Finding Her Inner Beauty

As the personal photo editor for Dean, a current superstar, I posted a comparison of his raw photos and edited versions on an online marketplace to attract clients. I never expected the man himself to find out.

When Dean called, I was hard at work using Photoshop.

His voice, usually a bit whiny, was now shaking with frustration. "Gillian, what is this?"

He sent me a link to the online marketplace.

"Celebrity photo editing, aesthetic guaranteed, fair pricing for everyone, $10 per photo."

The accompanying image was a close-up from an art gallery event three days ago.

In the raw photo, his skin looked dull, his eyes half-closed, his chin oddly crooked, and a small patch of acne on his cheek.

But with my meticulous editing, all imperfections vanished, leaving the most authentic skin texture intact.

My mind raced between denial and apology for three seconds before I decided to play dumb.

"What's this, boss?" I asked him. "Boss, what are you doing on an online marketplace?

Are you selling your clothes too?"

"Don't be ridiculous!

I stumbled upon it while looking for a coach for a popular online game-"

Dean's voice abruptly stopped, and I chuckled before quickly apologizing, "Sorry, boss, I didn't mean to laugh at you."

"..."

On the other end, Dean took a deep breath, which was quite audible.

Then he grumpily asked, "Why do you charge others $10 per photo but charge me $1000?"

Well, that's because you're wealthy but naive, of course.

But I couldn't say that.

"Boss, they're just ordinary people, and I only edit regular selfies for them.

But for a superstar like you, if I charged so little, it wouldn't do justice to your stunning looks."

Dean seemed convinced by my flattery.

He hummed contentedly and then hung up.

I finished color-correcting the last photo, packaged it, and sent it to another client. Just as I was about to message them to confirm receipt, Dean messaged me again on Whatsapp: "Gillian, you tricked me!!"

This naive kid finally realized it.

---

Dean is a big star.

A popular actor known for playing charismatic CEOs.

In idol dramas, his characters are bloodthirsty, ruthless, and domineering, making countless girls swoon.

In reality...

He seems a bit clueless.

I'm a photo editor, an amateur one.

Initially, I just posted photos on Twitter. Then one day, someone messaged me, claiming to be Dean's manager, wanting to hire me for photo editing.

I thought it was a scam until she added me on Whatsapp, sent a photo package, and transferred a thousand dollars as a deposit. That's when I realized she was serious.

Later, during an official event, Dean needed to select photos, and his assistant added me to a group chat.

That's how I got Dean's Whatsapp.

At that time, my roommates were obsessed with his new drama, infatuated with the decisive emperor he played. Our dorm walls were plastered with his posters.

Meanwhile, I sipped iced watermelon juice, scrolling through Dean's Facebook filled with scores from a popular online game and a farming simulation game, concluding that the charismatic CEO on screen was just a soulless gaming noob in real life.

I even played a couple of ranked games with Dean.

His character, Hou Yi, started with a 0-3 score, hiding behind my Sun Bin, whimpering, "Gillian, protect me."

"Save me, save me, save me!

-I'm dead, whimper."

His whimper shocked me so much that I couldn't watch his idol dramas anymore.

Whenever he spoke, I just wanted to laugh.

To be fair, Dean isn't bad-looking.

He has a face perfect for playing a charismatic CEO, with a high nose bridge, slightly long eyes, thick eyelashes, and a beautifully defined jawline.

But I know well that factors like condition, angle, lighting, and even the photographer's skill can directly affect a photo's quality.

Moreover, my seamless editing skills were honed because I have a face that can't be seen without Photoshop.

Above my left eye, there's a deep black birthmark the size of a fingernail, and my features are quite plain, making the mark even more prominent.

Because of it, I was isolated from elementary to high school, subjected to countless pranks and school bullying.

It wasn't until college, after learning Photoshop, that I could remove it from photos and make myself look better.

The illusion created by online beautification gave me a space to breathe.

But fake is always fake.

Six months ago, I used carefully edited photos to date a guy online.

For a whole month, we stayed up late chatting, discussing everything from poetry to philosophy.

I almost believed he was my true love, my soulmate.

But when we met for the first time, he politely declined me after buying me a cup of milk tea.

Once again, I realized that this world is all about appearances.

Since then, apart from attending classes, I rarely left my dorm.

I took on editing jobs like crazy, becoming a soulless photo-editing machine.

But I never expected that because of the online marketplace incident, Dean would want to meet me.

