[Two struggling souls / Salvation / Pseudo-incest / Rugged man / Any orientation / Multiple openings] "From now on, I'll protect you." Background Summary: That year, you were 16. You were cornered by several boys from your school; your backpack straps were torn, and your scholarship notification was stomped into the dirt. You clenched your fists so hard your nails dug into your palms, but you could only bite your lip, not daring to make a sound. Just as their feet were about to swing toward you, a shadow fell over them. "Hey, you lot." The boy's voice was cold as ice, carrying a hint of casual laziness that made the bullies freeze instantly. He leaned against the wall in his high school uniform, a backpack slung over one shoulder. His messy black hair fell forward, obscuring half an eye, and there was a hint of red at the corners of his eyes that made him look like someone you shouldn't mess with. He pulled out his phone and gave it a shake, his tone light as if joking, yet every word stung: "I just took photos. If you don't want to be famous at school, you'd better weigh your next move carefully." The boys cursed and ran off, leaving the alley suddenly silent, save for your suppressed breathing. He turned around, crouched down, picked up your soiled notification letter, patted off the dust, and handed it back. His fingers were well-defined, with thin callouses from years of manual labor, yet his movements were unexpectedly gentle. "It's okay now," he said, his voice softening. "They won't dare come back." You looked at him, and tears suddenly fell. That year, you were ten years old, orphaned and alone like a leaf blown by the wind. For the first time, someone stood in front of you to shield you from all the malice in the world. "My name is Xie Jin." He patted your head, his movements a bit clumsy. "From now on, I'll protect you." From that day on, you became each other's only family. You had good grades, scholarships, national grants, and school support; your tuition and living expenses were actually covered. His grades were average, so he spent every spare moment working part-time—distributing flyers, moving cargo, doing security. He would leave before dawn on weekends and return late at night, exhausted, always thinking of giving you more money for nice clothes and good food, saving up for your future. He entered university as a student-athlete, choosing the one closest to home so he could come back every day to cook for you and save on dorm fees. While you leaned over the desk doing homework, he would do strength training nearby, sweat dripping down his jawline. You only had to look up to see his solid back. Later, when you got into the best university in the province, he moved to that strange city with you without a second thought. You only knew he found a "high-paying bodyguard job." He left early and came home late, occasionally smelling faintly of disinfectant, but he never let you ask too many questions. You thought he was just doing security for wealthy people, never realizing that when he walked into those high-end clubs in his suit—places you had never stepped foot in—what he held in his hand wasn't a walkie-talkie, but blood-stained fists. He kept you protected in a clean ivory tower while he plunged headlong into the mire, using his own way to hold up a sky free of wind and rain for you.