Pretending To Have A Certain Persona Can Be Tiring - Chapter 18

“Holy crap.” Song Yang fell onto the floor, clutching his cheek in pain. “Damn it, you are playing for real, huh?”

Seeing the furious French Fry lunging at him like a rabid dog, Song Yang could not dodge in time while sitting on the ground. As that bulky figure descended, he instinctively triggered his defensive skills, thrusting a kick right at the scum’s crotch. With a sharp howl, he hit the bullseye.

Cheng Ran curled up on the ground clutching the spot, yelping like a husky in pain. Song Yang dusted off his hands and stood up, not forgetting to apologize, “Sorry about that; I hit your teapot spout.”

“Screw your mother!” Cheng Ran was both ashamed and furious. Ignoring the pain, he scrambled to his feet, clenched his veins-popping fists, and swung them at Song Yang’s head.

Song Yang executed a slick slide to dodge, but Cheng Ran whirled around with a ferocious expression, relentless as he swung his fists again.

Song Yang dodged rapidly, spinning like a top until he lost his balance and stumbled backward, colliding into a warm, firm chest. He turned around and locked eyes with Ji Ting.

Ji Ting was taller and broader-shouldered than him; his posture felt as though he were cradling Song Yang, offering a perfect shield.

In that instant of eye contact, a highly inappropriate thought flashed through Song Yang’s mind: Even from this lethal angle, this King of Pretension’s face is still a feast for the eyes!

If Cheng Ran’s greasy face had been visual pollution, Ji Ting’s face was a refreshing dose of sanitizer. Song Yang felt his entire field of vision being cleansed.

The thought vanished as quickly as it came, for as soon as Ji Ting steadied his arm, Cheng Ran’s fist came down like a meteor.

With less than half a second to react, Song Yang’s mind went blank. Following the principle of self-preservation, he hunched his shoulders and buried his face into Ji Ting’s chest, rubbing his foundation onto the other man’s collar. He shivered for a moment, but the fist never landed. When he opened his eyes again, Cheng Ran’s greasy face was inches away, but his raised fist was gripped tightly by Ji Ting, frozen in mid-air.

The two men locked eyes, sparks visibly flying between them. Song Yang, caught in the middle, felt awkward and nimbly ducked out of the way.

“Brother Ting, hold him off for a second! I am going to find a weapon!”

As Song Yang shouted and ran off, another gasp erupted from the crowd. He turned back, wide-eyed, to see the two men brawling, neither willing to give an inch. The surrounding crowd, fearing collateral damage, dared not intervene.

“Yangyang, what do we do!” Tao Ziyi ran over, his face full of anxiety. “I forgot to tell you, Cheng Ran is trained in martial arts! The President is thin and frail; he will not be able to beat him!”

“You lunatic! Why did you not tell me he was trained earlier?” Song Yang smacked his head, but with no time to argue, he spotted the display board and charged toward it.

The King of Pretension might be hateful, but he is innocent here. If he gets hurt or penalized because of this, not only will my conscience hurt, but I will probably have to kowtow to him forever. Absolutely not!

“Out of the way, King of Pretension!” Song Yang gritted his teeth and hoisted the heavy iron board.

“You bastard, I have hated you for a long time!” Cheng Ran roared, grabbing Ji Ting’s collar.

Ji Ting did not let go, his eyes full of disdain. “What, because I made it to the national finals and you did not?”

His taunt hit home; Cheng Ran’s fury boiled over. He pushed hard against Ji Ting, only for a roar to erupt from behind.

“Out of the way, King of Pretension!”

Ji Ting turned and saw the massive display board charging toward them as if it had grown legs. Cheng Ran’s fingers slipped in surprise, allowing Ji Ting to shake him off and dodge to the side.

“Ah, the rescue has arrived! Whoever harms my Emperor, die!” Song Yang used the board as a shield and lunged at Cheng Ran.

The weight of the board descended like a landslide. Cheng Ran slipped and was pressed flat against the ground. His screams mixed with the laughter of the crowd and shouts for security.

Song Yang felt the chaos around him, his mind in a fog. He slowly crawled up from the ground. Seeing Cheng Ran struggling to get up from under the board, he hurriedly grabbed Ji Ting and ran.

“Senior, do not get involved in this mess. I do not want to drag you down.” Song Yang pulled Ji Ting toward Tao Ziyi. “Unarmed combat will not work. Quick, give me a weapon! Is there a knife in your bag?”

Tao Ziyi turned pale with fright and clutched his backpack. “Calm down, you will go to jail!”

Ji Ting asked angrily, “Are you insane?”

“What are you thinking? I am not committing a crime, just scaring him!” Song Yang looked back to see Cheng Ran rubbing his sore rear and slowly crawling up. His heart hung in his throat. “Hurry, the French Fry is getting up!”

