Chapter 49
The atmosphere of the Kanto Tournament was like a fully drawn bowstring, so tense that it was hard to breathe.
When Qingxue and Hyotei collide, sparks fly.
On the court, all eyes and all voices finally converged on the center field - Atobe Keigo and Tezuka Kunimitsu.
The sun was blinding, and sweat instantly evaporated upon hitting the ground. Every impact of the racket carried a metallic hum and a roar of will. Atobe's serves were as sharp as ever, while Tezuka's returns were as relentless as a wall of steel.
The score was deadlocked, and the battle for each point felt like an eternity. The air seemed frozen, with only the sharp clatter of sneakers scraping against the ground and the sound of heavy breathing echoing.
Atobe's eyes were as sharp as a hawk's. He saw the slight delay in Tezuka's left arm, the barely perceptible frown. An idea formed in a flash.
He no longer pursued a quick victory, but instead hit the ball accurately and trickily towards Tezuka's left half again and again.
A tug of war, an endless tug of war.
Each ball was like a heavy lead weight, hitting the same fulcrum that had long since collapsed under the weight. The discussion in the audience gradually became noisy, filled with surprise and confusion.
When does the Ice Emperor need to rely on delaying to wear down his opponent?
Tezuka's face grew paler under the scorching sun, his sweat soaking through his sweatshirt, but the resolve in his eyes remained unwavering. With each swing, the burden on his left arm grew heavier, and the old injury, like a dormant beast, roared in pain as it tore itself apart.
But he still stood there, like a silent mountain, bearing the tremendous pressure from his opponents and his own pain.
The game ended with Atobe's victory.
When the decisive ball landed, Tezuka could barely lift his left arm, his body swaying slightly before being quickly supported by his teammates. Atobe stood in front of the net, his chest heaving violently, sweat dripping down his forehead.
He won, but he couldn't hear the familiar, thunderous cheers.
Instead, there was an irrepressible wave of discussion coming from all directions, surrounding him like a tide.
That look contained astonishment, contempt, and undisguised questioning.
He extended his hand expressionlessly and briefly shook hands with the struggling Tezuka; the hand felt cold.
Then another singles match followed, and Hyotei's defeat cast a thick shadow over the heavy atmosphere.
2:3.
Hyotei was eliminated in the first round of the Kanto Tournament.
The crowds dispersed like the ebbing tide, and amidst the clamor, a variety of sounds were carried away. I pulled Tanaka with me, wanting nothing more than to get out of this suffocating place as quickly as possible, huddling in the shadows of a corner.
However, a few deliberately exaggerated and sarcastic comments pierced my ears like needles, forcing me to stop.
"...Tsk, tsk, what a glorious victory! What kind of skill is it to bring down the captain?"
"That's right! Tezuka's injuries are scary to look at. Atobe Keigo is really unscrupulous in order to win. He has no sympathy at all!"
"They deserved to lose! God has mercy on us! For a team led by a captain like that, losing is retribution!"
"Hyoei, this is the only trick you can resort to. No wonder..."
Anger instantly froze my blood. I whirled around, my gaze like an icy blade, piercing the gathered, spitting, people with precise precision.
Tanaka was startled and subconsciously wanted to pull me: "Kiyama, forget it..."
I shook off her hand, strode over, and stood in front of them. My voice was not loud, but it was like the crack of ice, clearly drowning out the surrounding noise: "Have you said enough?"
Those people were stunned for a moment, then showed their offended anger: "Who are you? What does this have to do with you?"
I glanced at them coldly. "In sports, the highest respect is to give your all and respect your opponent."
"Compassion?"
I scoffed, with undisguised contempt, "That's charity for the weak. Does Tezuka Kunimitsu need your cheap sympathy? Have you asked him?"
One of them blushed: "He's hurt! Atobe Keigo did it on purpose!"
"Intentionally?" I raised an eyebrow, my tone sharp as a knife, "Did you see the game clearly? Every ball Atobe hit was within bounds, fair and square! Every ball Tezuka caught was also fair and square!"
