Translator:	Author:	Original Source:
MJCross	Cat’s Glasses	SFACG

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The freshly dried clothes still carried a lingering warmth, and once I put them on, they felt almost too hot against my skin.

With the contrast between the air-conditioned room and the heat from running back to the classroom, I was already sweating again by the time I sat down.

Thinking back to the conversation I had with Rinka while lying on his bed, I felt like I had been a bit too emotional.

If I actually went through with turning him into a girl, it wouldn’t take long for people to start linking it back to me.

From behind, Zhao Zhao patted my shoulder and handed me a bottle of mineral water, still slightly chilled.

I tilted my head back and gulped it down.

“Ah, refreshing. Thanks.”

“Commander, where did you go to get your clothes washed and dried this fast?”

“A secret base… I promised to keep it under wraps, so don’t ask.”

That shut down his curiosity immediately, and he pouted like he’d just swallowed a fly.

To make it up to him, I changed the subject.

“What about you? What were you up to all afternoon?”

“Shot some hoops at the gym. Gotta practice for when we hit the courts outside school over summer break, right? The school team guys were there too, still trying to recruit me. A whole year’s gone by, and they still won’t give up.”

“They’re asking you to join because you’re actually good. Just give them some face and go already. If you stop playing completely, won’t your skills get rusty? It’s your talent—don’t waste it.”

“No way. Why would I join a team where both the coach and the manager are dudes? Forget it. Unless you turn the whole team into girls for me.”

“Using the notebook recklessly could lead to serious problems. Can you stop thinking about this like it’s a game?”

“What’s the big deal? You just write a name down—who’d know it was you? And if you erase the names later, who’d even believe they were ever turned into girls? Commander, you overthink everything. You’ll never achieve greatness if you’re this cautious.”

This guy never stops trying to tempt me into using the notebook.

But unlike him, I actually worry about consequences.

“Too young, too simple.”

I rolled my eyes at the muscle-brained pervert and turned back to my seat, ignoring him.

As I absentmindedly touched the black-covered notebook inside my bag, I started wondering when would be the best time to write down Rinka’s name.

Ideally, I’d do it when he’s alone.

If he was telling the truth, he rented a place off-campus since he didn’t get along with his parents due to his constant cross-dressing.

Apparently, they even sent him to an all-boys school to “correct” him.

But thinking back to that fully furnished secret base of his, I had a feeling he hadn’t told me everything yet…

The afternoon continued with more self-study. Our balding teacher came in, called roll, and left in a hurry.

With no air conditioning in the classroom, the heat was exhausting.

Outside, cicadas buzzed endlessly, their droning cries turning the sluggish afternoon into one long lullaby.

Before I knew it, half the class was already asleep.

Even Zhao Zhao, who had been reading a novel on his phone, had dozed off at his desk.

I plugged in my earbuds, closed my eyes, and joined the sleeping masses.

…

A blink later, it was already time for dismissal.

This time, Haitang didn’t wait for me or Zhao Zhao after school.

She said she was taking Tangerine to join some girls co-curriculum—basically just a group of female friends hanging out.

In other words, I wouldn’t get to see my adorable little sister today.

That realization left me feeling a bit down.

Mifeng Street was a small commercial street near the village entrance, and also part of our daily route to school.

Under the setting sun, the street seemed unusually empty.

Most of the shopkeepers here were elderly, and since business was slow, they weren’t particularly concerned.

Every now and then, a kid wearing only a loincloth would dart out of one store and into another, their laughter adding a rare bit of liveliness to the otherwise sleepy street.

With modern shopping malls drawing away foot traffic, these old-fashioned shopping streets were disappearing fast.

I understood that survival of the fittest was inevitable, but there were still some things I wished could stay the same.

“Hey, you told your mom you’re staying over at my place tonight, right?”

I broke the silence, steering the conversation toward our upcoming mission—tracking down Old Feng’s home address.

Zhao Zhao nodded and tapped his backpack.

“Brought a change of clothes and everything. Told her I’m crashing at your place, and she didn’t even ask why.”

I appreciate Zhao Zhao’s mom’s trust, but… why does she have such a high opinion of me? Where did that come from?

“Let’s swing by Old Feng’s stall first and ask what time he usually closes up shop. No point in waiting around for hours or showing up too late.”

“Good idea. And we can grab dinner while we’re at it—wait, what the hell?”

Out of nowhere, seven or eight guys emerged from an alley, surrounding us in a well-practiced pincer formation.

Before I could react, a spiky-haired thug grabbed my arms and locked them behind my back.

A cold metal pipe pressed against my neck, forcing my head down.

The pressure on my throat made it hard to breathe, let alone shout for help.

“Get off me!”

