Chapter 1 — The Ice-Cold Senior and the Fated Nickname

Ever since my heart was broken, I began to experience the strangest nocturnal visions involving the notorious campus delinquent. In the realm of sleep, he would step forward as my champion, administering a thoroughly satisfying beatdown to my worthless ex-boyfriend. Meanwhile, I would hover near the sidelines, howling and cheering like a frenzied primate. After this surreal sequence repeated for several consecutive nights, the young delinquent himself—his handsome features etched with profound exhaustion and sleep deprivation—sought me out in reality. With a weary drawl, he confronted me: "The person has already been thoroughly beaten on your behalf. Would you mind terribly ceasing your blood-curdling howls inside my subconscious?"

News spread through the university like wildfire: "The campus boss has violently assaulted the department beauty's new boyfriend!" The entire student body was sent into an absolute frenzy of frantic gossip and speculation. "Is the mighty boss wrathful on behalf of a delicate beauty? Truly a classic tale of drawing the sword for love!" Not a single soul suspected that the coveted "beauty" in question was actually none other than humble little me. My roommates rushed back into the dormitory holding their takeout containers, shouting and shrieking as they devoured their meals. "Who would have ever imagined that someone as chillingly aloof as the boss would actually throw punches for romance?" I froze in sheer panic, hurriedly smashing the power button on my phone. Yet, an instant later, a direct notification chimed across my screen, courtesy of the boss himself: "Aloof?" I resolutely decided to pretend that I had never laid eyes on the message. Oblivious to the true reality, my friends decided to throw a celebratory feast specifically for my benefit. "HA-HA-HA, June! That wretched scoundrel Ryan finally got what was coming to him!" I popped open my takeout box and joyfully gnawed on a chicken drumstick. Honestly, upon hearing the glorious news that one's ex-boyfriend had been physically decimated, who wouldn't find their appetite vastly improved?

Ryan and I had spent three full years intertwined in a romance. Just one week prior, he had unilaterally announced our breakup. The very next day, he publicly flaunted his new relationship, walking hand-in-hand with the radiant department belle, Lily. Ryan had pursued her with the subtlety of a campus broadcasting loudspeaker. On the exact night he severed ties with me, he plastered a burning, impassioned declaration of love across the anonymous confession board. The phrasing was scorching, practically dripping with incandescent fervor. The entire student body had flocked online to spectate the spectacle. Lily herself graced the comments section in person, shyly tapping her approval. At that precise moment, every single female dormitory echoed with piercing shrieks of dramatic awe.

That very night, I plunged into a dream where I was personally dismantling Ryan. Within the dreamscape, I remained remarkably polite. Given my modest physical strength, my own hands would have ached long before I managed to turn his cheeks even a shade of pink. Thus, the campus boss conveniently materialized within the vision to handle the chastisement on my behalf. Every strike landed with devastating precision, every punch executed with breathtaking, artistic brutality that satisfied my soul to its very core. It was the absolute epitome of the aesthetic of violence. As for myself, I simply stood on the sidelines, clapping frantically and howling like a prehistoric hominid—a complete regression to pure, unadulterated instinct.

This dream recurred night after night until one fateful evening. The campus boss, sporting heavy bruises beneath his eyes and disheveled hair, suddenly cornered me in the waking world. "I went and delivered the beatings," he muttered, sounding thoroughly defeated. "Can you please stop screaming in my dreams?"

I stared at him, blinking in utter incomprehension. The campus boss scowled deeply, crossing his arms. "Do not waste time doubting it. Exactly as your mind has surmised." As it turned out, my subconscious dreamscape was being directly broadcast and shared with the campus boss. A creeping wave of panic washed over me. "This situation... surely this cannot be appropriate, can it?" Throughout my entire existence, I had been the quintessential model student who never dared to violate a single classroom regulation. Yet here I was, suddenly elevated to the level of someone who hired hitmen to settle personal vendettas. My timid heart trembled with a mixture of terror and illicit thrills. The boss casually reached out, plucked the phone right out of my trembling fingers, and added himself on WeChat. He justified the action with an air of absolute logic: "For the sake of preserving mutual sleep quality, heaven leaves us no choice but to act on its behalf."