"This is a contest between two powerful men. How can you, the people on the sidelines who can't even hold a racket steady, point fingers with 'morality'?"
"You!" Another person was furious. "It's a fact that Bingdi lost! They just can't do it!"
"Victory and defeat are commonplace in the military." I interrupted him, my eyes as cold as a pond. "Ice Emperor's hard work and sweat don't need to be proven through your dirty words."
"If you have the nerve to chatter like a gossip here," I raised my chin slightly, my voice suddenly rising with a sense of superiority and oppression. "Why don't you pick up your racket, go to the court, and have a real fight? Do you dare?"
My gaze was like a concrete icicle, piercing their faces one by one. My rapid-fire barrage of sharp words stung them, their faces flushing and ears suffocating them for a moment, and the onlookers around them also quieted down a bit.
"You... who are you?!" the leading man roared angrily.
I raised the corners of my mouth, revealing an almost provocative sneer, and my voice clearly hit everyone's ears:
"I'm your father."
"Puchi!" Someone next to him couldn't help but laugh out loud.
The faces of those people turned from red to blue, and from blue to white, their lips trembled, and amidst the mocking or contemptuous gazes around them, they finally squeezed through the crowd in shame and fled in embarrassment.
"Ahhh! Kiriyama! So handsome!" Tanaka suddenly rushed over, his eyes shining like stars, and grabbed my arm and shook it hard. "You were like a god just now! It was so satisfying! So awesome!"
There were also some low murmurs around.
"Hyotei's girls... are so fierce..."
"What a satisfying scolding! Those people deserve to be punished!"
"That is, do you understand what it means to respect the game..."
At this moment, a figure wearing Hyotei school uniform squeezed out from the crowd. It was Yamamoto Misaki.
Her face was filled with deliberately feigned worry and accusation. Her voice was neither too loud nor too soft, just loud enough for those around her to hear: "Kiyama-san! How could you do this? It's so vulgar! And you even said something like 'I'm your father'? This is simply smearing Hyotei! The impact is terrible!"
I turned to look at her, my eyes calm, but a hint of cold sarcasm played on the corner of my mouth. "Oh? So what do you think should be done to be elegant, Yamamoto-san?"
"Like you did just now, hiding behind the crowd, watching others step on Bingdi's face, and then waiting for them to curse enough, then going up and using your most beautiful face to catch all the spit for Bingdi?"
"You...!" Yamamoto Misaki's face turned pale in an instant, and the elegant expression she had carefully maintained was completely shattered. The fingers pointing at me were shaking, her body swayed, and she almost fainted from anger. She was hurriedly supported by several girls next to her.
The crowd's discussion suddenly changed, and everyone looked at Yamamoto with strange eyes.
After venting my frustration, I belatedly felt a wave of fatigue. Just as I was about to drag Tanaka away from this troubled area, I caught a glimpse of a group of people quietly standing in the shadows of the entrance to the contestant tunnel not far away.
The Hyotei regulars had just finished a tough battle, their uniforms soaked with sweat, and their faces still showed the heaviness and unwillingness of defeat.
The man in the lead had silver-gray hair that looked a little messy in the dim light of the passage. He tilted his head slightly, and his eyes penetrated the slightly chaotic crowd after the show and fell accurately on me.
Those eyes, always filled with splendor and control, were now as deep as the sea at night, churning with extremely complex thoughts. He pursed his lips tightly, his jawline extremely tense, maintaining a calm surface, but the fingers hanging at his sides curled up imperceptibly.
Oshitari pushed up his glasses, his gaze darting between me and Atobe. A meaningful, tired, yet knowing smile curved his lips, and he whispered in a voice only those around him could hear: "It seems... the opportunity to break the ice is more intense than expected."
My heartbeat suddenly went haywire the moment I met that gaze.
The sharp edge of his earlier debate with the scholars and the sneer he directed at Yamamoto receded like the tide, leaving only a panic that could not be hidden. Before he could even apologize, he had already seen his "tough" side.
