Ethan Young’s foot slipped on the edge of the step. With Henry Howard pulling and letting go, he lost his balance and, before falling, managed to squeeze out a sentence: “Henry Howard, what the hell is wrong with you?”

The next day.

Logan Wright was busy cheering on the athletes who hadn’t competed yet, and at the same time, he was already looking forward to the awards for their class in the boys’ 3000-meter run, even going so far as to mentally pocket both first and second place.

“Our class has got this in the bag this time. We’re one of the best in the grade, you know. Sure, our academic scores are at the bottom, but our sports scores are awesome! With Bro Henry and Ethan Bro—”

Logan Wright hadn’t finished speaking when he saw Henry Howard helping Ethan Young in through the back door.

“These two, uh, our two long-distance runners,” Logan Wright choked a bit, “what happened to you guys?”

Ethan Young had a medicated patch on his ankle, his pant leg rolled up, leaning against Henry Howard. He raised his hand and pointed at the person next to him: “Ask him.”

“I really didn’t mean to,” Henry Howard carefully wrapped an arm around Ethan Young’s waist and said, “Does it hurt? Should we go to the infirmary again? Or do you want to go back to the dorm?”

Ethan Young said, “I want you to shut up.”

So the long-distance event was left with only Henry Howard as the sole representative.

While carrying chairs downstairs, Logan Wright was still muttering, “I shouldn’t have joked about it. The hope of the whole village—now he really is the only hope left.”

Henry Howard was carrying two chairs, planning to come back later to help the kid downstairs.

Logan Wright added, “Bro Henry, tell me, can I trust you, Bro Henry?”

“First place, right? No problem,” once they arrived, Henry Howard put the chairs down, “Charlie, don’t worry, I’m not fighting alone. I’m carrying my deskmate’s soul with me.”

“The remaining events today are the long jump finals, the 100-meter finals, the boys’ 3000-meter run, the 4x100-meter relay, and the group event, tug-of-war, and finally a 400-meter race for teachers from each class.” Manager Jensen started motivating everyone again, “Watching everyone run on the field makes me so proud. This is what youth should look like! Go, athletes!”

Ethan Young sat in his seat, head down looking at his phone, with the big coat Henry Howard had forced on him draped over his head, supposedly to block the sun.

The 3000-meter run was always the main event, and it lasted the longest. Henry Howard would have to check in at the flagpole soon. Before leaving, he was especially confident: “You guys should think about what you’ll say when our class wins first place.”

Wanda clapped: “First place, guaranteed.”

Luke Carter: “Awesome, we’re counting on you, Bro Henry.”

Ethan Young kicked over with his uninjured foot: “Cut the crap and get lost.”

Henry Howard left, the numbers 4286 on his back shining in the sunlight.

After Henry Howard left, Logan Wright and the others gathered to discuss writing a radio message to cheer on the only long-distance runner in Class 3. Several heads huddled together for a long time, and then Wanda turned to ask, “Ethan Bro, help us take a look, is this okay?”

Ethan Young reached out to take it, only to find that this wasn’t a cheer-up message at all—it was the acceptance speech Henry Howard wanted.

The handwriting was Luke Carter’s messy scrawl.

Victory belongs to Bro Henry, belongs to Class 3. Thanks to the other long-distance runners for participating. It’s a pity and a bit helpless, but you were destined to be the silent supporting roles in this play.

“”

Luke Carter blinked and asked, “Well? Isn’t it creative?”

“Shameless. After the sports meet, you might get ambushed and beaten up,” Ethan Young paused, then added, “But your Bro Henry will definitely love it.”

------------

43. Chapter Forty-Three

Luke Carter and the others excitedly submitted the message, and when they ran back, they waved at Henry Howard across the track: “Bro Henry, good luck! We’ve got a surprise for you!”

Not many people signed up for the long-distance run—just one or two from each class, and all of them were forced into it. No one wanted to run that many laps. You could sprint and show off in a short race, but 3000 meters? That’s just showing everyone what it means to be out of breath and wishing you were dead.

Henry Howard stood at the end of the line, the most eye-catching one in the crowd.

Hearing someone call his name, Henry Howard turned around and casually made a “no problem” gesture, calling out, “Hey, friend, give me a hint?”

