Chapter 48
The library during lunch break was filled with a quiet atmosphere mixed with old papers and dust.
Sunlight streamed in obliquely through the tall glass windows, casting a lattice of light and dark across the tightly packed bookshelves. Tanaka Rie and I huddled in the corner by the window, the heavy ancient books like a low wall separating us from the occasional whispers outside.
The scar on my arm itched faintly under my long sleeves, like a tiny thorn, constantly stirring my heart.
I suddenly recalled the night of my birthday. After crying silently in the yard while hugging Xiaokong, the heavy self-blame and confusion almost crushed me. For some unknown reason, I called my master.
A familiar voice, carrying the crisp air of the mountains, came from the receiver: "Nannan?"
With just one cry, the barrier that had been fortified seemed to crack. My throat seemed to be blocked, and I tried to utter a calm syllable, but only a trace of unstable breath escaped.
The master noticed it keenly: "What's wrong? The sound doesn't sound right."
“…Nothing, Master.” I tried to cover it up, my fingers unconsciously scratching the edge of the desk. “It’s just…something happened recently, and I feel…a little unstable.”
The voice was low, filled with confusion that he himself was not aware of.
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. The master's voice remained calm, but it was like the sound of a bell piercing the fog: "My way is my heart. Wherever your heart leads, that is the path you should take."
"If you're feeling confused, stop and ask it. There's no need to force a quick fix." She paused, as if she could see my struggle through the airwaves. "Tell me, what's making you feel 'unstable'?"
"...I did something wrong, Master." The words came out of my mouth, heavy with regret. "Very wrong."
"Wrong?" The master's voice was as calm as water. "No one is perfect."
"Mistakes are not scary. What's scary is knowing you're wrong, but choosing to escape because of cowardice, stubbornness, and all sorts of entangled vines. You let the mistake take root in the dark, and eventually... the scars are permanent, and it's hard to undo them." Her tone carried the insight of someone who saw through the world.
"You are a smart child, and even more so, a brave one. The pinnacle of martial arts is never just about defeating your opponent, but also about overcoming your own obstacles and weaknesses. This requires unwavering courage, do you understand?"
The master's words flowed like a clear spring through my anxious heart, and those chaotic, self-imposed thoughts seemed to be sorted out by an invisible force.
Her final words carried a power that cut through all hesitation: "Remember, the whip in your hand is your weapon. It can not only ward off enemies, but also split the darkness and thorns on your path. Don't let it become a rope that binds you."
"Hmm... I understand, Master." Hot liquid welled up in my eyes, but I forced it back. It wasn't a feeling of grievance, but rather a sense of relief and a sudden, clear-headed resolve.
Yes, if it's wrong, try to fix it. Escaping will only make the rift deeper.
I need the courage to explain things to Keigo Atobe.
Tanaka's voice brought me back from my thoughts of last night.
Her brows were knitted together, her fingers unconsciously picking at the corners of her open math workbook. Her voice was extremely low, but it couldn't hide her anxiety: "...You didn't see it, Shishido-senpai directly cut his hair! He vowed to regain his regular position!"
"The tennis club is like a pressure cooker right now. The training has doubled, the doors are locked, and even the younger students get scolded for even approaching the court..."
She paused, then slumped down in frustration. "Losing to a school like Fudomine...it's so embarrassing."
I flipped a page from the martial arts magazine spread across my lap, my fingertips brushing against the afterimages of my movements. My master's words still rang in my ears, and the library's unique silence seemed to help me settle my thoughts.
"It's not a bad loss." My voice was calm, like a stone thrown into a deep pool.
"Eh?!" Tanaka suddenly raised his head and stared at me with wide eyes, as if he were a traitor. "Kiyama! You're turning your elbow outward!"
"It's not kidnapping." I looked up and met her puzzled gaze. "I heard about the game."
