Chapter 51
The clamor of the national competition is like the chirping of cicadas in midsummer, enthusiastic but short-lived.
Hyotei's silver-gray banner swept through the competition, sweeping through two rounds with overwhelming force, their clean 5-0 victory silencing any doubters. This was the final, passionate charge of these young men's junior high school career, as they advanced to the quarterfinals with unstoppable momentum.
However, the Frozen Throne will eventually collapse.
The focus battle, the singles competition.
The air was as stagnant as substance, and every breath was scorching hot.
At the net, Hyotei's king, Atobe Keigo, faces Seigaku's rising star, Ryoma Echizen, who is small in stature but possesses amazing energy.
Sweat soaked Hyotei's uniform, clinging to Atobe's heaving chest. His silver-gray hair was damp with sweat, a few strands plastered to his forehead. His eyes were still as sharp as a hawk, burning with a flame of resentment and pride, but deep within them, a hint of fatigue was hard to conceal.
The boy on the opposite side, like a weed growing stubbornly in the strong wind, repeatedly tore through his gorgeous defense with incredible returns, and dragged the game into a long and brutal tug-of-war with calmness beyond his age and terrifying tenacity.
"The game is over! Seigaku Echizen wins! The score is 7-6!"
The referee's voice was like an icy verdict, shattering the silent arena.
Then came the arrogant, youthful declaration of the first-year student from Seigaku: "Hey, King of Monkey Mountain! I admit defeat! Hair!"
The whole audience was in an uproar!
The Hyotei support area fell into silence for a moment, followed by exclamations of disbelief and angry accusations.
Rie Tanaka covered her mouth and her eyes turned red instantly. Looking at the figure in the center of the field whom she regarded as her faith being "humiliated" in public like this, tears almost burst out.
I sat in the stands, watching from a distance as he stood in front of the net, his head slightly lowered, sweat dripping down his tense jawline onto the scorching plastic surface.
There was no angry roar, no unwilling roar, only an almost frozen silence.
The Ice Emperor was defeated by a first-year student, in front of everyone...
The roar of the stadium grew faint and distant. My gaze remained fixed on him, watching him being escorted off the stage, and the heavy backs of the Hyotei regulars disappearing into the shadows of the players' tunnel.
The crowd that dispersed after the game was tumultuous and noisy, like a receding tide, leaving behind a mess and the lingering smell of gunpowder. I found him at the end of the hallway outside the locker room.
He leaned his back against the cold wall, tilted his head slightly, and closed his eyes.
His hair, recently shaved short, revealed a smooth, full forehead and sharply defined nape, less flamboyant than usual, yet more clean-cut and refined, even revealing a rare sense of vulnerability. Sweat had washed away the hairspray, and a few new, fluffy strands clung to his temples, making him look remarkably youthful.
Hearing footsteps, he opened his eyes. Those eyes looked at me, without the humiliation, anger, or gloom I'd expected. Instead, they were unusually clear, like a clear sky washed by rain, even carrying a hint of indescribable brightness and relief.
"Is it over?" I walked up to him and asked softly.
"Yeah." He responded, his voice hoarse from exercise, but not low.
"Regret?" I looked at his piercing short hair.
Atobe suddenly smiled.
It wasn't a flashy, flamboyant smile, but rather one with the corners of his mouth curled up slightly, a smile of pure relief, as if a burden had been lifted. He raised his hand, as if to habitually touch his hair, but instead felt prickly stubble. He paused, then his smile deepened.
"Regret?" he repeated, shaking his head, his eyes gleaming. "No."
He paused, his gaze casting towards the hustle and bustle of the stadium outside the window. His voice was low, yet it carried a piercing power: "This summer's victory is over. But this is my battlefield..."
He withdrew his gaze and returned it to my face. The sharpness and ambition in his heart had never been extinguished. Instead, they were tempered even more purely by this failure. "We've only just begun."
There was no shame or resentment towards Echizen Ryoma in his tone, but instead a strong excitement and fun that was almost bursting out!
It is the ecstasy of meeting a worthy opponent, the excitement of discovering a higher mountain, and the light that completely ignites the challenger's soul!
I am too familiar with this kind of light.
Under the edge of Sanada's sword, at the moment when the whip shadow broke through the air, I also felt the same exhilaration that transcended victory or defeat.
Meeting a worthy opponent in chess is the greatest joy in life for both him and me.
The final match of the national competition concluded under the watchful eyes of the crowd. The golden trophy was lifted high by the new champion, and cheers resounded through the sky. This summer's feast of youth, woven with sweat and tears, had come to an end.
The summer of Hyotei ended. The regret of not reaching the summit, the turmoil of having one's head shaved, all became marks etched in the long river of time with the final whistle.
Stepping out of the bustling finals venue, the late summer evening breeze carried a slight chill. The setting sun painted the sky a magnificent expanse of orange and purple, like a flame consuming itself, a sense of final glory.
