Interview with the School (2)

“Please, come in, have a seat!”

As soon as You Xi pushed open the glass door of the conference room, Director Cao from the administrative office greeted her with an overly warm smile.

Inside the small, cramped space sat a set of aluminum-framed chairs and table—cheap, cafeteria-style furniture. Director Cao and Teacher Li sat on one side, their expressions politely pleasant. But the cold air blowing from the AC made You Xi’s skin crawl.

Sensing her unease, Director Cao adjusted his glasses and spoke in a gentle tone:

“Don’t be nervous, student. This is just a casual chat. No pressure at all.”

You Xi looked at the man’s scholarly face—and felt her guard rise even higher.

She knew he had a nickname among students: “Director Eunuch”—a mocking title given by those who’d experienced his underhanded tactics. That alone said everything about how devious he could be.

“The issue between you and Mo Li has already been resolved by our school,” Director Cao said bluntly the moment she sat down.

“Resolved?” You Xi frowned.

“Yes. Withdrawn.”

“Mo Li’s mother went to the police station yesterday and officially dropped the case. You can rest easy—this won’t affect your academics or future job prospects.”

“Oh…”

You Xi nodded slowly.

On the surface, this was good news. But something about it felt… off. Too convenient.

Director Cao continued, speaking like a politician taking credit for a victory.

“Ah, Mrs. Mo wasn’t easy to deal with, I tell you,” he sighed, feigning exhaustion.

“You know how it was, Teacher Li. That day, right here in this very room—we talked for hours. From lunchtime all the way until students went home after class. Right?”

“Yes, Director Cao really went above and beyond. He truly poured his heart into resolving this,” Teacher Li quickly chimed in.

“No need to praise me so much,” Director Cao waved modestly. “The students’ matters are the school’s responsibility. When conflicts arise, we must take action.”

With that, the room fell into an awkward silence.

After a moment, You Xi spoke up.

“What about Bai Mian?”

Her voice was soft—so quiet it was almost swallowed by the hum of the air conditioner.

The image of her friend standing across a fence at dusk—once a cherished memory—now felt like a wound reopened. Not blood, but a long, weary sigh seeped out.

“When Bai Mian was being bullied… when she stopped coming to school… what did the school do then?” she asked.

A brief silence followed. Director Cao and Teacher Li exchanged a glance—clearly searching for excuses.

“We deeply regret what happened to Bai Mian,” Director Cao said finally, choosing his words carefully. “She’s been missing for over a week now. The school is actively using its influence to locate her.”

After reciting this canned response, a sharp glint flashed in Director Cao’s eyes.

He straightened in his chair, hands clasped tightly together, fingers kneading each other.

“Speaking of finding people… you know, nothing spreads faster than newspapers and news outlets.”

“Coincidentally, Shangjing Weekly is doing a feature on teenage runaways. Since Bai Mian’s parents filed a report, the reporters likely caught wind of it and came to our school for material.”

“Material?” You Xi murmured. “When did this happen?”

Director Cao gave a date—two days before she’d been told to return to school.

That struck her as strange.

She’d only been notified that her suspension was extended—never told how long, or when it would end. At the time, since she didn’t care much about classes anyway—being a magical girl took priority—she hadn’t questioned it.

But now? Now it made her wonder: Did the school wait until after the interview to call me back?

It wasn’t fair to suspect them without proof.

But the timing… too perfect to ignore.

“The reporter heard you were Bai Mian’s closest friend and wanted to interview you. But isn’t it funny? You were suspended at the time, so the matter was dropped.”

“But…”

Here, Director Cao’s tone shifted.

The mask of kindness slipped away—revealing a cold, calculating face beneath.

“Yesterday morning, the editorial office called again. They said the information they gathered wasn’t enough. They’ll be returning to campus for another round of interviews.”

“You mean…”

Even if she’d been slow before, You Xi now understood the real reason for this meeting.

