Chapter 46
The days are like old pages of a book soaked in water, turning over one by one heavily.
The whip marks on my arms, where I'd injured myself during training, were a striking dark red mark, visible beneath my short-sleeved shirt. When Tanaka Rie's worried gaze fell on them again, I instinctively retracted my arm.
"Did you really just fall accidentally?" She frowned, obviously not believing it.
"Well, I didn't stand firmly when I was walking up the stairs." My voice was flat, and my eyes fell on the leaves swaying in the wind outside the classroom window, as if there was something particularly attractive there.
This topic, along with the scar, makes me feel an indescribable fatigue.
Tanaka's expression softened, and he stopped asking questions and instead smiled warmly, "Let's not talk about this! It's your birthday next month. What flavor of cake do you want?"
"I recently learned how to make a new strawberry mousse, and I promise it won't be too sweet!" Her voice was light and cheerful, trying to dispel the low pressure around me.
"It's all right. I like everything you do." I curled the corners of my mouth, trying to respond to her kindness, but the smile was probably forced.
"Don't be so listless," she gently bumped my shoulder. "If you're unhappy, why don't we go sing on your birthday? Just shout it out!" She made an exaggerated fist gesture.
"Let's see," I replied vaguely. Venting? Perhaps.
But the heavy feeling in my heart didn't seem to be dissipated by just shouting a few times.
Our conversation drifted into the ears of Yuushi Oshitani in the back row. He pushed up his glasses, and his eyes from behind the lenses passed thoughtfully over my back.
The lunch break bell rang at the right time.
The empty living room of the tennis club was filled with a unique smell mixed with disinfectant and sweat.
Atobe had just finished an intense individual training session. His Hyotei uniform was soaked with sweat, and his hair was plastered to his forehead. He leaned back on the bench, eyes closed, chest heaving slightly, and his knuckles whitened as he unconsciously twirled the handle of his racket.
Oshitari pushed the door open and closed it behind him, blocking out the faint sound of balls hitting the court outside.
"The beginning of next month is her birthday." He went straight to the point. His voice was not loud, but it was clearly heard in the quiet room.
Atobe paused for a moment as he twirled his racket. His eyes remained closed, but his Adam's apple moved slightly, barely perceptible. The air stagnated for a few seconds, the only sound being his slightly heavy breathing.
"So?" He finally spoke, his voice hoarse from exercise and with a hint of deliberately maintained coldness.
"This is an opportunity." Oshitari walked over to the water dispenser, took a glass of water and handed it over, his tone as calm as if he was stating a tactical analysis, "Stay deadlocked all the time is not a solution. You two...tsk."
"You can ask her in person why she suddenly behaved like this..."
Atobe opened his eyes, took the cup of water, but didn't drink it.
He stared at the swaying water in the cup, his eyes filled with complex emotions, irritability, confusion, and a feeling of hurt that was forcibly suppressed.
He remembered her back as she turned and left without hesitation that day, and her cold and stinging words.
As proud as he was, he never thought that he would be pushed away like this, let alone that he would toss and turn because of it.
Why did it become like this? He clearly...
A kind of frustration that had nowhere to vent was stuck in his chest. He suddenly took a big gulp of water. The cold liquid slid down his throat, but it couldn't quench the restlessness in his heart.
"Don't worry about my business." He flattened the empty paper cup and threw it into the trash can in the corner with a dull sound.
He stood up, picked up his coat, and left the office without looking back. His back remained straight, but there was a lingering stiffness.
The dojo in my backyard was unusually quiet, with only the sound of the wind when I swung the whip and the sound of my own suppressed breathing.
Sweat trickled down my forehead, seeping into the cracks of the whip marks on my arms, bringing a sharp sting. I tried to pour all my chaotic thoughts, all my resentment and grievances into each swing, letting them evaporate with the sweat.
"Hah!" With a low shout, the whip slashed through the air like a dragon.
However, at the moment of retracting the movement, the muscles in his arm spasmed uncontrollably, and the whip in his hand slipped out of his hand and hit the polished wooden floor. The sound was particularly harsh in the empty dojo.
I froze in place, cold sweat instantly soaking the back of my uniform.
Thinking back to the time when I injured myself during training a few days ago, the wound was like a poisonous snake that had awakened, burning and gnawing under my skin.
Something called "control" deep within my body was gradually breaking down. If I couldn't even control my own arms, what else could I hold onto?
I slid down against the wall, gasping for breath. The feeling of frustration was like cold sea water, instantly drowning me.
The days that followed were like a stone thrown into a deep pool; after the ripples, it returned to calm.
Atobe Keigo reappeared in the classroom, the corridor, and the tennis court, still the radiant and graceful emperor. But between us, an invisible river separated us.
His eyes would occasionally sweep over me, like passing over an insignificant ornament, indifferent, distant, with a deliberate disregard. That look made my chest feel tighter than any questioning could.
I lowered my head, pretending to concentrate on the blurry handwriting on the textbook, and my nails quietly dug into my palms.
The wound on my arm was slowly scabbing over, and it was itchy all over again. I carefully avoided the crowd and went to the infirmary alone to change the dressing.
The smell of disinfectant was a bit pungent. The school doctor skillfully untied the old gauze, revealing the hideous dark red scar.
