Chapter 5: Junior, You Can’t: You’re Getting Closer (Part 1)

Xiao Yan’s Perspective:

Only a single desk lamp was lit in the bedroom.

Its warm yellow light spread across the desk, casting Xiao Yan’s shadow onto the wall, where it flickered and swayed.

A notebook lay open before her.

She held a pen in her hand, but after writing a few words, she stopped.

Her cheeks were burning; she didn’t even need to touch them to know they were bright red.

Xiao Yan’s mind was completely occupied by the events of the first day the President had turned into a girl.

The back of her neck, her hair, her reddened ears, and that soft, gentle voice when she whispered “thank you.”

The tip of the pen rested on the paper, letting a small dot of ink bleed into the page.

I took a deep breath, gripped the pen tighter, and continued to write.

My handwriting remained neat—stroke by stroke, careful and diligent—no different from how I usually did my homework.

But only I knew that when I reached certain parts, the tip of the pen would falter, and my heart would skip a beat right along with it.

—

November 6 — Cloudy to Overcast

Today, while on my way to submit the activity plan, I ran into someone in the hallway.

She was wearing a school uniform wrapped in a dark green trench coat, bundled up like a zongzi, walking with cautious steps.

Her long black hair was draped messily over her shoulders, the ends curling slightly, rising and falling with the draft blowing through the corridor.

I had seen that old Burberry trench coat many times.

It was dark green, and I always thought the President looked especially good whenever he wore it.

But the person wearing it before certainly didn’t look like this.

Her face did bear a resemblance to President Han.

However, there were still significant differences.

The sharp angles of the jaw were gone, and the brow bone wasn’t as prominent, making the lines of her entire face much softer.

Her eyelashes seemed to have grown longer, too, casting a small, fan-shaped shadow under the hallway lights.

I stood at the top of the stairs, staring at her for three seconds as my mind raced.

‘Who is this? What class is she from?’

‘Is she a new teacher?’

‘No, she’s wearing a school uniform.’

‘A transfer student?’

Then, she lifted her head and glanced my way.

In that instant, my heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t just because she was beautiful.

Fine, that was part of it.

But more important was that look in her eyes.

It was that quiet, slightly serious gaze—the kind that looked as if it were confirming something.

It wasn’t a look that was sizing you up or judging you; it was just looking at you very earnestly.

That was the President’s gaze.

It was exactly the same.

I shifted my gaze downward, landing on the ID badge pinned to her school uniform.

It was white with black text, clearly stating:

[Liberal Arts Class: Han Hanhan]

Han Hanhan.

The President.

The name Han Hanhan was too unique; there wouldn’t be a second person in the entire school with it.

‘Who would name their child “Hanhan” anyway?’

Especially with the surname Han—it was a double sound.

It sounded cold and icy, though I only realized after getting to know him that he wasn’t like that at all.

I stood at the top of the stairs, frozen in place.

My mind was a complete blank, and my mouth was slightly agape.

I probably looked like a total idiot.

“Morning,” she said.

Her voice had changed.

The pitch was higher and softer, sounding like someone speaking while they had a cold.

But that intonation, that rhythm, and that slight upward lilt at the end of the word “morning”…

It was the President.

It was definitely the President.

He was always like this when he said “morning”—unhurried, as if he were making sure you actually heard him.

I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, as a flood of questions surged through my brain.

‘How did you turn into a girl?’

‘What happened to you last night?’

‘Are you okay?’ ‘Are you sick?’ ‘Do you need to see a doctor?’

But all those words circled my lips and were swallowed back down.

Her expression was normal.

The way she pushed up her glasses was the same as always.

She used her index finger to nudge the middle of the frames, her movements crisp and decisive.

Her back was perfectly straight, her weight shifted onto one leg, and her gaze remained earnest and quiet.

Everything was exactly like the President in my memories.

She didn’t seem to think there was anything different about her at all.

“Hello, Senior!”

I heard myself speak.

My voice was a bit louder and more enthusiastic than I intended, as if I were trying my best to play the role of a junior who knew nothing.

The smile on my face was probably a bit too wide, likely looking quite fake.

But I couldn’t help it.

My mind was already a mess; the fact that I could speak at all was already an achievement.

She nodded and walked past me.

The hem of the trench coat brushed against my knees, bringing a slight breeze with it.

The faint scent of laundry detergent.

It was the same as before.

I stood where I was, my heart racing so fast that I could hear my own pulse.

Thump, thump, thump.

It sounded like someone was beating a drum.

She had turned into a girl.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, my mind filling with memories of the past.

When I first joined the Astronomy Club in my freshman year, I didn’t know anything.

He was the one who taught me everything bit by bit—how to identify stars, how to adjust the telescope, and how to keep observation logs.

He didn’t speak much, but every word he said was clear.

He never became impatient because I was slow to learn.

When I couldn’t get the adjustments right, he would stand nearby and watch for a while, then softly say, “Try it again.”

His voice would be very soft, almost as if he were talking to himself.

That was just his way.

He didn’t use unnecessary words, didn’t flatter you, and didn’t say things like “you’re doing great.”

But he was always there, patiently accompanying you until you learned.

He would reach out when you needed him, and then step back when you didn’t.

Then there was that time the tripod was blown over by the gale.

The wind was incredibly strong that day while we were observing on the rooftop.

The wind howled like someone crying.

The equatorial mount was swaying back and forth.

I was standing nearby, distracted, looking down as I wrote in my logbook.

By the time I realized what was happening, he had already rushed over.

He used his back to block the iron rod.

He put his whole body in front of me, his back pressed against the counterweight shaft and his hands braced against the wall, trapping me in the middle.

