Chapter 29
A good night's sleep.
The unfamiliar surroundings didn't cause much discomfort. The guest room prepared by the butler was as comfortable as a top-tier hotel. The morning sun streamed in through the delicate lace curtains, and the air was filled with the unique fresh scent of the manor, a mixture of grass and roses.
I changed into the silk home clothes my housekeeper had prepared for me. They were a light cherry blossom pink, simple and loose, and made my skin look even brighter.
Her long hair was casually draped over her shoulders, and she had removed the earrings and all her makeup from last night. She seemed to have lost all her splendor, leaving only the most genuine softness and leisure.
As you walk down the spiral staircase, the restaurant is filled with the aroma of food.
At the long dining table, Keigo Atobe was already sitting at the head seat.
He was wearing a comfortable off-white cashmere sweater and casual pants, his hair was lazy as if he had just woken up in the morning, and he looked less sharp than usual. He was concentrating on looking at the tablet in his hand.
Hearing footsteps, he looked up.
When his eyes fell on me, there was a clear glint in them.
The light wasn't dazzling, but rather a pure, warm delight. He looked at my homely, defenseless attire, my long, flowing hair, and my plain face, and the corners of his mouth curved upwards unconsciously, as if he had seen something that made him extremely happy.
"Good morning." His voice was gentler than usual, with a slight hoarseness from waking up in the morning.
"Good morning, Atobe-kun." I walked to the dining table and sat down.
"You should like Chinese breakfast. I asked the kitchen to prepare it." Atobe put down the tablet and gestured to the variety of dishes on the table.
It is indeed very "Chinese".
Crystal clear crab roe soup dumplings lay in a small steamer, golden and crispy fried dough sticks were cut into small pieces, and there was a small bowl of thick and creamy red bean porridge garnished with osmanthus flowers. The tableware was exquisite bone china, meticulously arranged, and even accompanied by a silver chopstick holder and spoon.
I picked up a soup dumpling and carefully took a small bite. The delicious broth immediately gushed out. I also tried a small piece of fried dough sticks; they were crispy and delicious. The red bean porridge was just the right amount of sweetness, and the rice grains were almost melted.
"It tastes great." I put down my chopsticks, looked at Atobe, and commented honestly, "The ingredients are high-quality and the craftsmanship is superb."
Atobe raised his eyebrows slightly, as if waiting for my further praise.
I shook my head, with a hint of nostalgia in my smile: "But there is no atmosphere of fireworks."
"Fireworks?" Atobe was clearly unfamiliar with the term, his purple-gray eyes filled with pure confusion. "What is that?"
"Hmm..." I held my chin and looked out the window at the sun-drenched courtyard, my thoughts seeming to drift back to my distant hometown.
"In my hometown, in the early morning streets and alleys, just as the sky is getting light and the fog has not yet dissipated, all kinds of breakfast stalls are set up."
"In the large frying pan of dough sticks, the boiling oil sizzles, and white smoke with a burnt aroma rises. When the steamers of buns and siomai are opened, hot white mist, wrapped in the aroma of flour and meat, hits you in the face. At the soy milk stall, large iron buckets are filled with boiling hot, rich soy milk with a beany aroma. There are also small stalls selling wontons and noodles, with the stoves blazing, the soup pots bubbling, and the owners skillfully frying, scooping, and sprinkling chopped green onions..."
I rarely speak at such length, and my voice carries a warm reminiscence: "People, sleepy-eyed, gathered around the stalls, waiting for their hot breakfast. The air was filled with a mixture of oil smoke, steam, the aroma of food, and the voices of early risers."
"That warm, bustling, primal feeling of life is called 'the smell of fireworks.' It's a warmth that cold refinement can't provide." I said, then smiled. "Next time we have a chance, I'll take you to experience the world of ordinary people."
Atobe Keigo listened quietly, his eyes as deep as a pool.
He imagined the noisy, bustling, fumes-filled yet vibrant scene she described, a world completely different from the carefully filtered air he had grown up in.
His eyes involuntarily fell on the soft home clothes she was wearing and on her plain yet vivid face.
The message Ozuki sent last night came back to mind—Elie Saab's only haute couture gold tennis necklace, easily accessible and crafted by top craftsmen...
Did she really come from that ordinary, everyday world? Instead of being resolved, the mystery in his heart deepened.
I didn't notice the ripples in his heart, but I thought he was looking at me a little too intently. I lowered my head, picked up the bone china bowl, and prepared to take another sip of porridge. My eyes accidentally swept across his neck.
A touch of warm and restrained golden light instantly caught my attention.
It's the gold tennis necklace.