Unlike me—a total lightweight—Zhao Zhao was a full-on athlete.

He let out a roar, planted his legs, and shoved the punks holding him back, even managing to land a kick that sent one of them tumbling.

A thug swung a metal pipe at Zhao Zhao’s leg.

The impact made a sickening thud, and Zhao Zhao fell to his knees, clutching his shin.

That was all it took for the rest of the gang to dogpile him, tying his arms up with rope.

“Wait! Stop! Let’s talk this out—don’t hit him, don’t—”

Seeing Zhao Zhao get struck made my mind go blank with panic.

But with my head pinned down, even speaking took effort, and my voice came out weak.

Not wanting to cause a scene, the thugs dragged us into the alley.

It was a long, narrow passage lined with aged brick walls.

Most of the storefronts were shut tight, looking like they’d been closed for ages.

The dim, grimy alley felt like the perfect hideout for these sewer rats.

These guys were wearing the same punk-rock leather jackets covered in studs and spikes, their hairstyles ranging from mohawks to greasy slick-backs.

They wielded metal rods and chains, practically cosplaying as post-apocalyptic bandits.

It was obvious they were from Lei Laohu’s gang, back for revenge after yesterday’s beating.

Since they couldn’t take Haitang head-on, they settled for picking on us instead.

Typical small-time thug behavior.

Without Haitang here with us, I’m actually freaking out hard.

Zhao Zhao might be a tank, but he isn’t unstoppable—he’s still in the range where sheer numbers could overwhelm him.

To put it in mecha terms: if these punks were mass-produced Zakus, Zhao Zhao was just a Gouf at best—stronger than them, but not to the point of dominating.

Meanwhile, Haitang was a full-on Strike Freedom Gundam (Super Robot-class).

And me? I wasn’t even a GM. At best, I was a Ball.

Without Strike Freedom to save us, a Ball and a Gouf weren’t gonna stand a chance against a Zaku army.

Deep in the alley, another group of thugs was already waiting—bruised, bandaged, and clearly recovering from their beatdown yesterday.

Among them stood Lei Laohu himself, his arm still wrapped in a muscle-relief patch.

“Yeah, that’s them!”

Mohawk Fatso, still wearing his stupid sunglasses, eagerly pointed at us out like a kid tattling to a teacher.

Lei Laohu stepped forward, scanning between Zhao Zhao and me before his eyes locked onto the bigger threat—Zhao Zhao, naturally.

A scrawny twig like me wasn’t worth his attention.

“You know why we’re here, right?”

“Pfft, like hell I do,” Zhao Zhao spat. “Bunch of street trash playing at being gangsters. Who cares?”

“Hey, stop provoking them!”

Zhao Zhao’s words made me break out in a cold sweat. His hands were already tied up, yet this muscle-headed pervert still had the guts to run his mouth.

In situations like this, the smart move was to keep our heads down and de-escalate, not piss them off even more.

“Hah, is that all?” Lei Laohu, however, didn’t look the least bit angry. Even the goons behind him barely reacted.

“Trash talk like that? We hear it so often our ears have calluses. We don’t care, really.”

He even stuck his pinky in his ear, as if trying to dig Zhao Zhao’s words right out of his skull.

To be unfazed by being called street trash… These guys weren’t just numb—they were the kind of pathetic losers who clung to this thug life fantasy just to have a place to belong.

Lei Laohu toyed with the golden ring on his finger before continuing, “That wild woman beat up my boys, but I, Lei Laohu, have a principle—I don’t hit women. So the suffering my guys went through—”

“Oh, cut the crap. You just got your a̲s̲s̲e̲s̲ kicked and now you’re taking it out on the easy targets.”

Zhao Zhao cut him off, tilting his head up arrogantly and glaring straight at Lei Laohu.

As if to prove Zhao Zhao wrong, Lei Laohu wordlessly took off his golden ring and, with a heavy thud, smashed his fist into the nearby wall.

A chunk of cement cracked and crumbled to the ground.

He dusted off the residue from his hands before slipping the ring back on.

“Believe what you want, but whether we can fight or not isn’t the point. You two aren’t walking out of here without a beating… Alright, do it.”

With his command, Mohawk Fatso and his cronies stepped forward, gripping their iron rods, ready to swing.

“Hold it! Hold it! Hold it! Tian Xi, you dumbass, put that thing down!”

Before they could strike, Lei Laohu kicked the Mohawk Fatso in the a̲s̲s̲, stopping them in their tracks.

“What the hell are you thinking, using iron rods? You trying to make this a big deal?”

He bent down, picked up a few black rubber batons from the ground, and tossed them over.

“Use these instead— it hurts like hell, but won’t leave permanent damage.”