Linhaven City, Seventeenth High School.
Guardian Zane Zhou, a high-tier Martial General, mobilized his own forces like a massive machine coming to life, investigating every detail about the female students of Seventeenth Senior High. The information was exhaustive.
But unfortunately—
No matter how Andrew Han searched through the files, he still could not find any trace of the girl from his previous-life memory.
It was as if she were nothing but a fabricated memory.
Yet the existence of Demons and Specters proved that his past-life memories held some truth. That meant the feelings from his previous life should also be real.
Could it be—
Was this the butterfly effect?
Had one of his actions altered the original trajectory of fate, changing her path from his previous-life memory and resulting in her current absence?
"The butterfly effect—it's possible."
"But if some unknown, unpredictable change occurred, where is she now? Which school is she attending for her senior year? Would she still be able to enter Southland University?" Andrew Han frowned, leaning back in his chair, silently pondering.
Silence.
In the office room of the academic building, only he and Monica Zhang remained.
As his thoughts spun, Andrew grew increasingly doubtful of his belief in being a reborn. Rebirth was truly inconceivable—could there really be a force that reversed time in this world? Highly unlikely.
So then—
What exactly were his past-life memories? From the moment he recognized the fact of rebirth, to now doubting those memories, all he could see was the desk piled high with documents before him.
The black words on white paper made Andrew Han fall silent in contemplation.
The final result—no such person—left Andrew wordless.
Meanwhile—
Monica Zhang, like a little shadow, had been trailing beside him, watching closely. Andrew kept his emotions hidden, choosing not to show any sign of turmoil.
Even if I once deliberately kept my distance and didn’t reply to her messages, Monica Zhang never retreated.
To the side.
Monica Zhang propped her chin, her bright eyes fixed on the stacks of files on the desk, lost in thought, her mind wandering somewhere unknown.
After a moment of contemplation.
Andrew Han’s expression remained calm as he asked, “Do you often wear formal suits?”
“I did, back in junior high,” Monica Zhang pursed her lips and tilted her head. “My grandfather gave me a formal suit, but the color was too bright—it was red.”
Andrew Han’s face stiffened. He leaned back in his chair, sounding distracted, “Red? I bet you looked great in it.”
Wow?
Monica Zhang turned in surprise, her gaze shimmering like the vast, serene waters of Netting Lake. “Actually, red formal suits don’t suit me. My grandfather just wanted me to wear one for his seventieth birthday banquet.”
Andrew Han smiled slightly. “Mm.”