"——Xu Xiangyang."
The class monitor's concerned voice came from behind him.
"Hmm."
Carrying a broom, Xu Xiangyang was absorbed in cleaning the blood-stained floor and scattered bandages without turning back, merely responding casually.
Zhu Qingyue stood with her hands behind her back, waiting behind the boy for a while, watching as he dumped the contents of his dustpan into the trash can.
The unlucky captive had passed out again, his head resting lopsidedly against the wall.
The young people had no intention to call an ambulance for him again, so his fate was left to chance.
"...All done?"
"Yes."
Xu Xiangyang wiped the sweat from his forehead, casually straightened his collar, and then walked towards the direction of the staircase.
"Wait a second," she said.
He stopped, turning around with a look of confusion.
"Where are you going?"