“Haven’t you looked at the program? We’re after Class 2, eighth in line.”

“I didn’t pay attention.”

As they spoke, the last line of the poetry recitation was finished. The two girls on stage bowed deeply to the audience, and then all the lights in the auditorium went out. A few seconds later, as the lights slowly came back on, the two from the poetry recitation had already left the stage, and now two elegantly dressed hosts stood on stage: “Thank you so much to Class 1 for their wonderful performance. On this special day, I believe everyone is just as excited as I am.”

The performance from Class 2, Grade 11, was a comedy skit that had the whole audience roaring with laughter—just in time to wake up Ethan Young.

“It’s our turn,” Emily Shaw passed the message down the line from the front, “Get ready, don’t be nervous.”

Logan Wright was so nervous he stared at the stage without blinking, not missing a single act. When he turned to pass the message back, he saw Ethan Young sitting to his right, still rubbing his eyes, half-squinting, looking pretty sleepy: “It’s our turn—Yu-ge, you’re way too calm.”

There had already been rumors that the two big shots from Class 3 would be performing, and the school forum had several threads about it, everyone howling, “Worth it, damn, if I can see this once in my life, it’s really worth it.”

Even though everyone had imagined it countless times in their heads, no one expected that seeing it in person would be even more shocking than they’d imagined.

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80. Chapter Eighty

“Class 3, Grade 11, dance ‘x’.”

As soon as the host finished speaking, the whole of Class 3 cheered from the audience, the wave of sound rolling from the back rows to the front: “Oh—”

A few people started screaming, at first scattered, as the rows of lights surrounding the audience gradually dimmed, from the front row to the back.

Only dozens of spotlights remained on stage, shining down from all angles, dazzlingly bright.

“Deep breath,” Henry Howard stood up and said, “PE rep, your whole body’s shaking, what are you afraid of?”

Logan Wright took two deep breaths, but was still trembling: “I can’t do it, I—”

“A man shouldn’t say he can’t.”

“But I really—”

Logan Wright hadn’t finished his sentence when he heard Ethan Young say, “How about a beating to calm you down?”

Ethan Young happened to be adjusting his cuffs, not even looking up, rolling his sleeves up a bit.

Logan Wright believed this guy wasn’t joking—he really saw “a beating” as the best solution, and if one wasn’t enough, then two.

“No need, Yu-ge, thank you,” Logan Wright instantly felt his hands stop shaking, his survival instinct making him calm down, “I believe I can do it. A man can.”

Henry Howard put an arm around Ethan Young’s waist, and hearing this, smiled, then leaned down to whisper in Ethan Young’s ear: “Pretty impressive.”

Ethan Young walked forward a couple of steps, Henry Howard’s hand at first just resting lightly, then getting more and more out of hand: “Can you fucking stop touching me?”

Emily Shaw led the way. She and Quinn Shaw both tied their hair up in high ponytails, a simple style that even looked a bit cool. The two of them had secretly changed their look in the bathroom at noon, tucking their shirt hems into their pants to make their legs look longer.

The group moved in a mighty line up the side stairs to the stage.

Ethan Young was at the end, not squeezing onto the stairs with them. Figuring the stage wasn’t that high, he simply braced one hand on the stage floor and flipped up in one smooth motion.

With the movement, the hem of his shirt lifted, revealing half his waist in a fleeting glimpse.

The boy was slim, his waist looking quite narrow.

It was just a split-second.

The audience was fired up by this simple yet outrageously bold move. Not only were the Class 3 students yelling at the top of their lungs, but the whole auditorium erupted in screams and applause.

In the front row, a few younger girls who had never seen the legendary school tyrant in person couldn’t match the name to the face: “Ah, is that him?!”

“West Building Ethan Young.”

Back then, the East and West buildings were separated by a corridor, each minding their own business. After Grade 11, the two legendary school tyrants hadn’t caused any more trouble—the only thing was the sky-high CP threads on the school forum.

Now the two of them stood side by side on stage, under the spotlights, their whole bodies bathed in light, extremely eye-catching.

