51
After a meal of premium Wagyu beef, the students' resentment was gone. Even the pickiest little genius who was emotionally hurt today did not say a bad word.
Transforming their anger into appetite, they each lost their composure in the presence of the high-quality ingredients, their mouths bulging with grease. Ye Qiangwei, holding her knife and fork, gave Yujin a thumbs-up through brainwave resonance—delicious!
As expected of the most expensive dish! I tasted the taste of money!
The only representative figure—Hippo, a meticulous person who embodies elegance down to the smallest detail. Gojo Satoru put down his chopsticks with interest and observed the girl across from him. She seemed lost in thought. This was rare; she was always so focused when eating and wouldn't tolerate interruptions. It seemed the interruption of their date had some effect on her.
The girl bent her elbows on the table, her fist pressed against her cheek. She gently twirled the end of her silver fork between her thumb and middle finger. As the oily droplets slowly slid down the edge of the porcelain plate, her fork tip had already picked up the most delicious piece of meat. The tines pierced the meat with a subtle "sizzle." Her rosy lips parted just enough, and as her teeth gripped the meat, she could see the tip of her tongue curling and curling—with the precision of a cat licking butter.
The sound of meat juice splashing between teeth is wrapped in the velvety chewing sound, and the sliding of the neck line when swallowing in the throat is like pearls sliding across the folds of a silk collar.
The restaurant chandelier swayed in the shadow cast by her eyelashes. Her posture reminded people of a slow-motion shot of a crane pecking at fallen cherry blossoms on the water. Every movement revealed rigor and elegance.
The rhythm of her chewing and the slight rolling of her throat when swallowing seemed like a unique rhythm.
Occasionally, she would pause, gently caressing the rim of the glass with her fingertips. The ripples of the clear water reflected in her pupils, like a flowing oil painting. Even the air seemed to grow still in her presence. Her grace was effortless, yet it held the breath of all who watched her – like a recital, every subtle movement worth savoring.
Each lift of her hand, each bow of her head, was as precise and fluid as a dancer's. Her posture resembled that of an aristocrat stepping out of a medieval banquet painting; even the light and shadow favored her. She was both calm and composed, yet possessed an undeniable grace and command.
She doesn't need words; just the way she eats reminds people of roses in the morning dew, the glaze on porcelain, or the precisely meshing gears in an ancient clock.
Even when she wiped the grease from the corners of her mouth, her movements were as gentle as brushing off the morning dew from flower petals, calm and unhurried, as if time was flowing exceptionally slowly around her.
Elegant, so elegant.
Her elegant demeanor makes even watching her eat a visual enjoyment.
"concentrate."
When her fingertips touched the wall of the glass, the weight that should have been there disappeared, leaving only a thin layer of coolness on her palm. She subconsciously retracted her fingers, but only a hollow echo echoed from the rim of the glass - only then did she realize that she had already finished the water.
The man opposite her seemed to have noticed her distraction. The moment she frowned, he chuckled softly and naturally picked up the kettle. Water poured from the kettle's spout, stirring up a small, gurgling sound in the cup, like a perfectly timed rescue.
Hipper's eyelashes lifted slightly, and her eyes slid from the rim of the cup to his face, without pause, without warmth, as if passing over an inanimate object. The corners of her lips were neither raised nor tense, as if his action of adding water was just a natural flow of air - no need to thank him, not even worth a second glance.
There was a natural arrogance in her silence, not a deliberate contempt, but a deep-rooted understanding: he should be like this, and she didn't need to respond.
Like a young lady, even more like a princess.
Her eyes briefly passed over him, like the wind across the lake, without stirring up a ripple. There was only a kind of calmness, almost weary, in her pupils - as if he was just a chair or a lamp in the restaurant, taking his existence for granted and serving as a matter of course.
The world should revolve around her, the aura she radiates from the inside out declares so.
The restaurant's lights were soft, and the clink of knives and forks could be heard faintly. Guests at other tables and waiters might smile in thanks or nod in greeting. Her indifference stood out against this backdrop of politeness.
But she is so beautiful that everyone will forgive her.
Her beauty made up for some minor flaws in her character.
Perhaps she had been served like this since she was a child, and had long been accustomed to the efforts of others as naturally as breathing; or perhaps she just felt that his diligence was a temptation, and she refused to give any feedback.
Huh? Does he have one?
Well, he has.
In any case, her silence was not an oversight, but a condescending choice—she allowed Gojo-sensei to approach, but that was all. Her "no thank you" was not simply a faux pas, but a silent declaration of power relations.
Hipper's choice was already clear, and he understood it long ago. But he just felt a little unwilling to accept it. It was clearly Gojo Satoru, so why couldn't he do the same?
Occasionally, she looked at herself with a concentration that was almost gentle - she was looking at another self, but ignoring him.
This is ridiculous, isn't it? It's the same person, the same name, but when her eyes rest on him, the tenderness is reserved for the other self.
