Chapter 135: Sora's Gentle Way

Cheerfully lowering his hat, Aoki Tsukasa hummed a little tune as he walked to the street corner and waited for a taxi by the curb.

Earlier at Saeko Dokushima’s home, Tsukasa had prepared some simple Japanese home-cooked dishes. These were recipes he had learned while cooking for his sister Sora—perhaps a bit less refined than what Saeko usually ate, but the basic flavors were reliable. At the very least, both Saeko and Tsukasa enjoyed their meal together, exchanging compliments with genuine delight.

Before leaving, Tsukasa added Saeko as a friend on Line for easier communication.

Stretching lazily, Tsukasa hadn’t forgotten that Sora was still at home, hungry. However, it was quite difficult to hail a taxi near the Dokushima Ryu Kenkan, and although Tsukasa had waited for five or six minutes, none had come by.

Turning his head, something posted on an electric pole caught his eye.

Reading it carefully, Tsukasa’s brow gradually furrowed.

“Public Safety Notice: Recently, there has been a surge of criminal activity in the old town district, including several incidents resulting in severe injury and disability. Residents are advised to avoid going out at night. If you notice any suspicious behavior, please call the police immediately.”

Wasn’t this happening nearby? Tsukasa felt a faint worry. What if those criminals set their sights on Senior Saeko Dokushima? She was a girl living alone in such a remote mansion. If someone with ill intent came, especially with her right hand injured, it could be extremely dangerous.

After some thought, Tsukasa took out his phone, snapped a photo of the notice, and sent it to Senior Saeko’s Line.

“Saeko-senpai, please be extra careful at night recently.”

Not long after, Saeko replied.

“Alright, Tsukasa-kun. You stay safe on your way home. Please be sure to message me once you’re back.”

Tsukasa smiled, eyes nearly closed from happiness, and simply replied, “Okay.”

People’s hearts were truly complicated. Tsukasa had intended to focus on strengthening himself first, to protect both himself and others, before thinking about matters of the heart. Yet every time his relationship with Saeko made a little progress, he couldn’t help but feel joy.

“Beep beep.” The distant sound of a horn caught his attention. Tsukasa saw a taxi approaching, quickly lowered his hat, and waved.

Once inside the taxi, Tsukasa soon left the old district behind.

After more than twenty minutes, he arrived home.

“I’m back!”

Tsukasa placed the groceries on the dining table, rubbed his cheeks numbed by the autumn wind, then went upstairs and knocked on Sora’s door. “Sora? Have you eaten dinner? I’m coming in.”

No response came from inside.

Frowning slightly, Tsukasa pushed the door open.

Soft snoring filled the room.

“Already asleep this early?” Tsukasa saw Sora lying in her bed, eyes closed, her chest gently rising and falling in peaceful slumber.

He took small steps toward her, scrutinizing her complexion with a slight frown.

As his medical skills approached level four, Tsukasa had begun to grasp the traditional diagnostic methods of observation, auscultation, inquiry, and pulse-taking. He carefully observed Sora’s sleeping face and gently took her small hand outside the covers, placing his fingers on her wrist to feel her pulse.

Sure enough... Tsukasa released her hand, troubled.

Sora’s condition seemed to have worsened again. Her pulse and complexion were hardly those of a sixteen or seventeen-year-old girl but resembled that of a fragile, flickering oil lamp on its last breath.

Tsukasa pressed his lips together, tenderly tucked her hand back under the covers, touched her slightly cold cheek, and sighed with pity.

Under the moonlight, Sora’s pale skin looked almost translucent. On her delicate face, her brows were knitted slightly, as if troubled by a dream—eliciting a profound sense of compassion.

Tsukasa carefully placed his fingers on her brow, gently smoothing the crease, his voice soft: “Sora, hold on a little longer. I’m trying my best. Just a bit more, and the pain will ease.”

Perhaps moved by his comforting words, Sora’s frown gradually eased. Her small hand instinctively clutched the blanket tighter, murmuring in her sleep, “Tsukasa...”

Tsukasa was momentarily stunned, then smiled softly in reply, “I’m here. Sleep a little more. I’m going to cook now.”

“Mmm...” Sora’s response was unclear—whether a reply or a childish whimper.

With a fond expression, Tsukasa smoothed her hair, then stood and quietly left the room.

He was determined to work harder, to reach level four soon, hoping to learn some methods in the dream practice room that could help improve Sora’s health. Thinking this, all his weariness vanished, replaced by renewed vigor.

Closing the door gently, Tsukasa rolled up his sleeves and began preparing dinner.

In her sleep, Sora seemed to sense Tsukasa’s departure; her fingers trembled slightly as if trying to hold on to something.

“Ah Zhen fell in love with Ah Qiang,” Tsukasa hummed as he skillfully tossed vegetables in the pan.

Suddenly, light footsteps approached from behind. Tsukasa turned to see Sora, rubbing her eyes, still sleepy, walking over.

“Tsukasa... what’s for dinner?” Sora’s body felt weak as she came to the table, pulled out a chair, and leaned over, watching Tsukasa busy at the stove.

