After Dating the President O, I Turned Into a Puppy-Like Lover - Chapter 1

The first days of September.

Sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy and spilled into the small grove in slender beams. Dust motes drifted lazily in the light, and the air carried the crisp scent of grass and damp earth.

The grove connected to the west gate of Qingyu High School, the iron fence enclosing this patch of lush green.

It was already eight o’clock—the class bell had long since rung.

A tall girl stood outside the fence.

She was around one meter seventy, long hair tied into a high, swaying ponytail. Her denim jacket hung open, revealing the faint outline of defined abs beneath her fitted white shirt. Pale-blue jeans sculpted a pair of endlessly long legs.

She placed both hands on the fence. Her slender, toned arms flexed, the tight muscles rolling beneath her skin. With a smooth motion, she vaulted over the fence and landed lightly on the ground.

Then she reached back to help her two not-so-athletic sidekicks, Zhou Yi and Xu Yiran, climb over as well.

This wasn’t the first time the three of them were late. Qingyu High arranged for student council members to guard the school gates every morning, taking down the names of anyone who’d been late more than three times. Those entries would go straight into a student’s personal development record.

And Jiang He’s grandfather, one of the most influential figures in East City, cared about nothing more than the spotless glory of one’s resume.

So even if Jiang He didn’t care to give the student council face, she still had to give her iron-fisted grandfather a little.

“Boss, are you sure we won’t get caught? What if a few student council members jump out once we leave the grove?” Zhou Yi peeked toward the school gate about fifty meters away. She could vaguely see uniformed members stopping another poor soul.

Every time she followed Jiang He in a “crime,” she was guaranteed to worry in advance. As an Alpha, she was somehow even less daring than Beta Xu Yiran.

“It’s fine,” Jiang He replied coolly.

Hearing her boss so calm, Zhou Yi relaxed—though her heart still pounded. She quickened her short strides to keep up. “But what if we do get caught?”

Jiang He halted and cast her a glance from deep chestnut eyes. “If we get caught, we get caught. Can’t you run?”

Fair enough.

Really, she only asked because she wanted to hear Jiang He’s attitude.

And Jiang He’s careless confidence was the reassurance she needed.

After all, if the sky fell, their boss would be the one holding it up. Hehehe.

With her worries greatly eased, Zhou Yi jogged ahead. Jiang He strode like the wind, and she and Xu Yiran hurried to keep up.

As they neared the end of the grove, another set of footsteps joined theirs—quiet but distinct, coming from a patch of shadow where sunlight barely reached, giving the atmosphere a subtle tension.

Suddenly, a clean, cool voice rang through the trees, lowered deliberately:

“Stop.”

Zhou Yi’s heart sank. She stumbled and nearly fell, immediately glancing at Jiang He.

Jiang He froze as if someone had struck an acupoint. Her raised right leg hovered in the air for a few seconds before she quietly set it down again.

Zhou Yi and Xu Yiran had followed Jiang He from middle school to the second year of high school. After years as her loyal “attachments,” they’d learned one thing well: if someone seized Jiang He, the two of them surrendered instantly.

The grove fell into an unnaturally heavy silence.

The rustle of shoes pressing into grass sounded painfully clear. Standing closest, Zhou Yi felt a wave of dread crawl over her.

The footsteps drew nearer, then stopped altogether. Driven by overwhelming curiosity, Zhou Yi lifted her head—and a slender silhouette appeared before them.

The girl blinked lightly, revealing clear black eyes that held a chilly indifference. She stood right beneath a shaft of sunlight breaking through the trees, her long ink-black hair washed with gold by the sun.

The simple school uniform looked tailor-made on her. The jacket fit perfectly without a single excess thread. The elegant shoulder line flowed into her arms, her tall figure tapering into the pleated skirt. Long, pale legs extended beneath it—slim yet full where they should be.

She looked like someone who had stepped out of a manga page.

Under the sunlight, the gleaming badge on her chest stood out sharply, more than enough to remind these three rule-breakers of exactly who she was.

Zhou Yi’s head throbbed.

Being caught by her was worse than being executed on the spot at the school gate.

“Name. Class.”