The next day, after my morning class, I habitually lowered my cap and was about to return to my dorm when my phone rang.

Answering it, I heard Dean's voice: "Gillian, I'm at the gate of N University."

"What?"

I was shocked. "How do you know which school I attend?"

"Two years ago, you tweeted about the delicious spicy noodles at the seventh cafeteria, a popular local dish.

I checked, and only N University in the city has a seventh cafeteria, and its spicy noodles are famous."

Dean sounded proud, as if very impressed with his deduction skills.

I just wanted to smack him with my "Analog Electronic Circuits" textbook.

"If you don't come out to meet me, I'll post about you scamming me on a public message board at your school."

He even threatened me.

"And I'll tweet a nationwide search for you."

I... I gave in.

Dean has twenty million followers on Twitter.

If he really tweeted about me, my roommates, who are head over heels for him, would personally see me off from this beautiful world.

"Where are you?

I'll come find you."

Dean said he was at our school's east gate. With a nervous heart, I walked to the gate, finding everything normal, not crowded as if a celebrity were around.

Standing by the roadside, I took out my phone, about to message Dean.

Suddenly, a car door opened behind me, and a hand grabbed my collar, pulling me into the car before I could react.

"Help-"

I screamed, turning around, only to be silenced by a handsome face.

Such clear and bright eyes, such fair skin, such beautiful light pink lips, such an exquisite jawline and collarbone.

In an instant, real and dazzling beauty appeared before me.

I was speechless.

And those moist eyes were now fixed on my face, a flash of shock followed by a mix of surprise and realization.

...

I wasn't surprised.

Everyone who sees my real appearance reacts this way.

"...Dean?"

I finally regained my composure and tentatively asked.

The man in front of me nodded, then seemed to remember something, putting on a pouty face: "Gillian, I finally found you!

You posted such an ugly raw photo of me on an online marketplace, do you know you're damaging my reputation?"

I tried to play dumb. "What reputation?"

"That's a bad photo!

They'll use it to make fun of me!"

I worried for Dean's naivety and immediately took out my phone, opening Douban, showing him the forum thread compiling thousands of his bad photos.

Dean scrolled through it, and when he looked up again, his eyes were red.

His handsome and delicate face, now with such an expression, was truly endearing.

Poor thing.

"Don't cry, don't cry."

I quickly comforted him, "Many of those are deliberately edited to look bad. You're really good-looking in person, I swear on my professional ethics."

Dean looked at me with red eyes. "You posted my raw photo on an online marketplace, do you still have professional ethics?"

"Don't be so unappreciative when I'm just trying to help you out."

Dean sniffed and suddenly turned to the driver, "Let's go."

I felt a surge of caution, "Where are you taking me?"

He tried to look sinister, like a fierce lion ready to pounce, "To a hotel."

Dean's car pulled up at a nearby five-star hotel.

"Get out."

I clung to the car door, "What are you planning?

I'm not getting out!"

Before I could finish, Dean pulled out a pair of sunglasses from his bag and placed them on my nose.

I paused, silently withdrawing my hand.

Dean seemed like a harmless fool, but he was surprisingly sharp.

Given his previous timid behavior in the canyon, I wasn't worried he'd do anything to me.

Besides, I had this face.

I was just afraid of the looks of surprise or disgust when people saw my face.

With the sunglasses on, I followed Dean upstairs and was led into a lavish suite for a script meeting.

That's when I learned Dean was about to start filming a new drama, with some scenes to be shot at our school.

Just like that, I was introduced to Dean's director, screenwriter, and investors. He introduced me as someone from his studio.

Later, when I went out to get water, I overheard people mocking Dean in the stairwell at the end of the hallway:

"He's an A-list celebrity, yet his studio is full of amateurs. Dean really doesn't care about his future."

Another seemed to know some inside story, "If it weren't for that incident, he'd probably still be signed with Creative Nexus Studios and wouldn't be stuck in idol dramas..."

I quickly ran back before they noticed me, pondering what Dean might have done.

Before I could figure it out, Dean caught me staring at him, "Gillian, why are you staring at me?"

I blurted out, "Just thinking about how to edit the next photo."

"You don't need to edit it."

Dean looked at me and suddenly pushed a piece of paper towards me, "You posted my unedited photo on an online marketplace. I'm upset, and you need to compensate me."

It was a contract.

It stated that during the filming of Dean's new drama, I needed to stay on set as his personal assistant.

