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The Desk Partner Everyone Wants to Conquer
Every day, someone tries to “win over” my seatmate.
Class goddess, grade goddess, campus goddess—every kind of beauty flocks to him.
But my quiet, brooding seatmate doesn’t spare a shred of tenderness.
He looks a pretty girl in the eye and spits out one cold word: “Scram.”
Pure impatience, pure contempt.
Then he turns around, pins me against the wall, and with a shadowed look that’s equal parts pleading and need, murmurs,
“Don’t go liking someone else, okay?”
1
I’m a nobody.
Average family, average brain, not exactly pretty but passably sweet-looking.
My days run a strict triangle: school, the road, home.
Ordinary to the core.
That’s how I went through every single day—steady, uneventful.
Until one day I noticed a crack in the routine.
It started when, in junior year, the teacher assigned me a new seatmate.
My seatmate was Luke Rayne—top of the grade and stupidly handsome.
He was quiet and brooding, with a stay-away-from-me aura that reeked of cynicism and nihilism.
But a gorgeous face and perfect scores are bulletproof.
Plenty of girls still nursed crushes on him.
Except me.
I didn’t like him; I didn’t feel anything.
My type was the sunny soccer boy from the next class over.
Which is also why the teacher assigned Luke to sit next to me.
Why not a male seatmate? Because apparently Luke had a serious germaphobia.
If someone touched him, he acted like they’d taken a chunk out of his flesh and his face went dark.
And at this age, boys run hot—one spark and they’re swinging.
With girls, he could at least restrain himself; he couldn’t throw punches, even if his tongue could cut.
So I became the best possible seatmate for Luke.
2
My public persona: blank and quiet.
Sitting next to Luke, we minded our own business and stayed out of each other’s way.
No talking, no greetings.
A stack of textbooks formed a border down the desk’s middle; almost no interaction.
His temper sucked, but every morning new letters showed up on his desk.
Every time he just… stuffed them into his backpack.
At first he tossed them in the trash; people fished them out and read them aloud,
so he switched to filing them in his bag.
My guess? He burned them at home in batches.
Luke never lacked for girls chasing him, but I started noticing something weird.
Every so often, one girl would keep popping up in front of him, forcing presence.
When that failed, she’d suddenly act like a totally different person.
Her entire personality would flip.
I held on to that eerie feeling and watched them like a bystander at a play.
3
“Luke, I can’t do this math problem. Could you… maybe help me?”
That was our class goddess talking—delicate as a paperwhite.
She stood beside Luke, laid the textbook on his desk, shy smile in place.
Luke lifted his eyes, cool as ice. “I don’t know how.”
Flat-out nonsense. He scored a perfect 100 every time. The number never budged.
Her smile froze at the corners.
“…Okay.”
She kept the smile and retreated, tactful enough.
Judging by her eyes, she wasn’t about to give up.
Sure enough, during PE that afternoon, I saw her bring him a bottle of water under the trees’ shade.
“Luke, thirsty? Have some water.”
“I’m not.”
He refused her and twisted open the bottle at his feet to drink.
Her fist tightened in secret.
“It’s fine, I’ll leave it here. Drink it if you want,” she chirped, still flawlessly polite, and walked away.
In the shade, a cool breeze lifted the bangs from Luke’s forehead.
His features were carved sharp and clean.
He should’ve been all sunlight at his age, but his eyes were dark, drained of life.
Suddenly he turned his head and caught me looking.
I looked away like nothing had happened and watched the clouds instead.
4
At the end of PE, when the teacher dismissed us,
Paperwhite let out a little squeal and pitched forward—
right in front of Luke.
She’d underestimated his indifference.
He stepped aside.
Watched her hit the ground.
His hands didn’t even flinch upward on reflex.
She started crying from the pain; a fake fall turned real.
Luke glanced down at her, mouth tipped with a mocking curl—like a clown had slipped.
The next day, Paperwhite quieted down.
Back to normal, no more orbiting Luke.
The teacher droned on at the front; beside me, my seatmate scribbled formulas I couldn’t parse—
dense, esoteric.
When he was writing them, his whole aura changed.
A rare light came into his eyes.
5
Today the monthly exam results came out, and the whole grade went nuts.
Luke, the long-time undisputed number one, finally met a rival.
There were two first places.
A girl’s name stood shoulder to shoulder with Luke’s on the rankings.
A dark horse—stunning.
The class buzzed with gossip about the new top student.
Luke sat at his desk, unmoved.
I looked down at the math test just explained in front of me—barely a pass.
I sighed under my breath.
My little sigh drew Luke’s look; his eyes dropped to my score.
No disdain, no smugness.
Just calm.
I still flipped the paper over; his perfect score next to mine made me ache with envy.
