Rudius stared at the newly refreshed prompt, utterly dumbfounded.
Route 1 was undeniably a scumbag move—blackmailing a girl into a date was plain despicable.
But Route 2?
That was somehow worse.
Kneeling before Jasmine and begging to kiss her toes?
In her eyes, he wouldn’t just be a scumbag—he’d be a full-blown degenerate.
His dignity recoiled at the very thought.
His gaze flickered between the two options.
Whichever one his eyes landed on would light up, as if waiting for his decision.
He took a deep breath and chose Route 1.
The subtitles shifted again.
“Gazing upon the beautiful and alluring Jasmine, your lust finally got the better of you. You decide to become a scumbag and play her.”
Rudius’s mouth twitched.
That’s not what I meant at all!
System, don’t slander me!
Inside the classroom, Jasmine continued rummaging through Emma’s backpack.
After thoroughly satisfying her perverse curiosity, she carefully replaced each item, zipped the bag shut, and smoothed everything back to its original state.
Rudius quietly pocketed his phone and slipped away without a sound.
He sprinted to the sports field, lungs burning.
Before he could catch his breath, the PE teacher’s voice cut through the air.
“Latecomers—two laps. On your own.”
No choice.
Rudius started jogging around the track.
The teacher wasn’t unreasonable about it—two laps was a slap on the wrist, nothing more.
Push them too hard and someone might collapse.
Seeing Rudius take his punishment without complaint, the PE teacher nodded approvingly.
He called over a few student-athletes for drills and dismissed the rest for free activities.
Just as he was leading the athletes toward the basketball court, another late student jogged up, slightly breathless.
“Teacher, I wasn’t feeling well earlier.”
The teacher studied her.
“Can you run? If not, don’t push yourself.”
Jasmine knew the rules by heart.
“I’m fine now. I’ll do my two laps.”
She fell into an easy jog, and her gaze drifted across the track—landing on a familiar figure in the distance.
Rudius?
She frowned.
He had plenty of time to get here after class.
What was he doing?
Slacking off?
The thought flickered and faded—she didn’t care enough to dwell.
She picked up her pace, and her eyes found another figure nearby: a lone, graceful form standing apart from the others.
Jasmine’s lips curved into a faint sneer.
Rudius noticed Jasmine running not far behind him.
Guilt prickled at his conscience.
He quickened his pace, finished his two laps, and retreated to the edge of the basketball court.
He watched the game unfold, but his mind was elsewhere—turning over the mission, trying to figure out how to proceed.
And the more he thought about it, the more his head ached.
Route 1 required him to use that video to blackmail Jasmine into a date.
Which meant a confrontation.
Which meant acting like a complete scumbag.
He could already picture her face—the shock, the anger, the contempt.
The thought made him wince.
But what choice did he have?
The alternative was toe-kneeling social suicide.
At least this way, he could keep the date tame.
A walk.
A chat.
Nothing more.
He’d restrain himself.
Reassured by this flimsy reasoning, he turned his head.
Across the field, Jasmine was kicking a shuttlecock with a group of girls in the shade.
Her bright smile and effortless charm drew the attention of nearly every boy within a fifty-meter radius.
But knowing what he knew now—her strange obsessions, her secret actions—the scene felt strangely surreal.
PE class ended.
Rudius returned to the classroom and took his seat near the back—his usual spot, affording him an unobstructed view of the rows ahead.
Jasmine sat in the adjacent row, closer to the middle.
Post-exercise, her cheeks were flushed, a few stray strands of hair clinging to the faint sheen on her temples.
It made her look softer somehow.
Prettier.
Rudius was observing her covertly when a faint fragrance drifted past.
The chatter at the front row died abruptly, as if someone had hit mute.
He turned his head.
A strand of hair brushed against the tip of his nose, carrying a delicate, elusive scent.
A girl with long, flowing hair walked past him expressionlessly, her aura radiating a clear keep your distance message.
Rudius watched her shapely back, his expression complicated.
Emma reached her seat.
She was about to sit down when she froze.
Her gaze shifted to Jasmine—then immediately snapped to Rudius.
Rudius had been watching her.
The moment their eyes met, he instinctively looked down, his heart leaping into his throat.
Had she realized someone touched her backpack?
But no—she’d only looked at him and Jasmine because they were the only two late for PE.
That had to be it.
He forced himself to look up again, schooling his features into casual indifference.
Emma had already sat down, seemingly lost in her own world, as if that glance had been purely coincidental.
Rudius studied her face carefully.
If she’d discovered someone had rifled through her backpack—with those items inside—there was no way she’d be this composed.
No flicker of embarrassment, no trace of suspicion.
Just her usual cool detachment.
She hadn’t noticed.
He exhaled, relief washing over him.
School let out soon after.
The dismissal bell rang, and Rudius stood, walking out of the classroom.
Behind him, Emma looked up from her packing.
Her gaze fixed on his back, and her eyes turned cold.
Rudius didn’t notice.
He was already holed up in a bathroom stall, staring at his phone with a conflicted expression.
Finally, steeling himself, he tapped the screen and sent a friend request.
Their class had a WeChat group—everyone was in it.
Jasmine’s account was easy to find.
The only problem was that she famously didn’t accept requests from boys.
Several had already tried and failed.
So Rudius added a message.
In the classroom, Jasmine was covertly watching Emma.
When she saw the other girl pick up her backpack and leave without so much as a suspicious glance, she let out a silent breath of relief.
She gathered her things, ready to head home—when her phone buzzed.
She pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
Her expression shifted into something far more interesting.
“I saw everything that happened at noon.”
Jasmine stared at the message.
The request came from the class group, but there was no name attached—just a profile picture she didn’t immediately recognize.
Yet the moment she read those words, a face surfaced in her mind, unbidden.
Her expression cycled through shock, suspicion, and dread.
She gritted her teeth and accepted the request.
“You’re Rudius, right?” she typed, her fingers trembling slightly.
“What do you mean by that?”
She clung to a sliver of hope—maybe she was wrong.
Maybe it was a bluff.
Then he sent a video.
Her heart seized.
She checked her surroundings—empty—then pressed play.
The footage swam before her eyes: herself, in the empty classroom, rummaging through Emma’s backpack, pulling out those things, her face alight with—
She stopped the video, her vision swimming.
He’d been at the back door the whole time.
Filming everything.
Despicable!
Shame, fury, panic—all of it crashed over her in a suffocating wave.
Her hands shook as she typed: “What do you want?”
No reply.
She stared at the screen, her mind racing.
He’s going to use this against me.
He’s going to ruin me.
“Come to this address now, if you don’t want this video getting out,” came the reply, followed by a location.
Jasmine’s throat tightened.
She stared at the message for a long moment, then typed back: “My family’s waiting for me for dinner. What exactly do you want?”
Silence.
She sent three more messages in rapid succession.
No response.
Her expression curdled.
“Luning? What are you spacing out for? Let’s go home.”
A hand landed on her shoulder.
Jasmine flinched, then recognized her friend’s voice.
She forced a smile.
“You go ahead. I have somewhere to be.”
Her friend didn’t pry—just nodded and left.
The classroom fell empty.
Jasmine walked to the window and stared out in the direction of the address, her unease coiling tighter with each passing second.
Every instinct told her not to go.
This was a trap, plain and simple.
But every time she remembered the video, the courage she’d mustered deflated like a punctured balloon.