She glanced at Director Cao—but faltered under his oppressive gaze, quickly looking away.

She turned to Teacher Li.

But the young woman avoided her eyes, lips pressed tight, head bowed low in silence—offering no help.

“So, You Xi…” Director Cao began.

An atmosphere thick with pressure and veiled threat filled the tiny room.

“…We’d appreciate your cooperation. For the sake of the school’s reputation.”

****

“That’s all for today.”

After completing her final [Boost Shot], Tidal collapsed from exhaustion and immediately de-transformed.

“Hmm. If I leave now, I’ll still make it.”
“Is it You Xi? Huimei’s child?”

Alongside the scattering rose petals, Rosetta reverted to her human form.

At the mention of her late friend’s daughter, Shi Minjun’s usually stern face softened—just slightly, but unmistakably.

“Yes. Xi—the character for ‘hope.’ ”

You Dong lit a cigarette. Once it burned out, he’d drive back to the Fifth Ring for You Xi’s meeting.

“What kind of kid is she?” Shi Minjun asked.

“Well…”

You Dong recalled their shared moments. Then, with a touch of sorrow, he realized—outside of her time as a magical girl, most of their memories were arguments and petty squabbles.

“She’s impulsive. Quick-tempered,” he said.

“But she’s a good kid. I can guarantee that.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Shi Minjun nodded, her voice tinged with nostalgia.

“You know… when we were in college, because of her personal beliefs on marriage, Huimei once said—if she ever had a child, she’d name me godmother.”

“Really? Did you accept?” You Dong asked, surprised.

“I ignored her at the time. Felt like such a distant, abstract idea… Never thought twenty years would pass so fast.”

She opened the car door, then reached in and pulled out two tickets.

“Take these.”

You Dong looked down—VIP passes to a famous amusement park. With these, they could skip every line, go straight to any ride.

“This must’ve cost a fortune…”

He hesitated.

He knew how close Shi Minjun and his sister had been—but this was their bond, not his. Accepting such a lavish gift felt wrong.

“Just take them,” Shi Minjun insisted, pushing the tickets toward him again.

“…Consider it a gift for my never-met goddaughter.”

After driving away from the training ground, You Dong sped toward the city.

In his mind, he mapped the fastest route to Xinwang High.

He chose the elevated highway—it had no traffic lights outside rush hour, allowing steady acceleration around 2,000 RPM. A smooth, enjoyable ride for both driver and machine.

But fate had other plans.

After ten kilometers, the cars ahead slowed. Traffic thickened.

Traffic jam?

He checked the time—2:30 p.m. Why would it be congested now?

He had thirty minutes until the meeting. He’d calculated plenty of buffer time. But with traffic like this? Impossible to say.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. Amid the rising panic, a memory surfaced—last night’s conversation with his niece.

“…I’m not that scared. Just… a little. Only a tiny bit, really.”

The way she’d looked away while saying it—so hesitant, so afraid of burdening him.

Since when did she become so considerate?

Was it pride? Or sorrow? He couldn’t tell.

And yet, as if mocking his urgency, the traffic stretched longer—endless, coiling along the serpentine overpass.

Should I transform into Tidal and fly?

The thought had barely formed when the car radio crackled to life.

Emergency broadcast: aberration spotted near an exit ramp on the Fifth Ring Elevated.

You Dong glanced at the blue sign above—same road name.

Now he understood.

“Damn it. Perfect damn timing.”

Cursing, he pulled out the soul gem from the cigarette box.

Sure, secrecy mattered.

But for You Xi’s peace of mind? Worth it.

He guided the car to the merging lane, turned on the hazard lights.

Tidal climbed into the passenger seat, carefully propping the door against the highway barrier.

Cars crawled forward in the center lanes.

Tidal ducked out, crouched low.

Maybe someone saw her. Maybe no one noticed the small, blue-clad figure.

She didn’t care.

In one swift motion, she launched into the sky.