Henry Howard looked very distant when he wasn’t smiling, quite different from his usual laid-back self, actually fitting everyone’s image of a “school tyrant.”

The music intro started, and the whole place went wild.

Henry Howard stood at the center of the stage, the others crouched around him, one hand on the ground, striking the opening pose.

A few more lights went out.

He raised his hand, arm high above his head, following the electric melody and the hard, fierce drumbeat, his fingers curled, lazily tracing a three in the air.

Henry Howard had a commanding presence, and with just a wave of his hand, he held the whole place.

All eyes were on him. The cuffs of his shirt slid down with the movement, revealing a slender, well-defined wrist, the red string around it especially striking. When the next drumbeat hit, he pressed down his ring finger, changing the gesture.

Three.

Two.

One.

On the third beat, everyone scattered, changing formation.

“He’s handsome, but isn’t this a bit too cringey?”

The Class 3 students were both excited and overwhelmed by a wave of indescribable embarrassment: “Good thing it’s Bro Henry—if anyone else did this, I wouldn’t dare look, so cocky.”

Henry Howard was always dramatic, but even this embarrassment couldn’t top that time at the sports meet, when he led them in shouting “Who’s number one” before even crossing the finish line.

Of the group, only Emily Shaw had learned dance; the rest were amateurs. Even though they’d memorized the moves after so many days, their execution was still a bit off.

But what moved people most was this very rawness.

The loose shirts, with their bold and energetic moves, vaguely outlined their figures.

Before going on stage, Ethan Young had said only idiots get nervous, but maybe because the dance moves were so big, he was unexpectedly hot all over, from head to toe, getting hotter and hotter.

In his ears were the exaggerated screams from the audience.

Even though the audience was pitch black, it looked as if a layer of color had been added.

Someone from Class 3 had made a support sign, written in red fluorescent marker: Class 3 is the coolest!

Bro Henry is unbeatable!

Number one belongs to Class 3!

The performance lasted just five minutes.

Old Thompson held up his phone the whole time, not even sure where to look. If he watched the stage, he couldn’t keep the camera steady, afraid the shot would drift off.

The music was deafening, and the visual impact of the moves was intense.

During the part where they put their arms around each other’s waists, the screams from the audience came in waves. Henry Howard completely forgot Emily Shaw’s repeated reminders before going on stage not to smile and to look cool, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a smile.

The final move finished, and the music stopped abruptly.

All the lights on stage went out.

To make the whole process smoother, the auditorium would go dark for a few seconds after each performance, so the performers could leave and the hosts could come out from behind the curtain.

They’d been reminded several times during rehearsal not to linger on stage, but to get off quickly.

“Damn, it’s so dark,” Luke Carter was amazed. You could only see a few steps ahead. As he groped his way to the side of the stage, he said, “I think I was absolutely awesome just now.”

Logan Wright: “Me too, that was my best performance ever. So many girls in the audience were screaming for me.”

Wanda, at least self-aware, was silent for a moment, then said, “Are you sure they were screaming for you? Yu-ge, say something, help him face reality.”

“Huh?” Ethan Young hadn’t been paying attention. He raised his hand to tug at his collar, getting ready to jump straight off the stage.

After his “huh,” he heard Henry Howard call him from behind: “Old Young.”

There were only a few small windows around the auditorium, and it was almost completely dark outside, with little light coming in.

Ethan Young was feeling hot, and had just undone a shirt button when he looked back. Henry Howard was half-hidden in the darkness, holding the back of his head, and kissed him without warning.

Henry Howard was hot too, and as he got closer, he was even breathing heavily.

Half the school’s teachers and students were in the audience, dozens of rows of people, and those who couldn’t fit were watching the broadcast in their classrooms.

The applause hadn’t stopped yet, and the nearest row was just a few steps away. Ethan Young stood in the center of the stage, able to hear even the whispers from the audience.

“They’re so handsome!”

“Did you record it just now? I want to watch it again.”

“I did, I did, just wait a sec.”