A Late Night’s Revelation and a Morning’s Intent

The rain pattered throughout the first half of the night, gradually subsiding to a soft whisper, like needle tips gently tapping against the glass.

Sato Chinatsu sat before the desk in her master bedroom, a desk lamp casting a circle of soft, amber light that illuminated her open notebook and a scattering of lecture notes.

Having lent The Mist Chronicle to Genji, she had to reorganize her materials around a different book.

The room was eerily silent, save for the diminishing rain and the faint, distant honk of a car.

Rubbing her brow, she pushed her chair away and rose, a fountain pen still held loosely between her fingertips.

With her work for the night concluded, she could finally prepare for rest.

Reaching for her water cup, she discovered it was utterly empty, prompting her to push open the door and step out.

The corridor floor was piercingly cold beneath her bare feet; still clad in her loungewear, her slender, almost translucent toes curled and recoiled, seeking refuge from the chill.

A soft rustle, akin to the turning of a book’s page, drifted from the living room.

Frowning slightly, Sato carried her cup and approached.

Light spilled from behind the sofa, casting a soft halo onto the floor and stretching a long shadow across it.

She halted, turning her head to find Genji huddled on the sofa, The Mist Chronicle splayed across his knees, a finger tucked between its pages to hold his place, his entire form curled up.

Standing at the entrance to the living room, her frown deepened.

The lamplight caught Genji’s face, accentuating the deep shadows cast by his bangs. He was utterly engrossed in his reading.

Sato remained still, clutching her cup, her gaze fixed on him for several seconds before she finally spoke. “What are you doing?”

Genji jerked his head up, the book in his hands nearly sliding away.

He swiftly caught the falling book, then rubbed his eyes, his voice a little rough.

“Reading.”

Sato glanced at the wall clock; its hands had long since passed two.

“Do you know what time it is? Why aren’t you asleep?”

She walked into the kitchen and picked up the kettle, finding it completely full.

However, the water was cold, suggesting Genji had prepared it some time ago.

Filling her cup, Sato leaned against the kitchen counter and took a sip, the white porcelain cup momentarily obscuring her weary face.

The icy water slid down her throat, a refreshing jolt dispelling the encroaching weariness of a late night.

“I lost track of the time,” Genji admitted, scratching his hair before flipping the book open to an annotated page and pointing it out to her. “This book is fascinating, especially with your notes.”

Sato, still holding her cup, let her gaze drift over the page he indicated.

Her handwriting, elegant and meticulously neat, shimmered faintly in black ink under the dim light. Beside it, a poignant comment read: ‘The core of The Mist Chronicle is solitude.’

She inquired with a flat tone, “Given that The Mist Chronicle is somewhat abstruse, are you actually able to comprehend it?”

“It’s a bit challenging,” Genji conceded, nodding as his finger traced the annotations. “Professor, your notes are incredibly detailed, and following your insights has been quite an immersive experience.”

Sato’s hand paused, the cup frozen halfway to her lips.

She lowered her head to take another sip. Without her glasses, the cup effectively masked her expression.

The living room air felt distinctly chilly. On the coffee table beside the sofa sat a glass of water, now completely cold, accompanied by a few scattered breadcrumbs.

She cast a brief glance, said nothing further, and turned to retreat to her room.

“Professor Sato,” Genji’s voice called from behind her.

She paused, turning to face him, her brow furrowing once more. “What is it?”

Genji sat up a little straighter, his fingers pinching the corner of the book, his knuckles turning white.

“I was wondering if I might try my hand at writing something.”

The hand holding her cup tightened almost imperceptibly as Sato’s gaze sharpened, sweeping over him with an almost piercing intensity.

The halo of light in the living room stretched a dark shadow behind her, while the rain outside murmured softly, as if underscoring the sudden, unexpected silence between them.

Her tone grew cold. “Writing?”

“Yes,” Genji affirmed, nodding. “Reading this book sparked some ideas, and I’d like to try.”

Sato stared at him, a flicker of suspicion crossing her eyes.

The corners of her mouth curved upward in a smile utterly devoid of warmth. “Do you truly comprehend the immense difficulty of writing? Don’t assume that simply poring over a book for one evening grants you the ability to produce anything of substance.”

“I never said I’d write anything exceptional,” Genji murmured, lowering his head and releasing his grip on the book’s corner. “I simply want to try.”

Sato leaned against the wall, her gaze sweeping over The Mist Chronicle still clutched in his hands.

The edges of the pages were slightly curled from repeated turning, and her meticulously written annotations appeared like tiny fissures under the dim light.

She paused, her voice stiffening noticeably. “Genji, be honest with me. Are you just trying to impress me? Do not entertain such frivolous notions—”

“No, no, no!” Genji shook his head vehemently. “That’s not what I meant at all! I saw a magazine on the table, and it had an open call for short stories, complete with a cash prize. That’s why I wanted to try.”

