My name is Yan. Since childhood, I've possessed an unusual gift—the ability to perceive luminous halos crowning certain individuals, marking them as this world's chosen protagonists. During elementary school, my neighbors were Aunt Tan's twin children: child prodigies who literally wore glowing halos of brilliance. By age three, they recited English-Chinese dictionaries backwards. Five years old, and they'd mastered every instrument from piano to guzheng. Before their seventh birthday, they'd already breached government databases. Living in their shadow rendered my existence colorless and torturous. The constant comparisons to these "model children" drove me to transfer to a prestigious boarding school for middle school. My first deskmate was unremarkable—a petite girl in a faded uniform, her voice barely audible. Then one afternoon, she awakened from sleep with a prominent "reborn protagonist" halo blazing above her head. Suddenly, she navigated effortlessly between brilliant academics, vicious school tyrants, wealthy corporate heirs, and devoted childhood companions. I watched, bewildered, as this previously invisible girl commanded their attention. University promised escape from this illogical reality. The moment I entered my dormitory, my breath caught. My roommates each radiated different halos—one marked "ancient-meets-modern protagonist," another "post-apocalyptic superhuman," one branded "will perish without extravagant spending," and the last crowned as "ghost king reborn." I clutched my bedding and begged the residential advisor for reassignment. She refused. Adaptation came gradually. The halo variations multiplied: "system holders," "infinite transmigration," "interdimensional travelers," "interstellar streamers," "mystical fortune seekers"—the list expanded endlessly. Yet I learned to observe calmly, channeling my energy into my own existence. Each sunrise, I coached my ancient-to-modern roommate through online scandals and paparazzi, securing seats before lectures filled. Afternoons meant cataloging luxury skincare and designer bags from my tycoon roommate's collection, savoring gourmet meals while thinking, "Darling, am I deserving?" Evenings brought me to the balcony where my superhuman roommate's engineered plants flourished, where I'd taste enhanced produce and whisper, "Truly rejuvenating." Midnight often found my ghost king roommate sliding through windows—I'd smile knowingly and ask, "Late again? Nothing to report?" I'm Yan. I am not this world's protagonist.