Nobody would ever believe it—he actually carried a physical map around campus, meticulously circling our designated operation zone: the athletic field. He even went so far as to highlight my optimal viewing vantage point: the spectator stands. Very well then; true to his reputation as the campus leader, he was a man of immediate action. At that defining moment, I was officially transformed into the shadowy mastermind placing orders behind the scenes. I witnessed with my own eyes as Ryan was battered like a plucked chicken, stripped entirely of his usual arrogant swagger. That wave of profound elation sustained my spirits for the entirety of the following day.

Yet, the nightly visions abruptly shifted. I no longer dreamed of beating my ex-boyfriend; instead, my sleeping mind conjured terrifying visions of men in police uniforms arriving to arrest me. The next afternoon, the campus boss materialized before me once more. Across his exceptionally handsome face stretched a pair of bruised, swollen circles resembling massive steamed buns. He looked profoundly forlorn. With trembling lips, I stammered, "This time... I swear on my life I did not dream about you!" The boss tilted his head back toward the heavens, a look of utter helplessness washing over his features. "Rest assured. I was the one throwing the punches. Even if the authorities come knocking, I shall never betray your name." I choked back a sob, nearly bursting into tears on the spot. "I checked the legal statutes... The primary mastermind bears the heaviest criminal liability, whereas accomplices receive lighter sentences." Given the profound intimacy between the two of us, he would undoubtedly sell me out at the first sign of trouble.

The campus boss lowered his gaze, his voice carrying a raspy, roguish yet deeply helpless tone. "After selling you out... do you truly believe I would ever sleep peacefully again?"

I swallowed hard. "That... actually makes a fair amount of logical sense."

Ultimately, it was the department belle herself who shattered the suffocating, awkward atmosphere hanging heavily in the air. Both the boss and I simultaneously received notifications from our primary gossip network chat group. Lily had published a public post on the anonymous confession board: "Tyler, I implore you to refrain from venting your personal grievances onto my boyfriend." Tyler happened to be the actual, given name of the campus boss. The comment section beneath the post exploded instantly. "What on earth is transpiring here?" "Could this be a tangled web of romantic betrayal?"

I leaned in cautiously, whispering, "Did the two of you... perhaps harbor some deep-seated feud in the past?" Naturally, the department belle had automatically assumed that Tyler was intentionally causing trouble out of spite. And thus, the entire burden of blame was effortlessly dumped squarely onto the head of the campus boss.

Tyler let out a cold, sardonic scoff. "What possible 'feud' could I possibly harbor toward an ordinary girl?" He then turned his head, fixing his gaze squarely upon me. His eyes danced with undisguised amusement, and his voice softened into a gentle murmur. "As long as you manage to sleep soundly, nothing else matters."

The afternoon sunlight cascaded behind his frame, framing him in a golden halo. The corners of his eyes curved upward, radiating a tenderness reminiscent of an autumn breeze. I stared at him, utterly dazed, a reckless thought spontaneously erupting within my consciousness: Tyler... is genuinely, breathtakingly handsome. Panic surged through my veins, causing me to blurt out the first thought that crossed my mind without an ounce of filtering: "How can you possibly refer to it merely as my sleep? Clearly, that was our shared sleep!"

A profound silence hung in the air for a fraction of a second before Tyler burst into low laughter, nodding in agreement. "Your words are entirely accurate... it was indeed our sleep." My face flushed so violently crimson I felt as though I might faint on the spot. It appeared that my chronic sleep deprivation had finally driven me to full-scale hallucinations.

Upon retreating safely back to the sanctuary of our dormitory, I solemnly posed a serious inquiry to my sisters: "Hypothetically speaking, what course of action should one take if they continually dream of an individual with whom they are not particularly well-acquainted?"

My roommates were seasoned veterans in the school of life. Their very first question struck straight at the core of the matter: "Is he visually appealing?"

I paused to contemplate the question thoroughly. "I suppose... he is reasonably decent?"

"Give us a concrete reference point."

"Think along the lines of... the campus boss."

The entire room plunged into dead silence for a full second before a flurry of meaningful glances darted between them. They collectively reached out to slap me heartily on the shoulder. "Do not hesitate! Within the realm of dreams, one can accomplish absolutely anything! Do not let such prime opportunities go to waste!"

