Chapter 47

KTV

The deafening sound of music was isolated behind me by the heavy door of the box. The corridor suddenly became quiet, with only the carpet under my feet absorbing the sound of my footsteps.

The name "Uncle" was jumping on the phone screen.

I pressed the answer button and a familiar and steady voice came from the receiver.

"Xiaoyin, happy birthday." Uncle's blessing was filled with his usual care. "The money has been transferred to your account. Buy yourself something you like."

"Thank you, uncle." I leaned against the cold wall, the aftermath of the vibration still buzzing in my eardrums.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, followed by the faint sound of shuffling papers. "Also, the background check I told you about last time has yielded some results."

My heart skipped a beat for no apparent reason.

"It's someone from the Yamamoto family." My uncle's voice was calm, but it was like a stone dropped into a deep pond. "Yamamoto Misaki, do you know her?"

Yamamoto?

Not...Atobe?

This name was like a dazzling lightning, instantly splitting the chaotic fog in my mind.

Yamamoto Misaki, the eldest daughter of the Yamamoto family, whose eyes were as cold as ice and filled with undisguised jealousy every time she saw me. Her almost morbid obsession with Atobe Keigo was known to almost everyone in Hyotei.

It turned out to be her!

It turns out that it wasn't him from the beginning to the end...

A cold regret suddenly gripped my heart, more biting than the strong cold air in the box.

Yamamoto's hostility and Yamamoto's investigation all made sense.

And what did I do? Without even giving him a chance to explain, I, in a fit of misguided anger and suspicion, stabbed him with the sharpest words, then pushed him away like dirt.

Thinking of the hurt look in his eyes at that time, the red back of his hand from where I hit him, and my extreme coldness towards him, how deep of a humiliation and blow must it have been for a proud man like him?

His fingertips were cold, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone tightly.

My uncle gave me a few more reminders about being careful and then hung up the phone.

There was only a busy tone in the receiver, repeating monotonously, as if mocking my stupidity and self-righteousness.

The thumping sound of music poured out from the crack in the door again, enveloping me, but only making me feel more isolated and suffocated. The neon sign at the end of the corridor shifted its colorful light, reflecting on the smooth wall, distorting it into a bizarre illusion.

I pushed open the door of the box, and was greeted by deafening sound and swaying balls of light.

Tanaka's voice was still vibrant, and she was reaching her climax, her cheeks flushed with excitement. I walked over, picked up my bag, leaned over, and raised my voice in her ear: "Rie, I'm feeling a little unwell. I'm going home now!"

"Ah? Kiriyama! I haven't finished the cake yet!" Tanaka stopped singing and pulled me worriedly, "What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

"I'm fine, just a little tired." I tried to force a soothing smile at her, but it was probably too stiff and ugly. "Thank you for today, I really had a lot of fun. See you another day!"

Not daring to look into her concerned eyes again, I almost fled from that noisy and empty playground.

Walking out of the KTV, the air of the late summer night was filled with lingering heat, mixed with the unique smell of dust and exhaust gas in the city.

I stood on the neon-lit street, the overwhelming sense of loss and self-blame weighing on me like a heavy lead weight, making it hard to breathe. A river of light from car lights streamed around me, but not a single one could illuminate the darkness deep within my heart.

I pushed him away with my own hands, in the most distrustful way.

How could a proud Atobe Keigo possibly forgive such a betrayal? It was perfectly natural for him to go find someone else. It was all my fault.

I returned home in a daze and pushed open the gate.

In the darkness, a golden shadow with a familiar warm breath suddenly pounced over, and an intimate whimper came from the throat. It was Xiaokong.

It circled around me excitedly, its tail wagging like a propeller, and then, as if presenting a treasure, it placed a half-worn blue rubber bone toy in its mouth at my feet. Its wet black eyes sparkled at me, as if to say, "Look! My favorite!"

I squatted down, my fingers touching the toy, the edges of which had been worn by Xiaokong's biting. The touch of rubber was cold, slightly damp with his saliva.

This toy... was picked out by Atobe at the pet store. He said the shape was chew-resistant and the color matched Sora's golden retriever.

That afternoon, he sat under the porch of the yard, playing with the toy with Xiaokong clumsily but patiently. The sunlight fell on the ends of his silver-gray hair, giving it a layer of light gold.

