He really had gone too far that night.
He was still hesitating when Hiiragi Satoru’s class was led out of the school gate by their teacher.
Upon spotting him, Satoru’s eyes lit up immediately, and she waved frantically from the line. It seemed the morning’s incident hadn’t left a shadow on his little sister after all.
Hiiragi Yu breathed a sigh of relief. As soon as the teacher announced the dismissal, Satoru shot into his arms like a little cannonball.
“Brother, brother, we drew pictures today!” she chattered happily.
Yu’s anxious heart settled. Taking her hand, he walked her to the nearby food street and ordered two meals. Watching her eat with her head down, a gentle smile crept onto his face without him even realizing it.
After dinner, Yu placed his sister safely in a ride hailing car. On his walk back, he kept his head down, constantly checking the car’s route on his phone screen.
He had classes tonight. As a busy college freshman, he couldn’t accompany Satoru home every evening. It was a routine they had already planned out. Satoru wore a smartwatch, and if anything happened, she could immediately call the police and notify Yu. Once home, she would lock the door, do her homework, and wait for him to return from his evening self-study to check it.
As he passed the orphanage, a flash of black caught his eye.
He looked up and spotted a familiar black car parked by the curb. Checking the license plate, Yu slowed his pace, realizing with a start that it was Tuesday, the day he had mentioned to Mr. Cheng that his uncle regularly volunteered at the orphanage.
So… Mr. Cheng is here too?
His pulse quickened. He still hadn’t figured out how to explain the damaged clothes and umbrella, nor had he found a way to compensate for them. Worse, he wasn’t ready to reveal his family’s desperate financial situation to an Alpha he barely knew.
Yet making excuses to evade his responsibility was not in his nature.
“Regarding this… we won’t interfere too much…”
A smooth, familiar voice drifted over from the shadows beside the orphanage building.
Yu glanced over and saw three figures emerging. On the left stood his uncle, Hiiragi Hanqing, on the right was Director Song and in the center stood Cheng Shenzhi. Tall and imposing, the sharp cut of his suit highlighted the Alpha’s natural presence, subtly tempered by an understated black that gave him an air of polite refinement.
He was speaking to Director Song, but Yu couldn’t make out the words over the sudden rush of blood in his ears. Subconsciously, he tightened his grip on his backpack strap.
So, they’ve already reached an agreement?
Before the thought could fully form, Yu suddenly met his uncle’s gaze.
Yu froze. Instinctively taking two steps back, he saw Cheng Shenzhi beginning to turn around as well. Panicking, his mind went entirely blank, and his only impulse was to turn and run.
Hiiragi Hanqing frowned, watching his nephew vanish down the backstreet in the blink of an eye. He wondered briefly if he had looked too fierce and scared the boy off, but then remembered Yu had a night class. Checking his watch, he saw there were less than ten minutes left before instruction began.
Satisfied with that explanation, Hanqing turned back to listen to the prominent investor. However, Cheng Shenzhi had fallen quiet, his expression unreadable. For some reason, he seemed faintly displeased.
Hanqing was about to ask, but Cheng Shenzhi withdrew his gaze and turned back to Director Song. His tone was polite. “If you need anything else later, feel free to contact my assistant directly.”
He handed over a business card, checked the time, and added, “I have some matters to attend to, so I’ll be taking my leave.”
Director Song accepted the card with a warm smile. “I’ll keep a precise record of how the funds are used and provide the purchase receipts for you to review anytime.”
Cheng Shenzhi offered a brief, quiet smile. Normally he would have stayed longer out of courtesy, but today he wasn’t in the mood. He departed the orphanage on foot, leaving his car behind to walk down the back street toward A University.
Behind him, Hanqing watched his retreating figure with a slight frown. Before he could make sense of it, Director Song grabbed his arm. “Come on, Xiaoqing, let’s look over the renovation plans… Oh, and we need to order new clothes for the children too…”
Interrupted, Hanqing set his doubts aside and followed her inside.
Meanwhile, on the back street of A University.
Cheng Shenzhi slowed his steps. With class about to start, the lane was nearly deserted, the panicked young figure was nowhere to be seen.
It seems Hiiragi Yu really doesn’t want to see me.
He let out a heavy sigh. Growing up, he had rarely encountered anyone who made him feel so helpless. Hiiragi Yu was turning out to be quite the exception.
