Author's Preface
School had rhythms.
Most people never noticed them.
Jenn did.
The bell rang every forty-seven minutes.
The third-floor corridor was loudest before lunch.
The left staircase always smelled faintly of disinfectant and chalk dust.
The sunlight hit the eastern windows at 11:20 sharp and made the hallway look warmer than it actually was.
Jenn liked predictability.
Predictability meant control.
Control meant no surprises.
No noise she wasn’t prepared for.
She walked through the corridor with a stack of books balanced against her chest, fingers steady, steps measured. Her uniform was immaculate. Her hair tied neatly back. She didn’t rush. She never rushed.
Noise moved around her like weather.
Children shouting.
Someone running.
A teacher scolding from a distance.
Laughter too loud to be innocent.
She filtered all of it out.
But there was one sound the school had learned to recognize over the past few months.
A certain kind of chaos.
Footsteps that never walked— only sprinted.
A voice that didn’t speak— it announced.
The unmistakable crash of something that probably shouldn’t have been touched.
Jenn didn’t look toward the source.
She didn’t need to.
She turned the corner—
—and the universe betrayed her.
A blur of black hair.
A streak of uniform.
A bag half-open, chalk sticks threatening escape.
A hand reaching forward too late.
Wide eyes.
Wild momentum.
Human disaster in uniform.
Chen Rang.
He slammed into her like a meteor, arms flailing, mouth already mid-yell.
“MOVE—MOVE—THE TEACHER IS COMING—!”
Books exploded from her arms. Papers burst into the air, white sheets fluttering like startled doves. A pencil spun away in a slow, tragic spiral across the tile.
The impact knocked them both back into the wall.
For half a second— the hallway went silent.
Not because it actually did.
But because the moment swallowed all sound.
Chen’s hands were braced on the wall behind her shoulders.
Too close.
Way too close.
His breath hitched. Her books rained down around them like paperwork in a disaster movie.
Time snapped back.
Noise returned.
A distant “CHEN RANG!” echoed down the corridor.
But neither of them moved.
Then Jenn sat on the floor first. One knee bent. Hair slightly dislodged. Expression perfectly blank— like the universe had mildly inconvenienced her schedule.
Chen stared at her.
And for a rare, historical, medically significant second…
He did not speak.
Not because he was afraid.
But because he was caught.
Like he hadn’t expected someone to look so calm while being knocked over by chaos.
Jenn’s eyes lifted to him— quiet intelligence, slow judgment— then drifted down.
To the glitter dusting Chen’s hands.
To the paint stain on his sleeve.
To the half-open bag in his grip, stuffed with stolen chalk sticks like contraband.
Her gaze returned to his face.
“…You’re Chen,” she said.
Chen blinked. “How do you know my name?”
Jenn reached for her books without hurry. “Everyone knows your name.”
Chen’s ears turned faintly red. He recovered fast— trying to become loud again, because loud was safe.
“That’s propaganda,” he declared. “I’m actually a very responsible citizen.”
Jenn didn’t react. “You caused three detentions this week.”
Chen coughed. “That’s… exaggerated.”
Jenn looked at him for one long second.
“…It’s accurate,” she corrected.
Chen stared at her like she was terrifying.
The hallway buzzed around them, but they existed in a strange, suspended pocket of stillness.
Then something strange happened.
Instead of mocking her… instead of cracking a joke…
Chen crouched down.
Quietly.
He began gathering her papers, stacking them neatly like he suddenly cared about order.
He even picked up the pencil that rolled too far and returned it to her with both hands like it mattered.
Jenn watched him, slightly confused.
Chen avoided her eyes while he worked, voice dropping without realizing.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. The word sounded foreign in his mouth, like he didn’t use it often. “I didn’t see you.”
Jenn blinked again— because she hadn’t expected that.
He was loud. Everyone said he was loud.
But he wasn’t loud right now.
His hands were steady.
His movements deliberate.
Like his hands knew how to protect even if his mouth didn’t.
Jenn’s gaze softened… just a fraction.
“You were running,” she said.
Chen shrugged, still stacking her books. “Teachers don’t appreciate art.”
Jenn’s brow lifted. “Art?”
Chen nodded solemnly. “Very advanced art.”
Jenn’s eyes flicked to the chalk bag.
Chen followed her gaze, then quickly snapped it shut like he’d been caught committing a crime.
“It’s not what it looks like,” he said fast.
Jenn tilted her head. “It looks like theft.”
Chen gasped, offended. “Borrowing. Temporarily.”
Jenn’s lips twitched.
Not a smile. Not yet.
But the beginning of one.
Chen noticed it.
His eyes widened like he’d just witnessed a miracle.