The bustle of the Kanto Tournament came to an end, but the titles of "Hyotei's Fierce Woman" and "Iceberg Beauty Kiriyama Hidden" seemed to have grown wings and spread like wildfire to every corner of the campus.
Whenever I hear those hushed discussions and curious, prying eyes, I can't help but hold my forehead with my hands.
Those guys' fighting ability was too weak. They fled after just a few words. I didn't even use one tenth of my strength. At most, I could only... My tone was a little sharper? How could that be considered fierce?
But on second thought, compared to those typical Japanese girls who always cover their mouths and scream with tears in their eyes, my style is probably worthy of the description of "Chinese woman".
I feel tired.
I finally made it to Friday after school and pushed open the door with my body as if all the strength had been drained.
Aunt Yuko had already prepared the meal and left it warm on the table, leaving a note saying she was leaving. The warm aroma of home-cooked food filled the air, finally dispelling some of the depression I had felt for the past week.
As soon as I moved to the kitchen, the doorbell rang suddenly, followed by the "dong dong" sound of Xiaokong rushing in from the yard, excitedly scratching at the entrance door and barking happily.
Who could it be at this point?
I opened the heavy wooden door with doubt, and the evening light poured in, outlining an unexpected tall figure.
Atobe Keigo.
He stood on the porch, his silver-gray hair ruffled by the evening breeze. He was still wearing his Hyotei uniform, and the cool air from outside seemed to still be on his shoulders. His eyes looked particularly deep in the fading light.
"...Why are you here?" I asked blurt out, unable to react for a moment.
He raised his chin slightly, his eyes passed over me and fell on Xiaokong, whose tail was so excited that it was almost shaking like a propeller behind me, and his tone was full of justified arrogance.
"I'm here to exercise my visitation rights."
Visitation rights?!
The word he used... Why does it sound like we just completed the divorce procedures and he's here to fight for child custody?
An indescribable feeling of embarrassment instantly spread from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. I felt like my toes were about to dig out a Hyotei Academy in my slippers.
"...Oh." I responded dryly and moved aside. "Um...have you eaten?" It was just a polite way of making conversation.
"No." Atobe answered with unusual clarity, walking in with a refreshing breath, "The club work just finished."
He bent down familiarly and rubbed Xiaokong's head as he rushed towards him enthusiastically, his movements natural and smooth.
Me: “…” Very good, I trapped myself with polite words.
Looking at the two dishes and one soup that Aunt Yuko had carefully prepared on the table, as well as the rice that was clearly only enough for one person, I resigned myself to my fate and walked into the kitchen: "...Then you sit for a while, I'll cook some more noodles."
The meal was silent and strange.
The only sounds in the restaurant were the gentle clinking of dishes and the rustling sound of Xiaokong's tail sweeping across the ground as he lay on the carpet nearby.
He sat opposite me, his posture still elegant, but his face was obviously stern, his eyelashes drooped, and he hardly looked at me. He only occasionally responded in a low voice to Xiaokong's coquettish behavior of nudging his knee with his nose.
The awkward atmosphere was almost condensed. The scar on my arm, which had long since faded, seemed to itch again, reminding me of the unresolved knot in my heart.
The words of apology rolled over and over in my throat. I tried to speak several times, but was suppressed by the silence.
Finally, the bowl was empty.
Atobe put down his chopsticks, wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, and finally his eyes fell on Xiaokong who was playing with an old toy on the carpet. He stood up and walked over, sitting on the steps under the porch. Xiaokong immediately came over happily with the toy in his mouth.
Now is the time!
I took a deep breath, walked a few steps behind him, and mustered up the courage to speak: "Atobe..."
Almost at the same time, he turned his head, looked at me, and opened his thin lips slightly: "I'm sorry."
The air seemed to freeze.
I looked at him in astonishment.
Apologize? Atobe Keigo?
That arrogant emperor actually said "sorry" to me first?
