Chapter 34: Xia Yue’s Transformation Plan 2.0

Following that intense confrontation and Xia Yue’s quiet introspection, a subtle yet disquieting shift, akin to a silent vine, began to unfurl among them. This was particularly manifest in Xia Yue’s almost unnaturally fervent ‘attention’ directed towards Jin.

The most pronounced alteration, however, took root within the small apartment that had once served as Jin’s personal sanctuary.

In the past, Xia Yue’s visits were either akin to a ‘supervisory’ mission or a quiet occupation of a sofa corner, where she’d tend to her own affairs. Her presence, though potent, always respected clear boundaries. Now, she resembled a stone clumsily and abruptly attempting to integrate itself into a fish tank.

She would now materialize at the doorway, clutching paper bags that radiated an aura of expense, adorned with elegant logos. Within, one might find wagashi from an establishment requiring months of advance booking, or perhaps a cashmere shawl of exquisite softness.

“Just passing by,” she would always explain, her eyes darting nervously. After thrusting the item into Jin’s hands at the door, she would freeze, standing rigid as if awaiting a command, utterly bereft of her former self-assured composure.

What truly sent shivers down Jin’s spine was Xia Yue’s burgeoning attempts to intrude upon her ‘private space.’

On one occasion, as Jin clumsily prepared instant noodles in the kitchen—a culinary feat she rarely managed—Xia Yue materialized silently behind her. The sudden presence startled Jin so profoundly that she nearly overturned the pot.

“I… I’ll help you,” Xia Yue offered, reaching for the chopsticks in Jin’s hand. Her movements were noticeably stiff, betraying her tension.

The outcome was entirely predictable. Both possessing mediocre cooking skills, they jostled in the cramped kitchen, their arms frequently colliding. Xia Yue’s attempt to crack an egg resulted in shells plummeting into the pot, and her endeavor to chop green onions nearly cost her a finger. Ultimately, the pot of instant noodles transmuted into an unidentifiable concoction, imbued with the distinct flavors of eggshell and char.

Xia Yue gazed at their ‘masterpiece,’ and to Jin’s astonishment, a flicker of… frustration and even a touch of grievance seemed to surface in her icy blue eyes.

Jin found herself utterly speechless, unable to utter even a single complaint. She could only silently discard the congealed noodles, her mind wailing, ‘Please, just revert to the Xia Yue who only ever watched me eat takeout with those cold, impassive eyes!’

Even Jin’s bedroom, it seemed, was not spared this new invasion.

One evening, Jin emerged from her shower to discover Xia Yue perched on the edge of her bed. In her hands was the copy of “Five Years of College Entrance Exams, Three Years of Simulation” that Jin kept by her bedside—its original contents long since replaced with pages of magical notes—which Xia Yue appeared to be ‘diligently’ perusing. At the sound of Jin’s approach, Xia Yue snapped the book shut, springing to her feet like a child caught in mischief, an unnatural flush creeping up her cheeks.

“I… I thought the lighting was rather good here,” she stammered, offering an excuse so laughably inept it bordered on offensive. Then, almost moving her arms and legs in unison, she practically fled the room, leaving Jin standing alone, staring at the slightly warped book and feeling as though her private sanctuary had been violated in the most peculiar manner.

****

Lin Wan, brimming with enthusiasm, whisked Jin and Yu Niannian away to the bustling, newly opened arcade on the commercial street.

Predictably, Xia Yue ‘just happened’ to appear as well. Within the cacophony of the arcade, she resembled an alien adrift in an unfamiliar world, utterly disconnected from her surroundings.

Lin Wan reveled in the dance machine, her movements fluid and unrestrained, while Yu Niannian shrieked with delight before the claw game. Xia Yue, meanwhile, trailed Jin’s every step.

When Jin moved to the basketball hoop game, Xia Yue stood beside her, attempting to ‘assist’ her aim with eyes that seemed to analyze tactical data. The intense scrutiny, however, only piled immense pressure on Jin, leading her to miss every single shot.

Jin decided to take a photo booth picture, and Xia Yue, too, tried to squeeze into the cramped space. Her posture, however, was so rigid that in the resulting photos, she appeared less like a friend and more like a kidnapped hostage, her face contorted into a bizarre grimace from her forced attempt at a smile.

When Lin Wan, caught up in the thrill of Taiko no Tatsujin, instinctively reached to hug Jin’s shoulder in shared excitement, Xia Yue would instantly step forward. With a seemingly ‘inadvertent’ yet surprisingly forceful motion, she would intercept Lin Wan’s hand, then position herself beside Jin. She would then attempt to mimic Lin Wan’s affectionate posture, only to end up rigidly pressed against Jin, her arm held so taut it appeared encased in plaster.

