Gwen felt she needed an observation protocol.
She drew a table in her notebook, listing Ryan Quinn, Peter, Harry, and two other boys of similar stature.
Behind Ryan Quinn’s name, she drew a cluster of question marks.
The plan had to be rational, scientific, and, above all, discreet.
For example: during a class break, pretend to tie a shoelace while crouching at a hallway corner, waiting for the target to pass.
On Monday morning, as soon as the bell rang for the end of the first period, Gwen went into action.
She walked quickly to the water fountain at the end of the corridor, crouched down, untied her shoelace, and tied it again.
Once finished, she saw the target hadn’t arrived yet.
She tied it again.
By the third time, Betty appeared out of nowhere.
“Gwen, have you turned into some kind of shoelace spirit?” “Huh?” “You’ve been crouching here for the entire break.” Betty held a bag of potato chips, munching as she looked down at her.
“You’ve tied those laces into something that looks like a Chinese knot.” Gwen stood up, her face slightly flushed from the blood rushing to her head after crouching for so long.
“I was just…
checking if my laces were loose.” “You checked for five minutes?” “The laces are quite long.” Betty rolled her eyes and didn’t press further, dragging her toward the classroom.
As they reached the door, Gwen glanced back at the end of the hallway—Ryan Quinn had just turned the corner from the stairs.
He walked slowly, looking as though he could lie down and sleep on the spot at any moment.
His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his shoulders slightly slumped, and his head tilted to one side.
It was hard to tell if he was deep in thought or not thinking at all.
His eyes were half-open, caught in that state between just waking up and being ready to sleep again.
His steps, however, were light.
He made almost no sound when his feet hit the ground, but every stride radiated a sense of reluctance, as if the act of walking itself was redundant.
Gwen etched this image into her mind.
Light steps, a stable center of gravity, but lazy.
So lazy that walking seemed like a hassle.
Compared to the silhouette of the masked man—it seemed a bit of a stretch.
At lunchtime, Gwen didn’t go to the cafeteria.
She had bought a sandwich beforehand and sat on the steps of the side entrance to the school building.
This spot offered an excellent vantage point, overlooking the crowds converging from the field, the library, and the main building.
She pretended to eat while her eyes scanned face after face.
She saw Peter Parker.
He was walking from the direction of the library, head down, clutching a thick book.
The cover was green, titled *Regenerative Biology*.
Peter had been running to the library a lot lately, or simply disappearing after school.
He mentioned he was helping a professor with experiments; Gwen didn’t ask for details, as Peter had always loved tinkering with biological subjects.
Peter passed in front of her without seeing her.
His glasses had slipped to the tip of his nose, his backpack strap was sliding off his shoulder, and he looked like he might fall apart at any second.
Gwen checked Peter off in her mind: uncoordinated, likely not the masked man.
The masked man’s movements when throwing the shield were so fluid, while Peter’s physical education grades were perpetually failing.
He was the type who could land face-first during a long jump.
Excluded.
Next.
Harry Osborn came out of the main building, followed by two underclassmen who seemed to be asking for his signature or something.
Harry shook his head with a smile, his pace composed.
Wearing a deep blue cardigan, he looked clean and sharp.
Gwen observed his gait.
Very steady, excellent control of his center of gravity, but his stride was a bit wide and his knees lifted a bit high—a walking style trained in elite private schools.
It was different from the masked man’s sensation of gliding close to the ground.
Uncertain, but remains a suspect.
Then she saw Ryan Quinn.
He was coming from the direction of the field, still in that half-awake state.
He held a sandwich, took a bite, chewed twice, and then stopped dead in the middle of the field.
His mouth stopped moving, too.
He tilted his head back, facing the sun, and waited a good while before continuing to chew slowly.
He chewed for about ten seconds.
Then he continued forward.
After three steps, he stopped again.
This time it was because a shoelace had come undone.
He looked down at the lace.
He stood there for three seconds.
Then he kept walking.
He didn’t tie it.
Gwen squeezed her sandwich until it deformed.
In her mind, she imagined a scene where the masked man crouched on the edge of a rooftop, looked down at his shoelace, said, “Ah…
what a pain,” and then simply stood up and walked away.
