Help! I'm the Plot Device: Just Here to Save the Heroes

Jerry Tian: A Work in Progress

The house smelled faintly of camphor wood and dried tangerine peels, a scent that clung to the curtains and the old lacquered furniture his grandmother refused to part with. Morning light filtered through the bamboo blinds, falling in broken strips across the living room where dust motes drifted lazily in the air. The rhythmic clack of mahjong tiles echoed faintly from the courtyard next door, but inside, the house was still—except for the gentle rattle of the kettle on the stove.

“Tian’er!” his grandmother’s voice rose from the kitchen, brisk but fond, as though the sound itself could pull her grandson into the day.

Upstairs, in a room that bore the scattered chaos of half-formed dreams, Jerry lay sprawled across his desk. Pencils rolled dangerously close to the edge, a half-finished sketchbook served as his pillow, and the faint gray smudges of graphite streaked his cheek. He had fallen asleep like that again—face down in his work, as though sleep was just another interruption.

The sharp trill of his phone cut through the silence. Without lifting his head, Jerry’s hand groped across the desk, knocking over an eraser before finding the vibrating device. The screen lit up with the name: “Wang ye Neo.”

He swiped to answer, eyes still shut.

“Mm?” His voice was thick with sleep.

“Is the Sleeping Beauty still asleep?” Neo’s smooth voice teased through the speaker—refined, clipped, and carrying that unshakable poise he was born with.

Jerry groaned, muffled, half-asleep. "Good morning, Neo.”

“No thanks,” Neo replied, amusement curling in his tone. “Save it for tomorrow. It’s already noon. Unless you’ve decided to skip Professor Wang’s special project lecture this afternoon?”

Jerry shot upright, “What?!” His elbow knocked over the pen stand, sending pens clattering to the ground. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?!”

A soft chuckle echoed from the other end. “Ah, my princess. I called you a dozen times and sent you a hundred messages. What could I do if you refused to pick up? That’s why I told you I’d come fetch you from home. But no, you insisted you’d be ‘on time’.”

He shoved the phone between his shoulder and ear as he scrambled to gather his bag.

This is me, by the way. Jerry. Twenty one, professional oversleeper, amateur artist, certified chaos magnet. Majoring in Visual Communication, because apparently people don’t take ‘professional daydreamer’ as a real career option.

I’m not saying I’m lazy, but… okay, I’m lazy. And talented. But mostly lazy.

Anyway—where was I? Oh right. Running late. Again.

Jerry scrambled around, hair sticking up in every direction. “Okay, okay, I’m up! Where’s my bag—”

“Left side of the table,” Neo answered without hesitation.

Jerry blinked, grabbed it, and started stuffing in notebooks and a sketchpad. “And my sneakers?”

“Right cupboard. Last row.”

Jerry yanked them out, tugging them on one-handed while trying to shove his laptop in the bag. Neo’s voice hummed gently, almost like an older brother chiding a child.

“Don’t forget your computer glasses in the drawer.”

Jerry froze mid-step. “…Wait, Neo. Is this my room or yours?”

That laugh again, smooth and infuriatingly knowing. “Fifteen minutes, Jerry. Get to class on time at least once in your life.”

Jerry slung the bag over his shoulder, determination flashing across his face. “Ten minutes. I’ll be there in ten.”