By the time Shen An returned from the bathroom, Chen Nannan’s long-winded speech had already wrapped up.
He slipped cautiously back to his seat through the rear door. “No issues while I was gone?”
Shen Lianyao kept her eyes straight ahead. “None.”
“That’s a relief~”
Shen An had just exhaled in relief when a sharp glare shot his way from the podium.
A grown man sneaking in through the back door like that—it was hardly subtle.
Chen Nannan was still standing at the front, with a clear view of everything below. She’d have to be blind not to notice.
Shen An flashed her an appeasing smile, but Chen Nannan ignored him. She plunged straight into the next segment: self-introductions from every student. This was often the highlight of a freshman class meeting, the first real chance for everyone to size each other up.
One slip-up during your introduction, and it could shape your image for all four years of university.
To put it more precisely: every word you said would leave a lasting mark on your classmates’ first impressions.
Clowning around, acting cute, or showing off your quirky personality—whatever your style, your debut introduction laid it all bare.
But in truth, it was also a filtering process.
The ordinary types, with nothing standout, faded into the background. As the saying goes, anything—good or bad—is better than average.
For those crippled by social anxiety, this step was pure agony.
Thanks to his late student number, Shen An could kick back and enjoy the show as his classmates took the stage one by one.
First up was the unlucky Yang Bin, student number one.
Under Chen Nannan’s encouraging applause, Yang Bin rose with extreme reluctance.
His smile was stiff as a board, his movements jerky like a zombie shambling toward the gallows.
Under the spotlight of every eye in the room, cold sweat poured down Yang Bin’s face.
“G-Good afternoon, everyone…”
“I-I’m Yang Bin. The ‘Bin’ from… l-literary and martial prowess…”
Even his introduction stuttered along, his voice and body trembling as if he wanted to crawl under a rock.
Shen An could see it now: Yang Bin only loosened up in private.
Put him in public, and stage fright took over.
Or maybe it wasn’t just any crowd—it was crowds with girls in them?
After all, he’d been just as rigid chatting with Wang Yuqiong earlier, a far cry from his initial sleazy swagger.
This was the classic online tough guy: all bold trash talk behind a screen, meek as a mouse in person.
Yang Bin’s debut was, without a doubt, a flop.
He stumbled through fewer than a hundred words, taking a solid three or four minutes.
When he finally finished, the room fell into awkward silence. No one remembered a thing he’d said.
That hush only amplified his torment. He stood there pitifully on stage, sweat soaking through his clothes.
“Well said!!!”
Shen An clapped vigorously right away. The sound jolted everyone, drawing all eyes to him for the third time that day.
But it snapped people back to basic courtesy, and the room joined in with applause.
Yang Bin shot Shen An a grateful look from the podium, gave a slight bow with his head down, and hurried off in visible relief.
Next came number two, Li Yun—another unlucky soul.
His performance was leagues better than Yang Bin’s. Maybe it was his natural reserve, but his introduction was brutally concise: just his name.
He bolted offstage the second he finished, too fast for even Shen An’s applause to catch up.
From number three onward, it was the girls’ turn.
Shen An played hype man the whole way, clapping at the end of every speech no matter who was up.
The girls held steady overall. Sure, some weren’t great talkers, but none fumbled like Yang Bin—at least they got their words out clearly.
Nothing dazzling, though. All standard stuff: “Please take care of me,” “Let’s get along,” that sort of thing.
A few left lasting impressions, though. Barring surprises, they’d be the class’s driving forces over the next four years—the ringleaders among the girls.
Wang Yuqiong was a prime example.
She seemed born for socializing, the outgoing hub everyone gravitated to.
Her speech was calm and collected, laced with witty one-liners, all delivered with her usual poise and grace.
Everyone—guys and girls alike—would remember her name.
As for Shen Lianyao beside him, well, her delivery was structured and precise, every word logically airtight.
Shen An figured her STEM grades must be stellar.
But man, it was dry.
Then it was Shen An’s turn.
Chen Nannan’s big eyes sparkled with anticipation as she called his name—tinged with a hint of worry.
She remembered him mentioning his social anxiety; she feared he’d stumble like Yang Bin.
Yet with Shen An’s personality, who knew? He might drop something totally outrageous.
After all, he’d announced his love for guys right at their first meeting.
Sadly, he let her down.
Shen An’s performance was rock-solid.
“Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Shen An—the ‘An’ from safe and secure. Or quiet and peaceful, take your pick.”