This is even more unbelievable than hearing that Hyotei lost to Fudomine.
However, his "I'm sorry" was like a key that instantly opened the floodgates of my heart that had been pent up for too long. Courage burst through my heart like a flood, sweeping away all my hesitation and timidity.
"No, I'm the one who should be sorry!" I spoke faster, afraid that my courage would slip away again. "Before, someone was investigating me, and I thought it was you, so I..."
"It's Yamamoto Misaki! I... I misunderstood you! I didn't trust you. I unilaterally assumed it was you who did it, and even hurt you with such harsh words... I pushed you away... You're innocent, but I implicated you..."
I poured out all the words that I had been holding in my heart, with a strong sense of regret and self-blame, and my voice trembled slightly with anxiety.
Atobe listened quietly, without showing the expected surprise or anger on his face.
He just looked at me quietly, like settled amber in the dim light of the corridor. After I finished speaking, he said lightly: "Well, Oshitari found out a few days ago."
His tone was calm, as if he was simply stating a fact that had already been made clear.
It turns out that Oshitari had already told him... The huge stone in my heart loosened a little, but then I felt even more ashamed of my previous stupidity.
"That day..." He paused, glancing aside as if he was a little embarrassed to speak. His ears flushed slightly under the light. "That girl... was wearing a hairpin that was exactly the same as the one you used to hold your hair during training."
His voice lowered, a little awkwardly, "I just want her to take it off."
...Just because of this?
I felt a little embarrassed and even wanted to laugh.
Atobe Keigo, the emperor who has perfect strategies and controls the overall situation on the court, actually has such a childish and stubborn side in private?
Why make such a big fuss just for an identical hairpin?
This reason is so absurd that it makes people laugh and cry.
However, before I could digest this "childish" thing, Atobe's gaze turned back to me. This time, a hint of... grievance clearly appeared in those beautiful eyes?
That’s right, it’s a grievance.
"What about you?" His voice was accusing, like a child whose candy had been stolen. "You blocked me, hit me whenever we met, and spoke so harshly." His eyes swept over the spot where my arm had been injured, then looked away. "...and you didn't even let me look at Xiaokong."
The last few words were muffled.
This sudden "bringing up of old grudges" and the undisguised tone of grievance made my guilt soar to the peak instantly, and at the same time, I felt a sense of absurdity that was both funny and sad.
"I..." I retorted subconsciously, "Didn't I let you in? And let you play with Xiaokong..." But my voice got smaller and smaller.
Upon hearing this, Atobe immediately seemed to have found a support point, raised his chin, and the familiar arrogant aura instantly returned, with a kind of "I am magnanimous" reserve: "Humph, you are sensible. However,"
He reached out and rubbed Xiaokong's furry head, his tone firm and unquestionable, declaring, "I am Xiaokong's father. No matter how much of a cold war we have, this is a fact that cannot be changed!"
Xiao Kong seemed to understand his announcement. He barked excitedly, wagged his tail even more happily, and licked his fingers enthusiastically with his wet tongue.
The afterglow of the setting sun sank completely into the horizon, and the sensor light in the corridor automatically lit up, enveloping this small corner of the world in a soft, warm glow. He sat on the steps, his fingers licked affectionately by Xiaokong, and the childish, possessive declaration of "Dad" still echoed in the air.
I stood there, looking at the side profile of his face outlined by the light. The forced grievance and the instant return of arrogance were like a feather, gently scratching the softest part of my heart.
Childish ghost.
Those three words silently emerged in my mind, but the corners of my mouth seemed to be pulled by something, uncontrollably curling upwards in a very shallow arc. It wasn't a mocking expression, but a complex feeling after the dust had settled, a mixture of helplessness, relief, and a little inexplicable warmth.
The warm foam in the sink wrapped around my fingers, and the water was gurgling.
I don't know when Atobe rolled up his sleeves and stood beside me. He took the clean cotton cloth and took the dishes I rinsed. He wiped them dry carefully and put them into the dish rack according to their categories.
