“Welcome to the live stream, my… babies.”

Luo Yu pronounced the word “babies” lightly, and when he called out, he shyly lowered his eyes and smiled, making it all the more tantalizing to hear.

“I am Luo Yu, the history streamer for the university student channel.”

“For those who just joined, could you give me a follow? Today, I’ll share a very, very interesting historical ritual.”

Luo Yu crossed his arms under his chin, greeting the audience naturally, but his voice carried a refreshing innocence like a clear spring:

“What kind of ritual? Whoever guesses it right will receive a prize from the streamer.”

In the audience, some listeners were eager to guess, only to realize a moment later that this was an interview.

“Here’s a little hint: it’s a ritual our ancestors performed every day.”

“How could anyone say it’s… Please don’t say any words that could get the stream shut down, thank you.”

Luo Yu cracked a joke, and the classroom instantly filled with suppressed giggles.

He paused for a moment, then looked at the nonexistent comments with squinted eyes:

“I’m so sad; no one guessed it.”

“It’s really easy to guess. The ritual I want to share is—”

“Sleeping.”

The moment he said that word, the murmurs in the room abruptly stopped!

In the large classroom filled with interviewees, all the students and interviewers fell into stunned silence!

An interviewer in the front row quickly signaled with their hands—”Pause!”

They exchanged glances and swiftly moved closer to discuss in hushed tones for several minutes.

At the podium, Luo Yu briefly put away his smile and patiently waited.

He watched as the interviewers engaged in a heated debate, exchanging words back and forth.

A few minutes later, he heard them reluctantly reach a consensus—

Although sleeping was considered a prohibited act, if it was part of historical research and merely discussing the history of sleep, it seemed acceptable.

Academic freedom knows no boundaries!

Finally, one of the interviewers raised their hand, signaling Luo Yu to continue.

Luo Yu let out a heavy sigh of relief in his heart!

For this world, sleep was certainly a part of history! It was also the only topic he understood that many members of this world were unfamiliar with!

If he couldn’t talk about sleep, he really wouldn’t know what else to share.

“Never slept before? It’s okay if you haven’t; the streamer is here to share it with you.”

Luo Yu continued to pretend to read the comments:

“Wow, amazing! Someone actually knows that from midnight to seven in the morning was the time when everyone would gather in bed to sleep.”

When he mentioned the word “bed,” a burst of laughter erupted in the classroom.

He didn’t take it to heart and continued:

“But I’ll let you in on a little secret: in the past, if people wanted to sleep, it wasn’t just during that time.”

“For example, students like me preferred to sleep during classes at eight in the morning, one in the afternoon, and eight in the evening!”

“Surprised? Not sure how to sleep in class?” Luo Yu crossed his pale arms over the black tabletop. “It’s simple. Just do like this—place both hands on the desk, bury your head in your arms, close your eyes, and you’re asleep.”

As he demonstrated by briefly lowering his head, Luo Yu quickly looked up again, smiling brightly.

“But isn’t this way a bit too obvious? The teacher would notice, and you’d risk losing participation points!”

He raised one hand.

“I’ll teach you a safer method. Just prop your head on your hand and close your eyes quickly when the teacher isn’t looking. Or you can use the back of a taller student in the row ahead to shield yourself while you doze. Another useless trick for you!”

“And, funnily enough, back in the day, college students could fall asleep faster on these hard chairs than in their dorm beds. Fascinating, right?”

As Luo Yu anticipated, sleep history was nearly forgotten in this evolved, sleepless society.

The students, who had been anxiously preparing for their own interviews, now raised their eyes to watch the screen, seemingly captivated.

The room filled with murmurs that no longer focused solely on the streamer’s looks:

“This is interesting. It’s a rare topic and could definitely go viral.”

“I remember my parents saying that sleeping felt like being dead. Sleeping in class, then, would be like dying the moment class starts!”

“Haha, dead in class, then back to life after? That’s my energy level during lectures.”

“I prefer reading novels in class. I can finish one per class, and sleeping is such a waste of time!”

“I love this guy. As soon as he starts streaming, I’m following him.”

Before he knew it, five minutes had passed. Luo Yu propped his face on his hand and gave the camera a playful flutter of his lashes.