"It's recovering well. Be careful not to get it wet and don't use too much force." The teacher reminded him, reapplying the ointment and changing the gauze.
I nodded silently, my eyes fixed on the new gauze bandage. The ointment, with its minty coolness, temporarily suppressed the annoying itching and pain.
In the evening of the day before my birthday, the sky was a light gray-blue.
I walked out of the teaching building carrying my heavy schoolbag. The campus, which had been bustling all day, gradually quieted down. Not far from the school gate, I heard hurried footsteps behind me.
"Kiriyama-san! Please wait a moment!"
I turned around and saw Oshitari Yuushi.
He hurried over, breathing slightly, holding a paper bag with the logo of a famous pharmacy.
"Is there something wrong?" There was a subtle hint of wariness in my voice.
Oshitari pushed up his glasses and handed the paper bag to me with his usual, slightly distant, gentle smile: "Please accept this."
I hesitated and didn't answer.
He seemed to see my confusion and added, "Yes...it's what I wanted."
His gaze lingered briefly on my bandaged arm, so quickly it was almost an illusion. "...This brand of scar cream is very effective."
My heart seemed to be suddenly tightened by something, and then it was overwhelmed by deeper confusion and bitterness.
I didn't bother to expose Shinobu's clumsy lie. Countless thoughts raced through my head, ultimately fading into a chaotic buzz. I stared at the plain paper bag as if it were Pandora's box.
"Thank you," I heard my own dry voice, and my fingers stiffly took the paper bag. My fingertips touched the slightly cool paper, but it felt like they were burned.
"Nothing." Oshitari smiled and turned around and said, "Kiriyama-san, some things always need a reason."
"Otherwise it wouldn't be fair to anyone."
After saying that, he shrugged slightly, turned and left, and the setting sun stretched his tall shadow very long.
I stood there, clutching the paper bag that felt so light yet so heavy it weighed a thousand pounds, watching him disappear around the corner. For a long time, I remained motionless. The evening breeze blew by, bringing a chill, but it couldn't dispel the fog that weighed heavily on my heart.
The cool touch of the scar cream passed through the paper bag to the palm of my hand, like a piece of ice, or like a pebble dropped into stagnant water.
When I got home, I went to the yard to see Xiaokong as usual.
It came over to me with its tail wagging happily, its wet nose nuzzling my leg. I squatted down, rubbed its warm head, and casually placed the drugstore bag on the wooden floor of the porch.
Xiaokong curiously leaned over and sniffed it, but soon lost interest and instead nudged his head against my palm to ask for a petting.
"Xiao Kong, tell me..." I murmured, my voice so low that only I could hear it, "What should I do?"
Xiaokong naturally didn't answer, but just looked at me with his gentle brown eyes, and his tail swept across the floor, making a slight rustling sound.
During dinner, Tanaka Rie called. Her energetic voice pierced the receiver: "Kiriyama! I've baked the cake base! Come to my house straight after school tomorrow and we'll decorate it together! I guarantee it will amaze you!"
"Yeah, okay." I agreed, trying to make my voice sound more relaxed. "Thank you for your hard work, Rie."
"Why are you being so polite to me! By the way, think about the song list. I have already booked a KTV room for tomorrow! You are not allowed to leave until you sing until your voice is hoarse!" She giggled on the other end.
"Okay." I held the phone, my eyes drifting unconsciously to the lonely paper bag in the hallway. Tanaka's excited voice seemed to come through frosted glass, carrying a vague sense of excitement.
After hanging up the phone, the room fell silent again.
Outside the window, the city lights lit up one after another, like an inverted galaxy.
I walked down the hall, picked up the paper bag, and returned to my room. My homework was spread out on my desk, but I couldn't read a word.
I opened the locked drawer at the bottom of my desk. Inside lay the gold butterfly bracelet, stained with a little dark red blood. The cold metal felt against my fingertips.
I put the drugstore bag in there, gently closed the drawer, and locked it.
The crisp "click" sound was unusually clear in the quiet room, as if something was locked and about to come out. I held the drawer key in my palm, and the cold metal edges scratched my skin, bringing a dull pain.
The wound on my arm began to ache again, accompanied by the stubborn itch of a scab.
I lay on the bed, turned off the lights, and in the darkness I could only hear my own clear breathing.
I closed my eyes, but there was no sleep. Atobe's cold glance, the medicine bag handed to me by Oshitari, Tanaka's excited invitation, the cold bracelet in the drawer... countless fragments spun and collided before my eyes.
His fingertips unconsciously stroked the rough edge of the gauze on his arm. The box of ointment lay deep in the drawer a few steps away.
The coolness of the ointment seemed to still linger on the fingertips, mixed with an indescribable emotion, weighing heavily on my chest.
Outside the window, the neon glow of the city filtered through the thin curtains, casting shifting, blurry shadows on the ceiling. I turned over and buried my face in the soft pillow, my breath filled with the dry scent of cotton.
Tomorrow... is my birthday.
The thought landed like a feather, yet it failed to stir the slightest ripple of anticipation in my heart. I closed my eyes, and in the darkness, the scar on my arm became even more distinct, its presence tinged with the subtle minty coolness of the ointment, seeping into my chaotic dreams.
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