Chapter 16

On an afternoon filled with the cacophony of cicadas, sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Bingdi Hotel, casting bright spots of light across the polished corridor. The air was filled with the scent of ink from books mixed with the green grass of late summer, a tranquility bordering on laziness.

"Kiriyama! Let's go to the fireworks festival in Kanagawa!" Tanaka Rie rushed to my side, a thin layer of sweat on her forehead from finishing club activities, her eyes sparkling. "I worked three jobs to save enough money! I heard the sea view there is a perfect match for the fireworks!"

She clasped her hands together and looked at me expectantly.

Kanagawa...the seat of the Tatekai Grand Annex.

I closed my copy of "A Study of Ancient Martial Arts Schools," and a subtle glimmer crossed my dark eyes. The opportunity to visit Genichirō Sanada had unexpectedly arrived in this quiet way.

"Okay." I nodded, a slight curve at the corner of my lips. "Sounds interesting."

Whether it was the fireworks that were fun, or the opportunity to explore the peak called "Sanada", only I knew.

Life still goes on as usual.

They looked up information in the library and handled some odd jobs in the photography club. Occasionally, they would catch a glimpse of that dazzling silver-gray from afar on campus. They would still just nod restrainedly to each other and then look away.

The information about the Hiyoshiwaka family's ancient martial arts dojo has clearly taken shape in my mind, like pieces of a puzzle.

The school's core concepts, training emphases, and even some of its hidden footwork characteristics were all largely confirmed through indirect inquiries and careful observation, both from him and from the clues around him. It was time to move on to the next step.

During lunch break, the classroom was empty.

The sunlight shone obliquely on the desk, and dust flew in the beam of light.

I unfolded a sheet of plain white Japanese paper, dipped my brush in ink, and the tip hovered for a moment before dropping. The ink flowed steadily and smoothly, with a rhythmic, ancient quality—not the ballpoint or fountain pen common among modern students, but a traditional brush.

The content is concise and solemn, stating the intention to visit and the admiration for Kobudo.

Finally, on the envelope, he wrote three words in the same dignified handwriting: 日吉様.

I carefully folded this visiting card, which carried the scent of "Misty Mountain," and tucked it into the thick, thick volume of "History of Japanese Martial Arts" at the back of my desk. After doing all this, I breathed a sigh of relief, stuffed the book back into its place, and stood up to wash my brush.

The next second I turned around and left the classroom.

Oshitari appeared at the back door like a ghost.

He was just passing by, but he happened to catch a glimpse of that beauty out of the corner of his eye.

That always distant Kirishan Yin was actually writing with a brush in an empty classroom? Furthermore, the final movement of stuffing the brush into the book was filled with a rare solemnity.

Intense curiosity seized him. He adjusted his glasses, slipped silently into the empty classroom, and walked towards my desk with a clear purpose. With precise movements, his slender fingers pulled out the volume "History of Japanese Martial Arts" and flipped open the pages.

The plain white envelope lay quietly between the pages of the book.

On the cover, three ink-drenched, powerfully written brushstrokes catch the eye: 日吉様.

The eyes behind Oshitari's lenses suddenly became extremely sharp, as if he had discovered a new world.

Hiyoshi Waka? The taciturn Hiyoshi Waka, who was only interested in martial arts and "overthrowing the superiors"? !

Almost as if by reflex, he quickly pulled out his phone and tapped rapidly on the screen. A message, with his characteristic, all-seeing, playful tone, was instantly sent out:

[Xiao Jing, urgent information. Kiriyama-san was found writing a possibly love letter with a brush in an empty classroom. Recipient: Hiyoshi Wakaba. Conclusive evidence, hidden in her "History of Japanese Martial Arts." PS: The handwriting is elegant and graceful, but the contents are unknown.]

The successful message flashed up, and Oshitari's lips curled up into a foxy, slightly mischievous arc.

He carefully put the book back to its place, as if it had never been moved, and then left the classroom quietly as he had come, hiding his achievements and fame.

A dedicated training ground for the tennis club.

Sweat soaked the ends of his silver-gray hair, sticking to his full forehead.

Atobe was undergoing an overloaded batting training. Every return ball was accompanied by a sharp sound of breaking through the air, hitting the same point on the opposite wall, making a dull and continuous loud noise, just like the emotions that were surging in his chest at the moment and had nowhere to vent.

"drop."

The phone vibrated on the bench.

Huadi silently picked up the phone, glanced at the screen, then walked to the sidelines with heavy steps and handed the phone to Atobe, who was gasping for breath with his chest heaving.