“Babies, once I hit ten thousand followers, I’ll show you how people used to sleep in bed every night.”

In bed…

Several students in the audience blushed instantly at the glance Luo Yu threw their way on the big screen.

Even after he returned to his seat, they couldn’t stop glancing over, cheeks still flushed.

Luo Yu ignored the stares, satisfied that his topic had worked well despite the risk.

For this streamer interview, they had to wait until everyone in the group had completed their turn before leaving.

Back in his seat, Luo Yu listened in bits and pieces to the other interviewees’ performances, noting that most were regular students with no streaming experience.

His confidence in standing out grew stronger.

Suddenly, he felt a surge of air and instinctively opened his mouth, then quickly covered it with his hand as a thought crossed his mind!

—Yawning, like sleep, was probably also something humanity had evolved out of. If anyone saw him yawn, it would give away that he hadn’t taken his medication!

Luo Yu checked the time on his phone.

It was nearly 2 a.m., with still about half of the interviewees left to go.

Around him, everyone else was wide awake, while he, without his anti-sleep meds, was growing sleepier by the minute.

Minute by minute ticked by.

Finally, at 3 a.m., the last interview finished!

Luo Yu held up his drooping eyelids, barely holding on as the interviewer stood up:

“Thank you to everyone who interviewed. The results will be sent to your phones within three hours. You’re free to go.”

Luo Yu quickly sprang to his feet, using his remaining strength to dash out the door.

His top priority was finding somewhere to sleep.

Barely coherent with drowsiness, he rushed ahead of everyone, pushing open the door to the interview hall with a forceful shove.

“Bang!”

“Hey, watch where you’re going, student—” “Which department are you in?”

A stern voice called out from all directions!

Then a gloved hand, icy even through the fabric, steadied him by the forearm.

Silence fell over everyone around him.

It took Luo Yu a moment to regain his balance and look up into a pair of deep, lake-blue eyes.

His sleepy gaze wandered up and down the man’s face.

The man before him was impeccably dressed in a light white shirt buttoned up to the collar, with even the cuffs covering his wrists. The dark brown buttons gleamed under the lights. His shirt was tucked into high-waisted black jeans, exuding an untouchable aura.

Luo Yu’s gaze drifted until he noticed the gold-stitched letters on the collar.

IUHP.

The International Union for Human Progress.

The International Union for Human Progress, which penalized those who failed to take their anti-sleep meds…

In an instant, Luo Yu was wide awake!

He jerked back two steps, finally recognizing the person in front of him.

Song Lingyuan.

Song Lingyuan, President of the International Union for Human Progress.

How could he run into this devilish head of that oppressive association here at the school?!

A mix of fear and frustration surged in Luo Yu’s chest!

It was this man’s fault that he couldn’t sleep.

If he skipped even one day of sleep, he’d be doomed. He didn’t want to be in trouble again; he wanted to live peacefully…

With eyes red from exhaustion, Luo Yu glared at Song Lingyuan, resentment pooling in the tears that had formed due to his overwhelming drowsiness.

But as soon as he met Song Lingyuan’s proud, cold gaze, he feared the man would see right through him and realize he hadn’t taken his meds.

Hastily, Luo Yu sidestepped with a quick apology:

“Sorry, sorry, my fault for not watching where I was going.”

Then, he ran off.

“Professor Song, may I help wipe that for you?”

A university vice principal standing behind Song Lingyuan, already aware of the president’s reputation for cleanliness, offered cautiously.

Hurriedly, the vice principal pulled out a prepared napkin and reached out, intending to help smooth out the crease on Song Lingyuan’s shoulder caused by the student’s bump.

However, Song Lingyuan took a step back, frowning.

The vice principal’s hand, holding the napkin, froze awkwardly in mid-air, and he withdrew it to wipe the sweat from his own forehead instead.

Song Lingyuan turned around.

The young student, who had been the one to bump into him but looked pitifully close to tears as he stared back with no sense of intimidation, had already fled like a frightened rabbit.

Song Lingyuan’s gaze lingered until that bright splash of cream-yellow—like a ray of sunlight cast on winter’s frozen ground—vanished around the hallway corner.

Only then did he slowly look away.

When he turned back, another student holding a basketball was hesitating in the doorway, clearly wanting to leave but too intimidated to move with Song Lingyuan standing there.