“A-Yue…” Lin Wan finally couldn’t bear it any longer. She pulled Xia Yue aside, her expression a mix of concern and bewilderment, and whispered, “Be honest with me, did that Dark Abyss Witch hit you in the head last time? Is this some kind of aftereffect? Your current state is genuinely unsettling me…”

Yu Niannian edged closer, her small face etched with worry. “Xia Yue-senpai,” she asked, “are you feeling unwell? Would you like a candy? I have some right here!”

Jin, however, as the central target of this all-encompassing, inescapable ‘clingy’ offensive, felt utterly drained. Walking down the street, Xia Yue’s excessively focused, almost palpable gaze pricked at her like thorns. At home, Xia Yue’s clumsy ‘good intentions’ and unsettling silence left her constantly on edge.

It seemed Xia Yue was employing the ‘most diligent’ methods she understood to bridge the gap, expressing a distorted form of ‘need.’ She had cast aside her reliance on cold rules and resources, opting instead to mimic ‘intimate’ behaviors she had observed: Lin Wan’s physical affection, Yu Niannian’s showering of gifts, and even a brand of ‘gentleness’ and ‘attention’ gleaned from peculiar sources—perhaps shoujo manga?—that starkly contradicted her established persona.

Yet, she resembled an AI burdened with a faulty emotional module; every imitation felt stiff, jarring, and even unsettling. She simply failed to grasp that genuine intimacy blossomed from natural ease, not from such a relentless, programmed performance.

As Xia Yue once again fumbled to insert a straw into a milk tea cup, only to poke it askew in her nervousness, then held the slightly spilled drink, her gaze a blend of anticipation and trepidation fixed on Jin, Kazami Jin let out a sigh in her heart, one more despairing than any she’d uttered even when facing Violairella.

Xia Yue had etched Kazami Jin’s poignant declaration, “I want to hear you say you need me,” along with the subsequent accusations from their conflict, deep into the very core of her logical processing, as though they were supreme directives.

She undertook a profound attribution analysis, yielding a conclusion both stark and absolute: her previous attempts had faltered because her transformation was incomplete, her mimicry imprecise, and her emotional investment inadequate.

Consequently, an even more extreme and, frankly, suffocating ‘Xia Yue Transformation Plan 2.0’ was initiated.

First on the agenda was a complete overhaul of her outward appearance.

She was no longer satisfied with merely letting down her hair or donning cute hair clips. Instead, she embarked on a meticulous study of fashion magazines—approaching them with the keen eye of a data analyst—and observed street trends as if conducting enemy reconnaissance. Then, she put her findings into practice.

When Xia Yue appeared at the base, resplendent in a dazzlingly pink dress adorned with an abundance of sweet lace, ruffles, and bows, complemented by white knee-high socks and rounded leather shoes, even the perpetually composed Ouyang Na visibly faltered as they passed in the corridor. She adjusted her glasses, her gaze filled with a scrutinizing intensity that seemed to silently ask, ‘Is it time to initiate the abnormal mental state assessment protocol?’

Lin Wan promptly choked on her drink, spewing water. Pointing at Xia Yue, she dissolved into peals of laughter, pounding the table. “A-Yue! Are you—are you off to a kindergarten talent show?! Hahahaha!”

Yu Niannian tilted her head, offering a sincere assessment. “Xia Yue-senpai,” she mused, “this dress… doesn’t quite seem suited for combat, does it?”

Jin, however, merely cast a single glance before silently lowering her head, feeling as though her eyes had suffered irreparable damage, and a subtle twitch began in her stomach.

Next came an extreme recalibration of her behavior.

Xia Yue was no longer content with mere trailing and forced conversations. She embarked upon a ‘deep research’ project centered entirely on Kazami Jin.

She meticulously observed Jin’s every subtle expression, documented every casual remark, and analyzed her behavioral patterns, all in an attempt to construct a comprehensive ‘Jin Preference Database.’

This intensive study directly resulted in a peculiar mutation within her linguistic system.

At lunchtime, Lin Wan grumbled about the unappetizing carrots.

Xia Yue (instantly): “Carrots are rich in Vitamin A, which is beneficial for eyesight. Jin often draws, so she should prioritize protecting her eyes.”

Having declared this, she promptly transferred every carrot from her own lunchbox to Jin’s, her eyes gleaming with an expectant ‘please praise me’ look.

Later, as they walked, a stray cat caught their attention.

Xia Yue (halting abruptly, observing with a solemn expression): “This cat’s fur and eye color… Jin appears to have a particular fondness for this orange-and-white, languid-eyed type.”

She then attempted to approach the cat, which immediately bared its fangs at her. Despite being scratched, she stubbornly insisted, “It’s alright, it’s merely shy.”

It was as if a ‘Jin Preference’ filter had been installed within her perception; every object, every topic, was instantly correlated to Jin, with ‘Jin seems to like it’ or ‘Jin might not like it’ serving as the ultimate criterion for judgment.