Atobe frowned impatiently, sweat dripping down his tense jawline. He casually took the phone and swiped his thumb across the screen.

Inuzuka's message, along with the "conclusive evidence" cover photo, came clearly into his eyes.

The air seemed to freeze in an instant.

Those three inky black characters "日吉様" burned into his retina like red-hot irons.

Calligraphy?

love letter?

Hijiruo? !

Atobe stared at the phone screen intently, his knuckles turning white from the excessive force he exerted on the phone. His breathing became heavy and disordered after the intense exercise.

Deep in his eyes, it seemed as if a cold snowstorm was raging wildly, mixed with a sense of being caught off guard and disbelief.

"Ri...Ji..." A name, as if squeezed out from between teeth, with a biting chill.

He grabbed the towel draped over the back of the chair and roughly wiped the sweat off his face with an almost destructive force.

Then, he grabbed his racket and water bottle and walked out of the court without looking back. His steps were so fast that the low pressure emanating from his body almost froze the air. Even Huadi silently took a step back, not daring to get close.

Outside the training ground, the sun is shining.

After washing my brush, I returned to the classroom. The History of Japanese Martial Arts still lay quietly in my desk, its envelope intact. I took out my textbook for the next class and prepared for another peaceful afternoon.

The phone screen lit up. It was the fireworks festival schedule sent by Rie Tanaka, filled with excited exclamation marks.

I looked at the screen, my mood lightened by the thought of my upcoming trip to Kanagawa.

The afternoon sky darkened without warning, leaden clouds hanging low over the spire of Hyotei Academy. The air was stiflingly hot. As the school bell rang, large raindrops began to pound down, forming a dense curtain of rain that instantly blanketed the sky and earth in white.

"Oh no! I'm going to be late for work!" Rie Tanaka looked at the heavy rain outside the window and stamped her feet in anxiety. She only brought a small folding umbrella and was obviously unable to cope with this sudden rainstorm.

I looked at the sturdy, long-handled umbrella in my hand and handed it over without hesitation: "Use mine."

"Eh? But Kiriyama, you..."

"I can run fast, and my home isn't far away." I gave her a soothing smile, "Go quickly, don't be late."

Tanaka took the umbrella gratefully, thanked him repeatedly, and then plunged into the rain.

I packed my things and walked to the entrance of the teaching building.

Outside, the rain showed no sign of abating, splashing high onto the flagstones. A strong wind blew a damp, cold breeze against my face. I slipped off my indoor shoes, put on the sneakers I'd brought, tightened my backpack straps, took a deep breath, and prepared to plunge into this watery world.

"Hello."

A gorgeous and low voice sounded from behind him, with a hint of barely perceptible tension.

I looked back in surprise.

Atobe Keigo stood a few steps away.

He had obviously just finished his club work, his regular Hyotei sports jacket casually draped over his arm, and the ends of his silver-gray hair seemed to still carry the slight warmth of the gymnasium, undamaged by the rain.

There was no expression on his face, and his eyes appeared particularly deep in the slightly dim light of the entrance, like the sea surface on the eve of a storm, suppressing some difficult-to-interpret emotions.

His eyes fell on my empty hands, then glanced at the rainstorm raging outside.

He didn't say anything, just stretched out his hand to the side.

Huadi, who had been standing silently behind him like a shadow, immediately handed him an umbrella. It wasn't the folding umbrellas common among Hyotei students, but a pure black, long-handled umbrella with sturdy ribs, a wide canopy, and exquisite workmanship. The handle was made of warm ebony, and its understated elegance exuded an undeniable luxury.

Atobe took the umbrella, stretched out his arm, and handed it directly to me. His movements were quick and decisive, with his usual firm attitude that would not tolerate refusal.

He pursed his lips tightly, his jawline was a little tense, and his eyes fell on my face. The complexity of his eyes was hard to describe. There seemed to be some residual depression that had not yet completely subsided, mixed with a hint of suppressed awkward concern that even he himself might not be able to clarify.

I was stunned. I hadn't expected him to be here, much less to offer me an umbrella. Aside from those brief encounters on and off the court, we were practically strangers.

"Thank you." I suppressed the doubts in my heart, did not refuse, and reached out to take the heavy umbrella.

Her fingertips touched the cool and smooth ebony umbrella handle, and she could clearly feel him retract his fingers quickly when he handed it to her, as if avoiding any unnecessary contact.

Atobe gave an almost unnoticeable "hmm" as a response.

He didn't look at me again, his gaze turning to the white curtain of rain outside. The lines of his profile appeared somewhat cold and hard in the light and shadow. He seemed to be trying hard to maintain a certain habitual arrogant attitude, but the complex and tense aura emanating from his body was more difficult to ignore than the torrential rain.

