It Seems Like My Senior Seems to Like Me - Chapter 25

The grand sports hall stood empty at its entrance, as if a prison in the underworld, tall and cold, shrouding thousands of wailing ghosts.

Outside, the avenue was dimly lit and silent. Streetlights spaced fifty meters apart cast a pale, ghastly glow, elongating the solitary figure standing beneath them. The helpless girl froze in place; behind her, the sports hall doors were wide open, letting in a chilling wind from within. Countless ghostly hands seemed to stir, clawing toward her figure.

Whoosh—

Another gust of cold wind blew. The late November air was frosty. Her ultra-short cheerleading uniform was completely inadequate against the chill.

Ye Wanjia lifted her head and wiped her face vigorously several times, forcing herself out of the sadness caused by being forgotten by Pei Suye, and tried to figure out a way back to school.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she kept repeating to herself. “I’m not a child; I can figure this out.”

Her first thought was the charging station by the sports hall’s right-side door—she could recharge her phone first. With battery, everything would be manageable.

But when she mustered the courage to step into the eerie hall and stood before the waist-high device, she realized that a dead phone meant she couldn’t scan the QR code.

No power… then she had to find someone.

Following the signs around the venue, she wandered for a long time in the poor night lighting before finally reaching a convenience store she remembered near the park’s entrance.

“Hello, my phone is dead. Do you happen to have a charger?”

The cashier was a young man. He glanced at Ye Wanjia and noticed the thin girl in a cheerleading uniform, the ultra-short skirt, and a sleeveless top. He quickly pulled out his own Type-C charger.

Shivering, Ye Wanjia asked, “Do you have an Android one?”

He shook his head. Not only did he not have one, but the convenience store mainly sold snacks and drinks, not electronics.

Then she asked, “Could I borrow your phone to make a call…?”

She trailed off, lowering her head. “I don’t know her number.”

Her beautiful eyes dropped, and everything seemed to turn gray. The boy scratched his head and suggested she use his phone to log into WeChat, but they were immediately met with a security prompt:

“Login detected from an unfamiliar device. Verification code sent to your registered device. Please enter the correct code.”

Tap, tap, tap…

Ye Wanjia pressed the home button in despair, forcing a bitter smile. “Looks like without a phone, I’m useless.”

The boy tried to comfort her, saying there was a 24-hour supermarket about two kilometers ahead, where she might find a power bank. He even spent his own money to get her a cup of hot milk tea.

Two kilometers? It should take half an hour to walk. She glanced at the clock on the wall—half past nine.

“Thanks,” she said, holding the hot milk tea, her ice-cold hands warming a little. “Could you help me check the map? I want to see the route.”

Meanwhile, after discovering Ye Wanjia was missing, Pei Suye immediately called a ride-hailing car and sped across the city to the sports hall on the other side.

Teacher Ouyang Fei , hearing that a team member hadn’t returned, was shocked and hurried along.

“Oh my god, I hope she just missed the bus and nothing worse happened!” Teacher Ouyang Fei said nervously, her legs trembling. “Do you have her phone number? Try calling her!”

Pei Suye shook her head hopelessly. “I don’t have her number. WeChat and calls aren’t going through.”

Teacher Ouyang recalled, “Then her phone must be dead. I saw her lend her power bank to Du Bin this afternoon.”

Slash!

A flash of dread hit Pei Suye—first she borrowed the power bank, then missed the bus, and now completely lost contact?

Du Bin, you’re despicable!

By the time they arrived at the sports hall, it was already 9:30. The enormous hall was pitch black, like a giant overturned tortoise shell covering the insects living in the darkness.

“Ye Wanjia—Xiao Yezi—”

“Ye Wanjia—I’m Teacher Ouyang. Are you in there?”

After searching the hall, there was still no response.

“Seems like no one’s here. Did she leave?” Ouyang Fei panted.

Pei Suye thought quickly: Du Bin probably wouldn’t escalate to kidnapping, since getting caught would ruin his precious life. He likely just wanted to play a trick so Ye Wanjia would miss the bus. And Ye Wanjia would probably find a way to save herself instead of staying in the hall.

The question was—where would she go?

The cold wind cut her cheeks like knives, and her throat felt as if sand was lodged inside, roughly scraping her vocal cords.

“Teacher Ouyang, I remember—isn’t there a convenience store at the east gate?”

Ouyang recalled, “Seems so! Let’s go check!”

At the convenience store, the cashier confirmed that a girl in a cheerleading uniform had been there and said she went to a supermarket two kilometers away.

Pei Suye felt a wave of relief and ran off, while Teacher Ouyang was a bit exhausted.

“Teacher, rest here. I’ll go find her.”

But after running the two kilometers along a road with no shared bikes, the supermarket security said they hadn’t seen Ye Wanjia.

“Not at all. Who’s out this late in a cheerleading outfit?”

Pei Suye tried to insist, “It was a girl, tall and thin, a college student, just one person.”

The older man waved impatiently. “Impossible. I’ve been here for two hours; only a guy came to buy cigarettes. This area is so remote, how could a young girl be out alone?”

His eyes landed on Pei Suye, another “young girl,” as if saying, “Go home quickly.”

Pei Suye’s eyes widened; her mind went blank.

Had she not come here at all? Or did something happen on the way?

Her brain sank into a deep sea; each breath felt strangled by an invisible hand. The final WeChat attempt—twenty-plus voice call requests filled the screen, each white chat box like a plastic bag around her neck, suffocating her.

“Hello?”

The 29th call finally connected!

The darkness of the forest flashed by like fireflies.

“Where are you?!” Pei Suye asked in panic, her hands trembling so hard they cramped. Her smooth hair blew across her face.

There was a pause at the other end, as if restraining emotions, then the owner’s voice came through, trying to stay calm but still choking slightly.

“I’m at the police station,” said Ye Wanjia, stubbornly, her nasal tone noticeable.

“Which police station? How did you get there? What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” For the first time, Ye Wanjia refused Pei Suye. She was sulking—earlier in the afternoon, Pei Suye had left her behind. Now that she realized Pei Suye wasn’t around, who needed her concern?

“My phone is charged. The police said they can send me back to school. I’m an adult; I can take care of myself. Thanks for your concern, president.”

“President”—a title that indefinitely stretched the distance between them.

“Xiao—”

Pei Suye choked; she couldn’t bring herself to say Xiao Yezi. Instead, she said:

“Wanjia. I’m at the sports hall. I’ll come get you. Which police station are you at? Please tell me!”

And just like that, the anger vanished.

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