Michael & Benben Extra

Zoe Young heard this and couldn’t help but glance worriedly at Michael’s now empty hospital gown sleeve—she wondered if her arm was even thinner now than that fourth-grade girl who once lifted a brick.

It was with such a thin arm that she lifted a brick and completely changed Benny.

Actually, Michael never believed that a person could completely become someone else. Maybe it was because she herself had never changed—no matter what she went through, she was still Michael. Childhood friends, upon seeing her and chatting for a bit, would say, “Hey, you haven’t changed a bit since you were a kid.”

Some people change, either because they hide a part of themselves or reveal a part, but whether it’s hiding or revealing, that changed part doesn’t just disappear or appear out of nowhere—it was always there, always a part of you.

When Jesse Hunter met Michael, he hid his habitual dependence on hiding behind Zoe Young and the others, and showed the blood and masculinity of a boy.

And as for Michael, when she met Jesse Hunter, what did she hide?

Jesse Hunter, who was scolded by the boys as a pretty boy, had actually long been noticed by the girls in the class. Men and women have always had different standards of beauty, and Jesse Hunter was a clear example. What girl doesn’t like a fair-skinned, good-looking boy who doesn’t swear and often smiles?

Hearing this theory, Michael naturally scoffed. The chubby girl in the back row retorted defiantly, “What are you objecting for? It’s none of your business. Are you a girl?”

Michael wasn’t angry.

She didn’t think there was anything worth fighting over in the title of “girl.”

Although she did feel a little unbalanced—she fought fiercely with the boys like a mother hen to protect the weaker girls in the class (and now also the weaker Jesse Hunter), but the frustrating thing was, those girls didn’t really recognize Michael as their protector—at least not in terms of her gender.

Outwardly, she was the bossy leader, but as she grew older, she felt more and more alone.

Luckily, now she had Jesse Hunter.

Michael taught him all her best tricks. Jesse Hunter, after all, was a boy—he learned quickly and was much stronger, and soon established his own authority at school. The boys didn’t dare bully him anymore, nor did they dare to recruit him, all keeping their distance and watching.

Jesse Hunter’s rapid progress made Michael feel a sense of melancholy even as she was pleased, as if the matriarchal society and the era of female power were about to end.

Her world was built with her fists and kicks, but in the end, all the boys would be taller, stronger, and better fighters than her.

And all the girls were already gentler, better at dressing up, and more like girls than she was.

She stood in the middle, feeling endlessly desolate.

Long, long ago, some famous “something-ski” said that sitting on the fence never ends well.

By fifth grade, Michael naturally had a proper little follower. He had all the excellent qualities of a follower: fair-skinned, admired by girls, not very talkative, thoughtful, and could tell whether the boss wanted a popsicle or chocolate just from a snap of her fingers.

Of course, the whole “follower” thing was just Michael’s imagination. Jesse Hunter followed her simply because he was as lonely as she was.

Meanwhile, the boys started making even more of a fuss: “Michael likes Jesse Hunter!”

At the time, Michael shouted in frustration, “Call me class monitor! Are you all rebelling?!”

Everyone fell silent, and then they all realized that what made Michael angry was that they hadn’t called her class monitor, not the rumor itself.

So the rumor “the class monitor likes Jesse Hunter” spread even more wildly around the school.

Michael was furious—this was the first time her face turned red not from the heat of a fight.

She hurried to find Jesse Hunter, slapped the desk and yelled, “Stop following me all the time! Aren’t you annoyed?!”

Jesse Hunter was busy dismantling a chair leg, obviously preparing for a fight with some troublemakers from the next class after school. Without looking up, he replied, “Got it.”

Michael was stunned by such a straightforward answer, standing there in a daze for a full half minute, until Jesse Hunter looked up in surprise and asked, “Why are you still here?”

Michael opened her mouth, wanting to shout something to save face, but all the words got stuck in her throat. Her face turned even redder, and in a blank daze, she grabbed the chair leg from Jesse Hunter’s hand, gave it a hard twist, and actually pulled the nail out, causing the chair to fall apart.

“Michael, you’re like Superwoman! I’ve been working on this forever and couldn’t—”

“Superwoman my ass! Say that again if you dare!”

Jesse Hunter wasn’t intimidated by her raised voice, and even asked provocatively, “Then… class monitor?”

Michael suddenly felt her nose sting, slammed the desk hard, making her arm go numb, and turned to run away.

“Class monitor, someone’s causing trouble at school!”

Just as she was feeling down, the chubby boy suddenly jumped over, half scared and half excited, running toward her.

“Causing trouble at school” meant a group of punks from another school had come to make trouble. Sometimes it was for personal or gang grudges, sometimes just because they were bored and looking for a fight. Hearing this, Michael quickly put aside her own feelings and rushed out with the chubby boy.

At this time, most of her classmates were having PE on the crowded little playground. If anything happened, it would all be her responsibility.

“If you’ve got guts, come out here! Come on, come out!”

Four or five older boys, each holding two bricks, stood on top of the wall, clearly troublemakers from another school.

Backed by their friends in a good position, a tall boy with a weird haircut jumped down, grabbed a little girl by the collar, then yanked her pigtail and laughed.

Since the troublemakers were older and had weapons, the usually cocky boys all shrank back, but a sharp-eyed girl suddenly pointed at the sky and shouted.

Half a brick traced a beautiful arc over everyone’s heads, whizzing past a small boy’s ear.

It was a close call, but the small boy, unable to dodge, lost his balance and fell.

“You idiots! Can’t you stand farther away and throw at them? Were you all raised on crap?!”

Everyone turned around, stunned.

Michael, in her dirty school uniform, stood with the wind blowing, her head blocking the setting sun, the afterglow outlining her figure, making her look almost Buddha-like.

So, in the hearts of all those “raised on crap,” she once again blurred the lines of gender—whatever she said or did, she exuded an overwhelming, masculine aura.

The crowd snapped out of it and scattered, looking for things to throw as weapons. A battle was about to break out. Michael took advantage of the tall boy’s moment of panic, rushed in from the side, and rammed into his left side. Caught off guard, he let go in pain. Michael shouted at the girl being held hostage, “Are you stupid?! Run!!”

The girl finally ran out of danger, crying, because almost the next second, the crowd’s bricks came flying toward their own people.

Everyone just remembered to throw things at the wall, but no one cared about Michael down below, deep in enemy territory.

Years later, when she saw Zhang Yimou’s film “Hero,” with the director’s shot of a rain of arrows falling on Jet Li, Michael still shivered.

That was almost exactly what the sky looked like to her that day.

“Are you stupid?! Run!”

The words she’d just used to snap the girl out of it were now being used on her.

It was the first time Michael felt what it was like to be protected in someone’s arms.

But it happened so fast, and the other person was so skinny, she didn’t feel anything special.

If anything, it was probably just his breath, hot against her ear.

So hot.

Michael & Benben Extra

“Oh! Hero saves the beauty!” Zoe Young teased, blinking.

Michael didn’t respond, as if she hadn’t come out of her memories yet.

She just murmured softly, “Too bad I wasn’t beautiful at all.”