Henry Howard was a bit curious about the legendary West Tower boss. West TowerEthan Young’s many great achievements didn’t really catch Henry Howard’s attention, but for some reason, the black nail polish incident stuck with him. He’d already looked around the classroom, only to sigh that people really can hide their true selves—one moment the nail polish is there, the next it’s gone, and he still couldn’t figure out who it was.

Ethan Young looked at him, his expression complicated.

“Dude, do you actually know or not?” Henry Howard pressed. “Honestly, I’m pretty interested in him. If I get the chance, I’d like to spar with him.”

Chelsea Shaw called from the podium, “Next, Ethan Young.”

Ethan Young stood up slowly, not bothering to see what kind of expression Henry Howard was making. He walked up to the front, picked up a piece of chalk, and wrote the two characters ‘Ethan Young’ on the blackboard. The strokes were sharp and beautiful.

Then he tossed the chalk into the chalk box, dusted the chalk powder off his hands, and gave a short, concise self-introduction: “Ethan Young. Also, I don’t wear black nail polish.”

When Ethan Young said that last sentence, he was staring straight at a certain idiot, but that idiot named 贺 didn’t look the least bit embarrassed. In fact, in the awkward silence where no one knew what to say, the idiot was the first to start clapping, giving his deskmate plenty of face: “Nice! Well said!”

Ethan Young: “”

Damn it.

When Ethan Young finished his self-introduction and returned to his seat, Henry Howard stared openly at his hands. Ethan Young, with nothing better to do, was doodling on a piece of paper, but under the stare, he slammed his pen down: “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Henry Howard said, “You really didn’t wear it? The legendary you isn’t like this.”

In the legend of the West Tower boss, nail polish played a big part—at least, Henry Howard only really remembered Ethan Young’s name because of that non-mainstream nail polish.

“What a load of crap.”

Henry Howard reached out to grab Ethan Young’s hand: “Don’t move, let me see.”

Ethan Young hadn’t expected him to actually do it, and by the time he realized, his hand was already in Henry Howard’s grasp.

Ethan Young’s hands looked quite delicate, even a bit gentle.

Clean and slender, with well-defined joints, and nails trimmed neatly.

Back when his family was doing well, Grace Miller had suggested he learn piano, saying his fingers were long and thin, perfect for it. But Ethan Young was too busy swinging fists at people—almost every day, parents would bring their kids to his house, asking what was wrong with their child, why he was getting hit.

Grace Miller never brought up piano again.

Henry Howard had just grabbed his hand and hadn’t even had time to study it when Ethan Young exploded, yanking his hand back: “Damn, what the hell is wrong with you?”

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13. Chapter Thirteen

The two classmates sitting in front of them quietly inched their chairs forward, dragging them across the floor with faint scraping sounds, until their chests were pressed against the edge of the desk, squeezing their ribcages so tight it was hard to breathe, all to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the two big shots in the row behind.

Henry Howard: “You don’t have to be like that, I just touched it.”

“Screw you,” Ethan Young said. “Don’t touch me for no reason.”

Henry Howard didn’t say anything, just stuck his hand out in front of Ethan Young.

Ethan Young glanced at him, thinking of that line he’d just said—‘I’m pretty interested in him’: “Want to spar?”

“Go ahead, I’ll let you touch back.”

Ethan Young: “”

The last student finished their self-introduction and came down from the stage. Chelsea Shaw coughed, hinting for a certain pair to follow classroom rules: “That’s it for today’s class meeting. Boarders must follow school rules. I don’t want to spend time after class dealing with things unrelated to your studies, so keep that in mind.”

The class schedule was handed out along with the notice. Chelsea Shaw added, “Luke Carter, you’ll be the temporary class monitor for the next few days. You have experience.”

Luke Carter was dead inside: “Ah, okay.”

“Hey, what’s the deal with that nail polish?” Barely two minutes of peace had passed before Henry Howard asked again.

Ethan Young really thought this guy was annoying.

The black nail polish thing.

Ethan Young hadn’t expected it to become such a dramatic part of his own history.

It was about half a year ago, when Heishui Street held a dance competition.