It was not carefully kept, but he wore it around his neck openly.
The black leather rope was against his fair neck, and the delicate golden tennis ball hung quietly below his collarbone, radiating a timeless and understated luster in the morning light. It naturally blended into his daily life, becoming a part of his body, as if it was meant to be there.
My heart skipped a beat for no apparent reason.
He actually put it on like this? And on such an early morning at home?
This seemed to show more than any formal expression of gratitude how much he valued the gift.
I quickly looked away and pretended to concentrate on drinking the porridge, but a hint of heat crept up my ears.
Breakfast ended in a subtle and quiet atmosphere. I put down my cutlery, wiped the corners of my mouth with a tissue, and prepared to leave. "Thank you for your hospitality, Atobe-kun. Breakfast was delicious. I should go home now. Xiaokong is still waiting at home."
"Wait." Atobe spoke up again to stop him. He put down the coffee cup in his hand, his expression returning to his usual calmness, and said with a seriousness that said "I have something I'd like to ask you for help."
"Huh?" I was a little surprised and sat back down.
"It's the school's cultural festival in November," Atobe explained. "This year, the tennis club and the drama club are collaborating on a play. The play has been confirmed to be 'Romeo and Juliet.'"
He paused, his eyes landing on my face. "The script has just been finalized, and I'm playing Romeo. I need to get a feel for some of the lines and scenes beforehand."
"Since I'm at home today and the environment is quiet, I want to..." He looked directly at me, his tone full of a matter-of-fact request, "Would you please stay and practice your lines with me and go over the script?"
Romeo and Juliet? Talk to him?
I blinked, momentarily unresponsive. Isn't this a bit of a leap?
Atobe Keigo's ability to change the subject always catches people off guard.
Looking at his serious expression, as if he was discussing a student union reform plan, I couldn't help but complain in my heart: This person can always find a bunch of high-sounding "legitimate reasons" that make it difficult for people to refuse easily.
From caring about Xiaokong to student union affairs, and now to the rehearsal of the stage play, his list of "business" always seems to be accurately related to me.
"...Okay." Looking at his eyes filled with a barely perceptible expectation, and then looking at the "star fragment" on his neck that swayed slightly as he spoke, she swallowed back the words of rejection.
The birthday boy's privileges seemed to have expired, but... just consider it as a way to repay the favor he gave me last night?
"The script is in the study." Atobe stood up, a hint of triumphant smile flashing across his eyes, so fast that it was hard to catch, "Come with me."
The study room of the Atobe family is spacious and bright. Sunlight shines through the tall floor-to-ceiling windows onto the dark solid wood floor, and the air is filled with the faint scent of old books and ink.
The huge desk had been temporarily cleared out and turned into a rehearsal stage. Scripts were spread out on the table, densely marked with different colored pens.
Atobe stood in the center of the "stage," his posture relaxed yet with the air of someone in control. He didn't hold the script, simply shoving it casually in his trouser pocket, his eyes scanning the lines with a confidence that seemed innate.
"Let's begin, starting from the Capulet's garden, when Romeo climbs over the wall and enters." His voice returned to its usual calmness, with the confidence of a director.
I took a deep breath and picked up the script for "Juliet." The densely packed poetic dialogue made me feel a little dizzy, especially those sentences full of passion and metaphor.
The rehearsal has begun.
Atobe plays the role of Romeo with ease.
Those complex and beautiful verses of Shakespeare flowed from his mouth, with ups and downs and full of emotion.
Whether it was the amazement and admiration when he first met Juliet, or the angry accusation against family hatred, he switched freely, as if Romeo's soul had possessed him.
Not only can he accurately recite long passages of dialogue, but he can also instantly enter the role. A look, a subtle gesture, all carry strong dramatic tension.
In comparison, I seem much more clumsy.
When reading from the script, I often get stuck because of unfamiliar phrases or awkward rhythms, especially when it comes to those heartfelt confessions.
ROMEO (his eyes blazing, his voice full of ardent love): "Ah! no torch could outshine her; she hangs on the cheek of the evening sky, like a pearl in a nigger's ear; she is a pearl from heaven come down to earth! See her treading with her companions, like a dove among crows. I will follow her when the dance is over, and press her slender hand. My former love was false, but tonight I have found the most beautiful woman."
Juliet (I tried hard to recall the lines, my voice was a little dry, my eyes were vague): "Hate, hate, the fire of love has ignited in the ashes. If we were not meant to know each other, why would we meet? Yesterday, yesterday's enemy, today's lover, I'm afraid this love will sow the seeds of disaster..."
