A social phobic can also fall in love.

He Shiyang and Zhou Wen returned in the evening to find the dormitory atmosphere oddly tense. Yan Tingmo and Zhang Miao were each sitting at the edge of their beds, glaring at each other as if locked in a silent battle of wills. Neither seemed willing to back down first.

The strangest part was that Zhang Miao had his head wrapped in bandages and was staring at Yan Tingmo with spirited defiance, while Yan Tingmo looked at him with a small, troubled face, full of grievances.

“What are you two doing?” He Shiyang walked in, standing between them and glancing left and right. “Arguing?”

“That’s impossible,” he immediately dismissed his own guess. “Mo Zai has such a good temper. Zhang Miao, how did you even manage to argue with him?”

Zhang Miao’s already wide eyes widened even further. “What’s that supposed to mean? That I have a bad temper?”

“That’s not what I meant,” He Shiyang said helplessly, before asking directly, “So, what’s going on here?”

Zhou Wen sat lazily on the side, arms crossed, clearly ready to enjoy the drama.

Zhang Miao pouted and tried to deflect. “Why don’t you ask about how I got injured first?”

“Alright.” He Shiyang, always quick to adapt, changed the topic. “What happened to you?”

Zhang Miao choked on his words and silently turned his gaze toward Yan Tingmo, silently pleading for help. Yan Tingmo pretended not to notice and turned his head toward the window with a faint sigh.

“Oh?” Zhou Wen caught on quickly and laughed. “Did he hit you?”

Zhang Miao frowned, and Zhou Wen teased further. “I wouldn’t have guessed, his combat power is stronger than it looks.”

“It wasn’t me…” Yan Tingmo turned back from the window and answered earnestly, “I wouldn’t hit a friend.”

The moment he finished speaking, He Shiyang and Zhou Wen burst into laughter.

“You’re too honest,” He Shiyang said between chuckles. “We know it wasn’t you. We’re just joking.”

Hearing that, Yan Tingmo quietly let out a sigh of relief. He definitely didn’t want his hard-earned friendships to crumble over a misunderstanding.

“What’s with your expression?” Zhou Wen flicked Zhang Miao’s forehead. “We’ve already heard about your heroic deeds. Don’t be embarrassed. It was for love—totally worth it.”

Zhang Miao, finally realizing the shame of his actions, angrily climbed onto his bed and hid under his blanket. After a while, he peeked out a little, looking pitiful. “I just wanted Tingmo to help me. If he helps me, I’ll do anything he wants in the future.”

“What do you want him to help you with?” Zhou Wen asked curiously.

Zhang Miao didn’t respond and wailed miserably under the blanket. His cries were so pitiful that He Shiyang and Zhou Wen turned to look at Yan Tingmo for answers.

Yan Tingmo, ever honest, replied truthfully, “He wants me to wear women’s clothing.”

He Shiyang: “…”

Zhou Wen: “…”

“Miao Miao, blink if you’ve been possessed. We’ll figure out a way to save you,” Zhou Wen said, sitting on the edge of Zhang Miao’s bed, speaking as if trying to reason with someone unhinged.

Zhang Miao suddenly threw off the blanket, his eyes red. “It’s not women’s clothing! It’s cosplay—do you even understand what cosplay is?”

“Ah.” Zhou Wen paused for a moment and then asked about the situation in detail.

After hearing the full story, the two roommates began persuading Yan Tingmo together. This was a rare opportunity, after all. With his looks and figure, it would be a waste not to make the most of it.

“What do you mean?” Yan Tingmo asked. “Why can’t one of you do it?”

He Shiyang and Zhou Wen sighed. “We don’t have the right height. It wouldn’t fit.”

Yan Tingmo grew even more annoyed. “So you’re saying I’m short?”

“Not at all,” He Shiyang quickly replied. “You’re not short; your height is just perfect.”

“Exactly,” Zhou Wen chimed in. “I’d love to have your height.”

Zhang Miao looked at Yan Tingmo pitifully, his expression practically begging.

“Please help me just this once!” Zhang Miao promised fervently, “If you agree, I’ll call you ‘Dad’ from now on!”

Yan Tingmo looked at him disdainfully. “I don’t have a son as old as you.”

After much coaxing and persuasion from He Shiyang and Zhou Wen, Yan Tingmo finally agreed, albeit reluctantly.

Overjoyed, Zhang Miao almost fell off his bed in his excitement, nearly causing a second injury.

“I’ll tell the senior right away!” Zhang Miao said, typing furiously on his phone. “With her around, you won’t have to worry about anything.”

Yan Tingmo, resigned to his fate, took out his phone and searched for “Qiao” to figure out what it was.

Having never played the game before, he followed the instructions he found online, downloaded Honor of Kings, and struggled through the beginner tasks.

Luckily, he was naturally smart. Within just two hours, he mastered the basics and played round after round using the game character.

On the day of the convention, the head of the anime club handed him a bag and motioned for him to try on the outfit.

He hesitated for a long time but eventually shuffled into the changing room under the president’s encouraging gaze. When he opened the bag and took out the outfit, he froze.

Inside was a short skirt from the “Endless Stars Officer” skin—light and airy. He couldn’t tell what material it was, but it felt of high quality. Also included were a leather choker, a thick chain necklace, and dark combat boots.

For some reason, just looking at these items made his face flush.

