Chapter 21

As the team competition entered its second half, it was the most unbearable time of afternoon, with the sun blazing down on us. I pulled Tezuka to a corner to sit down, and he took the bottle of mineral water from my hand. He simply unscrewed the cap, his eyes fixed on the two players on the field, completely unaware that the bottle was tilted and about to spill. So I reached out and helped him straighten the bottle.

"Thank you," he replied, his attention then drawn to a clever return shot from Atobe. He frowned, looking very serious.

Tezuka always cared a lot about these old rivals he had known for many years. Even when professional reporters talked about the difference between academic and professional competitions, they would use seemingly impolite terms like "playing house." But I think Tezuka never thought that way in his heart.

When Qingxue made it into the top four in the college league for the first time last year, I asked him if he felt it was a pity that he would never have the chance to fight like this without any scruples or ulterior motives again.

"Someone reminded me not to become Don Quixote." That was the incoherent answer Tezuka gave me at the time.

I later learned that the person who said those words to him was Keigo Atobe, the first among our peers to realize that ideals were useless. However, since he was able to grasp reality as a sword at a young age, it seemed that having ideals was not important.

Anyway, I find it hard to imagine that someone like him would have something he wants to do but can't. Of course, assuming he really does, life is never all smooth sailing, even if his surname is Atobe.

After winning another round, the two sides switched sides. Atobe waved his hand, and Hyotei's cheering squad chanted slogans in unison. The boy at the front waved the team flag, and when he walked to the other side, he raised his hand again, and the whole stadium fell silent.

Sanada, sitting opposite him, lowered the brim of his hat, shrugged his shoulders slightly, and then let them fall back down, presumably with a helpless sigh.

I glanced instinctively at Rikkai's support box. The boy leading the team was stunned for a few seconds and couldn't keep up with their chant. I knew that Sanada's sigh wasn't about this, but I was concerned. Hyotei wasn't the only tennis powerhouse in the Kanto region. I knew that team matches tested both the players and the support. Losing our rhythm would be our mistake.

Suddenly, the DNA in my blood that I always ignored, engraved with the words "King Rikkai," came into play. I crouched down and went around the stands to the back of the support area. My first-year junior recognized me and hurriedly made way for me.

"Okada-senpai." The boy looked at me.

"Are you still sitting?" I asked. "The decisive game is about to begin."

He finally understood what I meant. I took the drumsticks from his hand, started a rhythm, and then took a deep breath—

"The winner is..."

"Tachikai!"

"Tachikai is..."

"champion!"

Standing at the highest point of the support box overlooking the court, Sanada stopped taking a tennis ball out of his pocket and looked at me. He nodded twice, and his face no longer had the awkward expression he usually had. Instead, he smiled frankly, revealing a rare glimpse of the genuine youth of someone his age.

I reckon Niou will laugh at me later for acting like a student council president on an inspection tour, verbally rejecting the privileges of a "top student" while putting on a show of lecturing my juniors.

"Please, the earth won't turn without me." That's what I've already decided to say to him.

Then Yagyu would definitely agree with me in a very gentlemanly tone that sounded somewhat sarcastic.

Tezuka turned around the moment he heard my voice. It was probably the first time he had seen me like this. It wasn't how I looked in the judo hall, nor how I looked when we were together in private.

Many years after graduation, when I had almost completely forgotten the result of the game and couldn't remember what I had done, he brought up that summer again, saying that when the wind blew, I raised my drumsticks and for a moment I thought I was standing in the center of the world.

The thick skin I'd developed in the adult world still couldn't withstand the power of that comment. I turned my face away and drank a whole glass of soju, my cheeks turning red without warning.

Although I've mostly forgotten about the match, I still remember the sunset that day.

It takes 24 minutes to walk from the tennis park to Odaiba, and 30 minutes to walk to the bench where Tezuka sat with me before he went to Germany two years ago. From there, you can see the skyscrapers surrounding Tokyo Bay and the Ferris wheel that hasn't been lit up yet.

I still didn't like the scenery here. We hurried through the crowd, took the tram to Shinbashi Station, and then rushed to catch the next JR train to Fujisawa.

"It's probably too late," Tezuka said to me, pointing to the sunset time displayed on his phone screen.

"No," I said firmly, "You can always see the last moments of the sunset at the beach." With that, I pulled his sleeve, and the two of us quickly got into the car.

I always have my own obsession with seemingly insignificant little things, and I think the sun will be willing to wait for me for this hour.

After leaving the station, I jogged again, like two people chasing the sun. I wasn't really sure what I was persisting in; my mind was uncontrollably flipping through memories of sunsets, one after another, urging me on, telling me its story.

—At times like this, you should have someone standing next to you.

Just like Tezuka told me on the phone from across the entire hemisphere.

"what's on your mind?"

His voice pulled me back to reality.

"No." I shook my head, unable to bring myself to say what I was thinking to his face.

Nearly twelve years have created a connection between Tezuka and me that I cannot define. It is very close, closer than family and better than friends. Even though I have always been straightforward, I have no confidence in breaking this balance.