The gap between people, huh.
On our way back from calisthenics during break, a girl stopped Luke.
High ponytail, heart-shaped face, pretty as a rose.
“You’re Luke, right?”
“I tied for first on this monthly exam. Just so you know, next time my name’s going above yours.”
She tilted that long neck, issuing a haughty challenge.
Luke stared into her eyes, and just when I thought he might be impressed by her looks—
impatience flickered there.
He didn’t even respond.
Just walked past her and up the steps.
Her face flushed under a dozen curious stares.
She yelled at his back,
“Luke, stop looking down on people! I’m going to beat you!”
6
After that, Rose kept “coincidentally” running into Luke.
Every time she looked him dead-on, proud and relentless.
“I’m going to grind you under my heel.”
She was trying the goad-him method; Luke didn’t bite.
The second monthly exam rolled around, and everyone was eager to see
how Rose would put Luke beneath her.
Instead, jaws dropped—Luke was first again.
Perfect in every subject.
Even the essay scored full marks.
Rose took second.
When grades came out, she told him, “You got lucky. That essay score won’t save you next time. Just wait.”
For the first time, Luke actually answered her:
“God, you’re annoying. What you want has nothing to do with me.”
“So loud.”
His gaze was dark, his voice icy.
Rose froze, shaking with rage.
8
Rose went quiet and disappeared.
I started wondering who the next face would be.
A few more girls tried different approaches to get to Luke.
All of them got the same one-word answer: “Scram.”
Among the pretty girls, one stood out—clean and gentle, like jasmine.
She was a transfer student and, unlike the others, didn’t rush to plant herself in Luke’s line of sight on day one.
The first week, she made no moves.
But I knew she was waiting.
During introductions that first day, her gaze lingered on Luke for a few extra seconds.
On the day it was my and Luke’s turn for classroom duty, a boy couldn’t help himself and grabbed the chocolate bar on Luke’s desk.
Some girl had given it to him; he’d left it untouched.
The boy called out, “Another treat from a girl, Luke? You gonna eat it?”
Luke was wiping the board. He didn’t even turn around. “No.”
A second later the boy tore the wrapper. “I’m starving. If you won’t eat it, I will.”
Luke turned, saw chocolate go into the kid’s mouth, and his eyes went flat and cold.
He raised his hand; the eraser thudded against the boy; chalk dust bloomed.
“You out of your mind?”
“If I’m not eating it, that doesn’t make it yours.”
They went at it and the next day got hauled up by the homeroom teacher.
The boy swore Luke threw the first punch.
Luke said nothing about the chocolate.
The teacher told Luke to apologize; he refused in silence.
So the teacher pulled out the line every student hates most:
“I’ll call your parents.”
Luke’s fists clenched; I could feel the anger rolling off him.
I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t bring up the chocolate.
Boys and their logic, honestly.
I thought about it—since we were seatmates, I’d speak up for once.
Just as I raised my hand, Jasmine stood.
“Teacher, Luke wasn’t wrong.”
She laid out exactly what had happened and cleared his name.
I watched her, amused.
So this was what she’d been waiting for.
9
Two weeks later, Jasmine transferred out.
She’d failed. I was surprised.
I’d seen her and Luke share a table in the cafeteria; I thought maybe she was different.
That day after school, I watched her duck into an alley.
If I remembered right, it was a dead end.
I waited at a street cart for a hot crepe.
Finished eating, and she still hadn’t come out.
I hesitated, then headed in.
Straight ahead, then a left-hand spur.
At the corner I saw Jasmine, back to me, talking to a blank wall.
Gone was the demure girl—she was cursing under her breath.
“Damn it, I kept up that act for so long and it did nothing.”
“Does he have some hidden mind-reading skill or what?”
“He came over while I was eating and told me I was just like the others—approaching with an agenda—and he could see through me at a glance.”
“I kept it so low-key. I studied so much ‘redemption fic,’ analyzed all the previous failures…”
“Still didn’t work.”
“This male lead’s difficulty is like SSSS-level, system. I’m not taking this job.”
I hid behind the corner, her words ringing in my ears.
Male lead. Strategy. System.
A single, clear thread flashed through my brain.
I’d touched something real.
I walked out of the alley. Under the glow of dusk, a familiar figure slid into view.
A boy in a white cap brim pulled low, walking down the main road; a red slice of scab at the corner of his lips stood stark against pale skin.
He turned suddenly and looked my way, his gaze shadowed.
I looked at Luke with a blank face. Strangers, passing.
Our eyes met for a moment, then we veered off in different directions.
Jasmine’s words kept replaying in my head.
On the way home, the corner of my mouth lifted.
How interesting.
Up in the oak tree outside, a big orange tabby crouched and watched my back.