"Youth combined with perpetual singlehood—we completely understand~"

"Such bizarre occurrences are extraordinarily rare. Seize the initiative while you can!"

I remained speechless. Why did the trajectory of this conversation veer so drastically off course? As my mind involuntarily conjured vivid imagery of Tyler’s sculpted physique, my face burned fiercely as I dove headfirst beneath the protective layers of my blanket.

The following morning, Tyler dispatched a digital sticker straight to my phone: a graphic depicting a cartoon character caught red-handed in the act. I officially lacked the courage to ever face him again. After all—during the previous night's slumber, I had spent consecutive hours shamelessly fondling his abdominal muscles. Was it still remotely possible for me to emigrate to an entirely different planet at this late hour?

A subsequent ping flashed across my screen. "Do not even entertain the notion of fleeing after partaking of my flesh. Get ready; you are formally treating me to a proper meal to make amends."

Upon deeper reflection, the campus boss had indeed suffered an unmitigated string of calamities dropped straight from the heavens. Not only had he volunteered to vent my frustrations, but he had even "contributed his physical form" to serve as a subconscious combat weapon. It truly made one feel a twinge of guilt. Furthermore, I was inherently an honest individual who harbored a fierce aversion to owing emotional debts. Consequently, that very evening, I dragged the campus boss toward the bustling night market situated just outside the university gates.

"Sichuan-style grilled tofu, iron-plate tofu, family-style tofu, foil-wrapped egg tofu..." An entire table was stacked precariously high with variations of tofu—forming a veritable mountain of bean curd. Even a stray dog wandering through the night market happened to catch sight of the spread, shook its head repeatedly in sheer disbelief, and trotted over to the neighboring table to wag its tail in hopeful supplication.

I swept my arm outward with grandiose magnanimity. "Behold! Consume to your heart's content, for there is an endless supply!"

The boss glanced sideways at me, an eyebrow arching with profound implication. "With such an abundance of tofu spread before us, are you perhaps attempting to trick me into funding several more meals in the future?"

What manner of twisted insinuation was embedded within that remark? Was he actively casting doubt upon my moral integrity?! Did he truly mistake me for someone whose mind constantly dwelled upon scandalous thoughts?

...Well, to be entirely fair, I suppose I could not entirely rule out that possibility. Therefore, self-preservation demanded that I leave myself an escape route. My ears burned a brilliant shade of crimson, yet I maintained an expression of unyielding righteousness. "Matters of the subconscious realm... are hardly within my conscious control."

The campus boss let out a low, knowing chuckle. "And what if those dreams are simply a manifestation of your waking desires translated into nocturnal fantasies?"

I stiffened defensively. "I happen to hold a deeply respectable view of my own personal character."

The boss offered a dry laugh. "Oh? Would you care for me to provide a detailed chronological recap of the dream's exact progression?"

"......Spare me, I beg of you." Beating my ex-boyfriend, groping his abdominal muscles, and howling like a feral beast of the wild... To be entirely honest, maintaining any semblance of moral integrity under those specific circumstances was a mathematical impossibility.

Desperate to pivot the conversation elsewhere, I stammered out an excuse. "Ah, allow me to retrieve some beverages. I recall a vendor selling osmanthus-infused sweet bean curd just down the lane."

The campus boss possessed not only formidable combat prowess but a tongue as sharp as any blade. Having thoroughly lost the verbal sparring match, I fled the scene like a startled hare, sprinting directly toward the beverage stall while soft, genuine laughter echoed warmly at my back. I charged straight up to the milk tea storefront. "Two cups of osmanthus tofu drinks, standard ice levels." My cheeks burned with residual heat; immediate cryogenic intervention was an absolute necessity. Otherwise, my health code status would undoubtedly shift from green straight into the danger zone of critical red.

At that exact, inopportune second— A voice pierced through the ambient noise from directly behind me: "June, what brings you to this part of town? And wandering about all by your lonesome?"

I snapped my head upward—standing right before me was none other than that wretched scoundrel, Ryan. Clinging tightly to his arm was Lily, her expression twisting into a mask of thinly veiled mockery as she sneered, "Ryan, it would appear your former girlfriend possesses quite a persistent streak. Running into each other right here in this exact spot—what a remarkably awkward coincidence."