Chapter 1

Today the weather is sunny and clear, not a cloud in the sky.

Truly a beautiful day.

Edward Clark leaned against the rooftop railing, head down, scribbling in his little notebook.

All around was the noise of people talking. On the rooftop, near the stairwell, quite a few students and teachers were standing. A camera was filming a girl who was speaking at the edge of the rooftop, and below, the crowd was packed tight, everyone craning their necks to look up.

This was probably the most popular event organized by the student council this year.

"Our cafeteria food is just so delicious! The meals here are definitely the best in the city!" the girl shouted.

A round of applause rose from below. Edward Clark lowered his head and smiled.

"Still need to take notes?" The vice president of the student council's publicity department walked over, paused when he saw him, and said, "Isn't the student council already recording this? Why are you still... Should I be taking notes too?"

"Hmm?" Edward Clark looked up at him. "Oh, you should take some notes. After all, this is the first time our school has held this kind of event. It's pretty meaningful."

The vice president was newly appointed and took his work very seriously. Hearing this, he immediately nodded and pulled out his own little notebook.

After staring at the blank page for a while, he scooted closer to Edward Clark. "You are..."

"Don't look at mine," Edward Clark took out his glasses from his jacket pocket and put them on. "Notes from multiple perspectives are more comprehensive."

"Right!" The vice president suddenly understood, lowered his head, and started thinking hard.

Edward Clark lowered his head and continued writing in his notebook.

For dinner, I want noodles with gravy, extra oil.

Preferably lots of oil.

Lots of oil.

The multi-perspective notes weren't finished yet when Edward Clark heard a girl's voice from ahead: "I... I can't do it. Suddenly I'm a little scared—no, just suddenly way too nervous. I don't dare go up and speak."

When he looked up, he saw the student council president, Grace Thompson, smiling as she patted a girl's shoulder. "It's okay, it's okay. If you don't want to go up, that's fine. Let someone else go first, you can take your time."

Shouting from the rooftop, even though you had to line up, felt nothing like lining up for milk tea.

If someone cut in line for milk tea, even if the people behind didn't say anything, they'd be cursing the cutter in their hearts, like a rotten egg growing green fuzz. But here, if someone cut in line, those behind might actually feel relieved.

But right now, not only was there no one cutting, but suddenly one less person. The few students waiting to go up all turned to look at Grace Thompson, all stunned.

The girl at the edge of the rooftop, who was shouting for the cafeteria lady not to shake the ladle, was already wrapping up her speech. In such a lively atmosphere, if no one followed up and things went cold, it would be a bit awkward.

"I'll go," Edward Clark closed his notebook and casually rolled it up, stuffing it into his back pocket.

"Okay." Grace Thompson nodded without even thinking, not asking what he was going to say. After all, he was the academic god—he could probably improvise a thesis on the spot.

It was about sixteen steps from where Edward Clark stood to the railing where you spoke on the rooftop. As he walked over, he still didn't know what he wanted to say.

What should I say?

It wasn't until he stood at the edge of the rooftop that he saw Brian Foster standing by a tree, looking up at him.

Edward Clark pushed up his glasses, rested his hand on the rooftop railing, and smiled down at the crowd.

After a wave of girls' screams, he spoke: "Good afternoon, everyone. I'm Edward Clark."

For Edward Clark, within his controllable range, impulsiveness was often a pleasurable feeling—like right now.

The camera was almost in his face. He lowered his head and cleared his throat.

"Actually, I never thought I'd stand here one day, speaking to so many people."

The noise below gradually faded.

Even though speaking here wasn't part of his plan, even though a second before standing here he still wasn't sure what he was going to say.

"These words have been bottled up inside me for a long time. I want to say them—for myself, and for people like me."

But once he started, every word that came out felt like it had been rehearsed hundreds of times.

"I have someone I really like. Maybe he knows, maybe he doesn't, but that's not important," he looked up, his voice as clear and calm as before. "I won't tell you who I like, but I will tell everyone: I like men."

Suddenly, everything went quiet. Out of the corner of his eye, even the camera seemed frozen. The cameraman peeked out from behind the machine.

Edward Clark was always one hundred percent, even two hundred percent confident in many things, but in that instant of silence, he still felt a bit nervous.

He just lowered his head, not even daring to look at Brian Foster's face below.

Then a whistle sounded.

Edward Clark's tense nerves suddenly relaxed a little, and he let out a barely noticeable breath.

He said a few more things after that, maybe a sentence or two, but he didn't really remember—he could recall them if he needed to, anyway.