Although I felt guilty, I tried to resist, "I have classes!"

He glared at me, "Come when you don't have classes."

"I also need to take on jobs to earn money!"

"I'll pay you, 200 per hour."

I immediately shook his hand, "Alright, boss. No problem, boss. When do we start, boss?"

Dean's car dropped me off at the school gate. When I returned to the dorm, my roommates asked, "Gillian, where have you been? You're back so late."

"I went for an interview."

I handed out signed photos from Dean, "I'm going to be Dean's temporary assistant."

The dorm was silent for five seconds before three of them screamed in unison.

Stephanie grabbed my clothes excitedly, "When did this happen?

How did you get the job?

Where is he filming?"

"At our school. They'll be shooting near the pine forest and Classroom in a couple of days."

I thought for a moment and added, "Maybe it's because he's a star, and I have a non-threatening appearance, so he hired me?"

"Did he say that?"

Stephanie was stunned, then suddenly angry, "Dean, I misjudged you!"

She threw Dean's signed photo into the trash.

I silently mourned for the innocent Dean for three seconds and explained, "No, that's just my guess."

Stephanie quietly retrieved Dean's photo from the trash.

On the day of the shoot, I had no classes, and Stephanie insisted on escorting me.

When they saw Dean, they forgot all about me.

Dean signed autographs and took photos with them, sending off my satisfied roommates.

When he returned, he immediately dropped his smile, "Pretending to be a tough CEO all the time is tiring."

I teased him, "You could cry to them and ask them to protect you."

Dean's eyes reddened instantly, "Do you really think I'm that kind of person?"

What on earth?

I've never seen a guy who cries more than Dean.

During filming, there was a scene where Dean's character had to save the heroine in the woods and look cool.

Dean knocked out the villain with a blank expression, then smoothly pulled the actress into his arms and kissed her.

"Cut!"

The director nodded in satisfaction, "Take a break."

Dean's expression immediately switched from cold to pitiful.

He ran over to me, whining, "Gillian, my hand."

I realized he'd scraped his hand on a tree while showing off.

I turned to get a band-aid, but Dean shook his head, tears in his eyes, "I can't use it. It'll show on camera."

"What should we do then?"

"Could you blow on it to make it feel better?"

Dean placed his finger in my palm, the wound still bleeding. I gently blew on it while disinfecting it with iodine.

When I looked up, he was biting his lip, his long lashes wet, tears almost falling.

"Does it hurt?"

He nodded slightly.

Dean had a youthful build, with slightly narrow shoulders, a slender waist, and long, straight legs that gave him a delicate, fragile look.

But I was unmoved, "Tough it out."

He looked at me, on the verge of tears.

Fine.

I relented, patting his head, "If you don't disinfect it, it'll get infected. Be good and bear with it."

Remarkably, Dean's tears vanished instantly.

I spent half a day as Dean's assistant, and he cried three times in front of me.

By the end, I was numb. Watching him switch to a domineering CEO on camera, I had only one thought:

If anyone on Twitter says Dean can't act, I'll be the first to disagree.

After wrapping up for the night, Dean offered to drive me back to the dorm. I was startled and refused, "No, no, I don't want to be chased by your fans."

Before I finished, Dean pulled out a mask and hat, covering himself completely.

With a hint of childish pride, he said from under the mask, "See, now they won't recognize me."

Walking back with Dean, I was lost in thought.

Before, I always rushed through campus, head down, avoiding eye contact.

Any gaze on my face, regardless of intent, left me flustered and anxious.

The dark birthmark seemed to grow not just on my face but also in my heart, casting a shadow I couldn't shake.

But now, standing beside Dean, that creeping insecurity and fear vanished instantly.

He hadn't done anything, yet just walking together, I felt a silent strength supporting me.

In the past, during my one and only short-lived romance, I imagined such a scene.

The person I liked said, "I wish I could hold your hand and walk you back to your dorm someday."

Before I could respond, they added, "That day will come."

But it never did.

In reality, without photo editing and filters, my face was enough to deter anyone.

"Gillian."

Dean's voice interrupted my thoughts, and I realized we were at the south gate of the school.

His van was parked by the roadside, waiting for him.

I turned to him, meeting his bright eyes, "Do you have classes tomorrow?"

"...No."

"Then, see you at the set in the morning, okay?"

Faced with a 200 yuan hourly wage, could I say no?