She shook the image out of her head.
She shouldn’t think that way.
The masked man was the type who—who— She watched Ryan Quinn walk to a bench by the field and sit down.
He placed his sandwich on his lap, leaned back, and rested against the back of the bench.
Then he closed his eyes.
The sunlight hit his face.
He was sprawled on the bench, motionless.
Gwen waited five minutes.
He was still there, hasn’t even shifted his posture.
She waited another five minutes.
His head tilted to one side, his mouth slightly agape.
Gwen stood up, brushed off her pants, and walked toward the bench.
As she reached him, she heard the sound of light, rhythmic breathing.
He had fallen asleep on the field, under the blazing sun, halfway through his lunch, still clutching half a sandwich.
Gwen stood before him, looking down.
Her shadow fell across his face, but he didn’t wake.
“Are you serious?” Gwen whispered.
Ryan Quinn didn’t react.
Gwen stood beside him for about half a minute before turning to leave.
After a few steps, she looked back—a pigeon had landed on the grass beside him, tilting its head as it studied him.
Ryan Quinn remained completely still.
Even the pigeon didn’t think he posed a threat.
After the last class of the afternoon, Gwen didn’t go to the dessert shop with Betty for ice cream.
Instead, she went straight to the library—she had seen Ryan Quinn heading in that direction.
No, not heading.
Drifting.
He drifted over there.
The library was quiet.
Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, dyeing the entire reading room a warm yellow.
A few underclassmen girls sat in a corner passing notes.
Gwen found Ryan Quinn in the very last row of the bookshelf area.
He was sleeping.
Sitting against the wall, the black-covered book was spread open on his lap, turned to about the one-third mark.
His head was tilted, his mouth slightly open, his breathing faint.
Gwen stood by him for a while.
Then she pulled a book from the shelf and sat down in the seat next to him.
Opening it, she saw it was a German textbook.
She couldn’t understand a word of it, but she didn’t intend to swap it.
Ryan Quinn woke up.
His eyelids twitched and slowly opened, bit by bit, lingering.
He glanced at Gwen, showing no surprise, only blinking.
“Ah…” he said, his voice raspy from sleep.
“It’s you.” Then he closed his eyes again.
Gwen waited three seconds.
He didn’t move again.
“You plan to keep sleeping?” she asked.
“Mmh…” He kept his eyes closed, his voice trailing off.
“Anyway…
nothing else to do.” “This is a library.” “Mm.” “The library is a place for reading.” “The book is on my lap.” His finger tapped the cover lightly as proof.
“Got tired of reading.” “When did you start?” Ryan Quinn was silent for a moment.
His eyes remained closed.
“…About ten minutes ago.” “And you’re already tired?” “Too many words.” Gwen took a deep breath.
She looked down at the German textbook in her hands, then at the open book on Ryan Quinn’s lap.
“What is your book about?” “Forgot.” “How could you forget?” “Because I didn’t finish it,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“I fell asleep halfway through, and the new stuff pushed the old stuff out of my head.” Gwen stared at him for a long time.
“You know,” she said, “you are the most—” “Most what?” He opened one eye to look at her.
“The most un-high-schooler-like high schooler I’ve ever met.” “Ah…” He closed that eye again.
“Thanks.” “It wasn’t a compliment.” “That’s fine too.” Gwen flipped the German textbook to the first page, deciding to stop talking to him.
Silence lasted for about two minutes, but she realized she hadn’t processed a single word.
Her entire attention was on the person next to her—Ryan Quinn was adjusting his position.
First, he shifted his head from his left shoulder to his right, then back again, then leaned forward until his chin almost touched his chest.
Finally, he sighed, gave up, opened his eyes, and stared dutifully at the book on his lap.
“Uncomfortable sleep?” Gwen asked.
“Yeah.” He rubbed his neck, a hint of grievance in his tone.
“This wall is too hard.” “Why don’t you try the chair?” He looked at the empty chair beside him, thought about it, and then shook his head.
“Forget it.
Too lazy to move.” Gwen closed the German textbook and set it on the table.
She turned to face him, elbows on the table and chin resting in her hands.
“I want to ask you something.” “Mm.” “The night of the dance—”