His body was arched, his shoulders tense, and I could hear the sound of the iron rod slamming into his back.

It was a dull thud, like something hitting a sandbag.

“Are you okay?”

He asked.

His voice was tight, and his breathing was heavier than usual.

He let out a dry cough, but he tried his best to keep his tone calm.

I stood there, looking at him.

His glasses were crooked, his hair was a mess from the wind, and his shoulders were trembling slightly from the exertion.

That was the first time someone had protected me like that.

It wasn’t because I had helped him, or because I had done something remarkable.

It wasn’t because of who I was or what value I had.

It was simply because I was there, so he rushed forward.

I lowered my head, feeling a tightness in my chest that I couldn’t quite describe.

It wasn’t just a romantic crush; it was like my heart, which had always been suspended, had suddenly landed in a soft, safe place.

Now, he had become a girl.

Why?

How could this happen?

What on earth had occurred?

When she walked, her strides were a bit smaller than before, likely because of the change in height.

The way she pushed her glasses hadn’t changed, but her fingers seemed to have become more slender.

The way she looked at people hadn’t changed—still that quiet, earnest, slightly dazed look.

But she was a girl now.

Long hair, soft facial features, a gentle voice.

Did she know she was supposed to be a boy?

Had she noticed she had changed?

Was she scared?

If she woke up in the middle of the night to find her body had changed, would she cry?

When she looked in the mirror in the morning, would she stare at her reflection for a long time?

I wanted to ask her.

I really, really wanted to ask her.

I wanted to ask, ‘Are you okay?’ I wanted to ask, ‘Do you need help?’ I wanted to tell her, ‘It’s okay, no matter what you become, I will—’

I will what?

I didn’t dare think further.

No, I couldn’t let anyone find out that I remembered.

Everyone else would think she had always been a girl.

I had to act as if it were perfectly natural.

I had to pretend nothing had happened, pretend she had always been a girl, and pretend my heart wasn’t beating this fast.

It was hard.

It was really, really hard.

—

November 7 — Overcast to Cloudy

I went to the club room after school today to drop off the observation logs.

After what happened yesterday, even a mundane task felt exceptionally exciting.

When I reached the door, it was slightly ajar, and someone seemed to be inside the changing room.

I peeked in and saw the President through the gap, changing into the club uniform.

Her back was to the door.

She had the specially designed club uniform halfway on, but she couldn’t reach the zipper in the back.

She was reaching behind her, trying her best.

Her hair had come loose from her ponytail, draping over her shoulders, with a few stray strands clinging to her neck.

She was so, so thin.

Her shoulders were narrow, her back was slender, and her waist was tiny.

That spare sailor uniform from the club hung loosely on her, making her look like a child who had stolen an adult’s clothes.

I stood at the door and peeked for three seconds.

My heart was thumping so hard—bang, bang, bang, bang —it was so fast it felt ridiculous!

‘It’s just the President changing clothes! What’s there to be nervous about? It’s not like I’ve never seen a girl change before!’

But it was just… different.

This was the first time my heart had fluttered so intensely for a girl—no, for another person’s body.

I realized I had been staring for too long and quickly looked away.

‘No, no, no.’

‘That’s the President.’

‘That’s the President.’

‘That’s the President.’

No matter what her body turned into, the President was still on the inside.

The President who taught me about the stars, helped me adjust the telescope, and used his back to shield me from that iron rod.

‘Calm down, Xiao Yan, calm down!’

‘Take a deep breath!’

‘Don’t panic!’

“President, do you need help?”

My voice was much steadier than I expected!

Thank goodness it didn’t tremble or crack.

She jumped.

Her whole body flinched as if she’d been hit by an electric shock.

Her hands stayed frozen in the middle of reaching for the zipper, and she stood there motionless.

When she turned around, her face was flushed—red all the way down to her neck.

Her eyes were wide and round, and her mouth was slightly open, probably wondering how someone could be there.

‘Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!’

‘So cute, so cute, so cute!’

I screamed 100 times in my head!

The calm facade I was forcing almost crumbled in a single second.

‘Her soul is the President! It’s the President! It’s the President!’

I sighed inwardly; the President really was naturally suited to be a girl.

“Let me zip you up,” I said, trying my best to sound natural.

‘Not bad, not bad. This tone works.’

‘Don’t think about her body, don’t think about her skin. I’m just helping with a zipper.’

She obediently turned around, facing away from me, her shoulders hunching slightly.

I pinched the zipper pull and slowly slid it up.

The fabric tightened bit by bit, pressing against her back.

My fingers occasionally brushed against the skin of her back.

‘So hot, so hot, so hot!’

It wasn’t just normal heat; it was the skin of a young girl.

It was smooth and soft.

When my fingertips touched her, it felt like a spark of electricity—a sensation that traveled from my fingers straight to my heart!

Back when the President was a boy, we would occasionally touch while working together on the telescopes, but I never had any inappropriate thoughts then.

‘Don’t think about it! Don’t think about it!’

‘That’s the President!’

‘No matter how her skin feels, it’s still the President!’

‘The zipper! Just pull it up! It’s just helping with a zipper! It’s no big deal!’

When the zipper reached the top, she let out a soft sigh of relief.

I didn’t step back immediately.

I just stood there for a second.

Her shoulder was so close to me.

I could see the fine, soft hairs on the back of her neck, glowing faintly under the light.

I really wanted to touch them.

‘No, no, no!’

‘Pull your hand back!’

‘Now!’

‘Immediately!’

I withdrew my hand and took a step back.

‘Keep the movements natural, like nothing happened,’ I chanted in my mind.

‘Alright, alright, that’s enough. Heart, slow down a bit. That’s the President, that’s the President, that’s the President!’