As the last glimmer of light faded below the horizon, we stood on the balcony of our room. Grandma was watching an old movie in the next room, the TV volume turned up quite loud, drowning out the sea breeze.

"As God is my witness, they're not going to lick me... As God is my witness, I'll never be hungry again." Vivien Leigh uttered a very familiar line.

Just then, my stomach growled at an inopportune moment. Tezuka and I exchanged a glance, and I immediately suppressed a laugh and warned, "Don't laugh at me."

"You're the one laughing," Tezuka gently touched my face, "your lips are already this far."

He forced an even more strained smile, as if trying to be cheeky. I stepped forward to knock him on the head, but Mom just in time opened the door to remind us it was time for dinner.

"Okay," he immediately withdrew his hand and stood up straight. "Thank you, Auntie."

"What a good boy, Hikaru." Taking advantage of the opportunity when he walked out of the room first, I still managed to tap Tezuka on the back of the head.

Aunt Cai Cai always says that Guo Guang is more like a child when he's with me, but the same thing would be said by my dad as me lowering Guo Guang's IQ.

It's just that other people's children are always better.

After dinner, Grandma, as usual, dragged Tezuka to watch a movie with her. She even replayed the movie that she had already seen the end of that afternoon. This fixed entertainment always left me feeling helpless, but Tezuka always watched it with great interest, as if he should live in a black and white movie.

How to describe it? Wouldn't this kind of setting be more suitable for Nannan's family? I heard that Oshitari-kun has a collection of no less than a hundred romance movies.

Sitting on the side, I dozed off again, nodding a few times like a chick pecking at rice, and then slumped to the side.

The old-fashioned air conditioner whirred, a towel covered my legs, and Tezuka gently supported my head, offering me a cushion to rest my head on. The dim light of the floor lamp illuminated my profile, and he looked down at me for a long time before casually looking away, only noticing my grandmother's slightly meaningful gaze.

After all, she was a young lady from a wealthy family, shrouded in romance from head to toe. It was not difficult for her to see through a seventeen-year-old child. A hint of joy appeared in the grandmother's eyes.

"Grandma, keep it a secret," Tezuka whispered, gesturing for silence.

She smiled without saying a word and looked back at the television.

Scarlett's eyes on screen were always sparkling, and even in the most difficult times, she always held her head high, loving with extreme willfulness.

"Xiao Guang, we can be Scarlett, but we shouldn't be Scarlett." Grandma liked to say things that sounded like they were written in the diary of a seventeen-year-old girl in the throes of first love.

"I know," Tezuka replied, though it was unclear whether he understood something.

The next morning, I ran a few kilometers along the coastline, stretching as I asked, "My flight's this afternoon?"

"I have to catch the next tournament." His words cleverly prevented anyone from asking questions like when he would be back.

"Then I wish you all the best." I patted his left arm, the scar from the surgery clearly visible. "There's no point in telling you anything else, but if it hurts, Xiao Guang can still come to me and cry, hahaha."

He cares for me like a family member, and I'm happy for me like a friend. I think that's the role I play in his heart.

What's even more tacit is that this time, unlike two years ago, we didn't blurt out those promises that might not come true. There was no "waiting for you to come back to China" or "see you next time." Thinking about how I once wished him to fly high, I felt that parting was a little heavier than before.

But this was just an interlude in the summer of my seventeenth year. After that, I lost to the legendary genius first-year student from Yamanashi Prefecture in the final of the summer tournament, and the season came to an abrupt end. Like everyone else, I was also bewildered by the defeat. It wasn't until I was on the Shinkansen back to Kanagawa, staring at the runner-up medal in my hand, that the feeling of disappointment seemed to have been allowed to creep onto my brow.

Several messages popped up on Line. I took out my phone and glanced at them. Because the trailer for the new version of "Murder on the Orient Express" had been released, Liu Sheng was silently protesting in the chat list.

My frustration was somewhat alleviated, and I leaned against the car window, typing and chatting with Liu Sheng.

Let's rewatch the 1978 version of "Death on the Nile" to cleanse our eyes.

Do you want to come along?

I'll arrive at the station in half an hour, so it's not impossible.

I'll pick you up at the station.

I can still find your door, young master Yagyu.

Then we'll wait for you to come.

As soon as I reached the courtyard gate, Liu Sheng opened it and waited for me. My emotions were still somewhat turbulent, and I blurted out a self-deprecating complaint: "The monsters among the first-year students these days are really terrifying."

"Hearing you say that really makes me feel better." Yagyu took my backpack.

"Balance what?" I scoffed.

"So Sanae Okada is human too," Yagyu said, gently stroking my head. "That balance."

"Thank you, but I'm not really comforted." He walked confidently through the entryway and into the living room. "And a glass of iced juice, please, young master."

"It's my pleasure to serve you," he replied, mimicking my tone. "Here's your juice."

I took the tray with drinks and snacks from both hands, feeling both amused and exasperated: "I'm sorry, let's talk this out."

"Refills are at your own expense, and snacks are self-service." He smiled.

The projection screen came down, and the living room lights went out.

*An excerpt of Scarlett O'Hara's lines at the end of the film "Gone with the Wind." Vivien Leigh played the lead role of Scarlett O'Hara.