His movements were not particularly skillful, but he was extremely serious.
But his mouth was not idle either.
"...and Genichirō Sanada." He picked up a plate still stained with water, rubbing his fingertips across the smooth glaze, making a slight friction sound. His tone was full of obvious dissatisfaction. "Aren't you paying too much attention to him? Do you have to watch the game videos so many times?"
"Yeah." I handed him the washed chopsticks.
"The same goes for the competition." He took the chopsticks and wiped them a little more heavily. "You're completely out of control! Can you take some responsibility for your own body? The whip is a weapon, not a tool for you to hurt yourself!" He glanced meaningfully at the pink mark on my arm that had faded so much that it was almost invisible.
"Yeah." I continued washing the soup bowl.
"The worst thing is," he turned around abruptly, holding a polished spoon in his hand, his eyes fixed on me, the accusation almost overflowing.
"Sudden cold violence! Wushanyin, where is your conscience? Huh? After all, I have tutored you for ten whole days!" His impatient explanations and occasional anger at me during those ten days have now become bargaining chips for him to feel justified.
"Yes, yes, my fault." I handed him the washed dishes.
He seemed to be even more dissatisfied with my insincerity and perfunctory attitude, but he had no place to vent his anger. He could only vent his anger on the dishes and wiped them harder.
"Lunch too! There's always so much left over. When will you ever stop being such a picky eater?"
"I stopped collecting the chocolate milk I used to put in your desk hole every day, causing the store to be overstocked. The manager looks at me with resentful eyes every day!"
He paused, his eyes falling on my arm again, his voice lowered, with an indescribable feeling of heartache and reproach, "...you made such a big cut, and still..."
His eyes quickly swept over my wrist, which was empty. "You even refused to wear the bracelet I gave you."
The sound of the water in the sink seemed to have died down. I lowered my head, the water washing over my fingertips, the foam bursting silently.
His complaints, one after another, were like dense raindrops beating against the window frame, filled with genuine, undisguised concern and grievance. There were no flowery words, no condescending attitude, only the most trivial and down-to-earth complaints.
Aunt Yuko's nagging was to make me eat well, but the content contained in her nagging at this moment seemed to be more complicated and turbulent.
For the first time, I discovered that Atobe Keigo's nagging was so powerful. But strangely, the gloom that had been lingering in my heart for too long was strangely dispelled in this intensive "fireworks".
The hard and cold wall that stood between us before seemed to melt silently in these complaints with a touch of everyday life, leaving only warm and moist vapor.
"Hmm," I continued, but the corners of my mouth uncontrollably curved upwards in a shallow, real arc, and my voice softened a bit. "Got it."
I turned my head slightly, trying to see his expression at the moment, but happened to meet his deep gaze.
The warm yellow light from the corridor fell into his eyes, and those eyes that were always full of splendor and control were now filled with extremely complicated emotions.
In the shadows of the library shelves, she calmly analyzed his defeat. At the end of the Kanto Tournament, she stood in front of everyone and lashed out fiercely for him and Hyotei... Those images whirled and collided wildly in his mind, finally converging into a clear realization that made his heart burn:
She cares about him.
She has him in her heart.
The tossing and turning pain of these days, the sting of being misunderstood, the confusion of being pushed away, the torture that almost tore his pride apart, it turns out that all it takes is her soft "I know", just that real smile with a bit of helpless indulgence in her eyes at this moment, and it will collapse and disappear in an instant.
What imperial pride, what imperial dignity.
At this moment, he didn't want it at all.
The next second, the wet dishes slipped from my hands and fell back into the sink with a clang, splashing water. Before I could even scream, I was suddenly pulled forward by a huge force!
The world was spinning.
A crisp, refreshing breath, faintly scented with sweat and sunshine, instantly enveloped me. A pair of strong arms tightened around me like an iron hoop, pressing me tightly into a solid, warm embrace.
