Chapter 115 The Minister and His Wife: This honor is shared with you. ...
In mid-March, the wind swept away the lingering chill of spring, and cherry blossom buds adorned the branches.
Chinatsu and Kirihara Akaya finally reached the day of their high school graduation.
Chinatsu successfully gained admission to Keio University, where Marui Bunta is also enrolled. Their long-term relationship, which began at Rikkai University Affiliated High School, will now enter a new chapter on the Keio campus, proving that true love can prevail.
Kirihara Akatsuki lived up to expectations and was successfully admitted to Nippon Sport Science University. While continuing his university studies, he officially embarked on the path of professional tennis, heading towards the court of his dreams.
On graduation day, the tennis club members and members of the doujinshi club gathered together to congratulate the two.
However, it's a little regrettable—
The two most important ministers were both absent!
Risa was unable to leave due to the crucial filming of her national morning drama. Meanwhile, Yukimura was far away overseas, battling as a professional player on the ATP circuit.
Just when everyone was feeling a bit disappointed, a florist deliveryman appeared out of nowhere and offered his blessings to the couple.
The flowers had just been delivered when Chika and Akaya simultaneously received two messages on their phones—
Risa sent a selfie in her costume; the background looked like a break in the filming studio. The caption read:
"Sorry I couldn't be there in person. Congratulations on your graduation! I'll make it up to you at the celebration. PS: Akaya, good luck on your professional journey, but remember not to get lost again~"
The message about Yukimura was a photo of him in his match uniform, standing on a basketball court under a blue sky, with the caption:
"Congratulations on your graduation. Chinatsu, enjoy your university life at Keio University to the fullest. Akaya, I'll be waiting for you on the professional circuit... Of course, if you get lost, I won't be responsible."
Akaya: "That last line was definitely intentional, wasn't it, Captain! You only added insult to injury because Risa-nee said it first, right?!"
Chika: "Do we still need to maintain synchronization at a time like this? You two seniors!"
The group looked at each other and smiled.
This kind of witty commentary and blessing from afar, with its own personal style... well, it's definitely in the style of the "Minister and his wife".
-
The June sun in Paris baked the red soil of Roland Garros until it was scorching hot.
In the VIP section of the audience, Risa lowered the brim of her hat, her eyes behind her sunglasses fixed intently.
Her fingertips unconsciously dug into her palm, but compared to the tension the young man inside was experiencing, this tension was insignificant.
In the center of the court, nineteen-year-old Yukimura Seiichi stood as still as a marble statue, with only his chest rising and falling slightly with each deep breath.
Match point.
The scoreboard showed the brutality of this epic final: 6-7(4), 2-6, 7-5, 6-4, 5-4 – he broke serve first in the fifth set and now had two championship points.
Standing across the net was the defending champion, the successor to the "King of Clay," known for his tenacity. Dubois Cecil, panting heavily, unleashed a serve like a cannonball.
Yukimura slid sideways, his shoes carving tracks across the clay. With a flick of his wrist, the racket face sliced out a signature move at an uncanny angle—the "Dream Shot!"
The tennis ball split into three afterimages in the air.
Cecil's pupils contracted sharply. By the time he judged the true trajectory of the ball, it had already slammed into the corner of the baseline with exaggerated sidespin.
"Game, set and match—Yukimura Seiichi!"
silence.
Then came a tsunami of cheers.
Risa stood up amidst the huge cheers, tears streaming down her face without warning, mixing with her sunglasses.
On the podium, Yukimura Seiichi received the heavy Musketeer's Cup from the presenter and raised it high above his head.
As is customary, he thanked the tournament organizing committee, caddies, team, family, and fans in both Japanese and French.
The young man off the field, his sharpness fading, his gentle and soothing voice echoing throughout the stadium, was calm and humble.
He paused for a moment at the end of his remarks.
"Finally, I would like to give special thanks to one person."
The room quieted down a little.
"Thank you... for being like a distant lighthouse in every morning when I can't see the road ahead."
"We made a promise on the beach in Kanagawa that we would each stand at our own highest point. Today, it seems that I'm... just a little bit ahead for now."
At this point, he raised the trophy in his hand again, as if he were touching it with someone from afar.
"This honor is shared with you as well."
After saying that, he didn't offer any further explanation. Instead, he gave a rare, unreserved, and extremely gentle smile to the camera, or rather, to the person on the other end of the camera who he was sure was watching.
After the awards ceremony, the crowd gradually dispersed.
