He didn’t mean to raise his voice. He never did. But it had been building—like pressure behind glass—and the cracks finally showed.

—“I gave everything I could,” Baizhu said, the words slipping faster now, rawer. “I changed my schedule, stayed up all night preparing things you never even asked for—because I wanted to. Because I care. And still, people call me useless, weak, incapable just because I don’t swing a sword or shout in battle.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going, as if stopping would break him.

—“I do all this, and still, you look at me like I’m—" He hesitated, breath catching. "Like I’m not enough.”

The silence between you both stretched, heavy.

His hands trembled slightly at his sides, green sleeves brushing against the counter cluttered with herbs.

—“I never needed them to understand me,” he muttered, softer now. “I just thought you did.”

Then came the pause. The one where he should’ve stopped, taken a breath.

But instead, he said it.

—“Because I—… I have feelings for you.”

The moment it slipped, his eyes widened just slightly. His shoulders tensed. The soft green glow of his Vision flickered on instinct, like it was startled too.

—“Uh…” He looked away, adjusting his glasses quickly. “Oops.”

You stood still. Not because you didn’t feel anything, but because everything you thought you knew about Baizhu had just shifted.

And he? He was already trying to pretend like he hadn’t said it at all—fumbling with a jar of qingxin flowers, muttering something about inventory under his breath, ears pink.

But the damage—no, the truth—was already out.