Jenn saw his expression— and something about it hit her.
Not his loudness.
Not his chaos.
But the way he looked at her smile like it was sunlight.
For the first time, Jenn understood something quietly, clearly, without needing anyone to explain it.
He’s softer than he pretends.
Chen shoved the last book into her arms, then stepped back, suddenly awkward— like he didn’t know what to do once the mess was cleaned.
Jenn stood too, steadying her stack.
Chen scratched the back of his neck, trying to reboot his usual persona. “Um. Okay. So. You didn’t die.”
Jenn stared at him. “No.”
Chen nodded solemnly. “Good.”
A pause.
Jenn spoke first. “Why were you running?”
Chen’s grin returned slightly, but it wasn’t mocking— just bright. “Because the teacher is hunting me.”
Jenn’s eyes narrowed calmly. “For what.”
Chen hesitated.
Then, because her face made lying feel impossible, he admitted quietly—
“There’s this little kid,” he said casually. “He broke a beaker.”
“And I didn’t want them to punish him,” he said. “He was crying. So I… made it my fault.”
Jenn stared. “You took the blame.”
Chen seemed to realize what he’d revealed and quickly waved his hands. “NOT because I’m nice or anything. I just— I don’t like loud crying. It annoys me. So I saved everyone by being heroic—”
Jenn didn’t laugh.
She just looked at him with something new in her eyes.
Recognition .
Chen blinked at her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Jenn adjusted her grip on the books, calm as ever.
“…Nothing,” she said.
But her voice was quieter now.
Chen’s gaze lingered, confused— like he felt warmth but didn’t know what to call it.
Then he jolted as distant footsteps echoed down the corridor.
His eyes went wide.
“OH NO.”
Jenn blinked. “What.”
Chen grabbed his chalk box. “The teacher. If I get caught, I’m done.”
Jenn, completely unbothered, stepped slightly to the side.
Creating space.
A clean opening to escape.
Chen stared at her.
“…You’re helping me?” he whispered like he couldn’t believe it.
Jenn’s eyes remained calm. “You’re blocking the hallway.”
Chen’s face lit up. “YOU’RE AMAZING.”
He leaned in close, whispering dramatically, “Scary princess.”
Jenn’s eyebrow lifted. “Scary?”
Chen nodded with conviction. “You look like you could ruin my life with one sentence.”
Jenn’s lips twitched again.
Chen froze like the second twitch stole his soul.
Then he bolted down the corridor before the teacher appeared, calling back—
“THANK YOU, JENN LANG!”
Jenn stood there, holding her books, watching him disappear like a storm fleeing the sky.
The teacher rounded the corner a second later, suspicious.
Jenn blinked innocently. “Good afternoon.”
The teacher paused, confused… then walked away.
And Jenn— still calm, still composed— stared down the hallway where Chen had vanished.
Her fingers tightened around her books.
Her expression didn’t change.
The corridor resumed its rhythm.
Light still pooled at 11:20 sharp.
But inside her, something had shifted.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just a quiet, dangerous thought blooming for the first time.
So that’s Chen Rang.
And somehow…
S he wanted to see him again.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Then there were science class disasters— the kind that started with Ping’s innocent curiosity and ended in smoke.
Ping had once tilted a beaker too close to a burner, eyes wide, voice panicked.
“Nate—!”
The liquid flared.
Ping squeaked like a dying bird, stumbling backward.
Paola screamed— because she loves screaming.
Knight stood instantly, ready to fight the laws of physics.
And Chen— Chen fanned the flame with his notebook like it was a campfire.
“YES!” he hissed gleefully. “NOW IT’S A REAL EXPERIMENT!”
Ping shrieked, “YOU ARE MAKING IT WORSE!”
Chen shouted back, “YOU STARTED IT!”
Nathan calmly grabbed the extinguisher, put out the fire, set it back down—
then looked at Chen.
Chen froze.
Nathan’s voice was soft. “Detention.”
Chen opened his mouth.
Nathan’s gaze sharpened by 1%. “Double.”
Chen pointed at Ping. “BUT HE—”
Nathan didn’t blink. “Triple.”
Chen’s jaw snapped shut.
Knight laughed into his hand.
Paola practically died of joy.
And Jenn, watching silently from the side, stared at Chen like he was the most fascinating disaster she’d ever seen.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Nathan’s pen lingered over the page, scratching memories that refused to fade.
School hadn’t been about classes and homework.
It had been chaos stitched with laughter, pranks, bruised knuckles, and the constant tug-of-war between Ping and Chen— two disasters fighting over the same sun.
Ping had always been glued to Nathan’s side, small fingers curled around his sleeve like it was the only safe thing in the world.
