Lianghua City had a reputation for pretending not to care. Even as storm clouds dragged their bruised underbellies across the skyline, even as wind tossed umbrellas sideways and sent streetlights into static flickers—no one stopped. That was the city's charm: polished, expensive, and too busy to notice the rain.
Inside the glossy windows of Xiyan Academy, the final bell echoed with the same disinterest.
Ren Kai closed his notebook, tucked his pen away, and stood with the same smooth, unhurried grace he did everything with. His tie was still perfect. His white shirt looked like it had just been ironed by someone paid handsomely to do so. His dark hair was neat, parted in a way that revealed the shape of his eyes—striking, almost unreal, like they belonged in a painting more than a classroom.
He didn't smile. He rarely did. But people looked at him anyway.
He wasn't cold. Just… apart.
Aloof.
Even his friends knew it.
"Hey, prince," called a voice from the hallway. "We're going for matcha and gossip. You coming or sulking?"
Ren stepped out into the corridor. Yuki, short, sharp-tongued, and endlessly nosy, grinned at him. Behind her stood Kenzo, taller, quieter, the kind of guy who once tried to fight a vending machine and lost. They were ridiculous. And loyal.
"I don't sulk," Ren said.
"You exist in a constant state of elegant sulking," Yuki corrected, handing him a drink pouch.
He took it, gave her a nod that was as close to thanks as she ever got, and followed them down the hall.
***
Ren didn't talk much, but when he did, people listened. Not because of what he said, but because of how he said it—measured, intentional, with that subtle rhythm of someone who never felt the need to rush.
He didn't need to speak to be noticed. He never had.
Ren Kai was the kind of person the world looked at twice—once out of curiosity, and again because they couldn't help it.
Some of that was money, yes. His family's car was waiting outside every day, matte black and humming like it cost more than most people's apartments. He wore his uniform like it had been tailored to fit royalty. His phone, watch, and headphones were all absurdly expensive.
But it wasn't just that.
It was the way he carried himself—detached, self-contained, like he was watching everything from the outside.
***
They walked together toward the school gates. The wind tugged at Yuki's hair and turned her umbrella inside out.
"Tell me again why we're doing this in the rain?" she grumbled, shaking it out.
"Because you said—and I quote—'I will not be emotionally fulfilled until I drink overpriced green foam in the middle of a weather crisis,'" Kenzo replied flatly.
Yuki gave him a shove.
Ren said nothing, but the corner of his mouth lifted—barely.
They noticed, of course.
"Was that… a smile?" Yuki gasped, hand over her heart. "Ren Kai smiled in public? Stop the presses. Cancel the festival. History has been made."
Kenzo leaned toward him. "Don't let her get too excited. Her heart can't take two miracles in one week."
Ren shook his head slightly and kept walking.
The truth was, he didn't mind them. He liked being around them—listening more than speaking, watching more than participating. They filled in the silence around him like it was second nature.
And they never pushed.
They didn't ask why he sometimes stared out the window longer than necessary. It was just how he was—quiet in the way people forget to question. If he missed a beat in the conversation, someone filled it in. If he wandered off in thought, no one tugged him back.
But that wasn't important.
***
They ended up in a quiet teahouse off-campus, somewhere Ren had probably passed a hundred times but never entered. The walls were thin wood and dim lighting, the kind of place that smelled like old paper and matcha powder. A few students from other schools were there, whispering over half-melted desserts.
Yuki was talking about something—probably about who broke up with who or which teacher was definitely a vampire.
Kenzo was playing a mobile game under the table.
Ren sat across from them, nursing a lukewarm drink, letting the background blur.
He liked places like this. Not too loud. Not too perfect. Just a little bit…
Off.
Like a note that didn't belong in a song but stayed there anyway.
***
When he returned to his apartment that night, the storm had finally started for real. His driver had offered to wait out the rain, but Ren waved him off and walked the last few blocks. The city looked stranger in the rain—shinier, emptier, like it had secrets it whispered only to itself.
The elevator in his building made a low hum on the way up. His home was sleek and modern—marble countertops, ambient lighting, untouched furniture. Too clean to feel real.
He dropped his bag on the floor, changed clothes with practiced ease, and flopped onto his bed.
He wasn't tired.
But he was tired of being awake.
He stared at the ceiling for a long time. Let the storm's rhythm fill the room.
And for no particular reason, a single thought drifted across his mind:
Something's missing.
He didn't know what. Or why. Or from where.
But it felt real enough that he closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it could be.
***
He fell asleep without realizing it.
No dreams that he could remember.
No memories that he could name.
Just the feeling that tomorrow would be exactly the same.
And somehow… he wasn't sure that was a good thing anymore.