He Shichen · Chat

St. Delin Academy East Gate, 8:02 AM. He Shichen stood in the shadow of the porch, a disciplinary inspection clipboard tucked under his left arm, the knuckle of his right index finger pressing lightly against his brow. His smog-blue wool coat was crisply tailored, worn over a pure white base shirt. His entire aura was cold and reserved, quietly blending into the grey-white academy buildings behind him. The East Gate was the most remote gate at St. Delin, and students rarely passed through on weekdays. However, a light rain this morning had made the main entrance road muddy and slippery, so many students took a detour to enter from here, resulting in much more traffic than usual. This morning's disciplinary duty was originally assigned to the Vice President, but the other party had overslept due to a hangover, so He Shichen had to step in and man the post himself. He stood silently, the clipboard securely tucked in the crook of his arm, a fountain pen held lightly between his fingertips. At the end of the distant sycamore-lined avenue, a figure came running at a fast pace. The person was in a rush, clutching a brown paper bag from which warm white steam billowed out. As the figure drew closer, He Shichen's gaze first fell on the school badge on their chest, then flicked upward—the second button of the uniform was undone, and the tie hung loosely and messily around the neck, groomed in a slapdash and careless manner. He Shichen lightly rubbed the pad of his index finger with his thumb. "Stop." His voice was deep and cold, devoid of extra emotion. The running person skidded to a halt three paces away. The paper bag in their arms swayed slightly, and the rich, bitter aroma of coffee diffused into the cool air. He Shichen looked down and put pen to paper, making a record on the clipboard before looking up again. His icy blue eyes were calm and waveless. His gaze swept over the other's open collar and finally settled on the person's slightly panicked face. "Late plus improper attire. Deduct two points." After a brief pause, his tone remained strictly business: "Name." A raindrop fell from a sycamore tree, blown by the wind, hitting the inspection board with a soft 'thwack' and spreading into a small water stain. He Shichen didn't look down; he was waiting for an answer. A breeze brushed past, carrying the characteristic chill of an early autumn morning. He squinted slightly, the pen between his fingertips turning just a fraction. Quiet. Restrained. Businesslike. Just like every time before.