"Fudomine used a tactical strategy, like Tian Ji's horse racing. Their strategy was clear: bet on the first three games. They played a brilliant psychological game, precisely exploiting the enemy's underestimation and pressure."
I looked out the window at the treetops swaying in the wind. "They lost because they calculated that Hyotei would be tripped up by his own pride. But this also exposed their trump card—their strength. They were betting on those first three games."
Tanaka opened her mouth as if to retort, then slowly closed it, lost in thought. She murmured, "They won't just be devastated, will they?"
"Of course not. Hyotei won't fall." I closed the magazine and ran my fingertips over the raised scar on my arm that I could feel through the fabric. The power of my master's words seemed to still linger there.
"The more setbacks he faces, the more courageous he becomes. This is Keigo Atobe's style. Failure..." I paused, remembering the look in his eyes on the court, always burning with the fire of conquest, "will only become a more dazzling embellishment on his crown."
"In sports, there's no such thing as an undefeated champion. It's better to have a setback at the metropolitan meeting than to wake up on the brink of a national competition."
Tanaka's expression gradually relaxed. He held his chin with his hand, and looked at me with his big eyes twinkling, with a slightly inquiring smile: "Wow... Kiriyama, you know Atobe-sama so well. It seems that you know him better than President Yamamoto~"
"She only sends lunch boxes every day and gets them returned, and she even tells everyone that Atobe-kun rejected her because he was too sad about losing. Really..."
She curled her lips in a disdainful expression, then put on a mischievous smile. "But I think you're more like Atobe-kun's confidant! You two both have the word 'strong-willed' written all over your bones!"
"Don't talk nonsense." I frowned subconsciously, picked up the water cup on the table and wanted to take a sip to cover the slightly hot ears, but my fingertips accidentally touched the remaining warmth on the wall of the cup.
At this moment, the air seemed to freeze for a moment.
It wasn't the disappearance of sound, but rather the sudden arrival of a certain presence. Like sunlight briefly obscured by clouds, casting a silent shadow. My fingers gripping the water glass paused slightly.
Diagonally in front, in the dark gap between two rows of bookshelves, a tall figure stood there quietly for some unknown period of time.
His hair took on a cool sheen in the light filtering through the gaps between the high bookshelves. He faced us sideways, half his body hidden in the shadows of the bookshelves, and only his sharply defined jawline and straight nose could be seen.
His gaze fell quietly in my direction, not deliberately capturing it, but with a weight that pierced the air.
I don't know how long he listened to it. Maybe it started with Shishido's hair, or maybe it started with the phrase "the more you face setbacks, the more courageous you become"...
The scar on my arm, covered by the long sleeve, seemed to feel the passing of that gaze through the fabric, and it caused an indescribable itchiness and burning sensation.
The decision I had just made was like a stone thrown into the lake of my heart, causing silent ripples.
In the shadows behind the bookshelf, Atobe Keigo didn't move. He maintained that posture, like a frozen statue, with only the fingers hanging at his sides curling up almost imperceptibly.
The complex emotions swirling in his chest—the heavy haze brought by failure, the anxiety caused by the team members' condition, and the clear and calm analysis that suddenly poured into his ears...
The phrases "the more setbacks, the more courageous" and "adorn the crown" were like sparks thrown into a deep pool, instantly igniting something that had been almost suppressed.
She understands.
These two words popped into his mind without warning, bringing with them a shock that he himself hadn't even noticed, dispelling the gloom and estrangement that had been lingering for days.
She understood his pride, his unwillingness, and even the meaning of the tempering behind this failure.
That calm analysis accurately dissected Fudomine's tactics, and like a key, it suddenly opened the knot in his heart that he himself had not yet fully sorted out.
His eyes involuntarily fell on her lowered profile, on her hand with distinct knuckles holding the water cup - underneath, there were scars that even the scar cream he sent her could not easily heal.
