Campus Romance

Helena wasn't having a great week. As the heiress to France's Beaupén Group, she was constantly roped into attending all kinds of meaningless banquets. She loathed the lecherous stares, the pretentious smirks, and the ceaseless bragging of those young elites. Every event left her mentally drained and utterly disgusted.

Tomorrow was the 70th birthday celebration of Maria's grandfather, Thomas Orleans, the chairman of the Olive Tree Group. As Beaupén's heiress and a member of one of Paris's prestigious martial arts families, Helena couldn't refuse the invitation—especially when Thomas Orleans was Maria's grandfather, and Maria was her childhood best friend.

Still, the thought of enduring those insufferable aristocratic heirs made her cringe. Maria's cousin, Paul Orleans, was the worst—a classic playboy. Every time she saw him, she felt as if she'd encountered a particularly annoying fly.

"If only Orlando Brownie were here," Helena thought wistfully. The image of a tall, dashing young man flashed through her mind. "I could have invited him to be my dance partner." Sadly, Orlando had disappeared five years ago when a legendary martial arts master whisked him away for training. Since then, no one had heard from him. Helena sighed at the memory. Orlando, the eldest son of the Brownie martial arts family, was a rare prodigy—a shining star among their generation.

Fanmuir, meanwhile, noticed something unusual about Helena. Normally vibrant and lively, she seemed distracted, lost in thought, and uncharacteristically quiet.

"Fanmuir, can you answer this question?" Olivia, their beautiful teacher, had taken a liking to Fanmuir ever since they'd become friends. She often singled him out to practice her English during class.

"Fanmuir!" Helena's eyes suddenly lit up as if struck by inspiration. "How could I forget this blockhead?" A sly glimmer flashed across her face.

While answering Olivia's question, Fanmuir felt a sudden chill, an inexplicable sense of impending doom creeping over him.

Helena leaned closer and whispered, "Meet me at the big sports field after class. I need a favor." And just like that, Fanmuir understood the source of his ominous premonition. Was it because of that incident near the Alps? He couldn't help but feel a bit apprehensive around Helena.

Turning down a lady's request, however, would be ungentlemanly. Despite his reluctance to spend time alone with Helena, Fanmuir nodded in agreement.

As they exited the classroom side by side, Fanmuir could practically hear the sound of breaking hearts all around him. The air was thick with resentment. Even as they approached the sports field, he could still hear murmurs from gossiping girls and anguished cries from the boys on campus.

"Oh no, my goodness!"

"I swear I'll kill him—Fanmuir is a dead man!"

"Wait, did I really see that? How could Helena choose that Italian peasant? This has to be a mistake!"

"Camille, look! They're heading to the sports field together!"

Ronnie Spencer and his four brothers weren't immune to the heartbreak, but since Fanmuir was their "fourth," they figured his romantic luck might rub off on them. While most boys sulked in despair, the five Spencer brothers were already daydreaming about future interactions with Helena.

"That guy's definitely a legend when it comes to charming women!" Luca Castel whispered in admiration. Ronnie and the others nodded fervently, agreeing wholeheartedly.

The weather was lovely, the sunlight bright and warm, a rare comfort on a crisp early winter day. But neither Fanmuir nor Helena seemed to notice. They walked almost an entire lap around the sports field, side by side, without saying a word.

Helena was naturally an outgoing and cheerful girl, but walking alone around the large sports field with a boy was a first for her. The field was always bustling with students, and as the two strolled side by side, they inevitably became the center of attention. Almost every boy glared daggers at Fanmuir, their jealousy practically oozing from their eyes. Meanwhile, many of the girls shook their heads, silently lamenting how someone as gorgeous as Helena could possibly be walking with such an ordinary-looking guy.

Coming from a prominent family and blessed with extraordinary beauty, Helena naturally carried herself with a sense of pride and superiority. Even though she needed Fanmuir's help today, in her heart, she saw it as an act of generosity on her part. She was used to boys scrambling to win her favor with a simple glance. But today, she had been walking with Fanmuir for what felt like forever, and the boy hadn't said a single word. He wasn't trying to flatter her or even make small talk. It was maddening. Her cheeks flushed with frustration, and the amused glances of onlookers only fanned the flames of her annoyance.