I didn’t notice.
10
The next day, Jasmine said goodbye to the class.
As she stepped down from the podium, she passed Luke with a look that was equal parts unwilling and resigned.
The cut by Luke’s mouth had healed some; still looked like a fight.
She made one last attempt—set a Band-Aid on his desk.
I didn’t get it. No blood, so what, for aesthetics?
I shook my head.
Luke lifted the textbook with the Band-Aid on it and gave it a flick; the patch drifted to the floor.
Jasmine’s face twisted; she stalked back to her seat.
Between classes I went over and set a cheese bun on her desk.
“A going-away present.”
She blinked, hesitating. “Your name is…?”
“I’m Sarah Starr.”
“Oh—you’re Luke’s seatmate. Thanks for the gift.”
I smiled. Not surprised she barely knew me.
I’ve always run low-profile in this class.
“Let’s grab dinner after school.”
“Uh—what?”
She was thrown by my sudden warmth.
“I’ll wait for you after school. We’ll go together.”
The bell rang.
I didn’t leave her time to refuse; I went back to my seat.
That period, our English teacher’s voice was hoarse, so she handed out a pop quiz.
Halfway through, Luke started rummaging for something; I heard the scratch of a pen scraping too hard.
I glanced over—my seatmate’s brows were down, frustration tight.
I pulled out a pack of refills. My hand went for the box, then paused—his germaphobia.
Under the desk, I nudged the pen box toward him, barely tapping his uniform.
He looked over, waited a beat, then took one refill.
A stiff little “Thanks.”
11
After school I met Jasmine at a Korean BBQ place.
She looked a little dazed.
Half a month at this school and it was my first time talking to her; first thing I did was invite her to eat.
She was surprised, but pleased.
“You’re really pretty. Lots of people in class like you.”
“I’ve wanted to get to know you, but I didn’t expect you to transfer so soon.”
“I just wanted to talk before you left—hope I’m not bothering you.”
I explained my sudden friendliness, and she relaxed, smiling.
She soaked up the compliment and started chatting.
“Where are you from? Think we’ll ever meet again?”
“My family’s from Summerhaven and we—”
She suddenly blanched mid-bite and clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Uh, no—actually, I’m from City C. But I’ll probably study abroad, so… it might be hard to meet again.”
“What a shame.” I took in her vexed expression and smiled.
After dinner we said goodbye and headed home.
It was dark; the streets were hopping—it was Friday, lots of students passing by.
Across the road, I spotted Luke in a nature-themed restaurant.
He wore the place’s black uniform, weaving through the crowd with a tray.
I frowned. A germaphobe… working as a waiter?
I watched a minute and was about to leave when four or five guys stormed the entrance.
Luke came out from inside; they hemmed him in and half-shoved him toward a nearby alley.
I frowned and dialed 911.
I followed at a distance. The alley was deep, darkness like a beast ready to swallow you whole.
I didn’t get too close, just heard the thuds of a fight.
After a while the cops arrived and charged in.
Five minutes later they hauled everyone out. Luke had cuts on his face; the guys were worse off, limping and bruised.
A crowd gathered to gawk.
Luke’s gaze dropped; tall and straight in the night and the whispers, he stood like a blade.
Only the black in his eyes looked heavier.
The guys were taken away. Luke answered a few questions and was released back to the restaurant.
I didn’t linger; I headed home.
At home I looked up a place name.
Summerhaven.
Didn’t exist anywhere in the world.
Jasmine’s “hometown” didn’t seem to be in the same world as mine.
Outside, a few faint stars winked in the night. I stared at them, lost in thought.
12
In the morning, I walked into class and found a pen refill on my desk.
Same brand, same plastic sleeve. Luke had returned it.
Honestly, I’d meant it as a gift.
But fine—returning it kept things polite and distant.
Jasmine was gone, but the girls fawning over Luke didn’t let up.
As his seatmate, I could feel the irritation building off him, and it made even me itch.
I kept getting dragged into it—people asking favors, fishing for info.
I was like a cotton ball—soft and springy—but I bounced them all back.
Still, it was annoying.
Next period there’d be a random recitation quiz.
I went over a classical passage again and again—barely had it down.
If I couldn’t recite it I’d get stuck with copywork, so I glanced, envious, at the scholar next to me.
Right then a girl in the aisle suddenly pitched toward his desk; Luke extended a hand and pushed her off. She stumbled the other way.
But when he did it, he threw his head back—
and my nose exploded with pain.
He’d slammed his occipital bone right into me.
Luke turned to me, startled.
Gasps rose around us; his pupils shrank.
Something warm and metallic slid over my lip.
Blood.
I pressed tissues to my nose and sprang up without looking at the culprit, headed straight for the nurse’s office.