Her red lips moved slightly, her frosty gaze sweeping across the three of them, leaving no room for pleading.

Zhou Yi looked desperately at her boss. She vividly remembered what her boss had preached only moments ago.

“If we get caught, we get caught. Can’t you run?”

As long as the boss made a single move—one nod—she and Yiran would follow her to the ends of the earth!

But when Jiang He sensed her burning stare, she merely gave her a calm, expressionless look.

And no signal.

Zhou Yi: “…”

Right. The boss had chickened out.

How, how could she chicken out?

Turns out, no matter how many big scenes their boss had lived through, even she couldn’t stay composed in front of the student council president—holder of absolute disciplinary power.

Zhou Yi deflated completely, hands hanging obediently at her sides. “Zhou Yi, Class 5, Year Two.”

Dan Sirou lowered her thick lashes, neat and elegant handwriting blooming from the tip of her pen.

Xu Yiran was an honest, straightforward person. The moment Dan Sirou’s gaze so much as drifted her way, she immediately confessed everything.

When the final stroke of her pen fell, Dan Sirou paused—barely noticeable, just a flicker.

Only one person left.

She lifted her eyes, her gaze settling on the girl whose looks and demeanor were easily the most striking among the three. Maybe it was because that girl had already been staring at her, or maybe it was pure coincidence—but the moment she looked up, their eyes met.

Their gazes crossed in midair, casting light across each other’s features.

A few seconds later than she’d questioned the other two, Dan Sirou finally asked, “And you?”

“Jiang He.” Jiang He’s dark-brown eyes were as calm and still as a deep well.

“Jiang as in ginger, He as in grain.” She watched the pale hand of the girl president move the pen, her tone hovering between deliberate reminder and casual remark.

After jotting it down, Dan Sirou capped her pen, lifted her head, and let her gaze fall back on Jiang He—sweeping her from bottom to top in one smooth look.

“Where’s your uniform?”

“Forgot it.” Jiang He shrugged, perfectly relaxed as she looked back at her.

Dan Sirou narrowed her eyes. She was half a head shorter than Jiang He, but at this distance the height difference became irrelevant—she didn’t have to look up at all to meet Jiang He’s eyes.

In that brief moment, Zhou Yi felt like both of them had powerful auras. The president—no question—had that cold, untouchable air even when silent. But the boss? From the way she’d refused to run just now, she clearly wasn’t afraid of the president, yet at the same time she seemed like she didn’t take her seriously at all.

Just as Zhou Yi was wondering how in the world this scene was supposed to end, Dan Sirou’s red lips parted—and, to everyone’s surprise, she didn’t make things difficult.

“Be more careful next time.”

With that, she turned and left.

Only when her footsteps had completely faded did Zhou Yi finally regain feeling in her numb lips.

“Boss.” She struggled to speak, voice still shaky. “What terrible luck. How did we run into the president here of all places?”

Jiang He’s eyes were dark and unreadable. She stared at the space where Dan Sirou had stood, silent for a moment, before saying, “Let’s go too.”

“Okay,” Zhou Yi replied.

On the first day of school, it was hard for anyone to get back into classroom rhythm.

Especially the first two morning periods and the first two afternoon periods—students were listless, even the flipping of pages sounded dry and lifeless.

Finally, sixth period ended.

The homeroom teacher rushed into the classroom as soon as class was dismissed and herded everyone out. “Go, go, go. Today is the opening ceremony. Everyone must attend!”

Class 5’s homeroom teacher was a gentle, good-tempered middle-aged beta who joked often. “If you keep this up, I’ll have no salary left,” he’d say pitifully—and maybe because he was too likable, his mock-complaints always worked like magic.

Jiang He hadn’t slept much. She waited until the room had mostly emptied out before nudging Zhou Yi’s chair. “Get up.”

Zhou Yi lifted her head, bleary-eyed. The moment she stood, Xu Yiran couldn’t help laughing and handed her a compact mirror.

And so, Zhou Yi walked out of the classroom with several giant sleep-creases stamped across her face. Fortunately, there weren’t many people left in the stairwell.

