Edith Parker instantly flew into a rage, struggling like a wild beast. But just then, the window beside him was suddenly opened, and someone inside poked out half his body, still drowsy, his hair sticking up in all directions.

He was wearing the black-and-white high school uniform jacket, lazily glancing around, and smiled at Laura Brooks, who still had his fist raised, saying, “Bullying a classmate?”

As he spoke, white mist curled around his lips, making his expression seem especially gentle. But Edith Parker noticed that the people around him all unconsciously tensed up, their movements freezing.

Laura Brooks was clearly stunned and didn’t say a word. Unexpectedly, the person simply climbed out the window and jumped down, approaching them. He was much taller than the group, exuding an overwhelming sense of pressure.

“So noisy.” He stretched lazily, then cracked his fingers with a loud snap. “I was sleeping so well, dreaming I won the lottery and was just about to claim my prize, but now it’s ruined! So, what are you going to do about it?”

He was no stranger. In this school, there were few who didn’t recognize this face—Edith Parker, who lived in his own world, was one of the rare exceptions.

The group exchanged glances, and in the end, all looked at Laura Brooks.

Laura Brooks, unable to save face, shoved Michael Bolton—his most loyal lackey.

“What are you standing there for? Drag him away.”

Michael Bolton swallowed hard, braced himself, and grabbed his arm. “Let’s go!”

Before Edith Parker could resist, the next second, a foot came crashing in, and Michael Bolton fell to the ground with a wail. The force was so great it nearly dragged Edith Parker down too, since he was being pulled by the arm.

But he didn’t fall. He didn’t go down with him, because his other arm was gripped tightly.

Soon after, the instigator let go of his arm, smiling warmly, even bending down to check on Michael Bolton’s condition. “Sorry, sorry, I’ve got a problem with my leg, my knee-jerk reflex is huge. If you don’t believe me, look…”

As he spoke, he made as if to lift his leg again, and everyone instinctively stepped back.

Michael Bolton couldn’t even get up, nearly crawling backward. Laura Brooks, feeling humiliated and unable to provoke this high school celebrity, could only curse viciously at Edith Parker before turning to leave.

The others didn’t dare linger and quickly followed.

“Running off so fast, how boring…” He scratched his messy bed hair, glanced at the downcast Edith Parker, sighed, and when he got no response, tugged his arm and called him “junior” in a low voice.

“You okay? Want me to take you to the infirmary? I know the place well.”

Edith Parker kept his head down and said nothing, thinking the other would let go, but instead, he held on tighter and even reached out with his other hand. Half-bending over, he was about to brush aside his bangs to check, his fingertips already touching the black eye mask.

“Don’t keep your head down. Let me see—did you hurt your eye?”

“No, thank you, senior.” Edith Parker quickly dodged, abruptly tossing out the words before turning and running off.

All that was left was a trail of footprints in the snow.

The dodge was instinctive, but afterward, he kept wondering what the other’s name was—he wanted to know very much.

A few days later, it was time for the school’s New Year’s Eve performance.

After a string of boring poetry recitations, solos, choruses, dances, and comic skits, the audience was half asleep. Edith Parker was lost in thought. The next program was another solo, and the host announced the song as “Grateful Heart.”

Grateful Heart—just hearing those words made him not care who was singing.

The next second, a figure ran onto the stage, standing rather sloppily in front of the mic stand. The moment the sound came through the speakers, Edith Parker frowned.

He looked up, and that familiar face appeared in his sight again, grinning mischievously, raising an eyebrow, introducing himself as Henry Clark from Class 9, Grade 10.

Henry Clark.

The accompaniment hadn’t started yet, but he smiled and sang the first two lines a cappella, then suddenly stopped, turned around, raised his arm high, and waved toward backstage.

With a rush, three more people ran out from behind the side curtain. Just as the whole school was looking on in surprise, the red backdrop with the [Welcome the New Year, Happy Spring Festival] banner came crashing down, revealing the setup behind: drum kit, guitar, bass, and amps all ready.

They each took their places with energy, looking toward the real star.

Henry Clark ran over, picked up the electric guitar, slung it on, and dashed back to the mic stand. The moment the first drumbeat hit, he played a flashy, powerful riff.

To this day, Edith Parker can recall the impact of that moment, as if a surge of vibrant electricity shot through his numb body, shattering every bone and then bringing him back to life the next second.

“Grateful Heart” was just a cover. With a sly and rebellious air, he sang his own rock song, “lion heart,” in front of the whole school.

The sound of the electric guitar was like a spreading spark, easily igniting the entire audience. The fire swept through, every student shouting his name, screaming, letting loose—all the fatigue and boredom of the night burned away.

It was as if a wish had come true. In the crowd, Edith Parker was buried in the cheers, calmly repeating that name in his mind.

Henry Clark. Henry Clark.

In that instant, everyone else on and off stage disappeared, leaving only Henry Clark and him.