As Yukimura Seiichi walked out of the players' tunnel, he loosened his collar slightly, and the Musketeers' Cup was carefully taken and put away by his accompanying team members.
He took out his phone; the screen was eerily clean. There were no new messages.
This isn't right.
Whenever he had a match, no matter how late it was, she would curl up on the sofa and watch the live stream.
Perhaps she was shy after hearing what he said and didn't know what to say to him.
Thinking this, Yukimura put away his phone.
As soon as he raised his eyes, as if sensing something, he suddenly stopped in his tracks.
An instinct-like intuition, transcending the five senses, drew his gaze toward the shadowy pillars on the other side of the passage.
Time seemed to stretch out.
There stood a person. A white dress, a sun hat, and a light-colored mask covered most of their face, but their eyes... were like a gentle moonlight that had strayed into a fiery battlefield.
Is it... a hallucination?
Because I wanted to share this moment so much, my brain took it upon itself to sketch out her image.
Yukimura's pupils dilated, and the sounds of the world suddenly faded away.
He looked at her, his gaze seemingly confirming her presence, from the tips of her slightly curled hair to her hands tightly clutching the bouquet in her nervousness, finally locking onto her eyes, which were also looking at him in the dim light of the passageway.
It's true.
It's not a Tokyo screen late at night, nor a transoceanic phone call.
She stood before him, having traversed mountains and seas, authentically carrying the warmth of a Parisian summer.
"Risa...?"
Her name escaped from his lips.
The next second, before reason could return, his body acted first. He completely ignored the puzzled looks from the coaches and staff beside him and strode towards her.
He stopped in front of her.
A thousand words choked in my throat: Why are you here? When did you arrive? Did you see the game? Did you hear me...?
"Congratulations, Oichi."
She took out a bouquet of white flowers from behind her back and handed it to him, her eyes curving into crescents.
Those dark eyes were filled with tears, brimming with joy and heartache.
Yukimura took the flowers and at the same time reached out to embrace her.
He held her tightly, as if to confirm that this was not a hallucination, until she reminded him that someone was watching, and he loosened his grip slightly.
“You cried,” he said.
"It's because I'm happy." Risa raised her face, her smile as bright as the dawn of early summer. "For my championship."
"Thank you for coming to see me, Risa."
"Of course I'll come, just like you did back then when you made a special trip to Tokyo to see me receive the Best Newcomer Award."
The two smiled at each other; their past and feelings needed no words.
The coach's call came from afar. Yukimura turned around and responded, then whispered a few words to a familiar and trusted team member beside him.
The staff member immediately understood and smiled, gesturing for Risa to come in: "Ms. Risa, please come with me. There is a quiet family lounge here where you can rest for a while."
Risa looked at Yukimura, who gently squeezed her fingers and whispered, "Wait for me to come back."
She nodded and followed the staff in the opposite direction, disappearing on the other side of the passage.
Upon arriving at the lounge, the staff turned on the television, tuned it to the channel broadcasting the press conference live, and then quietly left.
As Risa watched him answer questions with ease, composure, and humility on camera, he seemed completely different from the young man who had just tightly embraced her in the corridor.
Thinking of this, a smile unconsciously crept onto her lips.
When faced with a reporter's pointed question about "who he thanked in his final remarks," Yukimura's answer was, as always, intelligent and appropriate:
"I would like to thank a friend who has been very important to my career and has given me a lot of support and strength."
When asked about the mysterious woman photographed in the tunnel, Yukimura smiled slightly, skillfully avoiding the topic: "Today I want to focus on the competition itself. Thank you for your concern."
They neither proactively disclose it nor deliberately deny it.
This impeccable wording was precisely Yukimura's way of protecting her, preventing her from being thrust into the limelight during the peak of her career.
-
The hotel suites feature tranquil and private terraces.
The evening breeze, carrying the moisture from the Seine, gently caressed the area.
The bouquet of white roses adorned with jasmine was placed in a glass vase in the center of the small table, emitting a delicate fragrance.
Risa sat curled up in a soft sofa chair, holding a cup of mint tea, overlooking the dazzling Parisian night view.
After taking a shower, Yukimura came out wearing a simple white cotton T-shirt, which softened his fierceness on the field.
"So, when was the decision made?"
He leaned against the railing, turning his head to look at her. The moonlight reflected on the outline of his face, gilding it with a soft silver edge.
"Hmm?" Risa raised her eyes from the rim of the cup.