Xiaokong's cheerful shouts and his occasional helpless chuckles seemed to still ring in my ears...

My heart suddenly shrank, as if it was being gripped by an invisible hand, and the bitterness and regret instantly broke through the dam.

I hugged Xiaokong's warm, fluffy neck and buried my face deep in his fur, which smelled of sunshine. The scalding liquid could no longer be controlled and surged out, soaking the fur on his head.

His body trembled uncontrollably, but no sound came out of his throat. Only silent sobs filled the silent yard.

Xiaokong seemed to sense my sadness and stopped wagging his tail. He just stood there meekly and motionlessly, rubbing his furry cheek against my arm and making low, comforting hums.

Under the glaring lights of the Atobe family's private tennis court, the sound of the rackets tearing through the air became more and more fierce and violent.

Atobe Keigo's hair was completely wet with sweat, sticking to his tense forehead. He was like a caged beast, pouring all his strength into every swing, sending the tennis ball flying like a cannonball.

Yuushi Oshizuka was running around on the other side of the net, his jersey soaked with sweat.

Another tricky baseline shot brushed the sideline and flew out of bounds. He finally couldn't help but slammed his racket on the ground, gasping for breath: "Enough... Atobe! This is not the way to make innocent people suffer when the city gate is on fire!"

He wiped the sweat from his face and helplessly looked at the emperor opposite him, whose breath was unstable but whose eyes were burning. "Today is her birthday. What's the point of you fighting with me here?"

Atobe propped himself up on his knees, his chest heaving violently. Sweat dripped down his jawline onto the polished floor, creating dark polka dots. He yanked at his hair in frustration, his voice hoarse from exercise and filled with suppressed anger: "Shut up! I know!"

"You know?" Oshitari pushed up his glasses, his eyes behind the lenses showing insight. "If you know, then solve the problem. Men should be more generous and speak more."

"Isn't that what's written in pure romance novels? Fueled misunderstandings will only fester." He approached the net, his tone more serious. "Also, that time you deliberately dated someone else... Tsk, no matter what your original intention was, you were wrong. Apologize, there's no shame in that."

"Apologize?!" Atobe straightened up suddenly, his eyes burning with fire, "Why should I apologize?! You know that day..."

He thought of the girl he was holding, and the dazzling bow on her head, which was exactly the same as the hairpin Wushan often used during training. The nameless anger in his heart burned even more fiercely.

"I just want her to take off that damn hairpin! Who told her to..." The rest of the words got stuck in his throat. He himself felt that this reason was ridiculous and difficult to say.

Oshitari was stunned, then the corners of his mouth twitched, revealing an expression of "as expected" and "hopeless".

He raised his hand to rub his brow, and sighed deeply, his Kansai accent tinged with a strong sense of powerlessness: "Atobe, Master Atobe... Please save these words for the person you are talking to, and don't torture my ears or my physical strength."

He bent down to pick up the racket and water bottle on the ground and waved his hand, "I'm done with you. You can continue to rage against the air here."

After saying that, he walked towards the bench on the sidelines without looking back, leaving Atobe standing alone under the glaring lights in the middle of the court.

Atobe stood there, his chest still heaving, and Oshitari's words were like needles piercing his ears.

He stared at the empty court across from him, then looked down at his hands, which were tightly gripping the racket, their knuckles white. Anxiety coiled around him like a vine, nearly suffocating him.

He suddenly raised his arm and slammed the expensive racket into the wire mesh next to him with a loud "clang". The metal mesh vibrated violently and the buzzing echo echoed in the empty court for a long time before it subsided.

The light cast a pale shadow on his isolated figure, and sweat slid down his tense jawline.

He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and tried to calm his surging emotions, but his mind uncontrollably flashed back to the glaring scar on her arm, her cold and distant eyes that day, and her possible expression when Oshitari handed her the medicine...

And that damn birthday present lying deep in the drawer, which he had spent so much effort to order.

His fingertips unconsciously swiped across the phone screen. The name in his address book lay quietly at the top. He stared at it for a long time, his thumb hovering above the dial button. The light from the screen reflected the lines of his tightly pursed lips and the shadows of struggle in his eyes.

In the end, his thumb simply swiped heavily across the screen, extinguishing the light. The night thickened, engulfing his tall figure in the intersection of the court's dazzling white light and deep darkness.