“Is Jianle really a woman? She hits like a truck,” Sheffil muttered, clutching the bandaged side of his face as he walked out of the infirmary.
Thankfully, afternoon classes started later today.
If he’d gone for treatment during a normal schedule, he’d have missed lunch.
But whining about Jianle wasn’t the priority right now.
Sheffil had more pressing matters to attend to.
With a flicker of thought, Sheffil’s vision shifted into a dark green overlay.
Lines of bright green text began appearing as usual at the edges of his sight.
Except today, something was different.
Lucia’s favorability score had mysteriously shot up to 89.
But what shocked him wasn’t the number—it was the annotation in parentheses, which had changed from “Adoration” to “Danger.”
In the year since Sheffil first received this strange system, this was the first time he’d ever seen anything like it.
Even more confusing was the status of Bell, the underclassman.
Her favorability toward Dorothy hadn’t changed at all, yet the annotation next to her name had also turned to a dark red “Danger.”
It made Sheffil begin to suspect—could it be that the annotation in parentheses didn’t correlate directly with favorability?
Right now, though, the bigger issue was figuring out what the hell had happened to make both Lucia and Bell suddenly become “dangerous” to Dorothy—even though Dorothy had been with him the entire past few days.
And more importantly… what did “danger” actually mean?
If it was literal—if these girls posed a genuine threat to Dorothy—
Then Sheffil would just have to… help them work through those emotions a little.
“This system really is a piece of junk,” he grumbled under his breath.
It had popped into his head out of nowhere with no instructions, no missions, no rewards, and not even a glossary.
He’d had to come up with a name for it himself, and once he did, it just… adopted the name on its own.
It was nothing like the flashy, overpowered systems in the web novels he used to read off street vendor stalls.
Not similar at all, in fact—completely useless.
In Sheffil’s assessment: pure, unadulterated trash.
“Eh? Isn’t that Sheffil-senpai?”
A familiar annoying voice called out.
Sheffil turned to see the very person responsible for the chaos of the past few days—Luther, the sleazy campus journalist, grinning that punch-worthy grin of his.
For some reason, Luther’s right hand was encased in a full cast, like he’d gotten into a serious fight.
Sheffil’s only regret?
That he hadn’t been invited to throw a punch too.
Luther glanced at Sheffil’s bandaged cheek, and a look of sympathy crossed his face—one shared by fellow victims.
He raised his only usable hand and patted Sheffil’s shoulder.
“Looks like you’ve suffered some collateral damage too, huh?”
“Hmph.”
Sheffil snorted coldly, then threw an arm around Luther’s smaller shoulders.
He leaned in close, his face brushing against Luther’s wild, garbage-heap-blond hair.
“So, Luther-senpai,” he whispered.
“Take a guess. What kind of ‘collateral damage’ did I suffer?”
He held up a single finger and placed it in front of Luther’s shorter frame.
“Here’s a hint: Jianle.”
A bead of sweat rolled down Luther’s face, but Sheffil wasn’t about to let him off easy.
He pressed on.
“What exactly did you do that got me beat up by Jianle?”
“Come on. Guess, my dear ‘super-reporter’ Mr. Luther—”
“Oh, and I heard your latest issue of the campus paper’s been selling quite well,” Sheffil added, narrowing his eyes as he tilted his head, staring at Luther’s forced smile.
“Did you get some kind of exclusive scoop? Or maybe… stirred up something you really shouldn’t have?”
“Ahahaha, Sheffil-senpai, I’m just an ordinary student. How would I know such things, huh?”
Luther laughed nervously, clearly caught red-handed and trying to wriggle out of it.
He really didn’t get it.
Sheffil always seemed like a doormat, playing the background role while the girls bossed him around.
But the moment he spoke to Luther, it was like flipping a switch—nothing but pure aggression.
Ever since the day he tried to toy with Sheffil and almost got tricked into a trap himself, Luther had treated him as a partner of equal standing.
Not that Sheffil ever returned the sentiment.
Every time they met, Sheffil had something snarky to say.
And all Luther had done was poke a little fun at him in the paper once in a while.
Talk about petty…
Still, no matter what he thought, Luther pasted on a nervous smile and began to squirm in Sheffil’s iron grip, trying to escape.
“Alright, alright, I won’t argue with you this time. You’ve milked the hype—now you know what comes next, right?”
Sheffil released him, finally letting the guy breathe.
“Heh heh, of course, of course. As they say in Chixia: sustainable exploitation… I mean development leads to maximum profit,” Luther cackled, massaging his sore shoulder.
“I can already smell the sweet, stinky scent of copper coins.”
“Don’t worry—your cut of the profits is guaranteed.”
“Keep spouting crap like that and the Chixia folks will dunk you in a pig cage,” Sheffil retorted, ignoring the nonsense and focusing on what actually mattered: his share.
“Now that’s more like it.”
“But of course,” Luther grinned obsequiously.
“I mean, it’s only natural for the Head of the News Club to get paid, isn’t it, President Sheffil?”