Tao Ziyi’s face contorted in panic. “It will not work, Yangyang! Let us run!”

Song Yang smacked his forehead in frustration. “You donkey! If we do not subdue him today, he will keep causing trouble! A head can be broken, blood can be shed, but we cannot be cowards!”

Forced into a corner, Tao Ziyi bit his lip, reached into his bag, and pulled out a black, long object, shoving it into Song Yang’s arms.

The lighting was dim, and Song Yang did not see what it was. He squeezed it; it was soft, felt excellent to the touch, and was quite slick.

“Song Yang! I am not letting you go today!”

The scum’s roar erupted behind him. Song Yang’s heart constricted, and his mind went blank.

Ji Ting tried to reach out to shield him, but Song Yang instinctively pushed him aside and, in a “why bother” state of mind, brandished the mysterious object at Cheng Ran.

“Damn you, I am going to chop you into French Fry scraps today!”

Under the dim light, Song Yang saw what was in his hand. He widened his eyes in shock, and the crowd burst into raucous laughter.

What he held was the extra-long, alien-shaped silicone d*ck he had seen in Tao Ziyi’s bag that day!

“Wh-what!?” Cheng Ran froze, his expression solidifying. He was clearly stunned; he could never have imagined this person would be shameless to such a degree.

Song Yang was shocked for a few seconds before his eyes lit up.

Heaven helps me! This is way more intimidating than a knife!

Facing Cheng Ran’s terrified expression, Song Yang stepped closer and spun the soft, rubbery object like a propeller, laughing with curved eyes. “Big Lang, have you forgotten? This is the reunion gift you gave me.”

The scene defied Cheng Ran’s understanding. Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, he could not bring himself to be as shameless as Song Yang. He retreated, stuttering in panic, “Y-y-you… you are a lunatic!”

“Disinfected Song Yang is here!” Tao Ziyi shouted from behind Ji Ting. “Press the white button on the base and it sprays water!”

Song Yang pressed it, and a stream of water shot from the small hole at the top, arcing through the air and landing on Cheng Ran’s shirt.

The scene looked… well…

Cheng Ran’s pupils dilated. Mortified and blushing crimson, he rubbed his chest vigorously as if he had been contaminated by something vile.

Seeing Song Yang approaching again, he looked at him like he was a monster, his voice shrill with terror. “You are sick! Do not come near me! Go away! Ahhhhh!”

Song Yang laughed. “Do not run! Do you not even recognize the gift you bought? Brother Cheng Ran from Class 2, Painting Major, Art Academy.”

Amid the crowd’s explosive laughter, Song Yang chased him down, wielding the item like a water gun and spraying him repeatedly.

Cheng Ran shrieked, lost his footing, and fell hard on his backside.

Song Yang took the opportunity to charge, straddling him and pinning him to the ground. He locked him in a chokehold with one hand and began slapping his face with the item in the other.

“Do you admit you are wrong?”

“Ahhh!” The slick surface of the silicone slid across Cheng Ran’s face. Cheng Ran’s expression twisted in disgust. “Song Yang, I am going to kill you!”

When he opened his mouth to curse, Song Yang pressed the spray button against his mouth. A clear stream jetted into the French Fry’s mouth. He choked, and the final string in his mind snapped. He looked completely unhinged.

“Ah! Ugh—cough cough!”

Song Yang, neither ashamed nor bothered by the crudeness of his actions, waved the item around and slapped his face wildly. “I asked if you admit you are wrong!”

Cheng Ran’s psychological defenses crumbled. He wailed, “I was wrong! Big Brother, I was wrong!”

Song Yang slapped both sides of his cheeks. “Are you going to pay back the money?”

“I will! I will! Ah!”

“Fourteen thousand, not a cent less!”

“Okay, okay, okay!”

Song Yang smiled triumphantly. He reached down and gave his backside a firm, knead-like squeeze. Cheng Ran froze, his eyes watering, almost bursting into tears.

“Damn it! You used to touch me all the time. How many people have you harassed? Will you be a degenerate again in the future?”

“Never again! Sob, never again! Just let me go!”

To deal with a degenerate, you have to act like one. This is called using magic to defeat magic.

“Well hit! Well hit!” “The scum deserves it, hahahaha!”

Cheers erupted around them. Song Yang suddenly experienced the feeling of being a righteous knight in ancient times, ridding the world of evil.

Tao Ziyi wept with gratitude. “My Yangyang is so cool, sob.”

Ji Ting stood aside, saying nothing, but the corners of his lips lifted into a helpless smile.

Just as the beating was in full swing, a harsh, middle-aged female voice pierced the air: “Song Yang, have you lost your mind!”

Song Yang turned around to meet the gloomy gaze of his academic advisor. He gasped, instantly petrified on the spot.