Could you please pay attention when you look at me?
What do you like about him?
A younger body? Will he be in better shape than he is now?
Is he closer in age? Will he understand your good intentions? Does he know your preferences? Can he walk ahead of you and clear obstacles for you?
…
It's a headache, she won't listen at all.
"This (chew) is super delicious, (chew) you try it, (swallow) you ate too little." Wild Rose picked up a few pieces of meat with the serving chopsticks and put them on Hipper's plate, touching her arm with her elbow.
"What are you thinking about? This is your chance to kill Gojo-sensei. Eat quickly!"
Hipper put down his fork and saw his classmates busy eating.
“…”
This is too frivolous and inelegant.
Wild Rose stopped chewing, with sauce still on the corner of her mouth. She saw a hint of disgust on Hipper's face, so she chuckled, snatched the fork from Hipper's hand, rolled up the meat slice and was about to stuff it into her mouth.
The piece of meat swayed on the tines of the fork, reflecting a moist, oily sheen. The fork suddenly pressed against Hipper's lips, and the metal collided with the teeth, making a crisp sound.
She could only lean back to avoid it, but before she could even complete it, her back collided with a warm body. A hand slid around her shoulder, fingers clenched, gripping her shoulder blade like a vise. She struggled, but he pressed closer, pressing his chest against her back. His breath scorched behind her ear, stirring a small shudder. The hand's strength was irresistible, his thumb pressing against the hollow of her collarbone, applying slight pressure as if silently warning—don't move.
"Well done! Maki!"
A sly curve appeared at the corner of Wild Rose's lips, and her eyes gleamed with the light of a successful mischief. Her fingertips suddenly reached out, and her thumb and index finger precisely pinched Hipper's chin. The force was not strong, but the person being suppressed did not immediately break free.
Her neck was forced up, her throat tense, and Hipper didn't yell at her to stop.
Her fingertips were warm and slightly calloused, stroking the smooth skin as if she were playing with an interesting object. Then, she gently raised her index finger and tapped Hipper's left cheek, the force as light as a feather brush.
“Ah~”
Wild Rose's eyes fell on Hipper's lips, as if she was observing her reaction, or as if she was enjoying her hesitation at the moment.
Hey~ As long as you can't break free, there's hope.
The air seemed to freeze for a moment. Everyone's eyes were focused on the silver fork dangling from Hipper's lips. The edge of the meat was oozing with glistening oil, and a drop of sauce was slowly sliding down the fork tines, teetering on the edge half an inch from Hipper's lower lip.
The people sitting around held their breath unconsciously. They stared at Hipper's taut lips, with the same question dancing in their pupils: With her mysophobia, will she also consider us as pollutants?
Hipper's eyelashes trembled ever so slightly. She lowered her eyes to stare at the trembling piece of meat, a barely perceptible wrinkle forming on the side of her nose—she rarely smelled food. But as she raised her eyelids and scanned the crowd, a smile curved at the corner of her mouth.
"So proactive," she suddenly said, her voice like bubbles floating in iced champagne. Hipper's lips parted slightly, revealing a line of snow-white teeth. Wild Rose clearly hadn't expected her to truly comply. Her fingers trembled, and the fork tip shone with tiny silver glints in the light.
Hipper opened his eyes, and his red eyes looked over calmly. Wild Rose subconsciously clenched the fork handle.
I wanted to force-feed her, but when she actually opened her mouth I was flattered.
Her canine teeth gently nibbled at the edge of the meat. The oil stained her lip lines, giving them a moist sheen under the light. She chewed slowly, her breath unconsciously held. She watched as the tip of Hipper's tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth, crushing the last fiber of meat before swallowing it.
As he took out a tissue to wipe the corner of his mouth, Hipper's mood suddenly improved a lot as he watched the glances they exchanged with each other.
She gently placed the tissue, which was lightly stained with lipstick, on the edge of the table. Her fingertips lingered briefly on the linen, as if to confirm that it was clean enough. Then she leaned back, and the chair back supported her slender body weight, making a slight sound of leather rubbing against each other.
Wild Rose's fingers were still suspended in mid-air, a piece of freshly cut meat on the tip of her fork, the tender texture gleaming with an alluring sheen under the light. Her eyes were startlingly bright, like a cat eyeing its prey, ready to strike again—
“It’s not advisable to eat a lot before strenuous exercise.”
Hipper's voice was gentle, interrupting Wild Rose's movements. A faint smile curved the corners of her lips, and a dark light flickered in her eyes.
"Hmm?" Gojo Satoru shifted his posture, his tongue resting on the roof of his mouth, and spoke slowly, "Are you still going on a date?"
"No." Hipper took a sip of tea to relieve the greasiness and said slowly, "The date is over."
"It's overtime now."
?
Are you guys dating and playing games?
"It's hard to end this situation without a fight."
It’s not like you can just get married. Just fight and then break up after the fight.
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