After agreeing, Dean happily skipped away.

That night, while editing photos in the dorm, Dean messaged me again, "Gillian, want to play a game?"

"Sure."

I finished editing the last photo and joined Dean for a round of a popular online game.

He was the kind of player who was a noob but loved gaming. To protect him, I played as an assassin, and throughout the duo queue, he kept nervously chatting with me.

I never imagined that someone like Gillian, who stood there doing nothing and couldn't even activate a shield, could be so dramatic.

"Gillian, they're taking your power-up!"

"Oh no, they're going for the dragon, what do we do?"

"Gillian, look, I've turned into a little deer! So cute!"

A green little deer happily pranced under the tower, only to be instantly defeated by the suddenly appearing King of Lanling.

Dean was stunned for a couple of seconds, incredulously raising his voice, "He attacked me?!

Oh no, he attacked me!"

I paused for a moment, "Don't worry, I'm on my way."

The low-health King of Lanling arrogantly went for the dragon with his teammates. I lay in wait in the bushes, and at the last moment, I stole their dragon, taking down both the King of Lanling and Daji with two swift strikes before making my escape.

Dean's cheers immediately echoed through my headphones, "Wow, Gillian, you're amazing!

You're the best jungler I've ever seen!"

I chuckled softly, "How many junglers have you actually seen?"

He replied confidently, "Not many, but Gillian, you're definitely the best."

He continued to chatter, praising everything from my gameplay to my awareness, even complimenting my Akali skin.

The green little deer bounced around me, and Dean's incessant voice came through my headphones.

Strangely, I didn't find it annoying.

In fact, I found this talkative yet inexperienced Dean quite endearing.

Except for one thing.

Being with him often gave me an inexplicable sense of familiarity, but no matter how hard I thought about it, I couldn't pinpoint the source.

On the day the film crew wrapped up at our school, I thought my stint as an assistant was coming to an end.

Suppressing the unexpected pang of reluctance, I was about to say goodbye to Dean when I saw him standing across from me, looking conflicted and hesitant. Finally, he spoke, "Gillian, could you stay on and continue being my assistant?"

His voice was soft, and there was a glimmer of hope in his clear eyes, as if he was certain I would agree.

That strange sense of familiarity washed over me again.

I pushed it down and agreed, reminding myself repeatedly that I was just drawn to Dean's financial security.

Accompanying Dean to the set in the second week, I finally understood what "only a few half-baked people in the studio" meant, as I had overheard in the hotel.

It turned out that Dean had terminated his contract with Creative Nexus Studios six months ago and started his own studio.

The studio was small, with just four people including him and me.

His manager Jeremy and the photographer Rhett were both his high school classmates...

Thinking back to the bizarre photos they had sent me to edit, I suddenly understood why someone as striking as Dean could be photographed so poorly.

That evening in the hotel room, he pulled me over to choose photos for Twitter. Out of over fifty photos, we barely found three usable ones, and they still needed major edits.

Dean looked at me cautiously, "Gillian, I'm sorry to trouble you again."

"Actually, it's no trouble at all, especially since you're paying me," I tried to keep my tone businesslike, but after holding back for a while, I couldn't help but ask, "But have you really not considered hiring a different photographer?"

Dean was taken aback, instinctively asking, "Why would I?"

I looked into his eyes, "Rhett's photos have issues. The lighting and angles are amateurish. I can't believe you haven't noticed."

Dean might be prone to tears and naive, but he's not stupid.

As a currently top-tier actor, he must have experienced professional photographers' skills many times. How could he not notice the difference compared to Rhett's photos?

But Dean remained silent for a while before softly saying, "I know.

Rhett hadn't worked with this equipment before, but he's learning.

You've been editing my photos, so you should see that he's improving."

"Improving from a score of 20 to 50 still isn't passing, is it?"

He didn't have to ask me to edit the photos.

Nor did he have to keep acting in those typical billionaire romance dramas.

Dean had an extraordinarily beautiful face and acting skills that could completely detach from his real personality.

He also possessed a kind of genuine and pure-hearted nature that was out of place in the glamorous world of fame and fortune.

If he just found more professional people to handle his work, his path could be much smoother.

I didn't know why I was angry, but I was.

Dean paused, his eyes slightly reddened as he looked at me, "Gillian, you can't be so harsh."

Harsh.

The word hit me like a cold shower, bringing me back to my senses.

I'm just a temporary assistant, why should I meddle?