"Fly to Paris. When did you decide to come?" he repeated patiently, a clear smile in his eyes. "The coach said that you contacted him the moment you got your ticket to the finals."
Risa's eyelashes trembled slightly, as if her little secret had been exposed.
"...I just wanted to give you a surprise," she said softly, her tone carrying a rare touch of coquettishness. "Besides, I didn't want to miss your most important moment. Cheering you on through a screen is just not the same as cheering you on here."
Yukimura felt a pang of unease, his gaze softening. "What about work? I remember you mentioned a very important variety show coming up soon..."
"Yes, there were some last-minute adjustments over there, and it wasn't quite what I expected, so I turned it down." Her tone was calm and composed.
"Is that really the case?" Yukimura frowned slightly, fearing that she had made a sacrifice to accommodate him.
“Of course it’s true,” Risa met his gaze, her smile bright. “Otherwise, how do you think I could have stolen these few days out of thin air and suddenly appeared in front of you?”
Yukimura walked over and sat down beside her, the sofa slightly sinking, bringing them closer. He didn't speak, but simply reached out and took her hand, which was resting on her lap.
His fingertips, calloused from years of holding the racket, trembled slightly as he caressed her smooth hand.
"Did you hear that?" he asked abruptly.
"What?"
“Every single word I said on the podium,” he said, looking into her eyes.
His gaze was focused and deep, as if trying to see into the depths of her soul. Risa's heart skipped a beat.
Of course she heard it. Every word was like a burning brand, deeply imprinted on her heart.
She nodded, then suddenly felt a little embarrassed to meet his overly affectionate gaze.
“That glory,” he took her hand, lowered his head, and placed a gentle kiss on her fingertips, “is truly shared with you.”
Without cameras or audience, it was more moving than any public speech.
Risa didn't speak, but simply gripped his hand tightly, then raised her free hand, her fingertips plunging into his cool hair.
She leaned slightly and gently pecked him on the lips.
"All my glory is shared with you, Oichi."
Yukimura paused for a moment, then smiled. A carefree and completely relaxed smile spread across his eyes.
"What are your plans for the next few days?" he suddenly asked her.
Risa blinked and replied in a drawn-out tone, "Hmm... to be a cheerleader for some French Open champion? Or, to kidnap him and make him a free tour guide?"
“Okay.” Yukimura kissed the back of her fingers. “My victory celebration is missing the most important female lead.”
After a brief silence, the two remained speechless for a moment.
"You must be exhausted today?" Risa gently broke the silence.
Not only the thrilling battles on the field, but also dealing with tricky questions from the media after the match, Risa already feels mentally and physically exhausted just imagining it.
He turned his head, his cheek gently brushing against her palm. "I was a little tired at first, but now..."
Yukimura looked up at her, their eyes met, and their gazes intertwined. Their gazes, like silk threads, sparked like tiny sparks in the silent night, igniting the surrounding air.
He slowly approached, and she tilted her head back, closing her eyes to meet his. Their lips touched in the moonlight, gently caressing each other, like butterflies exploring the heart of a flower, delicate and tender, then deepening and intensifying, their breaths quickening.
His warm palm pressed against the back of her neck, his knuckles sinking into her loose hair, and he pulled her closer to him, kissing her passionately and intensely.
Their lips and tongues intertwined, revealing glimpses of saliva, moist and ambiguous.
Risa's breathing became erratic, and her fingertips gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly, crumpling it.
The moonlight flowed silently, and the neon lights of the distant city turned into a blurry mist. The terrace lights were dim, and the sticky sound of water mingled with hurried breathing.
After a long while, the two separated slightly. Forehead to forehead, their breaths mingling.
Her eyelashes fluttered as she opened her eyes, falling into his purple-glass eyes, where the dazzling night was reflected, along with her flushed face.
"This way... you won't be tired anymore?" she murmured softly, her voice soft and tinged with the sweetness of being kissed.
He chuckled softly, his nose brushing against her burning cheek, his breath hot: "Hmm...more effective than any stimulant."
Before he could finish speaking, his lips covered mine again.
No longer restraining herself or adhering to propriety, her possessiveness and demand were unrestrained. Her tongue plunged deep into her, entwining with a sweeter depth, devouring her reason and consciousness.
She let out a soft moan, her body sinking softly into the sofa, letting his weight press down on her as he kissed her more and more passionately and greedily.
In the distance, the Eiffel Tower suddenly lit up on the hour, as if crowning the night.
The night is still long.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
