withdrawal
The withdrawal symptoms after separation were not severe.
The busy schedule often leaves He Zou with no time for anything else during the day.
She quickly became familiar with her internship in the neurology department, following her supervising doctor to different wards every day, getting acquainted with various cases, and keeping records and follow-ups.
"For this case, can anyone explain the differential diagnosis approach?" Professor Miller, who was presiding over the morning meeting, looked around at the three interns present.
The three remained silent. Schneider and Müller exchanged a glance, somewhat flustered, and their eyes unconsciously drifted towards Hezou.
Kazusa's gaze fell only on the notebook on the table. After thinking for a moment, she raised her hand and cautiously asked, "Professor, may I see the latest cerebrospinal fluid test and MRI reports?"
“Sure.” Miller leaned back in his chair, indicating that she could walk to the lightbox to look at the MRI report.
As usual, the interrogation session of the morning meeting ended with He Zou's response.
Sitting below, Schneider watched her answer the professor's probing questions with clear and logical reasoning, and his jealousy was almost impossible to conceal. She was an intern just like them, yet this person seemed to have devoured countless textbooks; how did her brain seem to have a built-in database?
"It's just rote memorization," he muttered to himself.
But isn't rote memorization the most basic requirement for medical students? If Yagyu and Kanade memorize by rote, then what are they if they can't even do that?
Müller, sitting next to Schneider, remained silent; this time, he did not respond to his friend's jealous words.
Watching Hezou return to her seat opposite him, tidying up her documents with a peaceful smile, Muller's fingers unconsciously tightened, crumpling the edge of the medical record folder. An inopportune moment flashed through his mind: the scene from a few mornings ago when he had accidentally bumped into her during his morning run.
She walked out of the apartment arm in arm with a tall man, and the smile on her face then was completely different from now.
At that time, Yagyu Kanade was wearing a large sports jacket, her hair was loosely tied up, and a few strands of hair fell around her neck. When she looked up at the man beside her, the soft expression on her face, which could even be described as a look of dependence, was something he had never seen before in the hospital.
The man next to her was clearly her boyfriend.
It's not surprising that she has a boyfriend, but what surprised Muller was that her boyfriend was Tezuka Kunimitsu.
The name "Muller" was given to him by his father after a tennis player who achieved a lifetime achievement. So Muller, who has been paying attention to tennis since childhood and also plays tennis as a recreational sport, naturally knows Tezuka—the tennis player who was predicted by the media to be the next world number one.
Tezuka Kunimitsu, who always appeared serious in front of the media, softened completely when he looked down at her. The smile on her lips became more genuine, and the corners of her eyes curved upwards.
It was probably because the contrast between that morning scene and her calm profile now was so stark that when he saw Yagyu Kazusa now, he found her serene smile jarring.
"Müller?" Schneider interrupted his reverie, subtly nudging him with his shoulder and whispering, "Are you alright? You don't look well."
Muller snapped back to reality and saw that the doctors from the morning meeting had already left the office. He quickly adjusted his facial expression and forced out his usual approachable look: "Nothing, just thinking about the professor's question."
He picked up the documents and walked past the two without stopping, following behind the doctors without lingering on them.
This is the Yagyu Kazuna that Muller knows: rational, focused, and using her absolute professional competence to build a seemingly insurmountable barrier, keeping those who cannot keep up with her pace out.
But is Tezuka Kunimitsu someone who can understand her?
Even as a top player, with a different profession, can he see how brilliant she is in her field? Can he appreciate the sparkle in her eyes when she solves medical problems?
Muller looked at her straight back, his thoughts somewhat confused.
But... what does this have to do with him?
He didn't care about the harmony.
What she cared about was her phone, which had been silent all day yesterday, in her pocket.
Yes, the withdrawal symptoms after separation were not severe.
It only sometimes made her feel dazed, followed by emptiness.
She once thought her life was full of joy that could fill her heart, but now she feels lonely.
The loneliness that follows the fleeting but heart-filling joy and happiness that is suddenly taken away.
Like the detachment during a dream at night, or the sense of loss after a long holiday when looking at travel photos in an album only to be pulled back to reality.
She missed him.
—
The sun was blazing at a private tennis practice court in California.
Tezuka had just finished a high-intensity multi-ball training session. Sweat gathered on his forehead along his sharply defined jawline before dripping onto the hard court and evaporating instantly.
"That backhand straight shot just now, the angle could have been a bit more tricky." Kerber commented with his arms crossed, then glanced at him sideways. "What, still not adjusted to the time difference? Your reactions seem a bit slow."
Tezuka listened, nodded to indicate that he understood, then wiped the sweat from his forehead with his wristband, took the water she handed him, and gulped down a few mouthfuls.
But he didn't answer her subsequent questions.
He actually slept very well, even longer than he did in Germany, thanks to his extensive competition experience.
In each city where he competes, the first thing he does is adjust his sleep to ensure sleep quality and minimize the physical burden caused by high-intensity training.
But this time was different. The physical fatigue could be relieved, but a certain corner of my heart always felt empty.
Having observed his training progress, Kobel, resting his chin on his hand, suddenly changed the subject, teasingly asking, "Speaking of which, how's your Melodia doing these days? Hasn't she said she misses you?"
“She’s busy.” Tezuka frowned, glanced at her, and gave a curt, curt reply. Then he screwed the bottle cap back on, turned, and returned to the baseline. “Let’s continue.”