I stumbled as I read, even nearly biting my tongue, and my cheeks felt slightly hot from embarrassment and some indescribable emotion.
"Stop." Atobe pointed out calmly, without a trace of impatience, "'From the ashes of hatred, the flames of love ignited.' The emotion in this sentence is conflicting and intense, not hesitant. Do it again, and imagine the struggle within yourself and the uncontrollable love."
I took a deep breath and tried to focus.
Every time I saw his focused purple-gray eyes, and saw how seriously he pondered over a move or a pause, I couldn't say "forget it, I can't do it".
Under his guidance and strict guidance, I gradually forced myself to relax. From initially stiffly reading from the book, I began to try adding eye contact and gestures, and finally following his planned movements. While still awkward, I was at least no longer so timid.
The rehearsal was going well. We repeated the classic scene of the balcony meeting over and over again.
During another rehearsal, Atobe had already finished the script. He was no longer the director holding the script, but had completely transformed into the love-crazed young man from Verona.
He naturally stepped forward and extended his hand, not just a virtual finger as the script instructed, but a real, physical grip on my wrist. His palm was warm, calloused, and conveyed an unquestionable strength.
He took my hand, his deep purple-gray eyes locked onto me like a whirlpool, churning with Romeo's reckless affection and courage. His voice was deep and penetrating, as he recited the famous confession clearly, word for word:
"With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do that dares love attempt; Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me. Look how, look how my eyes show my heart! You see how much more dangerous I am to you than twenty of their swords! If you look at me with love in your eyes, it doesn't matter what they do to my body."
Because I have the wings of love, I can climb over these walls, because these stones cannot keep love out. What can love do? Love needs courage to try. Therefore, your family can't stop me. Look, the way you look at me scares me more than twenty of their swords. As long as I see your gentle and loving eyes, they can't hurt my body.
His gaze was so focused, so affectionate, that it seemed to penetrate the pages of the script, penetrate Juliet's body, and look straight into the depths of my soul. That blazing love, filled with reckless courage, surged like a substance, enveloping me tightly.
The only sound in the study was his deep voice and the unnerving warmth of his palm. My mind went blank, and my heart beat wildly in my chest, as if trying to break free.
What is Juliet's next line?
Worry? Fear? Or an equally passionate response?
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I just stared back at him blankly, lost in the galaxy in his eyes that was burning with love.
Atobe's lips moved slightly, as if he wanted to say something.
“Knock knock knock!”
The clear and restrained knock on the door pierced the almost solidified air filled with ambiguous tension like an ice pick.
I awoke as if from a dream, abruptly pulling my wrist away from Atobe's grasp, my fingertips scraping against the burning heat of his palm. My cheeks instantly burned, and I hurriedly lowered my head to hide my pounding heart and my loss of composure.
"Please come in." Atobe's voice returned to its usual calmness, but the strong emotions deep in his eyes quickly receded like the tide, leaving only a trace of annoyance at being interrupted.
The butler pushed the door open and bowed respectfully, "Master, excuse me. The antique dress custom-made for the cultural festival stage play has arrived. I need your personal review of the size and details."
"I understand." Atobe responded, but his eyes were still on me.
I stood up immediately as if I had been pardoned, and my movements were so fast that I almost knocked over the chair: "That's perfect! Atobe-kun, you go and look at the dresses, and it's time for me to leave!" There was a hint of imperceptible panic in my voice.
"Wait," Atobe stepped forward, as if trying to persuade her to stay, "Juliet's dress has arrived, maybe you can..."
"No need!" I interrupted him quickly, my tone firm and even a bit of deliberate distance. "Juliet's dress should of course be tried on by the drama club president, the real heroine. I'm just helping with the lines, I won't do it for you."
I deliberately emphasized the words "real heroine" as if to draw a clear line.
After saying that, I almost fled and quickly left the study, leaving Tebe standing there, watching my hurried departure, which eventually turned into an almost inaudible sigh.
I hurried back to the guest room to change my clothes. The housekeeper was already waiting at the door and respectfully indicated that the car was ready.
When they walked out of the main house gate, Atobe followed them out. He stood on the steps, his tall figure outlined in the morning light.
"Thank you for your help, Kiriyama." His voice sounded calm, as if the suffocating eye contact in the study just now had never happened.
"You're welcome," I whispered back, not looking at him as I walked quickly towards the waiting car.
"Be careful on the road," he said finally.
The car slowly drove away from this dreamlike manor. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, but my mind kept replaying that passionate confession and his deep eyes, which seemed to draw you in and were filled with "love."
The hot warmth of his palm seemed to still remain on her wrist.
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