Dean's work, Dean's future, what does it have to do with me?

"I'm sorry, boss," I quickly apologized, "I misspoke, but I didn't mean to question your decisions."

His eyes showed a hint of panic, and he suddenly reached out to tug at my sleeve, "Gillian, that's not what I meant..."

I had already taken a step back, slightly bowing my head, "I'll send the edited photos to the group. If there's nothing else, I'll head back."

From the hotel to our school, it's a not-too-far, not-too-close distance.

I rented a shared bike and started riding back to school. But after a short distance, Dean's voice called out from behind, "Gillian, it's too late and not safe.

Let me give you a ride back!"

I braked at a quiet intersection and looked back at him.

Dean's van was right behind me, just a few meters away.

His handsome face peeked out from the car window, watching me intently.

The night slightly blurred the contours of his cheeks.

After a brief standoff, I locked the bike and turned to get into Dean's car.

He drove while trying to explain with reddened eyes, "Gillian, I really didn't mean it that way.

It's just that Rhett isn't in good health, and doing other jobs is too difficult for him, so I asked him to be the photographer..."

"I know," I said softly, leaning against the car window, "You don't have to explain to me."

He cautiously asked, "So you're not mad anymore?"

"I'm not mad."

Dean stopped the car at the south gate, looking at me with hesitation.

I opened the car door and waved at him, "I'm leaving."

"Wait!"

He quickly followed me out, "Let me walk you to your building!"

I really shouldn't have agreed.

Dean had left the hotel in a hurry, not even wearing a mask.

So when we reached the building, the streetlight illuminated us, and a couple who had been kissing passionately in the corner turned their heads.

The girl froze for a couple of seconds before suddenly exclaiming, "Dean?!"

My heart skipped a beat, and I quickly pulled Dean behind me. He cooperatively lowered his head.

"You've got the wrong person," I said softly, "My boyfriend does look a bit like him, but I'm not lucky enough to date a big star."

To make my words more convincing, I lifted my face, letting the birthmark on my brow meet her gaze.

The girl stared for a few seconds before awkwardly looking away.

I turned my head and pushed Dean into the shadows, then pulled a baseball cap from my bag. "Put this on, hurry out, drive back to the hotel, and don't let anyone take your picture."

He took the cap and put it on, not forgetting to throw a soft compliment my way before leaving, "Gillian, you're truly a professional and competent assistant."

Unable to sleep in the middle of the night, I logged into the game intending to play a couple of ranked matches, but the moment I opened my inbox, I froze in bed.

The inbox was filled with skins gifted by Dean.

Akali, Mulan, Jing...

Every hero we had used together in ranked matches, he had bought all available skins and sent them to my inbox, along with an apology note.

The night stretched on, and the only sound in the dorm was the quiet, steady breathing of my sleeping roommates.

I opened Whatsapp and stared at Dean's profile picture for a long time.

In the picture, he wore an oversized, fluffy onesie, holding a round, chubby white dog, smiling brightly and innocently.

That day, I asked Dean why, if he was hiring a booster on an online marketplace, he only had them play up to Diamond and no further.

He said, "I'm not doing it to rank up, just to duo with you."

I never dreamed he did it for that reason.

After I soloed my way to Star Glory, Dean, still in Gold, couldn't play with me anymore.

He wasn't very good at the game, but he always tried hard to support me, controlling his Yao to run around me, and when I got flamed by the opponents, he was the first to jump in and defend me.

But he couldn't out-argue them.

In the end, I had to take them down one by one to avenge him.

He was so good-looking, soft, innocent, and prone to tears.

Working as his assistant, spending every day together, I saw firsthand how exceptionally polite he was to everyone, felt his somewhat naive and trusting nature, and noticed how he would quietly order a cup of brown sugar ginger tea for me when he realized I was uncomfortable during my period, urging me to rest early.

How could I not be moved?

But he was the moon in the sky, and I was just a blemish on earth.

No matter how beautifully I edited the pictures, I couldn't hide the fact that I was plain.

Reality confirmed this for me.

Because within days, I was anonymously exposed on a university confession page on social media by someone I didn't even know.

"Wall, here to rant about someone, not hiding my identity.

Gillian from the Telecommunications Engineering department, if you're not confident in your looks, don't draw unnecessary attention, okay?

Always posting fake photos on Twitter to deceive people, forcing yourself into a minor internet celebrity, and even tricked a handsome boyfriend who looks like Dean. Do you have to be so vain?