The school’s escorts around Song Lingyuan noticed his gaze and turned to see what he was looking at.

The boy with the basketball, frightened, quickly turned back into the activity hall.

The vice principal, catching on, quickly smiled and offered an explanation:

“Professor Song, we’re hosting a campus streamer selection event here. Would you like to take a look? This event is an innovative collaboration between our university and a livestreaming platform. It aims to promote the school and enhance the spread of knowledge across society through student streamers…”

Song Lingyuan impatiently raised a hand. “Not interested.”

The vice principal immediately fell silent, leading the way forward once again.

…

Luo Yu’s heart raced as he half-ran up to the second floor, only slowing down once he was safely away.

Hopefully, Song Lingyuan hadn’t noticed he’d skipped his meds…

But where was he supposed to sleep? Renting a room was too expensive, and his bank balance was running low.

Out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly spotted a metal door left open near the stairwell.

Inside, there was a plush-looking sofa, and no one else was in sight!

Luo Yu skidded to a stop and looked up.

A sign at the top of the metal door read, “Finance Department Student Lounge.”

He blinked, then turned and walked down the hallway.

The entire second floor seemed to be filled with lounges designated for different departments.

Finally, he found the “History Department Student Lounge”, and sure enough, it was empty too.

Slipping inside, he locked the door behind him.

Since it was a History Department lounge, he figured he had every right to use it.

With the door locked, who would know what he was doing inside?

In the center of the room, two deep-blue double sofas faced each other, separated by a small, round white glass table with a chessboard on top.

To the right, there were two solid wood desks piled high with history books.

The perfect place for a nap.

Luo Yu pulled the curtains shut, turned off the lights, and finally relaxed, lying sideways on the sofa, his body sinking into the soft upholstery.

He closed his eyes.

Three minutes later, though, he opened them again.

He couldn’t fall asleep.

He was obviously exhausted, but sleep wouldn’t come, as if something in his brain had malfunctioned.

Could it be that half a dose of anti-sleep medication he’d taken earlier?

Luo Yu had never imagined he’d have trouble sleeping, and his heart began to race, his breathing growing uneven.

[Detection: Traveler facing difficulty]

[1 tool draw available. Would you like to use it?]

A cheerful female voice sounded in his mind.

Luo Yu froze.

He’d almost forgotten he had a tool to help complete his tasks.

“Draw.”

[Randomly drawing tool…]

[Congratulations! You have received an S-rank tool: 99 Sleeping Pills!]

S-rank?

That sounded like the highest tier?

Feeling a bit encouraged, Luo Yu asked, “What are sleeping pills?”

[Having trouble with insomnia? Take one pill, and you’ll fall asleep within five minutes, guaranteed to solve all your sleep issues!]

Luo Yu raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a sleeping aid… Won’t it just knock me out?”

[This pill was developed in a world with the highest medical technology among billions of parallel worlds and has zero side effects.]

[Once taken, it induces 90 minutes of deep sleep, effectively replenishing 24 hours of stamina.]

[However, please note that during those 90 minutes, it’s extremely difficult to wake up.]

Luo Yu exhaled slowly.

This meant he only needed to find a 90-minute window each day to complete his sleep task.

And with just 90 minutes of sleep, he wouldn’t feel drowsy anymore?

Though he might be hard to wake up, he wasn’t particularly alert when he slept normally anyway…

“Give me one now,” he said, tilting his head and holding out his hand.

A mint-green tablet appeared in his hand, as if the air had torn open slightly. It looked like a mint candy.

Luo Yu popped it into his mouth. It tasted minty, with a hint of sweetness, and he swallowed it.

He lay back on the sofa, closed his eyes, and waited.

Five minutes later, the relentless drowsiness finally drowned out his buzzing thoughts…

After some time, his awareness gradually returned.

The task reminder chimed in his mind:

[Sleep task progress: 2/100]

[New tool draw available in storage space: 1]

Luo Yu rubbed his eyes and glanced at his phone—it had been exactly 90 minutes.

Feeling refreshed and content, he sat up with a smile.

But then he froze.

The room was dim, but he could clearly see—

There was someone sitting on the other sofa across from him, just behind the small round table.