Tsukasa smiled gently. “There’s porridge and fish.”

“Oh...” Sora responded lazily, sniffing the aroma. Her nose wrinkled slightly. “It smells a bit bitter.”

“Yes, I put a lot of healthy ingredients in it. Sora, you have to finish it all,” Tsukasa smiled, serving her a bowl of porridge and placing it on the table to cool.

Sora sniffed the porridge, stirred it with her spoon, and noticed various nuts she couldn’t name floating in it. It didn’t look very appetizing. She sighed, looking at Tsukasa’s broad back, her voice weak: “I want to eat mapo tofu.”

“Once a month, I’ll make it for you,” Tsukasa replied, turning to see Sora’s slightly displeased expression. “Those greasy, spicy foods aren’t good for your health. Just hold on for now. When you’re better, I’ll make whatever you want.”

“Oh...” Sora turned her head, showing some resistance. “I don’t want to eat those... beans.”

“No.” Tsukasa was firm, watching Sora slump over the table with her cheeks puffed out, unable to suppress a chuckle. After a moment, his concern surfaced: “Are you feeling unwell today?”

“No, I just stayed up late playing games yesterday,” Sora stretched and pulled out her phone.

Tsukasa frowned, turning to her with a serious tone. “You must sleep before eleven tonight.”

“...” Sora stared coldly into his eyes, silently resisting.

Tsukasa plated the fish from the pan, set it on the table, added two bowls of rice, and sat opposite her with a stern expression. “If you don’t obey, I’ll stay in your room with you tonight. If you don’t sleep, I won’t go out.”

“...Hmm.” Sora’s cheeks flushed slightly. She turned her head to scoop some porridge, blowing on it, eyes flickering with reluctance. “Tsukasa... are you a pervert?”

Tsukasa snorted. “Even if I am, I’ll make sure you sleep on time.”

Sora sipped the porridge; as she expected, it tasted somewhat bitter. She frowned but swallowed it down, glaring at Tsukasa. “I’m not sleepy today.”

“Even if you’re not sleepy, you have to lie down,” Tsukasa said, leaving no room for negotiation.

“There’s an event in the game at midnight.” Sora put down her spoon, pouting, unsure how to argue against Tsukasa’s rare determination.

“All right, I’ll give you some pocket money to buy the items.” Tsukasa smiled, “Let’s go to the hospital for a check-up this weekend, okay?”

“No!” Sora’s voice suddenly rose an octave, her thin lips pressed tightly, her big, moist eyes coldly fixed on Tsukasa.

Seeing her genuinely upset, Tsukasa sighed. “I’m worried about you.”

“I know my body. It’s the same as before. I don’t need to go,” Sora said, her icy face unreadable. Yet Tsukasa caught a hint of reluctance in her wavering pupils.

Perhaps Sora really hated hospitals. For her, hospitals must be places of annoyance and discomfort.

They stared at each other, a silent standoff, until Tsukasa finally relented. “Then let’s focus on recuperation for now. Eat well and rest for a week. After that, I’ll reassess. If there’s no improvement, we must go.”

“I understand!” Sora’s tone grew impatient as she picked up her spoon again, coolly adding, “Tsukasa, you should take care of yourself first. You’re almost looking like a panda.”

Tsukasa was taken aback, touching his own eye bags, then smiled gently. “Okay.”

Watching Sora frown as she slowly ate her porridge, and hesitated over the fish, Tsukasa suddenly said, “Thank you.”

“For what...” Sora’s eyes widened in surprise.

“For being so gentle,” Tsukasa explained. He knew the porridge was highly nutritious but hardly tasty. The fish was cooked without strong seasonings, tasting bland at best.

Sora was a picky eater but hadn’t complained.

Tsukasa thought this must be her way of showing tenderness.

“You dummy.” Sora blushed, finishing her porridge in a few spoonfuls, stuffing the fish Tsukasa picked out into her mouth before standing. “I’m full.”

“I’ll fill the bathtub. After you shower and play a bit, get ready to sleep. When I get back from work, I’ll come to watch over you,” Tsukasa said as he cleared the dishes.

At the corner, Sora cautiously peeked around and frowned slightly as she watched him tidy the leftovers. Was Tsukasa seeing through something?

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P.S.: The author lowered the hat on his head and sat on a bench by the street, staring dazedly at a small, battered bowl in his hands.

Suddenly, a strange gust of wind blew, scattering the few recommendation tickets inside the bowl far away.

The author hurriedly got up to chase after them, relieved when he saw them fall to the ground. But as he reached out, a foot stepped on the tickets.

“Can I... take these?” the author asked cautiously, facing a reader with a fierce expression.

The reader sneered, picking up the tickets, gripping both ends tightly, fingers flexing slightly. “Want them?”

With a tearing sound, the reader ripped the tickets in half and tossed them aside, scoffing, “Sorry, my hand slipped.” Then, with a flourish, the reader turned away.

The author opened and closed his lips but couldn’t say a word. Trembling, he gathered the torn ticket fragments, trying to piece them together, murmuring brokenly, “How... how did it come to this?”