The school nurse stopped the bleeding.
The doorway went dark—Luke was blocking the light.
He came in and paid the co-pay.
I didn’t insist on refusing.
Just watched him silently.
“I’m sorry.”
He stood there while I sat, and I tilted my head up at the sound.
His face, usually so cold, softened with genuine apology. A little human warmth.
“Mm.”
I nodded, accepting it.
On the way back, we walked single file.
I saw our shadows stretch in the sun behind us. I hate people walking on my heels, so I sped up.
Passing the basketball court, Luke suddenly lunged and yanked me aside; a ball whistled past my face.
A boy jogged over to apologize.
The unfamiliar pressure on my wrist made me look down. I frowned at Luke’s hand holding me.
He let go at once, pressed his lips together. “Be careful.”
“Thanks.”
I said, and kept walking.
At the stairwell, I wasn’t surprised to see him head for the bathroom.
Right. With his germaphobia, he was probably scrubbing like mad.
Water rushed over his palms; in the mirror, the boy stared at the stream running through his fingers, looking a little lost.
I’d been back in class a while when he returned.
The bridge of my nose still ached, but at least the recitation had passed—small mercy.
I crawled to the final bell and bolted the second it rang.
At the corner by my route home, beneath a thick old oak, the big orange tabby crouched—round head, big copper-bell eyes fixed on me.
No idea where it came from; it was plump and glossy, probably someone’s pet.
I’d been running into it a lot.
Maybe it was my imagination, but every time we crossed paths, it stared—
like now, unblinking.
I don’t really like cats, so I didn’t try to pet it.
That night, after a shower, I opened my bedroom door—
and my heart jumped into my throat.
A cat’s head poked through the window bars from the darkness outside.
For a second, it felt like a horror movie.
It was the same orange tabby from the oak.
It hopped lightly into my room. I swallowed and walked toward it, still trying to figure out how to shoo it out.
“Hello, Sarah Starr.”
I froze.
Was I dreaming?
A cat had just spoken human words.
“I’m a messenger of God. Name’s Nyx,” it said, introducing itself.
The big orange cat, Nyx, told me a secret—about this world, and about Luke.
13
Every world has a protagonist—the axis of that world. Whatever the protagonist does affects how the world runs.
In the world I live in, Luke is the protagonist.
According to the original track of fate, Luke was a genius boy scarred by his family background. He was world-weary, gloomy, and kept to himself.
A main character trapped in the night like that would meet a heroine warm as sunlight, someone who would redeem him, soothe his wounds, and walk with him toward a bright future—a perfect ending.
But fate veered off course.
Because of a transmigrator.
The heroine was replaced by the transmigrator. But that transmigrator fell for a supporting male character and refused to walk the original route.
In the end, the world collapsed.
God tried to repair it, but something went wrong.
Luke never fell in love with the heroine. He grew as fate dictated, created a new era, and then killed himself at the very peak.
The world collapsed again.
After that, God attempted multiple fixes, but still couldn’t change Luke’s final choice to commit suicide.
Because of the repeated collapses, the world began to mutate. In the previous cycle, God discovered that the heroine’s storyline had been strangled by Luke’s will—the heroine no longer existed.
So God came up with a plan: recruit “taskers” from other worlds and send them here,
to try to reach him, to stand in for the original heroine’s role.
But because the world had been reset and re-collapsed again and again, Luke seemed to have an indistinct awakening.
He was hypersensitive to outsiders, always seeing through the purpose hidden beneath their skins. His guard was ironclad.
Wave after wave of taskers failed and retreated.
The cat’s mouth opened and closed as it spoke. I listened in silence. It surprised me, but I wasn’t shocked—
Jasmine had already made me suspicious.
“So why are you telling me all this?”
I cut the orange tabby—calling itself Nyx—off mid-speech.
It blinked, as if confused by how calm I was.
“Because we want your help.”
Of course.
Secrets aren’t free.
“I don’t want to.”
I refused without a flicker of hesitation.
“You haven’t heard me out!” Nyx waved its paw.
I got up, sat at my desk, and opened a book, not interested in humoring it.
Nyx sprang onto my desk and plopped its butt down on the page, blocking the text.
“If you don’t help, this world will eventually vanish from the endless loop of collapse and reset—and the destructive shockwave will endanger other worlds too!
“Girl, you need to save the world!
“The world is counting on you!”
“….”
I stared at the shed cat hairs on my desk and said slowly, “Didn’t you already send taskers?”
“You saw it yourself. Those taskers couldn’t even get close to him,” Nyx sighed.
“So what makes you think I can?”
Nyx said they’d come to me because they’d detected a faint awakening in me as well. It knew I’d uncovered Ja