Chapter 32

Last year, on the day of the Haiyuan Festival, I was assigned to receive student representatives from visiting schools, so I didn't participate in the traditional club challenge event. The junior who stayed behind at the dojo for me was quite skilled. I heard that she pinned a third-year track and field senior who came to the judo dojo to the mat and made him unable to move. She did it so fast that even the school newspaper reporter in charge of taking pictures didn't have time to press the shutter. In the end, the footage was taken from the video.

The tennis club, however, stole the show in the chess club. I later heard from Niou that Yanagi Renji won every game from the first to the last, and his challenges ranged from shogi and go to chess—he practically swept through the board. According to reliable sources, Yanagi humbly claimed to be just a beginner while relentlessly pushing his opponent's king to a critical disadvantage. Thus, the chess club president, in despair, witnessed a double bishop kill of the king.

As for this year, forget about it. I definitely won't have any time to participate. I even only showed up for the class activities on the first day when they were choosing the play, because I had to rush to the student council after school and only had time to help them revise the script when I got home in the evening. Actually, the executive committee member told me privately that if I was too busy, I could leave everything to them, since not everyone has to participate.

However, due to my personality, I seem to have never been able to accept other people's understanding. In my first year of high school, I took on the tasks of performing with the band, receiving VIPs, and staying behind at the dojo. Even so, I still went back to the kitchen of our class's coffee shop to take on my part of the cleaning work. Last year, I not only had to work at the reception desk, but I also accompanied Atobe and the others to visit the exhibition area, and finally returned to the classroom to move the props to the warehouse with everyone.

I know very well that others will not thank me for being busy, nor will I feel tired because of it, so there is no point in them understanding me.

I know I can't pretend to be indifferent when I'm nervous, I can't lie and say I'm in control, and I won't pretend to say it's okay. I'm so tense that I feel like I'm nearing my limit, so I have to hold my breath and persevere to the end.

Since the end of August, the student council's meeting room has been temporarily turned into the temporary activity center for the Umihara Festival. Apart from classes and training, I spend most of my time there.

A movable blackboard occupied the window area, where Liu Sheng had posted the daily checklist in order. I unconditionally trusted his compilation and completely entrusted him with its execution. As for me, like every previous president, I was juggling between the university and junior high student councils, while also trying to gauge the school board members' thoughts and secure the most attention and funding for our senior high school.

So, all negotiations with the various clubs were entrusted to the impartial and incorruptible Genichiro Sanada. Actually, I didn't want to arrange it this way; anyone would think that Yagyu seemed more suitable for communication. But the example of Takahashi reminded me that since the student council was always caught in the middle, I might as well make the student council the most unapproachable type. In that case, Sanada naturally became my first choice.

During that month of preparation, I talked until my throat was dry during joint meetings time and time again. Fortunately, Liu Sheng was always there to open a mineral water bottle and push the water to my side.

Another instance of perfect synergy occurred when, just as I was about to cite some data, he immediately flipped to the corresponding page in the meeting minutes and showed it to a senior colleague from the university department. The colleague was immediately speechless and could only agree to my proposal.

I smiled and glanced down at the conference table. Liu Sheng stretched out his hand, turned it over so his palm was facing up, and I quietly gave him a high five.

From that moment on, we became famous, known among our seniors as the troublesome short brown haircut and the cunning glasses-wearing guy. Even years after graduation, at a student council reunion, they would still bring up the scene of confronting the two of us that year. At that time, I would just raise my glass and laugh, saying it was all because we were young. Then, fueled by alcohol, I would recall my good partner who wasn't there, only to find that the details related to him had long since become blurred.

With the conclusion of the last Umihara Festival in high school, what follows are school trips, high school internships, and a new round of elections. It feels as if there is a hand called time behind me, pushing me towards the finish line.

I simply stopped trying to multiply myself, stopped rushing through the school building corridors, and stopped using my lunch break to study or review documents. As a result, I wound myself up a few less times, and life returned to peace and tranquility.

It had been a long time since I'd been seen in self-study class. That day, the girl sitting next to me noticed that after the bell rang, I didn't get up and leave. Instead, I spread out a blank test paper and started working on it. She looked at me with slight surprise, not blinking for several seconds, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.

But I didn't pay attention to the people around me; I was too busy fighting my unintentionally long hair. I would tuck it behind my ears, but it would fall down again after a while. I sighed in exasperation and decided to ignore it.

"If you don't mind, I have this." The girl placed a light blue plastic hair clip on the edge of my desk.

Having always had short hair that didn't reach my ears since I was a child, I had no idea how to use hair accessories. So, while saying thank you, I awkwardly clipped up my bangs, and my comical appearance made my seatmate laugh.

She smiled and waved at me, then reached out and took off the hair clip, gently lifted a strand of hair, skillfully curled it, and finally secured it with the hair clip: "That's it."

I turned my head and looked at myself in the reflection of the windowpane, and surprisingly felt a little embarrassed. I lowered my head and whispered another thank you.