Kober shrugged. It seemed the other person hadn't said that; no wonder he was so irritable.
"Irritable" is a word that should be completely unrelated to Kunimitsu Tezuka.
But Kerber felt that her choice of words was quite accurate this time. Although he was still harsh on himself during training, he was so quiet off the field that the rest of the team were secretly asking her if he hadn't been making good progress lately.
How could things not go smoothly? Even Kerber, a former world champion, thought Tezuka was improving at an alarming rate.
Judging from this progress, if he can perform normally, she can even hope that he can win the double championship in the Sunshine Double Competition!
But both she and Tezuka knew that this state was partly the result of his self-suppression, and he needed an outlet to release it.
Even if it's not outwardly apparent, Tezuka himself could clearly sense the empty corner in his heart that no amount of intense training could fill.
He didn't think that missing Melodia was affecting his training; it was a more obvious physical reaction than longing—his body, his nerves, were protesting her absence.
It is a withdrawal reaction.
He frequently recalled the night before their parting, when she lay in his bed, nestled in his arms, her body soft and warm, her breath lightly brushing against the crook of his neck.
He was distracted for a moment, and the ball from the opposite serving machine went straight for his backhand. He hastily returned the ball, but it barely cleared the net and was of mediocre quality.
"Hey! Focus!" Kerber shouted impatiently.
Tezuka took a deep breath, closed his eyes tightly, and forcibly suppressed the surging thoughts.
"Sorry," he said in a deep voice, gripping his racket tighter. "Continue."
Tezuka knew he had reached his limit, and the withdrawal symptoms that had been suppressed by reason began to retaliate fiercely.
Perhaps he should do something.
These desires, suppressed during the day, become clearer and sharper when one is alone at night.
He wanted to call her, to hear her voice. But looking at the time, it was already late at night in Heidelberg, and she was already asleep.
We shouldn't disturb her rest.
Longing, like intertwined vines, coiled around his body, tightening silently. A surge of hot impulse rose, quickly spreading to every limb and bone; his body's reaction was honest and fierce.
He was a disciplined person, almost to the point of being harsh, and he always managed his physical desires well. As he had done many times before, he put down his phone, went into the bathroom, and took a cold shower.
Even after a cold shower, his eyes in the mirror still held a suppressed, dark look.
Finally, he sighed in resignation.
Just then, his cell phone, which was hanging outside his hand, rang. It was probably Kerber contacting him at this hour.
Tezuka slipped on his bathrobe, his hair still damp, and went outside to check his phone. When he saw the name flashing on the screen, his heart, though hardened by training, skipped a beat, and he almost instinctively answered the video call.
The person you miss appears on the screen; she's getting ready to sleep, her face resting on the pillow, her long, loose hair cascading down her cheek and beside the pillow...
Tezuka suddenly didn't know how to start the conversation.
"Guoguang?" Her voice traveled across the screen and clearly reached my ears.
Seeing that he didn't speak, He Zou looked at his wet hair and heard his breathing, which was heavier than usual. With concern in her eyes, she asked softly, "Did you just finish training?"
If it were his normal training schedule, he should have finished a while ago by now. If it's extra training, Kanade is a little worried that his training might not be going well.
On the other end of the screen, the light was dim. He leaned against the headboard, his eyes looking somewhat tired, though usually deeper, but still bright.
"Ah, the training went well," he responded, noticing her worry and gently reassuring her. Then, his gaze fixed on her on the screen, he asked, "It's already 1 a.m., why aren't you asleep?"
His voice was low and husky, carrying a magnetic tremor she wasn't familiar with, which made Kazusa's heart flutter inexplicably. She pressed her cheek against the pillow, looking at his softly lit eyes and brows, and chuckled softly at his obvious question.
"miss you."
The screen fell silent, yet something seemed to be making a ruckus in the air.
Seemingly noticing his silence, she told him some interesting stories from her internship, trying to dispel the weariness in his eyes.
Tezuka listened quietly, his gaze focused. He enjoyed hearing her talk about these things, enjoyed seeing the sparkle in her eyes when she spoke of her profession. In the past, her everyday sharing through the screen was more effective at soothing the anxiety caused by distance than sweet words.
But tonight is a little different.
"Melodia," Tezuka suddenly called her softly, his voice a little deeper than before.
"Um?"
He paused for a few seconds before saying, "...It's nothing. I just wanted to call you."
He Zou's heart skipped a beat, as if she suddenly understood the words he couldn't say. She blinked her eyelashes, gently rubbed her cheek against the pillow, and repeated in a nasal tone, "I miss you so much."
On the screen, Tezuka's breath hitched.
"It's too late, you should rest." He forced himself to look away, his voice a little strained.
"You too." Seeing his awkward reaction, Kazusa felt a gentle, ticklish feeling, like a breeze had brushed against her heart. She deliberately spoke slowly, "Then... goodnight?"
"good evening."
She watched as he said goodnight to her without hesitation and then disappeared from the screen.
He Zou pursed his lips, feeling a little disappointed.
I glanced at the screen again and found that although the screen was black, the call timer on the screen was still ticking.
It seems that Guoguang put his phone next to his pillow and forgot to hang up?
This is completely unlike him.
Just as she was about to hang up, a sudden sound from her phone made her stop her finger, which was about to press the red button...
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