“Over the next four years, we’re all going to be besties…”
It wasn’t riveting or unique—just solid and standard. The only praise-worthy bit was his unflappable calm and confidence.
With Yang Bin and Li Yun as that hopeless duo for contrast, though, Shen An’s by-the-book speech earned hearty applause.
Of course, Shen An chalked it up not to content, but looks.
If Yang Bin were handsome, girls who cared about faces would invent a million excuses for his nerves.
But if you’re not easy on the eyes, even the funniest lines just land you in the “fun friend zone,” not boyfriend material.
Sure, some prefer a sparkling personality, but looks rule first impressions—harsh reality.
Handsome is heaven’s gift, though.
Shen An wasn’t about to scar his own face.
Once he stepped down, only a handful remained.
With all the introductions done, Chen Nannan jumped right into the next phase.
Class officer elections.
This was the real meat of the meeting.
“Take a ten-minute break. After that, anyone interested can come up, state the position you’re running for and your reasons or ideas. Then we’ll vote as a class!”
Chen Nannan set down the mic and left the classroom. No one knew where she was headed.
The room buzzed to life at once, chatter filling the air as people started canvassing votes.
The back two rows stayed eerily quiet, though.
Shen An had no interest in running, but his gaze drifted to Shen Lianyao beside him.
She seemed calm enough, but her fidgeting hands betrayed her nerves.
Recalling the commission details, Shen An knew she was on edge.
He turned toward her, voice gentle. “You seem a bit tense. Thinking of running?”
Just as he spoke, Wang Yuqiong twisted around, ready to chat.
She swallowed her words, arched a brow at Shen Lianyao, and tactfully turned back.
Shen Lianyao hadn’t expected Shen An to strike up a conversation.
In a quiet voice, she said, “I want to run for class president.”
“Class president? That’s great—really builds leadership skills. And doing it first semester would help you bond with everyone fast.”
His tone was even, a soft smile on his lips, offering her quiet encouragement.
She glanced at him. “Aren’t… aren’t you running?”
“I think you’d be perfect. You did great up there.”
“Me?” Shen An pointed to himself with a chuckle. “Nah, I’m too laid-back. Not into managing people.”
“I’d vote for you, though. You should give it a shot.”
Shen Lianyao blinked in surprise. “Why?”
“Well, if I had to put it into words… you strike me as super responsible. We haven’t talked much, but sometimes you just get a vibe like that—it’s magic.”
“You…” Shen Lianyao hesitated, then quietly pulled out her phone and opened her QR code.
Shen An froze. “Huh?”
“Didn’t you want to add me?”
“Uh… I think you misunderstood. That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Shen Lianyao pocketed her phone without a hint of fluster, cool as ever.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “These past few days, guys keep trying to add me with all sorts of excuses.”
At first glance, it sounded prickly, like she was calling Shen An out for ulterior motives.
But paired with her cool, earnest expression, any edge vanished. It was just her being brutally honest—nothing more.
She’d even cleared up her own mix-up about him, plain and simple.
No matter if it was her straightforward nature or simply her personality at play, the moment Shen Lianyao uttered those words, it marked her as someone who wasn’t skilled at dealing with others.
Even with her impressive background and stunning looks—which gave her every confidence to say it—there was still an inevitable touch of haughtiness, as if she were looking down from on high.
Shen An, by contrast, remained perfectly calm. He grinned and said, “The brighter the flower, the more eyes it draws. That just proves how charming you are.”
“So, do you really think I can do it?”
Shen Lianyao brushed aside his flattery and asked the question with utmost seriousness.
“Yeah, straight from the heart. You’re responsible—that’s my first impression of you.”
“If you run for class president, I’ll cast my vote for you.”
“Okay.” Shen Lianyao nodded, her fidgeting hands gradually stilling.
As her words fell, Shen An’s phone buzzed once in his pocket.
To prevent another awkward moment like the one before, he’d silenced it back in the bathroom.
This vibration was likely the notification that the commission was complete.
That simple? Just a few words from his mouth?
Shen An could hardly believe it.
But regardless, this commission had to be done, hadn’t it?
Shen An withdrew his gaze, shifting his eyes to Song Rui standing before him.
Of the two commissions left, only she remained.
While he wasn’t looking at Shen Lianyao, her gaze lingered on him, stealing glances in secret.
She was cautious and clever, concealing those sneaky peeks masterfully.