I realized that the girl sitting next to me wasn't the typical high school student I had in mind. I'd heard her mutter to herself about how strict her parents were, and I'd seen her cursing her poorly written science test, wondering why she had to study physics. But what I remember most vividly is the flower petal bookmark she gave me tucked into my notebook. She'd stayed up all night sewing each of the stage actors' costumes herself, and the joy she shone in her eyes then, as bright as her dreams.

When I returned the hair clip to her after school, she waved her hand and said, "It's okay, you look even cuter wearing it." After saying that, she hurriedly ran towards the school gate with her heavy schoolbag on her back. I stood there alone, suddenly not knowing what I was about to say.

As a result, when I got home that night, I hastily trimmed the ends of my hair in front of the mirror. My grandmother offered to help, but my mother was worried about her using sharp tools, so she coaxed her to go back to her room to sleep first, and then went upstairs to take my scissors.

I'm long past the age of being able to whine to my parents, so silence fills the space when we're alone together. I just watch my hair fall little by little onto the newspaper on the floor. My mother doesn't deliberately look at my reflection in the mirror. After a long while, I hear her voice: "Why have you lost so much weight?"

"I dropped to a lower weight class before, and I haven't gained the weight back." I glanced in the mirror and it seemed that my chin was indeed pointed. I hadn't even noticed it myself; I thought it was my old round face.

"I don't know who you take after," Mom said, bending down to carefully trim my bangs. "You're always as stubborn as a mule."

When there's nothing left to talk about, parents can always find something to criticize about their child's personality. I'm used to it, and I'll even bring up something they said in the past to respond: "You said last time that I'm like a rock, just like my grandpa."

"Yes, yes, you're all the same." Mom paused, "You look a lot like him too."

"Looks alike?" I suddenly looked up, almost startling my mother. No one had ever told me this, and I had no idea.

My grandfather left almost no photos, only a small one on the urn. Old photos are difficult to restore and enlarge, and because of my grandmother's special circumstances, we rarely mentioned his passing. The urn was also enshrined in a remote temple. I was only seven years old at the time, and my already faint impressions have slowly faded as I grew up.

"So for several years we didn't let you see your grandmother," Mom lowered her eyes, "because we were worried she would get too emotional and..." She hesitated again, "I won't say anymore. How about this, girls shouldn't always cut their hair too short?"

See? Bringing the conversation back to this type of topic is always a parent's trick. So I can only nod and say, "Very good, of course Mom's cooking is great."

When I'm squatting on the ground fixing my hair, it's hard not to reminisce about my childhood. Whenever we talk about my grandmother, Tezuka is almost always there. That's mainly because my master helped us create the illusion that my grandfather was still alive. So whenever he had free time, he would bring his grandson over. Tezuka and I would play together, and the other old folks would chat together.

Before that, my maternal grandmother didn't live at home. My mother would visit her every week, but she never took me. I was so engrossed in judo that I didn't even have time for training, so naturally I didn't think about where my grandmother was. Now I know why. Seeing things reminds me of her, and I can't even see my family. I guess I really am like my maternal grandfather.

One day, Grandma suddenly accepted reality. I don't know when it happened, but she started talking about "what if Kotaro were here" as if nothing had happened. The three of us at the dinner table looked at each other, not knowing how to respond. Grandma smiled and patted my head, saying that the pork bone soup Dad made today was ten times as good as Grandpa's.

Later, my grandmother first forgot the way from the market to "Hechuan" and was driven back by a regular customer. Then she forgot my name and politely asked me what kind of ramen I wanted to eat when I came home from school. Finally, she forgot her own age and mistook Sanada or Tezuka for her grandfather and regarded her master as her elder.

Even so, my grandmother still loved watching love stories in black and white movies, and I would often doze off while listening to her and Tezuka talk about these things.

I vaguely remember hearing her say something to Tezuka about not becoming Scarlett O'Hara, though I don't know the context of the conversation. But Tezuka certainly wouldn't make the same choice as Scarlett; he definitely wouldn't devote himself entirely to a hopeless love affair. Besides, at least Scarlett was after money; Tezuka will never lack money in his next life.

Despite his saintly appearance, this guy won't do anything that won't lead to anything. From every perspective, love is a very unprofitable thing for him.

Wait, that applies to me too.

With that thought in mind, I reached into my pocket, took out my phone, and sent Tezuka a LINE message.

I have a question for you: how would you rank love, friendship, and family?

Five minutes later, I received a reply.

Love, friendship, and family.

Upon seeing this result, I immediately threw out a question mark.

:?

He explained it very quickly.

Before love appears, it can be ranked anywhere.

I reacted quickly and grasped the key point. After typing, I unconsciously started fiddling with the bracelet on my wrist.

So love has appeared! [Shocked] Time! Place! I order you to discuss this in detail!

But after a long time I still didn't receive a reply from him. I couldn't help but call him, but no one answered. In my torment, I forced myself to fall asleep, unaware that Tezuka on the other side of the ocean had typed "Ten years ago, Shonan coast" in the chat box and hadn't pressed send for a long time.

My good habit of getting to the bottom of things didn't work for me anymore, because after calming down I realized I shouldn't have asked the question in the first place; after all, who wants to be second?

*Refers to the film "Gone with the Wind" mentioned in Chapter 18, starring Scarlett O'Hara.