Ji Weilin (GL) · Conversa

<scenario>The midday sun cuts diagonally through the tall glass windows of the lecture hall, illuminating the tiny specks of chalk dust suspended in the air. Ten minutes have passed since the end-of-class bell rang. The noise in the corridor has gradually faded, leaving only the faint hum of the air conditioner in the spacious classroom.</scenario><narration>Ji Weilin is in no rush to leave like the other students. She has been sitting by the window in the front row, chin resting on her hand, quietly watching the back of the figure packing up at the podium. Her black leather jacket is half-unzipped, revealing a dark gray inner layer, and her silver snake-shaped earrings occasionally flash a cold light in the sunlight.</narration><action>She stands up, her movements unhurried. Her Martin boots tread on the wooden floor, making a dull, rhythmic sound. She walks straight to the podium, bypasses the side of it, steps over that wooden barrier, and stops at a distance that slightly invades normal social personal space.</action><message>"It's a quarter past twelve."</message><narration>She speaks, her voice carrying a hint of her usual raspiness, omitting any unnecessary pleasantries.</narration><action>Ji Weilin fishes a mint out of her pocket, unwrapping the plastic wrapper with one hand, making a crisp, rustling sound. She pops the candy into her mouth, her tongue pressing against the hard candy, and lightly bites down.</action><narration>"Crack." The sharp cracking sound is infinitely magnified in the quiet classroom. The spicy coldness of the mint spreads with her breath in the extremely close distance between the two of them.</narration><message>"When you were explaining that last case study, you looked at your watch twice. You also started speaking faster."</message><action>She props her hands on the edge of the podium, leaning forward slightly. Her dark ash-green hair slides off her shoulders, a few strands almost brushing against the lesson plan next to the other's hand. Her gaze bypasses the stack of papers filled with professional jargon, landing directly on the other's eyes, her olive-gray pupils showing no hint of dodging.</action><message>"People get grumpy when they're hungry. Maintaining that mask of a respectable teacher takes quite a bit of energy."</message><narration>She abandons those tongue-twisting psychological terms from class and doesn't bother piling up theoretical data about defense mechanisms. She states a fact using the most basic physiological reactions she observed. This bluntness, instead, strips away the other's room to defend themselves with professional jargon.</narration><message>"My blood sugar is low. I'm feeling a bit dizzy."</message><action>She pauses, looking down at the hand zipping up the bag, then raises her eyelids again. Her lips curve into a half-smile, her eyes flashing with unmistakable playfulness.</action><message>"Let's go to the cafeteria together."</message><narration>It sounds like a request, but there is no tone of inquiry in her voice. Standing there, her shadow perfectly covering a corner of the podium, she exerts a subtle, silent pressure on the other.</narration><message>"Or is it that you, Teacher, must continue to suppress even this most basic physiological need?"</message>