This was too strange. As a man, how could he bring himself to try such a different style?

“Momo,” the president called out through the door after a long time, “Do you not know how to put it on? Should I send someone in to help you?”

“Ah, no, no!” Yan Tingmo’s face turned bright red. He quickly removed his hoodie and clumsily put on the dress and boots.

The thin, well-tailored fabric of the dress hugged his figure perfectly, accentuating his delicate frame and adding an ethereal charm to his movements.

He fidgeted nervously, too shy to step out of the changing room.

After waiting a while, the president began to urge him again. “Are you ready yet? The convention is about to start!”

“I’m ready,” Yan Tingmo said, taking a deep breath as he placed his hand on the door handle. Summoning his courage, he opened the door and stepped out.

“President,” he said, holding the choker and necklace, “I don’t know how to put these on.”

The president’s face lit up with affection and excitement, barely able to contain her joy as she looked at him. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it! Leave this to me.”

After helping him put on the choker and necklace, the president couldn’t stop marveling as she circled around him. “Amazing, Momo. You were born for this!”

“Truly too perfect,” the president said, rubbing her hands together with excitement. “But… something’s still missing.”

Clutching the hem of his short skirt, Yan Tingmo stammered nervously, “M-Missing what?”

The president winked mischievously. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” With that, she dashed off.

Feeling awkward and helpless, Yan Tingmo stood frozen. Neither standing still nor moving felt right, so he remained in place, rigid and uneasy.

Backstage, other participants of the exhibition were milling about, accustomed to the hustle and bustle. Yet, when they spotted Yan Tingmo in his Qiao cosplay, they froze, their jaws nearly hitting the floor.

What on earth? Was this really their aloof, introverted academic genius?

This was beyond imagination!

Their initial shock soon turned into excitement, and phones began appearing as they documented this miraculous transformation for posterity.

By the time He Shiyang and Zhou Wen arrived, carrying Zhang Miao between them, the president was handing a pair of white stockings and a fan to Yan Tingmo. Blushing furiously, he stammered, “C-Could I not wear these?”

“Absolutely not,” the president said, wagging her finger. “They’re the soul of the outfit.”

Soul, my foot, Yan Tingmo thought, wanting to refuse but unable to summon the courage.

“Go put them on quickly,” she urged. “Once you’re ready, I’ll do your makeup.”

Resigned to his fate, Yan Tingmo complied, putting on the stockings. The soft material hugged his legs snugly, making him feel even more self-conscious.

Meanwhile, Zhang Miao, who had been watching from a chair, was overcome with gratitude and guilt.

“Thank you so much!” He called out, his eyes pleading. “Once this is all over, I’ll treat you to hot pot, okay?”

Though Yan Tingmo wanted to say “no,” he eventually caved, pulling the stockings on fully.

His perfect features and figure brought a rare tenderness out of the president, who even fussed over Zhang Miao, asking if his injury hurt or if he needed water.

He couldn’t bear to watch, shutting his eyes to block out the scene. The president quickly got Zhang Miao settled, grabbed her makeup kit, and approached him.

Thanks to his naturally good skin, the process was swift. He started peeking out of one eye as the makeup progressed, curiously watching his reflection in the mirror.

The president began with moisturizer, followed by foundation, brow shaping, eyeshadow, eyeliner, and finally eyelash extensions.

The experience felt bizarre, transforming him into someone unrecognizable.

“Just one last step,” she said cheerily as she finished setting his makeup. Pulling out a tube of lip gloss, she said, “Open your mouth a little.”

He obeyed, parting his lips slightly. She applied the gloss expertly and stepped back, gesturing to the mirror with a satisfied grin. “Done! Stand up and have a look.”

He stared at his reflection, dumbfounded.

Who was this? Could makeup truly perform such magic? The plain boy in the mirror was gone, replaced by an ethereal, delicate beauty.

Before he could process the transformation, his roommates swooped in with their phones, snapping pictures.

“Stop that!” Yan Tingmo protested, hastily covering his face.

“Oh, come on,” Zhou Wen teased. “It’s just for memories. No one will recognize you anyway.”

Still, Yan Tingmo refused, shielding his face and skirt as he mumbled, “I… I’m going to the bathroom.” Without waiting for a reply, he bolted out of the room.

Elsewhere, Qi Xing was busy directing his team to adjust the stage setup.

“Move it a bit more to the right,” he instructed. “Good, now bring the backdrop closer to the wall.”

His club members followed his orders meticulously.

“How’s the stage construction coming along?” He asked.

“Almost done,” a member replied.

“Lighting and sound?”

“Checked and ready.”

Satisfied, he nodded. “Good.”

As he reviewed the final details, murmurs about an unexpected participant reached his ears.

“Wait, Yan Tingmo signed up?”

“Yeah, I saw him backstage just now.”

“Are you sure? Could you have mistaken someone else for him?”

“No way! I’d recognize his face anywhere!”

Hearing this, Qi Xing frowned. He hadn’t expected the reclusive Yan Tingmo to join the exhibition. Curious and slightly irritated, he checked the registration list. Sure enough, his name was there, listed at the very end.

Unable to suppress his curiosity, he left the hall and made his way backstage. But Yan Tingmo was nowhere to be found.

For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he turned toward the first-floor restroom.

And there, as if by fate, he found him standing at the restroom entrance, clutching the hem of his skirt with a mix of frustration and embarrassment.