But after Chen arrived, Nathan suddenly had another shadow.
Ping didn’t like that.
It started small.
At lunch, Ping would shove an extra apple into Nathan’s hand with possessive pride. “For you.”
Chen would immediately slide in from the other side, dropping his own packet of snacks with the confidence of someone who had never been told no in his life. “Don’t eat that boring thing. Eat this.”
Nathan would stare at both offerings like they were legal documents.
Then, with a tired sigh that made Knight snort, he’d take both.
Ping glared like he’d been betrayed.
Chen grinned like he’d won a war.
In gym class, when Nathan was picked as captain, Ping shouted before anyone else could breathe, “He chooses me first!”
Chen cut in instantly, louder. “No, he chooses the strongest first— and that’s me.”
They ended up on opposite teams. Not because they wanted to win.
Because they wanted to defeat each other.
Ping played like his dignity depended on it. Chen played like the rules were optional.
Nathan, as always, ended up refereeing— calmly catching the ball, calmly redirecting them, calmly preventing murder.
Knight watched from the sidelines like he’d adopted two feral puppies by accident. “Idiots,” he muttered.
Jenn laughed quietly behind her hand.
And Paola… Paola treated it like theatre, cheering as if someone had paid her to watch violence. “HIT HIM AGAIN!”
“PAOLA!” Ping shrieked.
Chen bowed dramatically. “THANK YOU, MY FAN!”
But beneath the noise, there was something neither of them ever admitted.
When Ping caught a fever and stayed home, Chen didn’t celebrate. He didn’t even gloat.
Instead, he slipped a folded note onto Nathan’s desk with exaggerated care, as if the paper itself mattered.
Nathan opened it later.
Tell him not to skip again. It’s boring without him.
Nathan’s lips twitched— almost a smile.
Another time, Chen got caught sneaking out of class and nearly got suspended. Ping scolded him louder than anyone, voice sharp enough to cut.
And then— under the desk, unseen— Ping pushed his own completed worksheet into Chen’s hand.
Chen blinked at it like it might bite him.
Ping hissed, “Don’t look at me like that.”
Chen rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Nerd.”
Ping shoved him. “Shut up.”
They never said it out loud, but Nathan could feel it: Ping and Chen’s rivalry wasn’t hatred. It was attachment disguised as war.
And somehow… their constant clashes made the group stronger, like iron sharpening iron.
One incident stood out clearly.
It was their second year together.
Ping, as usual, had been stubbornly clutching Nathan’s sleeve while walking down the hallway when a group of older boys decided to make it entertainment.
“Look at him— can’t even walk without holding his big brother’s hand,” one sneered, stepping into their path.
Ping’s ears burned red, but he didn’t let go. His grip only tightened on Nathan’s wrist like a vow.
Nathan didn’t react. Not yet.
Knight shifted beside him— quiet danger tightening in his posture.
And then Chen stepped forward.
Not casually. Not joking.
Like a match dropped into gasoline.
“Say that again,” Chen said, voice low.
The boys laughed. “What’s the dog gonna do?”
The next second, Chen’s punch landed square on the ringleader’s nose.
The hallway exploded.
Bodies slammed into lockers. Shoes scraped tile. Someone shouted. Someone cried.
Knight moved with cold precision— two clean strikes, two boys down.
Nathan pulled Ping back with one calm motion, placing himself between Ping and the chaos without even looking panicked.
By the time teachers stormed in, Chen was standing tall, lip split, knuckles bruised.
The bullies were on the floor nursing pain and pride.
Headmaster’s office.
Chen was scolded the loudest— because he always was.
But when the teacher accused him of starting it, Ping spoke up for the first time in his life without hiding behind Nathan.
“He didn’t,” Ping said firmly, surprising everyone. “They made fun of me. Chen protected me.”
Silence hit the room like a wall.
Even Grandpa, who had come to collect them, narrowed his eyes at Chen… and said nothing.
Later that evening, when Chen muttered— awkward, resentful, softer than he wanted—“You didn’t have to cover for me,” Ping crossed his arms and looked away.
“Family covers for each other,” Ping said, as if it was obvious.
From then on, no one dared mock Ping again.
And though Chen never admitted it, Nathan noticed something small change— like a piece clicking into place.
Chen stood a little straighter whenever Ping walked beside him.
As if protecting Ping had become part of his pride.
As if the rivalry had quietly turned into loyalty.
And Nathan— watching them both— realized something he didn’t write down yet,
“Family isn’t always born—
It’s fought for, protected, and chosen in moments when the world looks away.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
End of Then Came The Chaos
It was supposed to be just a trip.
Nothing more.
…Until it wasn’t.
Next Stop: A Trip Called Family
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───