"Ugh, stupid Fanmuir! What an idiot!" Helena cursed silently, biting her lip in irritation.

Despite being hailed by the Spencer brothers as a "legend among flirt masters," Fanmuir was, in truth, completely clueless about romance. He had no idea that the beauty walking beside him had already cursed him hundreds of times in her mind. He simply waited for Helena to speak first, since she had been the one to ask for his help.

To Fanmuir, it was only logical—if Helena needed something, she should just say it outright. Why waste time? They had already walked a full lap around the sports field, and even someone as composed as Fanmuir was starting to feel the weight of the stares boring into him from every direction.

Still, Fanmuir's calm and patience were unparalleled. As someone who had reached the pinnacle of human strength, he could endure the stares and whispers of a crowd without breaking a sweat. While he felt slightly awkward, his expression remained perfectly composed.

Helena, however, couldn't take it anymore. Between Fanmuir's maddening silence and the suggestive looks from other students, she finally abandoned her ladylike restraint. Furrowing her brows, she stomped her foot and exclaimed, "Fanmuir, you're such an idiot!"

"Me? What did I do? How did I offend you?" Fanmuir asked, genuinely confused.

"Do you always act like this around girls? Just walking silently the whole time?" Helena snapped, practically glaring at him.

"You're the one who asked me out here, right? I thought you wanted to tell me something," Fanmuir replied, looking completely lost.

Helena could only sigh in defeat. She suddenly recalled all of Fanmuir's behavior since the semester started. Despite sitting next to her for months, he'd never once tried to strike up a conversation. Now, here she was, foolishly expecting this clueless boy to break the silence.

Realizing how absurd it all was, Helena glanced at his confused expression and burst out laughing.

Her laughter was dazzling, full of charm and grace. Fanmuir, utterly mesmerized, could only stare at her in awe.

Seeing his stunned expression, Helena's irritation faded. Instead, she felt a flicker of triumph. "That's right," she thought with a smug smile. "Now you see how gorgeous I am!"

Helena quickly came to her senses, her face burning bright red in embarrassment. She inwardly scolded herself, "What's gotten into me today? I'm the heiress of the Beauperin Group! Why am I even showing off in front of this fool? This is so humiliating!"

Just moments ago, she was all smiles, but now her rosy cheeks and bashful demeanor made her look even more enchanting. It was a display of feminine charm that left Fanmuir completely dazed.

His gaze unconsciously lingered on her delicate, flushed figure, and that's when Helena snapped out of her thoughts. Her face instantly clouded with anger as she shouted, "Fanmuir, you pervert! Where are your eyes wandering?"

Her sharp rebuke startled Fanmuir so much that he froze on the spot. His eyes immediately darted to the ground, and he stood there like a guilty thief caught red-handed.

Lowering his head, Fanmuir stared intently at his shoes, waiting for Helena's verdict. Memories of their encounter at the Alps flashed through his mind. "Oh no, why did I have to act like a lovestruck idiot again? If she remembers what happened back then…" His thoughts were in complete disarray, though a small part of him couldn't help but make comparisons.

Seeing Fanmuir standing there like a scolded child, Helena's anger began to dissipate. Instead, she felt her own cheeks heat up, embarrassed by her earlier outburst and her overly ambiguous words.

That strange sense of guilt Fanmuir had developed towards Helena during their first meeting still lingered, making him overly cautious around her, as if afraid of triggering her wrath.

Breaking the silence, Helena finally blurted out her purpose, her voice coy yet direct: "I want you to be my boyfriend!"

"What?!" Fanmuir froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. Just a moment ago, this woman had been scolding him furiously, and now she was asking him to be her boyfriend?

He stood there, utterly confused, but then a fleeting image of Caroline's serene, elegant smile flashed through his mind, giving him clarity.

Helena realized her mistake the moment she spoke—she had forgotten to add the words "pretend to be." But seeing Fanmuir's horrified expression and immediate rejection sent a wave of frustration through her. Of all the young men from noble families who've groveled for my attention, I've never given them the time of day. And now this idiot—this absolute idiot—rejects me outright?