nights and extreme sleep deprivation, she hadn't gotten up yet.

    "Ugh," her head throbbed terribly. "Hey, have you heard there's a new student in Class 20 of Senior High?" "Huh? What?" The girl paused for a few seconds, then looked up to find her deskmate speaking to her.

    "I mean, a new student has joined the school," the deskmate patiently repeated.

    "Oh, that. It's normal for schools to have new students, what's the big deal? Which school doesn't have new students?" "But..." "But what?" "

    But I heard this person is a bit different, seems to have changed schools several times."

    "Heh, maybe he didn't adapt to those schools." "Maybe." Just then, the teacher walked into the classroom. "Today we'll study the third lecture on the research of school phobia." After that, the sound of textbooks being turned could be heard in the classroom. What's so interesting about school phobia? the girl thought to herself.

    "You, the student sitting on the left by the window, please answer the question about the cause of school phobia."

    "Um," the girl stood up, "it's probably some kind of trauma I experienced as a child, or some bad memory that left a shadow in my heart." As she finished speaking, a sudden pang of pain shot through her heart as she thought of that shadow, that shadow… "Hmm, that's good. Sit down." "Ah." The teacher interrupted the girl's thoughts. …At that moment, a familiar piece of music played, signaling the end of class.

    After the psychology class, there were three self-study periods left. During self-study, the students were all doing practice problems, and the girl was no exception; after all, her grades were quite excellent. She completed several practice tests, and the afternoon passed quickly. When school ended in the evening, the girl was walking home alone when she suddenly heard a cacophony of shouting and cursing coming from the alley ahead. It was probably another group of idle young people besieging some unfortunate person. The girl shook her head and decided to continue walking.

    At this moment, the leader said, "Hey, let me tell you, stop acting all high and mighty, ignoring everyone you meet. Our school, Class 2-10, doesn't have a weirdo like you."

    "That's right," the others echoed. "Get out of the way," a cold voice replied. The girl stopped and stood there.

    "Hey," another voice said, "I've never seen anyone as stubborn as you. Don't give me that crap."

    "Get out of the way," came another cold reply.

    That voice—it was his. The girl turned around, hesitating whether to continue. After a moment of internal struggle, she finally walked towards the alley. The one being attacked was a boy. He wasn't short, but he was thin, with pale skin and a faint scar on the corner of his mouth. His face wasn't very expressive, and he didn't seem to intend to pay any attention to what was happening. He lifted his backpack slightly, preparing to leave, but the group wouldn't let him pass, taking a few more steps forward and surrounding him even more tightly.

    Suddenly, the man in front raised his iron rod and swung it at the boy's head. The boy dodged to the side, seemingly quite experienced in such situations. He took a few steps back, glanced left and right, and escaped through a gap on his right. He ran forward quickly, but suddenly his leg trembled, and

    he cried out, collapsing to the ground in pain. Crimson blood seeped through his light yellow trousers—a wound he'd been accidentally inflicted by a drunkard a few days earlier on his way home from evening study. The wound, which had just begun to heal from the exertion, had reopened, and blood was gushing out uncontrollably. The boy sat there, staring blankly at the man before him, his body utterly exhausted and unable to resist any longer. Just as he closed his eyes, resigned to his fate, a bottle flew from afar, striking the man squarely on the head. His head instantly split open, blood gushing out in large gulps. The others looked up and saw a tall, slender girl standing in front of the boy. She didn't turn around, but simply asked, "Are you alright?"

    "I won't die," the boy replied. It was her. They'd seen her before. She was the top student in the humanities stream of senior year, a teacher's darling. Just recently, she'd even gone to the stage to receive an award at the opening ceremony. But they never expected her to hit someone, and with such force. That one blow was enough to prove her skills were extraordinary—probably some kind of black-hat rank. They simply couldn't understand how a top student could do such a thing. In their eyes, she was a delicate, bookish, teacher-favored "good student." Now, they were utterly stunned. But what was her relationship with him?

    "I advise you all to leave, and don't cause him any more trouble," the girl said, her tone as cold as the boy's. The group knew her; they couldn't afford to mess with her. But they didn't leave, only taking a few steps back. After speaking, the girl turned back, helped the boy up, and led him away. The two remained silent for a moment, then suddenly burst into laughter. The laughter was so joyful, so utterly unrestrained. It was as if they were releasing years of pent-up emotions. The two walked side by side in the sunset until they became tiny black dots.

    The next day, the girl went to school as usual, but this time with someone by her side. She walked happily arm in arm with him, completely oblivious to the stares of others; everything around her had faded into the background. Her eyes were only on him. Soon, rumors began to circulate throughout the school, spreading gossip about the girl and boy. One day, the girl was studying when her homeroom teacher walked into the classroom and called her over. The girl put down her pen and ran to the classroom. "Sit down," the teacher said. "Oh, okay, thank you, teacher." "Do you know what's most important right now?" the teacher asked,

    staring intently at the girl. "Of course, studying," the girl replied. "Well, do you know what you can't do during study time?" the teacher asked again.

    "What can't I do? Um, well," the girl thought for a moment, "there seem to be many." "For example?" "For example, I can't play games, I can't watch TV, I can't watch movies, I can't read novels, I can't..."

    "Okay," the teacher interrupted, "What you said is all correct, but there's one more thing, you can't be in a relationship." "

    In a relationship?" "Yes, in a relationship." The girl was stunned. "But I'm not."

    "Not? Ha," the teacher sneered, continuing, "Really? I know you're in your adolescence now, and it's normal to be attracted to some members of the opposite sex around you; I can understand that. But you're currently in a period of intense study, and you absolutely cannot let a relationship affect your grades." "But I'm not." "Then who is he?"