All the Troublesome Characters I've Romanced Are Back for Me

Chapter 10

Zhao Ge left the sports field with a paper bag in her hand. Inside lay the final volume of *The Love Executor’s Handbook*—every page of the manuscript she’d just carried back from the print shop.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a call from the editorial department.

A calm, familiar female voice came through the speaker:

“Zhao Ge, you’ve got two weeks left. The final volume is finished, right?”

Zhao Ge glanced down at the thick stack of pages, hesitated half a second, then answered with perfect certainty:

“No problem. You’ll have it before the deadline.”

She hung up before the editor could reply.

The woman had been about to add, If it’s done, just send it in early.

The moment the call ended, Zhao Ge strode to the nearest trash can and dropped the entire manuscript inside.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and walked off campus without looking back.

After the morning’s brutal military drill, Lin Zhe, Yang Zhen, Zhao Lin, and Chen Zhijing grabbed lunch together.

Chen Zhijing—ultimate social-anxiety case until her “completion” two days ago—still looked wilted by the collective suffering. Lin Zhe figured surviving forty-eight hours of drill was already a miracle.

Zhao Lin spoke in her usual flat tone: “Yep, Xiao Jing’s eyes are dead again.”

Cute as a button, but every so often her gaze went as lifeless as a week-old fish.

Post-siesta, the afternoon sprinted by.

Just when everyone thought they could collapse in their dorms, a group message pinged: “Fall in on the sports field—now.”

Groaning, the roommates pulled their uniforms back on.

Liu Xuefei whined the whole way. “Why are they dragging us out at night?”

Even Yang Zhen—built like a vending machine—shuffled his feet.

Han Xinglong threw an arm around Lin Zhe’s neck. “Spill, Xiao Lin. Who’s the pretty senior sister that hunted you down this morning? Confess.”

Liu Xuefei’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, come clean. What’s your deal with her?”

Lin Zhe adjusted his glasses, dead serious. “If I said she’s my ex-girlfriend, would you believe me?”

Han and Liu froze.

Not this again.

They let go of him in synchronized silence.

Yang Zhen sighed and clapped Lin Zhe on the shoulder. “Don’t know what’s true, bro, but remember—you already have a girlfriend.”

None of them actually believed him; they just didn’t know which joke to shoot down first.

Lin Zhe: “......”

He hadn’t asked for this. His “special constitution” had glitched: every girl he’d fully “completed” had regained her memories of him.

For two days he’d played defense with both Chen Zhijing and senior sister Zhao Ge—no more proactive quests, their inner voids were supposedly filled.

So much for his grand college blueprint. Game development, hot IPs, easy money—everything was on hold until he sorted out the two walking time-bombs trailing him.

While he brooded, the sky dimmed.

The others noticed the crowd first.

Bleachers, fences, even the edge of the field were packed with upper-classmen from Lihai University, all waiting for something.

A full-sized stage had been erected in the center, visible from every angle.

Liu Xuefei scratched his head. “What’s the occasion?”

Han Xinglong: “No clue.”

Yang Zhen, their dorm head, snapped his fingers. “Right—my senior buddy mentioned a tradition: the night after day two of drill they always do... something.”

Lin Zhe recalled the same rumor.

Lihai’s military training lasts two weeks; the welcome gala comes after. Yet here they were, herded back to the field.

Near the southeast corner, the drill instructor leaned against the railing, arms crossed, looking like he’d read the script.

A curious freshman spoke up. “Sir, why are we here?”

The instructor grinned, straightened, and tapped his boot.

“Good things. And—” he dragged the word “—credits. I’m technically your senior; I enlisted after one semester here.”

Explanation delivered.

Lihai’s culture is loose, young, allergic to red tape, and obsessed with nurturing every random passion its students drag through the gates.

Tonight’s deal: hit the stage, show any talent—any—and earn one credit.

Same goes for the actual welcome gala later.

Clubs, events, inside or outside campus—Lihai bribes participation with credits and prizes.

That’s why every year the Welcome Party is a huge, noisy blow-out.

A lot of seniors are short on credits, and events like this are the only way to scrape enough together.

Lihai University is famously stingy—some departments hand out so few credits that “not enough” is the normal state of affairs.

So most students end up leaning into their talents, joining every club and contest they can, polishing skills and racking up points at the same time.

Fall short, and you might not graduate at all.

Lin Zhe actually likes that about the school.

The rules aren’t suffocating; the atmosphere pushes kids to explore what they love and figure out how to turn it into a future.

Back-Alley Cats, the rock band that’s now famous across Jiangbei City, was born in exactly that environment.

And it’s not just music—under the same loose-but-demanding system Hai U has produced stand-outs in every field you can name.

That’s the Hai U way.