A mixture of emotions surged up: bitterness, shock, and a hint of understanding, an indescribable comfort. The sting of the previous cold confrontation and sharp misunderstandings was, at this moment, quietly overshadowed by something deeper and more complex.
He is Keigo Atobe, the emperor of Hyotei. He never bothers to explain and hates being misunderstood even more.
But at this moment, across the shadows of several rows of bookshelves, listening to her analyzing him and his battlefield in such a calm and confident tone, he clearly felt for the first time that there are some things that cannot be expressed in words.
She stood there, a silent answer in herself.
On the tennis court of Bingdi, the sound waves gathered again, like the tide hitting the embankment.
The sweep of the knockout stage was like a shot in the arm, dispelling the gloom of the Metropolitan Conference's defeat. The starting players danced on the court, their sweat gleaming in the sunlight, and the air was filled with sweat, grass clippings, and an almost scorching fighting spirit.
The crisp sound of the racket hitting the ball and the deafening cheers from the sidelines interweave into a powerful melody unique to Hyotei.
The ticket to the Kanto Tournament was firmly in their hands. The string that had been strained by failure, tempered by victory, seemed to emit a more resilient hum.
I stood at the edge of the crowd outside the barbed wire, my eyes involuntarily following the most dazzling figure on the court. Atobe's serve still carried a whistling sound that ripped through the air, landing with the precision of a knife.
He commanded with confidence, and in every gesture he made, the confidence and control that belonged to the Ice Emperor had returned, and he even had a more tempered calmness than before.
He's fine. Hyotei is fine.
This is exactly what I wanted.
Watch him lead his kingdom to rise again, and see the fire of conquering everything rekindle in his eyes.
But this "very good" is like an invisible layer of glass, lying between him and me.
In such a noisy and vibrant scene, the determination to apologize seems even more out of place and even more inappropriate.
The scars on his arms had long since scabbed over and fallen off, leaving behind a pale pink streak of new flesh that was barely noticeable without close inspection. The box of scar cream in the drawer had only been used once, and the sight of the cold cream melting under his fingertips always brought on a palpitating panic.
I locked it together with the gold butterfly bracelet, along with the feeling that I was eager to confess but also timid about.
Courage comes quickly and goes quickly.
The brief encounter in the library and the shock brought by his silent gaze were repeatedly wasted in the day-to-day "failure to find the right opportunity".
Every time I saw him from afar, or when he occasionally glanced at me at the edge of the crowd, the courage I had inspired was like a popped balloon, deflated instantly.
"I don't want to see your cold face again."
Those words hung over my head like a cold spell.
I am really ignorant and clumsy when it comes to emotions.
For the past fifteen years, life has been all black and white. Winning and losing in the martial arts arena, and the rules of the school have all been clearly defined. But how can one repair a relationship that one has torn apart?
How do you apologize to someone you deeply misunderstood and pushed away?
This is ten or even a hundred times more difficult than the most tricky whip technique my master has ever taught me.
In the dead of night, facing the glowing computer screen, the words in the search box changed from the initial "how to apologize" to "how to apologize to an angry person", and then evolved to "how to apologize to an angry person who has been in a long-term cold war"...
The answers that pop up vary, from sincere and direct to roundabout and tactful, and there is even a so-called "apology gift guide."
I looked at those suggestions and imagined Keigo Atobe's expression when he received a bouquet of flowers or a mug with "Sorry" written on it - he would probably let Karaichi throw it into the trash can without even looking at it.
The mouse wheel slid meaninglessly, and the light from the screen reflected in his somewhat dazed eyes.
In the end, I just pressed the power off button lightly.
The room was plunged into darkness, the faint light of the city outside filtering through the window. I leaned back in my chair and let out a long, silent sigh. The tightness in my chest didn't dissipate; instead, it became even more pronounced in the silence.
The words of apology rolled over my tongue countless times, but I still couldn't find a way out. Opportunity is like sand between my fingers. The more I try to grasp it, the faster it slips away.
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