The force was astonishing, as if to crush me, embed me into his bones, and melt into his blood. My cheek was forced to press against his violently heaving chest, and through the thin clothes, I could clearly feel the uncontrolled, drum-like beating of his heart.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
The heavy and rapid sounds hit my eardrums and my heartbeat which was also beginning to become disordered.
His chin rested heavily on the top of my head, his warm breath brushing my hair, and with an almost ferocious and deeply aggrieved tone, his voice muffled and heavy as it struck me:
“…This is compensation.”
The air was still filled with the faint smell of water from fallen dishes. Time seemed to have been paused. Only the muffled sound of two pounding hearts hitting each other through the fabric of clothes and his heavy breathing against my head could be clearly heard in the silent kitchen.
Five minutes? Maybe longer.
It lasted so long that I felt like he was going to break my waist, and so long that Xiaokong came over curiously and nudged our crossed legs with his wet nose.
"...You almost broke my bowl." I finally found my voice, muffled in his arms, with a bit of strangled breath, and a hint of almost coquettish complaint that I didn't even notice.
A very low chuckle came from above my head, and the vibration of the chest was clearly transmitted.
Instead of loosening his grip, he tightened it even more, rubbing his chin against the top of my head. His voice was filled with undeniable dominance: "If it's broken, it's broken. I'll send you ten new sets tomorrow. As many as you want."
A typical Atobe Keigo-style solution - using the capitalist's money power to solve everything.
really.
I complained silently in my heart, the capitalist style was fully exposed.
However, the power of the hug seemed to eliminate all barriers, and his subsequent request became "justified".
"I'm staying overnight tonight," he announced, his tone so natural that it seemed as if he was saying what a nice day it was.
"What?" I tried to get away from his embrace and looked up at him.
"Apply the medicine." He lowered his eyes, his gaze landing on the almost invisible pink mark on my arm. His eyes darkened. "Also," he glanced at Xiao Kong, who was rubbing against my feet, his tail wagging happily, "make up for the father-son relationship we missed for over two months."
In the end, Atobe stayed.
After washing up, he, still reeking of the refreshing scent of mint shower gel, stubbornly pressed me to sit on the edge of the bed, the scar cream in hand. The cool cream melted between his fingertips, and he carefully dabbed it onto the long-healed scar. His fingertips, lightly callused, moved gently in slow, circular motions, bringing a subtle numbing sensation.
"This injury," he stared at the faint mark, his voice low, "how did you get it? Don't say you fell."
There was only one bedside lamp on in the room, the light was dim and ambiguous. I looked down at my arm, his warm fingertips lingering on that skin.
"During training... the whip got out of control." I said softly.
"Why did you lose control? What were you thinking at that time?" he asked, pausing his finger movements and looking up at me.
Silence spread in the small space.
After a while, I finally heard my own voice, so low it was almost inaudible: "...I'm thinking of you."
The air seemed to freeze for a moment. His fingers, applying the ointment, froze, and then the slightly cool paste seemed to take on a scorching heat.
Under the dim light, his fair ears quickly became stained with a thin layer of red, spreading all the way to his neck. He said nothing, silently and more carefully applying the ointment evenly, then he took out the familiar gold butterfly bracelet.
The cool metal clasp touched my wrist, making a slight "click" sound.
He lowered his head, his fingers deftly fastening the buckle with an undeniable solemnity. The golden butterfly wings reflected tiny rays of light under the light, which fell on my pale pink scar, forming a strange combination.
"Don't take it off again." He raised his eyes, the light reflected in his pupils, and also reflected my shadow. His tone was threatening, but it couldn't hide a hint of nervous seriousness. "If you take it off again, you will bear the consequences."
I was about to say something when he took out a dark blue velvet box as if by magic.
When it was opened, a piece of warm and smooth white jade was lying quietly inside.
The jade is as fine as mutton fat, and it radiates a soft, restrained brilliance under the light. Several rolling hills are carved on it with extremely delicate knifework, with clouds and mist swirling between them, creating a distant artistic conception.
"A birthday present." He handed the box to me. "I missed that day." He paused, his voice softening. "But I've been preparing for it for a long time."