Downstairs, they could vaguely see a dense stream of students heading toward the auditorium.

Just as they rounded the corner, Kuang Wenqi and three others walked straight toward the school gate, chatting and laughing.

Zhou Yi rubbed her sleepy eyes. “Wait—they’re just leaving?”

There were two well-known “factions” at Qingyu High School: the quiet, low-profile Jiang He, and Kuang Wenqi—who had befriended several famous seniors outside of school. Those connections let her swagger around campus like she owned the place. The only group she wouldn’t cross was the student council—especially not on a day like today, openly walking out through the school gate.

“You guys didn’t hear?” Xu Yiran said matter-of-factly. “Kuang Wenqi is supposedly dating the student council vice president. Getting a leave slip shouldn’t be too hard for her.”

“They can do that?” Zhou Yi said. “Which vice president? Isn’t there more than one?”

“Lin Shi, I think. Not sure. I just overheard it in the bathroom.”

“Lin Shi? But she’s a beta, isn’t she?? Kuang Wenqi really doesn’t care about anything if it helps her get off campus.”

While the two beside her chattered—especially noisy, talkative Zhou Yi—Jiang He stayed unusually quiet, her mind elsewhere.

She stared ahead, lost in thought.

Not far away, a group of four or five students walked together.

In the very center was a girl with an elegant, refined air, her profile beautiful from every angle. She didn’t put on that expressionless, formal face she showed in public meetings; when she spoke to the others, her emotions were far richer.

Beautiful—and unattainable.

Just when things finally fell quiet, Zhou Yi started chattering again: “Please, it’s just a vice president. If I start dating the student council president one day, I’ll get you guys a hundred leave slips.”

“Dan Sirou?” Xu Yiran sputtered a laugh. “Okay, okay—maybe lower your voice. She’s right in front of us.”

“What? Where?” Zhou Yi jerked her head up—and sure enough, among the figures ahead, she recognized Dan Sirou’s silhouette. They weren’t too far, not too close—just near enough to scare Zhou Yi into shutting her mouth immediately.

Once the president disappeared up the stairs and quiet returned, Jiang He belatedly replayed their conversation. When she recalled Zhou Yi’s bold claim about dating “so-and-so,” she cast her a long, meaningful sideways glance.

Zhou Yi and Xu Yiran were still chatting away, blissfully unaware.

In the auditorium, students had already lined up by class. Whispering filled the space until the student council members quickly restored order.

Soon, the principal began his speech.

The discipline director trailed behind them.

By the time the long-winded speeches finally ended, the bell for the first period had already rung.

The last person to speak was the newly elected student council president.

Bathed in the appreciative gazes of the school leaders, Dan Sirou stepped up to the podium and offered a perfectly formal bow.

From the moment she took on the title of president, all traces of emotional softness vanished. Her naturally sweet voice carried a new steadiness and severity, radiating an imposing, disciplined presence.

She introduced her responsibilities to the students and went on to emphasize several key school regulations stressed by the administration.

It wasn’t until the eighth period was nearly over that the meeting finally adjourned.

There was an hour allotted for dinner. At this time, the cafeteria was usually less crowded than at noon, with part of the student flow redirected back to the dormitories.

Qingyu High School was a boarding school, with six standard dormitory types. Jiang He lived in a six-person female Alpha dorm. Both Omegas and Alphas were relatively rare, and with the additional gender separation, it wasn’t easy for an entire class to fill even one sex-specific dorm configuration.

Jiang He’s Class Five and Class Six had mixed dorm assignments.

Right now, three of her roommates had gone to eat, one was off fooling around on the playground, and one had already been in the room before Jiang He returned.

That person was Wu Kui from Class Six.

She was one of Kuang Wenqi’s notorious cronies, sporting a clean, sharp iron-gray buzzcut.

Jiang He stood at 172 cm, considered above average among female Alphas. Wu Kui was two centimeters taller, but because of her proportions, she somehow looked even taller to the naked eye.

Seeing Wu Kui walk out of the bathroom with a washbasin in hand, Jiang He immediately knew she must’ve been one of the people who used Kuang Wenqi’s “connections” to secure a fake leave slip.

