Chapter 13: Trauma Management

Yin Qingle’s sobs quieted, her trembling easing as Chen Dongyang’s words settled over her. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, the tears leaving faint streaks on her pale cheeks. For the first time since the playground incident, she looked at him directly, her gaze fragile but searching.

“You… really think that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chen Dongyang nodded, his expression steady despite the throbbing in his arm and head. “I do. You’re not a monster, Yin Qingle. You’re just… figuring it out.”

She bit her lip, her hands loosening their grip on her clothes. The weight of her guilt didn’t vanish, but it seemed to lighten, if only slightly.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice steadier now. “I… I’ll try.”

He offered a small smile, ignoring the ache in his skull. “That’s all anyone can do.”

The infirmary door creaked open, and Sister Wang poked her head in. “You two still here? Class is about to start. Get moving unless you want detention.”

Yin Qingle stood quickly, smoothing her uniform. “We’re going,” she said, her voice still shaky but resolute.

Chen Dongyang followed, his bandaged arm heavy at his side. As they stepped into the hallway, Yin Qingle glanced at him, her expression a mix of gratitude and determination.

“I won’t forget this,” she said quietly. “I owe you.”

He waved it off, uncomfortable with the intensity of her gaze. “Just don’t blow up any more basketballs, okay?”

She managed a small, watery smile, the first he’d seen from her since the incident.

Outside, Jiang Yuxin leaned against a tree near the playground, her arms crossed, her eyes tracking Yin Xiran as she walked away. Their conversation lingered in her mind, each word a puzzle piece she was still arranging.

‘Cooperation,’ she thought, her lips curving slightly. ‘Yin Xiran’s cautious, but she’s tempted.’

She’d seen the flicker of hope in Yin Xiran’s eyes when she mentioned controlling Yin Qingle’s emotions. It was a weakness, one Jiang Yuxin could exploit—not out of malice, but necessity. If Yin Qingle’s power was as volatile as it seemed, it was a threat to everyone, including herself.

And Chen Dongyang… his actions on the playground confirmed her suspicions.

He wasn’t just lucky.

He’d known the basketball would explode.

‘He’s hiding something big,’ she thought, her fingers tapping against her arm. ‘And I’m going to find out what.’

She pushed off the tree, heading toward the school building. The park meeting with Yin Xiran tomorrow was a start, but she needed more. She needed to understand why this school, this moment, was drawing anomalies together like moths to a flame.

Back in class, Chen Dongyang slumped into his seat, his arm aching under the bandages. The room buzzed with whispers about the playground incident, but he ignored them, his mind elsewhere.

Yin Qingle sat in front of him, her posture straighter now, as if his words had given her a sliver of resolve. Yin Xiran, behind Jiang Yuxin, was scribbling in her notebook, her expression unreadable but her eyes occasionally flicking toward her sister.

Jiang Yuxin, by the window, was as composed as ever, her gaze fixed outside but her presence a silent force in the room.

Chen Dongyang’s head throbbed, the aftereffects of the rewind lingering. He’d saved Yin Qingle, but the cost was mounting—each use of his power felt like it was carving something out of him.

He glanced at Jiang Yuxin, wondering what she’d seen on the playground. Her silence was unnerving, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

After school, Chen Dongyang avoided the usual crowd, slipping out the back gate to avoid another encounter with Jiang Yuxin or the twins. His arm was sore, his head heavy, but he needed space to think.

At home, he dropped his bag and collapsed onto the couch. His father, Chen Jianfeng, was in the kitchen, humming off-key as he attempted to make dinner—a rare occurrence.

“Rough day, kid?” Old Chen called, peering out with a spatula in hand.

“You could say that,” Chen Dongyang muttered, rubbing his temples.

Old Chen wandered over, his “Star Trek” T-shirt stained with soy sauce. “That arm looks rough. Wanna tell your old man what happened?”

Chen Dongyang hesitated, then shook his head. “Just a dumb accident.”

Old Chen raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “Alright, but you look like you’ve been through a war. Get some rest.”

Chen Dongyang nodded, dragging himself to his room. He sat at his desk, the digital clock glowing: 18:45.

The ballpoint pen sat innocently in its holder, a silent challenge.

He stared at it, his heart racing.

Could he try again? Push further than five seconds?

The pain from the last rewind lingered, a warning in his bones.

But the answers he needed—about the loops, the twins, Jiang Yuxin—were tied to his power.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the playground: the basketball, the crimson energy, Yin Qingle’s panic.

He pushed, willing time to bend.

The pain hit like a tidal wave, his skull splitting, his vision blurring.

He gasped, clutching the desk, images flashing—Jiang Yuxin’s smirk, Yin Xiran’s knowing glance, the explosion.

Then, nothing.

When he opened his eyes, he was slumped over his desk, sweat dripping onto his notebook.

The clock read: 18:44:50.

Ten seconds again.

He groaned, his head pounding like a drum.

‘I’m running out of time,’ he thought, fear and determination warring in his chest.

He couldn’t keep pushing his power without understanding the cost.

But he couldn’t stop, either.

In her room, Jiang Yuxin sat at her desk, her notebook open. She added a new line under the names: Yin Qingle—uncontrolled destructive energy. Yin Xiran—telekinesis. Chen Dongyang—precognition?

She tapped her pen, her mind racing.

The playground incident had confirmed her suspicions: they were all anomalies, drawn together for a reason.

And Chen Dongyang was the key.

She thought of his pained expression, his impossible speed, his stubborn refusal to crack under her probing.

‘He’s not just immune,’ she thought, her eyes narrowing. ‘He’s something more.’

She closed her notebook, her lips curving into a determined smile.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered. “The park. Yin Xiran will talk, and Chen Dongyang… I’ll break you yet.”

The game was shifting, and she was ready to play.