The neighborhood committee put up banners along the street, urging everyone to sign up, the promotion was unprecedentedly grand. But you could tell from the slogan that the competition wasn’t aimed at young people at all, because it said: “Relive your youth, regain the confidence of your younger days!”

At the time, Belle’s US visa had just come through, and he’d be leaving soon. Before he left, he insisted on dragging them to sign up.

Ray Jones couldn’t dance at all and refused on the spot: “No way, it’s too embarrassing. What are you thinking—competing in a dance contest with a bunch of neighborhood aunties? Are you crazy?”

Ethan Young also said, “Belle, there’s no way we’re doing this.”

Not to mention those neighborhood aunties, even Yvonne Shaw and Ray's Mom had been preparing for the dance competition for ages.

Ethan Young had even been dragged by Aunt May to the square to watch their seductive fan dance—green fans, sequins sparkling.

Ray's Mom was said to be the prettiest girl for miles around when she was young, but now she’d eaten her way to over two hundred pounds. When they finished dancing, Ethan Young stood in the middle of the square, feeling all sorts of things, and managed to squeeze out three words: “Pretty good.”

Belle was especially persistent this time. They thought he’d give up after three minutes, but Belle pestered them for three days.

Unprecedented.

Ray Jones pleaded, “Give me a reason, Belle, just one reason to overcome the embarrassment.”

Belle sighed, “Bro, I’m about to leave. Are you really so heartless you won’t even grant me this one small wish?”

Ray Jones: “You might as well ask me to pluck the stars from the sky for you, you little rascal.”

Belle: “”

Belle looked at Ethan Young again, but Ethan Young didn’t even want to talk, just left: “I’m going home for dinner.”

In the end, they couldn’t resist the little rascal.

On a pitch-black night, Belle called the two of them out. The three of them squatted on the curb in the cold wind, Ray Jones wrapping his coat tight, head down to protect his hair, but still ended up looking like an idiot.

“Belle, what do you want? In the middle of the night?” Ray Jones thought sometimes brothers needed a lesson, “Looking for a beating?”

Belle, facing the wind, squatted in front of them, summoning all his emotions: “Actually, I’ve always had a crush on a girl, but I’m too scared to confess. You know, I’m leaving soon, and long-distance relationships are too hard. I don’t want to do long-distance, never in my life. I just want her to remember my cool and handsome self before I go.”

Ethan Young: “”

Ray Jones was at the age of yearning for love and romance, or maybe he’d just been made stupid by the 3 a.m. cold wind. He sniffed, hesitated for a while, and wavered: “Isn’t there any other way to show off your cool and handsome self? Is this really the only one?”

In the end, they entered the competition.

But when the three of them lined up to sign up, the atmosphere was so awkward it was suffocating.

“Honey, look at these three boys.”

“These three boys.”

“Boys?”

The three of them: “”

Belle had a keen sense of fashion. If he’d had more time, he might have designed their own costumes. When he pulled out a bottle of black nail polish, Ethan Young refused: “This is your idea of cool?”

Belle painted as he spoke: “Super cool, really, Young Bro, trust me. I watched a bunch of videos last night, all the cool guys dance like this.”

Thanks to Belle, their stage look was not only on the cutting edge of non-mainstream, but also included all sorts of weird elements.

On the day of the competition, Ethan Young skipped class.

Honestly, they hadn’t even practiced properly. Ethan Young danced awkwardly, Belle’s moves were graceful but looked embarrassing, and Ray Jones was even worse—he danced terribly but thought he was great.

In the end, the three of them just flailed around on stage, never remembering the moves, always bumping into each other—one thought the other was in the way, the other thought he was being held back.

It wasn’t until the next day at school that Ethan Young remembered he hadn’t taken off the nail polish.

Ray Jones had it even worse—he had a small e-sports tournament at an internet café, pretty official, with a small live stream. That night, tens of thousands of people watched him grip the mouse with his black-polished hand, the other five black nails tapping away on the keyboard.

None of that really mattered, though. The only thing Ethan Young cared about was that, even after Belle left, they never found out who that girl was.