“Jiang He, you’re back,” Wu Kui greeted her politely. “Have you eaten?”

Jiang He said she hadn’t yet, then pointed toward the shower room. “You still need to go in?”

Wu Kui chuckled. “Go ahead. I’m done.”

Jiang He opened her wardrobe to get her towel and a change of clothes.

She washed her hair along with her shower, and after blow-drying it, tied it into a high ponytail that puffed out just slightly, with a few loose strands falling naturally.

She had a clean, dust-free air about her—perfectly in tune with the youthful spirit of her age.

Nibbling on braised snacks, Wu Kui watched her fuss in front of the mirror longer than most Omegas did. She spat out a melon seed shell and teased, “It’s almost time for evening study—are you planning to go out or something?”

Jiang He gave her a glance and couldn’t be bothered to respond.

Before leaving, she grabbed a small bottle from her locker as if no one else existed and slipped it into her pocket.

There were three periods of evening self-study.

Jiang He almost never paid attention in class during the day, but she used evening study time to make up for what she’d missed. She was gifted—just a few skimmed readings of the textbook’s concise explanations were enough for her to fully grasp the material. Her monthly exam results were always impressive.

She alternated between studying and playing, playing and studying. She’d nearly finished all the exercise books, and just as she was halfway through the last math problem, the long-unheard dismissal bell rang.

Zhou Yi sprang up to leave, but halfway to the door, she realized their boss hadn’t moved.

“Boss, aren’t you leaving?”

Jiang He pretended to pack her things. “You go ahead. I have something to do.”

Xu Yiran asked, “Where are you going?”

“I said go first.” Her guilty conscience forced her to raise her volume.

Just then, her eyes flashed toward the window and landed on the bright, round moon hanging in the sky. Jiang He instantly grabbed onto an excuse. “The moon’s really full tonight. I want to sit by myself for a bit.”

Xu Yiran: “…”

Zhou Yi teased, “Should I call Duan Xinchun over for you?”

That finally got to Jiang He. She lifted her head, clicked her tongue impatiently.

The two instantly bolted like scared rabbits.

By now the classroom was empty, but Jiang He stayed seated for a while longer. When the hallway had completely quieted, she finally stood up and made her way toward the dormitory building. At the fork in the path, she slipped onto a narrow trail.

The trail led to the most secluded part of campus.

The small grove of trees, pitch-dark at night, carried a mysterious chill absent during the day. There were no streetlights here—only the faint spill of light from the main road and the moonlight to guide her steps.

Jiang He leaned against a locust tree and closed her eyes to rest.

After about ten minutes, she opened them again. A faint hostility flickered in her deep brown gaze.

A sudden gust of wind swept through the woods. It roared as if sharing her frustration, rustling the leaves until, at last, everything settled. Her own emotions traced a similar arc—rising, swelling, reaching their peak, then slowly leveling out.

The appointed time had long passed.

One by one, the lights in the dormitory building turned on, yet she remained stranded alone in the thick of darkness.

One second. Two seconds. One minute. Three minutes.

Another five minutes went by—and still no one came.

She stared into the distance, as if trying to pierce through the night itself.

The breath stuck in her chest remained stubbornly trapped. How she wanted to ask that person: Do you enjoy making others wait this much?

Jiang He didn’t want to wait anymore. She was convinced that person wasn’t coming—maybe they thought her request to “meet at school” was unreasonable. It had been readily agreed to online, but now that it was time to follow through, they’d lost their nerve and run away.

It had been nothing more than a spur-of-the-moment suggestion anyway—a petty, vindictive whim born of old memories. She hadn’t truly expected anything. If they didn’t want to agree, they didn’t have to. Why promise something they couldn’t follow through on?

Mocking herself inwardly, Jiang He turned to leave.

And maybe it was because disappointment had pushed her to her limit that fate finally shifted. Footsteps rustled through the night, mingling with the wind. But unlike the wind—brief and fading—the footsteps grew clearer, closer.

Jiang He lifted her eyelids, and the slender silhouette appearing before her lit up her eyes.

“Sorry,” the girl said softly. “Something unexpected came up. I’m late.”