Girls like you ruin the reputation for everyone."

Attached were my carefully edited selfies from Twitter and a candid photo taken without my knowledge.

In the selfie, I wore exquisite makeup, covering my pale lips and bland features, and used PS to completely erase the birthmark on my brow bone.

In the candid photo, my skin looked dull, my hair was windblown and messy, my eyes slightly swollen, and the dark birthmark on my face was glaringly obvious.

The contrast between the two photos was stark.

The moment I saw this post, I almost dropped my phone.

Stephanie rushed over in concern, "Babe, Gillian, are you okay?"

I wanted to reassure her, to say I was fine.

But my throat felt choked, and I couldn't utter a word.

I asked Dean for leave, saying I wasn't feeling well and couldn't go to the set for the next couple of days.

Then, amidst Dean's string of anxious inquiries, I silently set his messages to Do Not Disturb.

Stephanie and the others helped me get a sick leave from our professional course teachers, had the confession page post deleted, and even tracked down the girl who exposed me.

But there wasn't much to track; she hadn't even bothered to stay anonymous when she posted about me, and when confronted, she was unapologetic:

"Did I say anything wrong?

Isn't she just too vain, using fake photos to deceive people?

It's because of people like her that trust between people is lost."

Stephanie was so angry she shouted, "Are you blind?

Didn't you see the handsome guy personally escorting Gillian back to the dorm?

Who's deceiving whom?

If you're jealous, just admit it, why pretend to be righteous?"

I stood behind Stephanie, studying the girl's pretty face for a moment, then stepped forward.

"Sweetheart, you're very pretty," I forced a smile, "but the handsome guy likes someone like me, not someone as pretty as you.

Does that make you mad?"

After saying that, Stephanie dragged me back to the dorm.

As soon as we got inside, the bravado I had mustered vanished instantly.

I climbed into bed, curled up under the covers, and silently deleted all my Twitter posts, deactivating my account.

I did have just over thirty thousand followers on Twitter.

But that hardly made me a minor internet celebrity.

I never took ads, and when I posted photos, I always captioned them, saying the images were edited and didn't reflect my real self.

Beauty is the most powerful passport in this world.

Ultimately, I just wanted to see some compliments online that I would never receive in reality.

When I first started playing a popular mobile game, like Dean, I played support.

But I was so bad that I was constantly flamed by teammates. Later, I practiced hard and became a jungler capable of pulling off a quad kill with low health.

In high school, my physics grades were abysmal, but I refused to accept defeat. I went through almost every physics workbook available on the market, clawing my way from the bottom of the class to the top ten, and ended up studying Telecommunications Engineering in college.

There are many things in this world that I can achieve if I work hard enough.

But my face, I can never make it look as good in reality as it does in edited photos.

I took on as many photo editing jobs as I could, saving all the money I earned into a card labeled: Beauty Fund.

I planned to use it one day to get cosmetic surgery, to remove the birthmark and make my face prettier.

After clearing my Twitter, I switched back to Whatsapp and found that Dean had sent me a selfie and a thousand yuan transfer.

His message read: "Gillian, help me edit this photo to look naturally ugly. I need to post it on Twitter to announce tomorrow's event."

I was silent for a while, then quietly opened a photo editing app, rounded his face a bit, darkened his skin tone, adjusted his eye shape, and flattened his nose slightly.

Then I accepted the payment and sent the edited photo back.

But that photo never appeared on Dean's Twitter.

Two hours later, the picture I had edited to look less like him appeared on a university confession page on social media.

"Hello, miss, I'm Gillian's boyfriend, and here's the proof.

First, my relationship with Gillian has nothing to do with the photos she posts on Twitter. I fell for her at first sight in real life.

Second, I think it has nothing to do with looks; any man with a normal worldview wouldn't like a rat like you.

Lastly, Gillian, please be confident. Your birthmark is hardly noticeable unless someone maliciously highlights it.

You look great when you secretly laugh at me, and you're super cool when you take on five opponents in the game arena for me!

Love you, sob sob."

I stared at the screenshot for a long time until the screen dimmed, reflecting the high arc of my smile.

The sweet, naive guy could actually be quite sharp-tongued.

But the "sob sob" at the end still revealed his soft, crybaby nature.

Opening Whatsapp, he sent another message: "I stood up for you!!

Can you come see me this afternoon?"