Lin Wan finally reached her breaking point. The next time Xia Yue, yet again, launched into another ‘Jin this, Jin that’ monologue, she dragged her to the rooftop, demanding frantically, “A-Yue! Snap out of it! Look at what you’ve become?! Are you still the Xia Yue who could freeze a tide of shadow beasts with a single punch?! Your mind is utterly consumed by ‘Jin, Jin, Jin’! Has your… *smaller head* started controlling your *larger one*?!”

Xia Yue merely regarded her with an unnerving calm, her gaze even holding a hint of ‘you wouldn’t understand’ superiority. “I am employing the most efficient method to rectify my previous errors,” she stated. “Understanding and catering to the target’s preferences is fundamental to establishing a stable relationship.”

Lin Wan: “…” She concluded that Xia Yue was utterly beyond redemption.

As for Jin, who bore the full brunt of this transformation, she felt herself rapidly approaching a similar state of hopelessness.

Xia Yue’s all-encompassing, meticulously detailed, yet utterly misguided ‘attention’ and ‘accommodation’ felt like an invisible yet incredibly viscous net, ensnaring Jin ever more tightly.

Every gesture she made was magnified and scrutinized, every casual remark potentially becoming the blueprint for Xia Yue’s next ‘transformation.’ She even hesitated to voice her genuine preferences, terrified of provoking an even more intense ‘response’ from Xia Yue.

A profound sense of guilt began to settle upon her.

Watching Xia Yue in that ludicrous dress, clumsily attempting to mimic the behaviors of an ordinary girl; observing her treat Jin’s every casual remark as a grave directive, analyzing it repeatedly; seeing her once sharp, icy eyes now invariably soften with a cautious, almost pleading light, desperately seeking even a shred of positive affirmation from Jin…

Jin knew that Xia Yue was, in her own clumsy, even self-deprecating way, striving to draw closer. The sheer weight of this ‘effort’ left Jin breathless.

She didn’t dislike Xia Yue. In fact… deep down, there might have been a flicker of emotion she wouldn’t even admit to herself. But what she truly desired was not this self-lost, distorted version of Xia Yue.

This intertwining guilt and suffocating pressure threatened to overwhelm her.

Finally, one weekend evening, as Xia Yue once again arrived at the apartment with a newly purchased starry sky projector lamp—reportedly ‘Jin might like it’—and began meticulously researching the optimal installation for visual effect, Jin gazed at her profile, illuminated by the lamp, appearing both incredibly focused and remarkably vulnerable. An impulse surged through her.

She took a deep breath, interrupting Xia Yue’s diligent study.

“Xia Yue.” Jin’s voice was soft.

Xia Yue immediately ceased her actions, turning to stand ramrod straight like a soldier awaiting orders, her eyes fixed on Jin with palpable tension.

Jin averted her gaze from Xia Yue’s overly intense stare, looking at the floor, her fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes. Her voice held a subtle tremor.

“Tomorrow… are you free?”

Xia Yue paused, then quickly replied, “Yes. Any time. What do you need me to do?” Her tone carried the unwavering resolve of someone prepared to execute any mission.

Jin finally looked up, gathering her courage, and met Xia Yue’s eyes, which held a mixture of confusion and anticipation. She spoke softly:

“Let’s… go to an amusement park. Just… the two of us.”

The words had barely left Jin’s lips when she saw Xia Yue’s pupils dilate slightly. The carefully maintained ‘gentle’ expression on her face instantly froze, then, like ice cracking, it slowly receded, revealing a genuine, blank look beneath, filled with immense shock and… a hint of bewilderment.

The air seemed to still at that moment.

Jin’s heart pounded. She didn’t know if this invitation was right or wrong. She just thought… perhaps, in a crowded, lively, less ‘private’ place, Xia Yue might relax a little? Might… return a little to her former self?

She watched Xia Yue, frozen in place, her heart filled with apprehension.

Meanwhile, Xia Yue’s brain was operating at hyper-speed.

‘Amusement park? Target actively issuing social invitation? Two-person mode?’

‘Data retrieval: common amusement park activities… emotional value analysis… potential risk assessment…’

‘Core directive: Comply with target’s wishes, enhance relationship intimacy.’

‘Action plan: Accept invitation, optimize itinerary, ensure target receives best experience.’

A few seconds later, the blankness on Xia Yue’s face was replaced by an even more resolute expression, as if she had just accepted an S-rank mission. She nodded firmly, her voice clear and strong:

“Good. I will formulate a detailed strategy to ensure maximum efficiency and optimal experience for tomorrow’s itinerary.”

Jin: “…” Watching Xia Yue instantly shift into ‘strategic planning’ mode, she suddenly felt a pang of regret.

It seemed she had… dug herself an even deeper, stranger hole?

She began to long desperately for the cool, yet at least predictable, Xia Yue who would only ever hit her with a ‘Resource Supply Agreement’.