Chapter 8: Love Letters and Hidden Identities

Upon returning to school, I first pushed open the classroom door. Gazing at the somewhat empty room, I mused that perhaps I had arrived too early.

With roughly twenty minutes remaining until class began, I decided to occupy myself by reading.

I casually retrieved the textbook for the upcoming lesson and gently set it upon my desk.

As I began to leaf through the pages, a subtle unease stirred within me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was tucked inside the book.

Lifting the book and giving it a gentle shake, a cascade of colorful small notes, previously nestled within its pages, fluttered down onto the desk.

“Eh? When did so many little notes find their way into my book?” I wondered aloud. Picking one up at random, I quickly scanned its contents, and an almost imperceptible blush crept slowly up my cheeks.

‘These… these can’t all be love letters, can they?’

‘Ahhhhh!’

Judging by handwriting alone, identifying their authors would prove challenging. Fortunately, each note bore a signature at its conclusion.

I recalled seeing a seating chart affixed to the lectern earlier when I had stood at the front of the class. By cross-referencing the names on the notes with the chart, I should be able to pinpoint their respective seats.

While I couldn’t yet discern whether the love letters were from males, females, or a mix of both, I decided to jot down their names and seat numbers. Once everyone arrived, their identities would become clear.

I dared not continue reading them one by one. Having finally managed to compose myself, I was just about to tuck all the notes away into my desk drawer when a figure suddenly materialized behind me.

“Hey, why do you have so many little notes in your hand?”

“It’s nothing at all.”

The mere thought of those love letters caused the blush, which had only just begun to recede, to creep back onto my cheeks once more.

Observing my flushed countenance, Huang Beifeng chuckled slyly, as if a realization had dawned upon her. “Don’t tell me… those are love letters, aren’t they?”

‘No way! Is it really that obvious? How could she have figured it out so quickly?’ Deciding against a spontaneous confession, I attempted to bluff my way out. “N-no, not at all! I just got here. How could anyone have possibly written me a love letter?”

“I find that entirely unbelievable. Didn’t someone write you a love letter just this morning? And it was none other than the class monitor, no less!”

‘What?! You’ve got to be kidding! The class monitor, leading the charge in writing love letters to classmates?’

In the brief moment my mind wandered, Huang Beifeng abruptly pinched my thigh.

“Ouch, that hurts!”

Before I could even question her motives, and while I was still rubbing my throbbing thigh, that rascal suddenly snatched the neatly folded notes I had been clutching in my other hand.

“Give them back! Don’t look!”

“No.”

Alas, my pleas were utterly useless against my mischievous childhood friend.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. All love letters, eh? You really are quite popular!”

“I told you not to read them!”

I pouted in aggrieved indignation. Perhaps taking pity on my woebegone expression, Huang Beifeng eventually returned the stack of love letters to me.

“Having glanced at the names, I wonder if I should share a piece of information with you.”

“What information?”

Conveniently, Huang Beifeng likely knew who corresponded to each name. With her help, I wouldn’t have to painstakingly search for each person during class.

“Do you truly wish to know?”

‘Does she even need to ask? Of course I want to know!’

Gazing at my earnest eyes, which, despite their longing, still managed to convey a touch of pathetic vulnerability, Huang Beifeng sighed in resignation and covered her face.

“Alright, alright, stop being so adorable! You’re constantly acting cute; how are the rest of us girls supposed to live with that?”

“Uh, never mind that! Just tell me already.”

After a brief glance in my direction, Huang Beifeng began, “Well, how should I phrase this? Among those who wrote you love letters, two are girls, and all the rest are boys.”

‘Wait, what did you just say? Out of all these love letters, only two are from girls, and the rest… are all from boys?’

‘Hiss, that’s truly terrifying! Don’t these boys realize that the adorable ‘cute girl’ they imagine actually possesses something far larger than any of theirs?’

‘If they want to ‘cross swords,’ they can do it themselves; I have absolutely no interest!’

“Can you truly not tell? Your ‘feminine charm’ is so potent! Most of the boys in our class seem utterly captivated by you.”

‘Who would ever wish for this?! Being confessed to by a group of one’s own gender… no one would feel comfortable with that, surely.’

Yet, upon reflection, I recalled mentioning this morning that I liked girls. Given my current appearance, they must have interpreted my words as an indication of a yuri preference.

So, regarding these two girls who penned me love letters: were they merely writing for fun, drawn by my perceived cuteness and hoping for friendship? Or, perhaps, do they possess unconventional sexual orientations, and upon hearing my words, believed they had found an opportunity, prompting them to write these confessions?

Upon careful consideration, regardless of the precise reason, this situation spelled trouble for me. For the time time being, my studies were paramount; romance, or anything of the sort, could certainly wait.

Furthermore, these two girls likely perceived me as female, which explained their actions. However, what would their reaction be if my true identity as a boy were to be exposed?

Most likely, they would brand me a pervert, believing I had infiltrated their midst in girls’ clothing with all sorts of nefarious intentions.

The thought left me feeling utterly helpless. ‘I didn’t choose this, you know! I was forced into it!’

‘Sigh.’

‘Never mind. I’ll just take things one step at a time. Protecting my identity is, after all, the most crucial thing.’

‘Oh, wait! I suddenly feel like I’ve forgotten something. Regardless, I should at least make a note of those two girls’ names.’

That way, once I knew who they were, I could be prepared.

“Oh, by the way, Beifeng, who are those two girls?”

After squinting at me for a moment, Huang Beifeng resumed her slumped position. “What’s wrong?”

“Who are the two girls who wrote me love letters?”

“Can Ye and Tang Xiao Rou. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to learn a little more about them.”

Having gleaned the information I sought, I refrained from disturbing Huang Beifeng further as she lay sprawled on her desk, poised for a brief nap.

Silently, I repeated the two names Huang Beifeng had given me. A sense of bewilderment washed over me. Were these two girls truly serious, or were they merely playing a prank?