Sato Chinatsu’s words caught in her throat.

To think of writing solely for a cash prize—how could anyone harbor such an utterly conceited notion?

“I sincerely hope not,” Sato’s voice carried a sharp warning. “I allowed you to read this book merely as a reward for dinner tonight. Do not presume this kind of privilege will be available to you at any given moment.”

Genji lowered his head, his finger tracing the pages silently, offering no response.

Sato turned and walked away, her footsteps so light they were almost imperceptible.

The corridor lights were dim, stretching her shadow long and distorted.

Halfway down the corridor, she stopped abruptly, without turning her head.

“Go to bed early. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Oh, alright.”

Genji responded with a soft affirmation, then lowered his head, absently flipping through the book.

The soft click of the bedroom door closing plunged the living room back into silence.

The lamplight over the sofa cast a sleepy glow. Genji leaned back against the cushions, The Mist Chronicle still spread open on his knees.

The rain outside had softened further, seemingly drawing to a close. He rubbed his eyes, placed the book back on the living room table, extinguished the light, and then, in the darkness, made his way back to his own room.

He was well aware that his idea was quite impractical. While five million yen was undeniably tempting, it was the grand prize from Chunqiu Wentan (TL Note: A fictional publishing house, literally ‘Spring and Autumn Literary World’), a publisher that gathered Japan’s most preeminent authors. The Naoki Prize, in particular, stood as the pinnacle of achievement for all literary writers.

Yet, the allure wasn’t strictly the prize money from Chunqiu Wentan, but rather a path he had never before considered.

To put it simply, in the memories buried deep within him, this Tokyo shouldn’t have a Saito Kiyoshi, nor a Chunqiu Wentan Publishing House.

That entity should have been called Chunqiu Wenyi (TL Note: Literally ‘Spring and Autumn Literature and Art’).

…

The following morning, the sky remained a uniform grey. The rain had ceased, yet a damp, chilling scent still lingered in the air.

Sato Chinatsu sat at the dining table, a cup of black coffee cradled in her hands, a newspaper spread open before her.

On the kitchen counter, a line of sparkling clean bowls stood neatly arranged, beside which lay an unopened bag of frozen dumplings.

Genji emerged from the kitchen, carrying two plates of breakfast.

Having been pleasantly surprised to find a toaster, he had, out of sheer novelty, decided on toast paired with soft-boiled eggs for their morning meal.

Consequently, Professor Sato’s planned frozen dumpling breakfast was postponed.

Genji, still sporting an apron, looked every inch the diligent househusband.

Sato glanced up at him. “Didn’t you sleep well?”

“Not really.”

Genji chewed his bread, his voice slightly muffled. “I stayed up rather late reading last night.”

Sato continued flipping through the newspaper. “I distinctly told you to go to bed early.”

“I will next time,” Genji said with a dry chuckle, then lowered his head to continue eating his bread.

The sense of déjà vu grew increasingly potent, akin to a scene from a morning family drama.

The curtains by the dining table remained undrawn, leaving the room so dimly lit it felt as though the deep night still lingered.

The rustle of the newspaper effectively muted the street noise outside as Sato took a sip of her coffee, her gaze drifting towards the living room table.

The Mist Chronicle still lay there, its spine catching a faint gleam in the subdued light.

Having finished his bread, Genji prepared to leave for his morning classes. He had two classes that morning and one in the afternoon, leaving Professor Sato to remain home alone.

Genji had prepared a bento for himself and had also left lunch for her.

“There’s still food in the fridge; you just need to heat it up, and it’ll be ready,” Genji informed her as he prepared to depart.

Noticing his imminent departure, Sato set down her newspaper and stated blandly, “The school library contains other works by Saito Kiyoshi. If you are truly serious about writing, you should read more of them first.”

Genji paused, turning to look at her. “Are you…?”

“Don’t misunderstand,” Sato interjected, her voice cold and devoid of emotion. “I simply have no desire to listen to your fanciful ideas. Only by truly putting pen to paper will you comprehend the sheer absurdity of your own notions.”

“Oh.”

Genji appeared entirely unfazed. He simply nodded and walked out the door.

The apartment door clicked shut, and Sato, still holding her coffee cup, rose and walked towards the bookshelf.

She picked up The Mist Chronicle, opening it to the bookmarked page, her fingertip tracing her own written annotations. Her mind was filled with the vivid image of Genji, utterly lost in his reading, from the previous night.

She took the book in her hand and returned to the master bedroom.

If this Genji fellow wasn’t joking, she could conveniently pass him off to someone else.

Surely, with a different objective, this overly thoughtful student would no longer focus his attention on her, would he?

Sato Chinatsu mused to herself.