Yu didn’t feel his wildly beating heart settle until he crossed the campus threshold. Breathing a sigh of relief, he pulled out his phone, only to realize class started in five minutes.
Fortunately, a campus shuttle was passing by, and the classroom was on the first floor. He slipped through the door just in time, determined not to miss another lecture.
Over the next two days, Yu spent every spare moment searching for tailor shops, gradually expanding his radius, but turned up empty handed.
Worse, an unsettling sensation grew that he was being watched, sometimes during lectures, sometimes while eating with his sister, and occasionally even in his own room.
Swish!
Yu pulled his curtains shut, easing the vague sense of unease. He stood by the window for a moment, then peeked discreetly through a gap in the fabric. Outside, the streetlights stood silent and steady, casting a bright glow over the deserted early autumn street. His neighbors had lived there for years, and he had never had trouble with anyone.
It had to be his imagination.
Relieved, Yu sat down at his desk, picked up a newly bought needle, and tried to thread black string through the narrow eye.
Three minutes later, he held his thumb, where a tiny bead of blood had formed. After a quiet pause, he abandoned the foolish attempt at hand sewing.
Perhaps he just needed to be honest with Mr. Cheng and ask for a payment plan.
Yet, staring at the sleek, dark profile picture on his phone, Yu’s fragile courage vanished.
I’ll wait just a little longer…
A little fish.
Cheng Shenzhi stared absentmindedly at the simple avatar sketch on his screen. He had casually asked Director Song about him the other day and learned that Yu’s childhood nickname was Yuyu, though Director Song often called him “Yuzai” or “Little Yu.”
Would anyone ever call him ‘Little Fish’?
The thought faded as he remembered how desperately the boy was avoiding him. He really had gone too far that night. If he had another chance, he…
“Are you even listening to me?” Xu Jianqian slammed a rolled-up medical report onto the desk. “I’m warning you, this counts as overtime!”
Cheng Shenzhi switched off his phone screen, his tone dry. “You stayed voluntarily.”
Xu Jianqian gave a exasperated laugh. “Right, and I suppose you were forced to sit here?”
Cheng Shenzhi offered no defense.
“Grandpa called me this afternoon to ask if you’ve made any progress,” Xu Jianqian complained. “I told him you’d made plenty.”
Cheng Shenzhi looked up, his expression neutral. “And?”
“Other Alphas go into rut once every three months, but his precious grandson goes through it three times a month! Isn’t that enough progress?” Xu Jianqian scoffed. “Guess what he did?”
Cheng Shenzhi raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“He slammed the phone down before I could even finish!”
“Next time, be quicker and hang up first.”
“I’m not that unfilial,” Xu Jianqian grumbled, though a faint smirk crossed Cheng Shenzhi’s face.
“So, what are you going to do about that kid?” Xu Jianqian paused, picking up on something subtle. “Wait… why haven’t I seen Assistant Tao around the office the past couple of days?”
Cheng Shenzhi pinched the bridge of his nose, reluctant to pursue the topic. He unlocked his phone again, staring at the small fish icon as he answered perfunctorily, “I had him keep an eye on him.”
Xu Jianqian stared at him. “Wait a minute. You two are talking now?”
“No.”
Cheng Shenzhi fell silent. He recalled how Yu had practically fled from him at the orphanage. Direct contact clearly wasn’t wise right now, but he was genuinely concerned, hence sending Assistant Tao to watch over him discreetly.
Changing the subject, he said, “I’m out of suppressants.”
“What?” Xu Jianqian’s jaw dropped. “I just brought you three boxes last week!”
“Not enough.”
“Are you out of your mind? Do you have any idea what abusing suppressants will do to you?” Xu Jianqian’s tone turned stern. “Your pheromones are already unstable. Do you really want to permanently wreck your cycle?”
“Make it five boxes.”
“Are you serious?!”
“Seven.”
“Okay, fine! Five!” Xu Jianqian raised his hands in defeat. “But seriously, stop having Assistant Tao tail the kid.”
Cheng Shenzhi lowered his gaze, fixing him with an intense look.
“Don’t look at me like that. I have way more experience dealing with tailing than you do,” Xu Jianqian argued. “First, no normal person likes being followed. Second, using surveillance to get closer to someone is completely unhinged. And third, from the kid’s perspective, nobody in their right mind is going to date a guy who stalks them!”
Cheng Shenzhi corrected calmly, “Assistant Tao is the one following him.”
Xu Jianqian stared at him, utterly speechless.