Chapter 116: Have I been treating her too much like a child?

“Fool...”

Sitting quietly by the bedside, Sora watched Aoki Tsukasa as he drifted into a deep sleep. She gently reached out her usually icy hand and tenderly stroked his still feverishly warm cheek.

Tsukasa’s skin... was even smoother than she had imagined.

Sora gazed blankly at Tsukasa, who was now sound asleep, his brows slightly furrowed in discomfort, his expression devoid of the usual mature composure. Seeing his sharply defined features still tinged with a hint of boyish innocence, Sora realized for the first time that Tsukasa was, after all, just an underage boy.

His every move had always been so mature, his tone so adult-like, that she nearly forgot—by age, he was only a year older than her, still a seventeen-year-old youth.

Perhaps because of the coolness of Sora’s hand on his face, Tsukasa’s brows relaxed slightly in his sleep, instinctively turning his face toward her, as if seeking comfort, almost like a child seeking affection.

Never having seen this side of Tsukasa before, Sora couldn’t help but smile softly.

“Have I been... too selfish?” she whispered, shifting closer so that only a blanket separated them, her body nearly pressed against his. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

Her hand caressed his cheek, hesitating a moment before, like a thief, she quietly lowered her head and rested her small face gently against his heart. Tsukasa’s heartbeat was steady and strong, a feeling reminiscent of the safety she once felt in her father’s embrace as a child. Sora’s eyes narrowed in contentment.

Tsukasa, is life hard for you every day too? Lying on him, breathing in his unique, faint scent—a fragrance she couldn’t quite name but deeply liked—Sora’s thoughts wandered.

Just two weeks ago, Tsukasa had lost his only parent, the father he depended on. How could his heart be as calm as he appeared? Her gaze darkened with guilt as she lifted her head from his chest, staring at him dreamily: did he often feel utterly alone in the world, just as she sometimes did?

No, at least she still had her parents to rely on. Tsukasa was truly alone, wasn’t he? The thought of how she had deliberately distanced herself from him before filled her with a sharp pang of sympathy. Tsukasa... must have been deeply hurt by that.

“To Tsukasa... am I someone special?” she murmured softly, pouring out the words she was usually too shy to say, seizing the moment while he slept soundly.

“Does Tsukasa ever feel lonely too?” Slowly rising, she leaned forward, her delicate face close to his cheek, where even the tiniest pores were visible to her eyes.

“Does Tsukasa feel sad because I’ve been distant?” Lowering her head gently, she pressed her cold forehead against his, feeling it gradually warm beneath her touch. “But Tsukasa, what is it that makes you so strong?”

“What is it that makes you so kind to me?” Her silver hair cascaded down, brushing the side of his face, while her nose and lips felt the warmth of his breath. Her cheeks flushed faintly, overwhelmed by the swirl of emotions in her mind.

“Is it because... you see me as just a normal little sister?” she whispered, lowering her face until her nose touched his.

“Or do I mean as much to you as you mean to me?”

Closing her eyes, her trembling eyelids betrayed her inner unease. One hand rested gently on his cheek, while the other unconsciously clenched the hem of her skirt. Slightly parting her soft lips, they brushed lightly against his face—though she wasn’t sure exactly where. A sudden jolt, like electricity surged through her entire body. Flustered, she lifted her head, relieved to see Tsukasa unmoving.

She re-moistened the now cool towel and placed it back on his forehead. Sora’s smile was like that of a little girl who had just stolen a piece of candy—innocent and joyful.

She lightly tapped his cheek with her fingertip, gazing at him with tenderness. “Sorry, I didn’t ask your permission.”

“But if you don’t say anything, I’ll take it that you don’t mind.” Watching him remain deep in sleep, she nodded to herself, “That’s good.”

Rising to her feet, she carefully lifted the basin with both hands and staggered downstairs to fetch a fresh basin of warm water.

Once back, she resumed the repeated ritual of laying the towel on Tsukasa’s head, changing the water four or five times. After an hour, when his temperature finally stabilized, she wearily stood up, ready to leave.

Before closing the door, she looked back at the peacefully sleeping Tsukasa, her expression complex as she whispered, “Fool... sweet dreams.”

With the door shut, Tsukasa’s room returned to tranquil silence.

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After an unknown span of time, Tsukasa groggily opened his eyes. His throat felt parched as if aflame, his head heavy and foggy. Perhaps the exhaustion and mental strain of recent days had suddenly caught up with him all at once, leaving his once robust body feeling fragile as if made of paper.

No wonder—Tsukasa had been waking at five or six every morning to prepare lunches, training in boxing at night, and studying until midnight. Even during sleep, he continued practicing various skills in the dream training room. The limited hours of rest were relentlessly stretched thin. A day or two might be manageable, but after a week or two, the toll on his body was undeniable.

Struggling to sit up, he noticed a steaming cup of warm water on the desk beside him.

He paused, then a gentle smile crept upon his lips as he reached out and took the cup, bringing it to his mouth. The temperature was just right—he wasn’t sure if it was a fortunate coincidence or if Sora had gone to great lengths to prepare it.

Drinking it all down, his dry throat finally found relief. Checking his phone, he saw it was already six-thirty in the evening.

Oh no, Sora must not have eaten all day!

Tsukasa hurriedly rose, pushing open the door and steadying himself against the wall as he descended the stairs bit by bit.

To his surprise, the kitchen light was on, and the soft bubbling sound of something cooking filled the room.

There was Sora, her silver hair tied into twin ponytails, wearing a white nightgown with an apron—usually reserved for when Tsukasa cooked—tied over it.

She stood on tiptoe, stirring a pot of porridge with a spoon, her delicate face focused and her soft pink lips pressed tightly together. A gentle aroma of rice porridge filled the air, making Tsukasa, who hadn’t eaten all day, suddenly feel hungry.

“Sora?” he called softly.

She turned, smiling gently at him. “Go sit and watch some TV for a bit. It’ll be ready soon.”

Tsukasa, of course, did not sit on the couch to watch television. Instead, he hurried over, seeing her sweating profusely, and quickly reached out his hand. “Let me help. You should rest for a while. You don’t usually exercise, and suddenly doing so much might make you feel unwell.”

Sora glared at him, unwilling to give up her spot. “It’s just porridge, I’m not that fragile!”

Tsukasa looked a little embarrassed. “Well, um...”

“Come on!” she said, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “What, you don’t think I can make something edible?”

“Of course not!” Tsukasa hurried to shake his head.

He never even considered that Sora would cook for him, let alone whether it would taste good. Even if the porridge was burnt to a crisp, he would still eat it.

“Then go rest. If it weren’t for you being sick, I wouldn’t be doing this,” Sora said, turning back to the pot, her attention fixed on the grains of rice cooking inside.

Tsukasa opened his mouth to say something but wisely held back, sitting quietly at the dining table not far from her, resting his chin on his hands as he watched her.

Had he perhaps been viewing her as too much of a child at times?