Without thinking any more, I opened the large black umbrella.

The umbrella's ribs were sturdy, and the canopy instantly blocked out the pounding rain, leaving only a dull tapping sound. I nodded slightly at him, turned, and stepped into the rain. The black canopy was like a mobile shelter, firmly shielding me from the downpour.

Atobe stood there, watching the slender figure holding his umbrella, gradually walking away in the heavy rain, and finally disappearing in the misty water vapor.

The rain soaked the edge of the porch and splashed the tips of his expensive sneakers, but he was completely oblivious. He raised his hand in frustration and pressed his throbbing temples with his knuckles.

When I got home, I changed my half-wet trouser legs and dried my hair with a towel.

The sound of rain outside the window continued. I carefully placed the black umbrella on the umbrella stand in the entrance hall, and the rain slid down the smooth umbrella surface, forming a small puddle on the floor.

He pulled out his phone, the screen lighting up. His fingertips paused on the keyboard for a moment before typing a message.

I've arrived home safely. Thank you, Atobe-san. It's raining heavily, so please be careful.

The message was concise, and the tone was polite yet distant, which was consistent with the proper distance between us.

I thought it would fall on deaf ears, or at most receive a cold “hmm” in reply.

However, unexpectedly, a few seconds later, the phone screen suddenly lit up, accompanied by a slightly rapid vibration - not a message alert tone, but an incoming call ringtone.

The name "Atobe Keigo" was flashing on the screen.

I was slightly startled, subconsciously pressed the answer button, and put the phone to my ear.

"Hello?" Atobe Keigo's gorgeous voice came from the other end of the phone. The background sound was very quiet, as if he was in a car. His voice sounded a little strange.

Unlike his usual calmness as if in control of everything or lazy arrogance, there was instead a hint of indescribable tension, even hesitation.

"..." There was silence on the other end of the line for two seconds, only his slightly deep breathing could be heard through the receiver, carrying an invisible pressure. He seemed to be organizing his words, or brewing something.

"Umbrella...I'm glad you're okay." He finally spoke, his voice low and a little slower than usual, as if he was confirming an insignificant matter.

"Yes, it's very sturdy and can keep out the rain very well." I answered truthfully, not understanding why he called to confirm this.

There was another brief silence. The sound of rain outside the window seemed to be the only background sound at this moment.

"..." Atobe seemed to take a breath, and then, in an extremely unnatural, as if casually mentioned, yet with an obvious tentative tone, he stiffly threw out the next sentence:

"You...went straight home after school today?"

The question came suddenly and illogically. I held the phone, my brows furrowed slightly.

Is he checking my whereabouts? This doesn't seem like something Atobe Keigo would care about at all.

"Well, I came straight back after lending the umbrella to Tanaka." I answered calmly, with doubts in my heart.

The other end of the phone fell silent again.

This time the silence was even longer, and I could almost imagine him frowning and tapping his fingers unconsciously on the armrest of his expensive car seat. He seemed dissatisfied with my answer, or rather, he didn't hear the "other content" he wanted to hear.

The air seemed to be stagnant in an invisible electric current.

It seemed that Atobe was trying hard to suppress something, and the slight friction sound of his knuckles gripping the phone case could be heard through the receiver.

Finally, as if giving up some futile roundabout way, he squeezed out a few words in a more blunt, almost desperate, awkward way:

"...Fucking guitar..."

He only said half of the name and swallowed the rest of the syllables back as if they were burned in his mouth.

Riji?

Holding the phone, my voice remained steady, even with a hint of just the right amount of doubt: "Hiyoshi-kun? What's wrong with him? Does Atobe-san need help with something?"

“…” There was complete silence on the other end of the line. Even the suppressed breathing seemed to pause for a moment. Then, an extremely short inhalation, thick with regret and frustration, came from the other end.

"It's okay!" Atobe Keigo's voice suddenly rose, returning to his usual tone of impatience and arrogance, as if he was trying to hide something. He spoke so quickly as if he was trying to hide something, "I was just asking casually! Hang up!"

“Beep—beep—beep—”

A busy tone sounded, and the other party hung up the phone in an almost panic.

I took my phone off and looked at the words "Call Ended" on the screen. Then I looked at the quietly elegant black umbrella standing in the hallway, and thought back to the phone call that had been filled with tentativeness, awkwardness, and ultimately a messy ending...

After a long time, a very light sigh, which was a bit helpless and seemed extremely absurd, escaped from his lips.

Atobe Keigo...what the hell are you doing?