Flying Snow Razor Alley

If Patrick’s approach was a violent storm, Johnny’s was a gentle drizzle—quiet, persistent, seeping into every crack.

He was smarter than Patrick. And far more dangerous.

That next afternoon, during P.E., I nearly passed out after the 800-meter run. Dizziness washed over me; the world dimmed at the edges.

A hand steadied me just in time.

His arm was warm and firm, carrying the faint, clean scent of pine after snow.

I looked up into Johnny’s eyes—soft enough to melt.

“Sophie, are you alright?” he asked gently, brows slightly knit.

A wave of hushed gasps rippled through the nearby girls.

Johnny, the school’s heartthrob, was half-holding me in a disturbingly intimate pose.

**[Here it comes! The gentle second male lead routine!]**

**[Careful, Host! This one’s way more dangerous than that idiot Patrick. A smiling tiger.]**

**[In the original plot, Johnny uses this exact gentle approach to make Sophie fall, step by step.]**

I knew.

Pulling away, I took a deliberate step back. “Thanks. I’m fine.”

“You’re pale,” he pressed, undeterred. From his pocket, he produced a beautifully wrapped chocolate. “For low blood sugar. Something sweet helps.”

It was my favorite brand. The most expensive kind.

I stared but didn’t take it.

‘Ethan’ had sold him that detail, too.

Seeing my hesitation, he peeled the wrapper himself and held it toward my lips, his voice softening further. “Here. You’ll feel better.”

The gesture was natural, intimate—leaving no room for refusal.

I could practically feel the jealous stares from the other girls burning holes in my back.

If I were still that insecure, timid Sophie, I might have crumbled under such suffocating gentleness.

Now, all I felt was disgust.

Turning my head away, I said, “No, thank you, Mr. President. I don’t like chocolate.”

Johnny’s hand froze mid-air. A hairline crack appeared in his gentle facade.

“Is that so?” He chuckled softly, as if unsurprised. “But your ex said it was your favorite.”

He was testing me.

Testing my connection to ‘Ethan.’ Probing my limits.

Lifting my gaze, I met his eyes directly. “That was then. People change—especially after they’ve been hurt.” I let the word *hurt* hang heavy between us. “Sometimes what you once loved becomes what you most despise.”

**[Nice! Host turning defense into offense—throwing the blame right back at ‘Ethan’ and shading all these bullies in the process!]**

**[Johnny’s probably thinking: Who hurt her? Was I not fast enough?]**

**[Haha, he’s definitely more curious now. That conquest instinct is kicking in.]**

The bullet comments hit the nail on the head.

With someone like Johnny—arrogant, used to being the golden boy—you couldn’t fight head-on. You had to let him think he was only seeing the tip of the iceberg. Stoke his curiosity. Feed his desire to conquer.

Sure enough, he pocketed the chocolate, his smile perfectly restored. “My mistake. Then… as an apology, let me walk you back to the classroom to rest?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

I turned and walked away without another glance.

I knew my rejection would only make this ‘prey’ seem more challenging.

That night, Johnny transferred 100,000 to ‘Ethan’s’ account.

His question was simple: “Why did she break up with you? Tell me everything.”

I took the money and spun him a 5,000-word tragedy.

In it, I was a girl burdened by family, sensitive and starved for love. ‘Ethan’ was a man who loved her deeply but was forced to leave—pressured by the world, tangled in misunderstandings.

I ended the story with: “She looks strong, but inside she’s more fragile than anyone. She doesn’t need cheap pity or handouts. She needs someone who can see through all her defenses and stand firmly by her side.”

I wanted them to believe they had a chance to be that ‘special person.’

To let them sink, slowly and surely, into their self-righteous savior fantasies.