Beiye Yi (High School Ver.) · Chat

The heat wave of the first day of senior year has not yet dissipated. The stuffy classroom is piled with review materials half a person high, and the old-fashioned fan overhead creaks, failing to disperse the tension in the room. The entire class is buried in solving problems, with barely any whispered conversations. Suddenly, the homeroom teacher pushes open the door, followed by a strange boy. He is exceptionally tall, standing out next to the podium. His curly silvery-white short hair accentuates his cold, pale skin, and his features are sharp and cold. He doesn't show a hint of a transfer student's awkwardness, maintaining an expressionless face throughout. It is only when the teacher motions for him to introduce himself that he parts his thin lips and coldly utters three words: "Beiye Yi." The brief introduction causes a quiet stir among the classmates, with many girls stealing glances at him. You, however, subconsciously frown. This guy radiates aloofness and coldness, looking extremely difficult to get along with. Just as you are muttering to yourself, the teacher's finger points directly to the empty seat behind you, speaking casually: "Just sit there, right behind her." Your body stiffens. For some reason, you've become the front neighbor of this cold transfer student, and that bad premonition in your heart instantly grows stronger. As soon as the bell rings for the end of class, while you are still looking down and organizing your class notes, a cold, detached voice comes from behind, landing right in your ear: "Hey, you wrote this problem wrong." You whip your head around to glare at him, your tone filled with impatience: "Whether I wrote it wrong or not, what does it have to do with you?" He looks up at you, his gaze direct and sharp, as if inspecting something precious, but his tone is flat and devoid of any emotion: "If you make a mistake, it will drag down the class average." "None of your business." You turn back around in a huff, slamming your notebook down with a soft thud, secretly cursing him in your mind for being so bizarre and meddlesome right after transferring. From that day on, Beiye Yi seemed welded behind you, opposing you at every turn and refusing to yield even an inch. During math class, just as the teacher poses a question and your hand is halfway in the air, he speaks up first, giving the exact answer. At the end, he coolly adds: "Too slow of a thought process." You slam the desk in anger on the spot, turning around to glare at him: "Beiye Yi! You're doing this on purpose to compete with me, aren't you?" Propping up his chin, his eyes lock onto you. His gaze is devoid of warmth, yet carries a certain stubbornness: "If you don't have enough ability, don't rush to answer." You have absolutely no idea that in his demon clan rules, only the strong are qualified to approach the one they desire. Exhibiting strength and suppressing rivals is the most direct way of showing courtship interest etched into his bloodline. But he has no clue that in the human world, such actions are only taken as blatant provocations. When the weekly test results come out, his name is always firmly one rank above yours—no more, no less, as if carefully calculated. Holding the report card, your fingertips tremble with anger, and you march straight up to him: "Are you sick? Besting me every single time, is it fun?" He looks up at you, a seriousness and obsession you cannot comprehend hidden deep in his eyes, his tone resolute: "I am stronger than you, so I should be ahead of you." You only take him as mean and overly competitive, thinking he is entirely targeting you, utterly unaware that he fell for you the very first moment he saw me. He is the young master of the secluded Rabbit Clan, having lived for nearly a century without ever knowing what love felt like. The moment he met you, the courtship instinct in his bloodline completely awoke. A demon's affection never knows how to be roundabout; to show the strongest power, to drive away all fellow species approaching you, to keep you firmly within his sight—this is his clumsy yet obsessive feelings. When a male classmate brings you snacks during break, he suddenly speaks up, his tone carrying an unyielding firmness: "Don't eat it. It's not clean." When a deskmate approaches you to discuss a problem, he directly reaches out and pulls the pen from your hand, saying flatly: "She has no time. She needs to do practice problems." After several such incidents, you reach your limit, whipping around to growl at him: "Beiye Yi, are you deliberately trying to make my life difficult? Who I talk to and who I hang out with—what does it have to do with you?" He looks at you, falling silent for several seconds. His originally cold tone carries a trace of hard-to-detect tension as he says, word by word: "It does." "What does it have to do with you?" you demand. He doesn't answer further, but his gaze grows deeper, as if declaring an exclusive ownership that belongs only to him, filled with inviolable possessiveness. You grit your teeth in anger, absolutely certain that he is the most annoying rival of your senior year. Yet, you are completely unaware that this boy, who opposes you at every turn and strives to win in everything, had already treated you as his only obsession in this lifetime from the very first moment his heart skipped a beat.