The warm touch of Hetian jade against my palm, carrying the lingering warmth of his fingertips. I recognized the carved mountains; they bore a striking resemblance to the mist-shrouded green hills of my hometown.
"Help you put it on?" he asked in a low voice, with a hint of imperceptible expectation.
I nodded slightly.
He took the necklace and slid it around my neck. The cool jade pendant touched the skin just below my collarbone, bringing a pleasant chill. He ran his fingers through my hair and carefully fastened the clasp.
His fingertips occasionally brushed against the sensitive skin on the back of my neck, causing a slight shiver. He leaned in close, his warm breath brushing against my ear.
"Happy birthday, Kiriyama." His voice rang low in his ears, with a solemn announcement, "You are fifteen years old."
Fifteen years old.
Away from the conventional age of "eighteen".
Three more years.
The unspoken implication in his words was like a stone dropped into the lake of my heart, stirring up ripples. My heartbeat suddenly rose and fell, and my cheeks burned uncontrollably, but I didn't push him away as usual.
His warm fingertips were still lingering on the back of my neck, not leaving immediately. The air was filled with the coolness of jade and the clean mint scent of his body, mixing into a kind of flustered ambiguity.
In the end, he just gently rubbed the top of my head, and said with a barely perceptible hoarseness: "Good night."
"Good night." My voice was as light as a feather.
Atobe lay on the soft bed in the guest room, his eyes open in the darkness.
The faint light from the city outside the window filtered through the gauze curtains, casting a blurry shadow on the ceiling. The feeling of his arms tightly holding her still lingered on his chest—so slender, yet so alive, with a warm tenacity.
Her voice, the soft, sticky tone of her voice as she complained about him breaking the bowl, the slight blush on her cheeks as she quietly admitted, "I'm thinking about you," and the delicate, warm touch of the jade pendant against her collarbone...
All the details were churning and replaying in my mind with incredible clarity, bringing with them an unreal feeling of dizziness.
It felt like there was a fire in his chest, burning his mouth and making his tongue dry. The warmth of that hug was so real it burned him.
She came back again, with her sharpness, her softness, her awkwardness and occasional frankness, reappearing freshly in his world and dispelling all the haze.
He turned over and picked up the phone on the bedside table. The light from the screen lit up in the darkness, illuminating the slightly raised corners of his lips. He dialed the housekeeper's number.
"Hello? Young Master?" The butler's voice was as respectful as ever.
"Yes, it's me." Atobe's tone was more relaxed than ever, even with a hint of obvious joy. "I'm not going home tonight. I'm staying at a friend's house. No need to prepare a midnight snack."
There was silence on the other end of the line for a second, and then the butler's voice, knowing everything and smiling, came: "Okay, Master. Have a good rest."
After hanging up the phone, Atobe tapped his fingertips and opened the chat box with Oshitari.
On the screen was a recent photo of him and Xiaokong, who was fast asleep beside his pillow. The golden retriever's large head took up most of the screen, sprawled out in a deep sleep, while only half of his smiling face was visible. He clicked send.
Almost an instant reply.
Oshitari's portrait began to jump.
[Oshitari Yuushi]: Tsk. [Smiling emoji] Looks like the good old days are finally back for the tennis club. No longer have to deal with the constant low-pressure, high-pressure domination of certain individuals.
Atobe looked at the message and chuckled softly before typing a reply on the screen.
[Atobe Keigo]: [smile][smile][smile] Training will be doubled tomorrow.
He put down his phone, and in the darkness, the curve of his mouth remained for a long time.
Outside the window, the city lights shone like a never-ending galaxy. His arms seemed to still hold the warmth of their embrace, and his nose seemed to still smell the faint fragrance of her hair. The fire in his chest burned him, warming him to the very core.
Lost and found again, it turned out to be such a feeling that makes people willing to indulge in it. He closed his eyes, and Xiaokong's light snoring sounded in his ears with a steady rhythm.
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