Kryptonians: Man of Steel

Chapter 1547 was seen naked.
The "prankster" succeeded once again right under her nose—or rather, right under her sleeping nose—calmly placing the provocative symbol in the most conspicuous position.

She braced her heavy forehead with both hands, her knuckles turning white from the effort.

A wave of empty, cramping pain in my stomach, mixed with the nausea from staying up all night, surged up.

In her extreme frustration and self-loathing, her gaze inadvertently swept over the overly bright bouquet of roses.

A touch of unusual color.

Unlike the fiery red, a touch of pure, icy white, like a speck of ice in the snow, abruptly hides beneath layers of red petals.

Her heart clenched suddenly, as if gripped tightly by an invisible hand, and almost stopped beating.

"card?!"

A thought flashed through her chaotic mind like lightning.

Not the first two times!

The other party never left a single word!

Could it be... could it be that the mystery is finally about to be unveiled?

Leave your identity information?

Or... contact information?
A mixture of intense vigilance, tension, and a suppressed, almost unacknowledged expectation instantly seized her.

The blood seemed to rush to my head, and my eardrums were ringing.

She practically lunged forward, her movements clumsy with urgency, not even noticing the stack of homework books she knocked over on the corner of the table.

She held her breath, her fingers trembling, and carefully parted the few clusters of the fullest red flowers.

really!

A small, delicate white card lies quietly among the flower stems, like a secret letter waiting to be opened.

My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was about to break free from the confines of my chest.

My fingertips touched the card's hard surface, feeling a slight coolness.

She took a deep breath, as if opening Pandora's box, and with an almost tragic determination, pulled out the card.

The cards are made of high-quality matte cardstock with a delicate feel.

She turned it over, her eyes eagerly fixed on the words printed on it.

Time seemed to freeze at this moment.

Blood rushed to my cheeks instantly, bringing a burning sensation, and then receded quickly like the tide, leaving behind a cold, pale face.

Her fingers, gripping the card, trembled uncontrollably, her knuckles turning bluish-white from the excessive force.

There was no name, no phone number, and none of the identity information she had expected on it.

Only one line of small print, clear and elegant, yet carrying a suffocating, bone-chilling ambiguity and offense:
“Miss Hiratsuka, your unguarded sleeping face is so pure it’s breathtaking. That tranquility, stripped of all pretense, is the most moving masterpiece of creation, and it has captivated my gaze.” “If every dawn could be awakened by this flawless serenity, that would be the greatest happiness in the world. I cannot imagine what it would be like to lose this gift.”

Each character has detached itself from the paper and is no longer just a simple ink mark.

They were instantly ignited, melted, and stretched, turning into incandescent metal pellets that slammed into her retina with a sharp whistling sound.

There was no pain, only a cold, numbing sensation as if the optic nerve had been forcibly frozen.

Then came a silent explosion—not a roar, but a deathly stillness like a vacuum inside the brain, followed by an invisible shockwave, carrying unimaginable energy, spreading wildly from the visual center to every fold and synapse of the cerebral cortex!
"Om-!"

That wasn't a sound you could hear, but a buzzing sound produced by the synchronized trembling of billions of cells throughout your body in extreme terror.

An indescribable, unclassifiable surge of heat exploded from the deepest part of his heart—the ignition point lit by the fuse called "shame"!

It was no longer blood, but scalding, viscous magma, mixed with extreme feelings of offense, blasphemous anger, and the chilling fear of being completely stripped bare and exposed to the unknown.

This scorching yet icy torrent swept across every corner of the body with overwhelming force, washing over every inch of skin, every pore, and even every cell nucleus.

Her brain, the sanctuary of reason she was so proud of, had become a disaster zone. The tedious thoughts she had been immersed in just a moment ago, grading assignments, had instantly evaporated.

Instead, scalding magma boils and churns within the cranial cavity, scorching every neuron responsible for thinking; at the same time, it's like a giant vacuum pump being activated, ruthlessly draining away all the oxygen and logic upon which it depends, leaving behind a suffocating emptiness and burning pain.

Been seen!

This thought, with its jagged edges, was frantically cutting through her consciousness.

Not the Hiratsuka Shizuka teacher who wore a sharp suit during the day, meticulous, and even somewhat stern.

Instead, it's in the dead of night, when I'm shed all my social armor, exhausted, defenseless, and my consciousness sinks into the deepest darkness!

That version of myself, with my hair disheveled and sticky on my face from turning over, that version of myself, with my brows furrowed slightly from a strange dream, that version of myself... perhaps even drooling from the corner of my mouth because of an improper posture!
That most private, most vulnerable, and most unseen state... was being greedily and recklessly stared at by a pair of eyes, whose location and nature were unknown!

These eyes not only saw it, but also coldly recorded this most private moment with such carefully packaged and embellished language of "appreciation"! This is no longer a childish prank by a student, nor a clumsy harassment by a suitor.

This bouquet of flowers, this card, are a blatant declaration! A meticulously planned invasion! A silent occupation!

"asshole!!!"

A suppressed roar, as if torn from the deepest part of her soul, finally broke through her clenched teeth and taut throat.

In the quiet office where only the low hum of the air conditioner could be heard, the sound was unusually jarring, shrill, and even carried a hint of despair that she herself was unaware of.

She suddenly raised her arm, her muscles tensing and trembling with extreme anger. With all her might, she slammed the white card, which bore the weight of immense humiliation, onto the hard wooden table as if she were shaking off a venomous centipede!
"Snapped!"

There was a crisp sound.

The card bounced up at the moment of impact, flipped briefly and mockingly in the air, and then floated down, landing squarely on an open student's workbook.

The meticulously printed, elegant yet cold words, even through the thin sheet of paper, were still glaringly clear. It lay there like an ugly scar, branded onto the otherwise neat page that should have been filled with formulas and solutions.

(End of this chapter)