“It’s a secret,” Wanda waggled his finger, “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Logan Wright shouted too, “Don’t forget, you’re carrying Ethan Bro’s soul!”

Henry Howard stood there, watching the lively and enthusiastic classmates from Class 3 walk back to their seats. His gaze couldn’t help but drift to someone sitting in the back row in the corner.

Ethan Young was looking down, scrolling through his Moments. He liked a few posts, only to have Big Ray immediately screenshot it and send it to the “No More Fighting” group chat, captioned: Hello, missing person xy.

Only then did Ethan Young realize he hadn’t updated his status in a long time.

He wasn’t in the habit of recording his life, but now, with all the noise around him—every class cheering for their athletes, some screaming, some comforting: “It’s okay, you did great, it’s all about taking part…”

Ethan Young opened the camera, planning to take a photo just for the sake of it. As he raised his phone and was about to adjust the angle, he saw, right in the center of the frame, a certain someone named 贺, surname 贺, given name 朝, the Mr. Handsome: “”

Mr. Handsome’s pose and expression were totally over the top. Facing the camera, right hand tugging at his collar, a slight smirk on his lips—clearly a staged shot, confident and cool.

The pose was way too practiced.

Ethan Young’s finger twitched, almost closing the camera app.

What a nutcase.

This guy is so dramatic.

Who the hell wants to take your picture?

Ethan Young resisted the urge to throw his phone, but seeing Henry Howard hold that pose for a full thirty seconds without moving—amazing perseverance—he finally pressed the shutter.

Afraid that Henry Howard would get addicted to posing and start showing off with more, Ethan Young quickly stuffed his phone into his pocket after taking the picture.

After a while, when Henry Howard lined up on the track, Ethan Young took out his phone again, unlocked it, and the screen showed the photo he’d just taken.

Backlit, the figure was a bit dim, but the boy in the center of the shot was still dazzling.

“Boys’ 3000 meters, ready—”

With the sound of the starting gun, the 3000-meter race began.

A dozen or so athletes, toes on the white line, shot out the moment the gun fired.

“I’m not worried about the others, but there’s a guy in the next class with crazy endurance—he used to be on the school team, the fifth one,” Logan Wright craned his neck, a bit worried, “Why is Bro Henry starting out so fast? He should pace himself.”

Wanda: “Class rep, let’s look at it another way—it’s because he’s strong.”

“Strong my ass,” Ethan Young finished posting on Moments, just in time to hear Wanda’s comment. He looked up and said, “He’s just showing off.”

Luke Carter clapped and said, “I actually can’t argue with that.”

Henry Howard was running in front, a full half-lap ahead of everyone else. The whole school’s eyes were on him, following him around the track.

A few girls from another class were chattering non-stop: “Is it really only 3000 meters? I want to watch a few more laps, he’s so handsome.”

Ethan Young leaned back, squinting, feeling a bit annoyed for some reason.

What’s so great about watching him?

“Here he comes!” Logan Wright dragged a stool to sit behind Ethan Young. Every time Henry Howard ran by, he’d lead the whole class in cheering, so excited he couldn’t stay in his seat, half-squatting and counting down, “Let’s get in sync and show our class spirit!”

When Henry Howard got close, Logan Wright and the others led the wild chant: “Class 3, number one! Bro Henry is unbeatable!”

They shouted it three times.

As Henry Howard passed the class, he slowed down, grabbing his shirt hem—probably feeling hot after four laps—taking off his sweatshirt as he ran. The girls in the stands started screaming again.

After taking off his sweatshirt, Henry Howard shouted, “Old Young!”

Ethan Young hadn’t reacted yet when Henry Howard tossed his sweatshirt over like a pass, landing right at Ethan Young’s feet. Then Henry Howard, wiping sweat with the thin undershirt, said, “Hold this for me.”

Henry Howard’s jacket still carried his body heat, with a faint scent of laundry detergent.

Ethan Young held Henry Howard’s jacket, and when there was only one lap left in the 3000-meter run, Class 3’s radio message was finally picked—probably because there were no other submissions, so they had to read this terrible entry.

“Submission from Class 3, Grade 2: Victory belongs to Bro Henry, belongs to Class 3.”