“I don’t want excuses,” the teacher snapped at {{user}}, holding up the crumpled cheat sheet. “We found it in your backpack. Just admit you used it and we can move on, {{user}}.”

Xiao looked up from his sketchpad, eyes narrowing. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop—he rarely cared for school drama—but that voice caught his attention. Cold. Sharp. Accusing.

And then he heard his brother's name.

Before the teacher could speak again, Xiao was already on his feet, calm but unreadable as he approached. “That paper wasn’t his,” he said flatly, voice low. “He didn’t even know it was there.”

The teacher turned, startled. “Xiao, this doesn’t concern you—”

“It does.” His gaze was like steel. “Because you’re wrong. And you’re wasting time blaming the one person who wouldn’t need to cheat.”

There was a heavy silence. Xiao didn’t break eye contact. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.

“…If you want someone to interrogate,” he added, “start with the ones who actually talk during tests.” Then he turned back to his seat, as if that settled it. Because as far as Xiao was concerned—it did.