Atobe walked beside me, his striking short hair looked a little fuzzy in the evening breeze, making him less fierce, but unexpectedly softening his overly sharp features.
With his hands in his trouser pockets, his steps were still as calm as those of an emperor, but his brows were less tense with the desire to win, and more open-minded after some experience.
"Hey." He suddenly stopped and turned his head to look at me. The golden glow of the setting sun fell into his eyes, like molten gold.
"Huh?" I looked up.
He raised his hand, his fingertips gently brushing a strand of hair on my cheek that was tousled by the wind. The movement was so natural, as if he had done it a thousand times. His eyes reflected the blazing fire in the sky, as well as my figure, and his voice was low and clear:
"When you withdraw from the competition, just say you had a great time."
"Now, I understand."
He paused, and the corners of his mouth curled up in a very shallow arc, but with an extremely real warmth.
"Winning and losing are important. But what's more important than winning and losing is finding that opponent who can make you burn with all your passion and give your all."
"This summer," he said, his eyes fixed on the gorgeous sunset in the distance, his voice filled with a sense of satisfaction after everything had settled, "I've had a blast."
The setting sun stretched our shadows, side by side, far out, casting them across the empty square. There was no glory of trophies, no clamor of reaching the summit, only the silhouettes of the young man and the young woman standing side by side, and the shadows beneath our feet stretched out, seemingly stretching into the infinity of the future.
The cicadas chirped persistently in the gathering dusk, as if struggling to hold on to this ultimately fading summer. But the mark of their youth, etched with sweat, tears, laughter, regret, and intense passion, like the blazing sunset glow, will never fade.
The chirping of cicadas in summer was replaced by the slightly cool autumn breeze of September, and the air was filled with paper, ink, and a faint sense of tension belonging to the new semester.
In the corridors of the third grade at Hyotei Academy, the hustle and bustle of summer vacation was replaced by the sounds of hurried footsteps and whispered discussions about exercises.
Further education, this heavy word, is like an invisible thread, entwined in the hearts of every young person who is about to graduate, leading them towards their own different future directions.
The afterglow of summer, the national competition that ignited the entire youth, the deafening cheers and unwilling tears, the shaved silver hair and relieved smiles, all settled into medals that will never fade in the depths of memory as the calendar pages turned.
However, in September at Hyotei, there is always a personal expectation brewing quietly that cannot be masked by the pressure of further studies.
Just like last year, the excitement was palpable because of Keigo Atobe's upcoming fifteenth birthday party. It was still Hyotei Academy's grandest and most lavish social event, a celebration where the young emperor announced to the world his entry into a new chapter.
During the break, in a noisy corner of the corridor.
Atobe handed me a dark blue envelope with gold foil patterns. The envelope had a heavy texture, its edges trimmed with fine silver thread, and the autumn sun filtering through the window gave it a low-key yet luxurious sheen.
"Kiyama." His voice was slightly lower than usual, and he looked at me intently, his voice clearly reflecting anticipation, yet also with a restrained respect. "I'd like to invite you to be my female companion for this year's birthday party."
He paused, as if weighing his words, and finally added clearly, "I want to have my first dance with you."
My fingertips touched the smooth, hard envelope. I took it and carefully pulled out the invitation.
It's not a cookie-cutter print, but rather the fluent, powerful handwriting of Keigo Atobe. The ink is deep, and each word reveals the owner's care.
[We cordially invite Miss Kiriyama Kakure to attend the dinner for Keigo Atobe's fifteenth birthday and to dance the first opening dance together.]
The signature is his flamboyant and elegant one.
My eyes shifted from the invitation to meet his gaze, which was filled with a subtle nervousness. The sunlight fell on the tips of his silver-gray hair. His short, shaved head had grown soft new stubble, making it look less sharp and more youthful.
"Okay." I heard my own voice, with a hint of softness that I didn't even notice.
At that moment, the anticipation in Atobe's eyes ignited like a firework, suddenly bursting into a brilliant glow. His mouth lifted uncontrollably, a pure and bright smile filled with an almost childlike satisfaction and joy, dispelling any sense of distance that belonged to the Hyotei Emperor.
Time flies quickly during the intense review and preparations for the approaching banquet.
As the date of the birthday party approached, Atobe casually mentioned to me on the way home after school one day: "By the way, this year... my parents will also come back to attend the party." His tone was calm, but his eyes were paying attention to my reaction.
My heart skipped a beat for no apparent reason.
"Yeah." I responded, my fingertips unconsciously pinching the strap of my backpack.
He seemed to catch my momentary stiffness, slowed his pace, and softened his voice: "Don't be nervous. They get along well."
Anxiety is like a stone thrown into the lake of the heart, creating ripples that are difficult to calm.
The image of Atobe's parents loomed large and vague in my mind, carrying with it a natural, overpowering sense of authority. This tension even dampened my anticipation for the upcoming grand banquet.
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