Standing beneath the apartment building, Sato Chinatsu lifted her gaze to the darkened windows, while not far behind her, Kurisu Eda, that woman, continued to prattle on.
Sato inwardly seethed with annoyance, regretting her overly strong reaction which had only piqued Eda’s curiosity.
Now, no matter what, she would insist on coming to her home tonight to see the “skillful nanny auntie she had been hiding away.”
The more she refused, the more invigorated Kurisu Eda would become.
Sato Chinatsu pulled out her phone, glancing at the screen.
The message she had sent to Genji remained a gray “unread” notification, unchanged for hours since the afternoon.
A flicker of irritation crossed her eyes as she stared at the glaring “unread” prompt.
Her footsteps echoed with a rhythmic ‘clack-clack’ against the tiles, reverberating through the empty corridor.
Kurisu Eda trailed behind, casually swinging a shopping bag filled with beer and emergency snacks, a look of contentment gracing her features.
She had a premonition that tonight would certainly hold an unexpected turn of events.
When the apartment door finally opened, only darkness greeted the two women within the room.
The living room lights were off, and the curtains were half-drawn; the encroaching night, having slipped indoors, sculpted the vague outlines of furniture, casting stark, cold shadows across the floor.
Sato’s hand remained on the doorknob, her expression momentarily frozen at the sight.
For the past half-month, every time she returned home, she would find the living room lights on, Genji curled up on the sofa reading or seated at the living room table writing.
Dinner, prepared specially for her, would await on the dining table, and he would greet her with, “You’re home.”
Today, however, was different; the emptiness felt as though she had reverted to her life before.
Her brow furrowed deeper as Fujita Misaki’s face flashed through her mind, and the irritation she had just vented resurfaced with renewed intensity.
Before leaving, she had explicitly instructed the two of them not to engage in anything inappropriate for students.
‘It’s this late, and he’s still not home.
What could he be doing?’
‘He isn’t even checking his messages!’
‘A call… perhaps I should call and demand an explanation.’
Kurisu Eda stepped past her into the living room, casually flipping on the overhead light.
Upon seeing the impeccably clean living room, she exclaimed in surprise, “This live-in nanny is truly amazing! Your books aren’t scattered everywhere for once?”
A clean space invariably brought a sense of pleasure.
Kurisu Eda headed towards the kitchen.
“Where’s my glass? Where did it go?”
“Kitchen,” Sato replied, without even glancing her way, her mood clearly sour.
Kurisu Eda surveyed the surroundings, her gaze falling upon the gray towel hanging in the kitchen.
The countertops were meticulously organized, even the crevices wiped spotless, without a hint of grease — such a sight was enough to stir a desire in her to hire a nanny just like this.
Unlike Sato, she cooked for herself, but cooking itself wasn’t the difficult part; the challenge lay in cleaning the kitchen afterward, a task that truly sapped one’s motivation.
She retrieved the beer glass kept there, the same one Sato had previously used for milk, noting the two other water glasses of different colors sitting beside it.
Sato Chinatsu was habitually indolent; she couldn’t be bothered to prepare such small items herself.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Are that nanny’s personal belongings also kept here? Wouldn’t that be a bit inappropriate?”
‘Normally, a live-in nanny would arrive in the morning and return home in the evening.’
Sato Chinatsu didn’t respond.
After shedding her trench coat and tossing it onto the sofa, she settled down, her eyes glued to her phone.
She was determined to see when Genji would finally reply to her.
The screen flickered between various displays, but the message list still showed those unanswered questions.
[Where are you?]
[Why aren’t you replying?]
In just a short while, her gaze had grown cold, as if veiled in frost.
Her fingers tapped lightly against her phone case, the ‘clack-clack’ sound jarringly loud in the quiet living room.
“What are you looking at? Still working at this hour?” Kurisu Eda asked, puzzled.
Sato Chinatsu mumbled a low, “Mhm, it’s nothing,” a casual dismissal, her eyes never leaving the screen.
Kurisu Eda paid no mind to her cool demeanor, having grown accustomed to it.
She wandered around the living room, beer in hand, her fingers tracing the edge of the coffee table, then stroking the sofa’s backrest, as if inspecting the nanny’s work performance.
Her gaze shifted, landing on an open notebook lying on the living room table.
She casually flipped through it.
“Is this your student’s new work? So they’re still preparing to submit it for publication, huh?”
‘The descriptive style seems quite similar.’
At her words, Sato Chinatsu froze, her head snapping up as her heart seemed to skip a beat.
Genji’s notebook lay open on the table, and she hadn’t even noticed it.
‘How could he not have tidied the table?’
Sato’s mind was consumed by Genji’s unread messages, his pale face and hoarse voice surfacing in her memory.
He had said, “I’m not feeling well,” but she hadn’t given it much thought, only focusing on having him try on clothes.
‘Could he be sick?’
‘Is he even home?’
Sato Chinatsu suddenly stood, tossing out a quick, “I have something to do,” before hurrying towards the guest room.
Kurisu Eda’s attention was completely captivated by the notebook’s contents; she hadn’t even heard Sato Chinatsu’s words.
Within the notebook, concise sentences flowed like spring rain, delineating a young girl’s daily life, with loneliness and bewilderment seeping through the lines, so delicate they felt almost tangible.
Seated in an armchair, Kurisu Eda sipped her beer, murmuring, “Himura-san (TL Note: Using ‘san’ as a formal honorific for ‘同学’ in a casual conversation context) new manuscript shows significant improvement.
Has she been writing things specifically for you to read?”
She voiced her query but received no response, and turning her head, she realized Sato was no longer in the living room.
“Where’d she go? Changing clothes?”
She turned to the next page and continued reading; the story, told from a young girl’s perspective, slowly unfolded, each sentence imbued with a poignant truth.
‘Quite an improvement.’
****
Sato Chinatsu reached the guest room door, her hand resting on the knob, and when she pushed it open, the room was shrouded in darkness.
She pressed the light switch with the back of her hand; light flooded the room, revealing Genji, bundled in blankets on the bed.
His face was flushed, his forehead slick with sweat from the fever, and his breathing was heavy, almost labored, as if he struggled for air.
She paused, stunned for a moment, then quickly moved to his side, her hand reaching for his forehead, her expression taut with worry.
“You’re this sick and didn’t even tell me? Are you an idiot?” Sato muttered, her voice laced with annoyance.
“Chinatsu, I ordered takeout for us to share in a bit! Also, should your student submit this piece? Kurosawa and his team are due to publish soon—” Kurisu Eda’s voice drifted from the corridor.
She walked in, notebook in hand, and peered into the room, her expression freezing.
“Who is that?” Kurisu Eda asked, startled, the beer can in her hand wobbling slightly.
Sato didn’t lift her head.
“Don’t make noise.
He’s sick.”
She pulled open a cabinet door, took out a thin blanket and tossed it onto the bed, then tugged at Genji’s existing blanket, tucking him in securely.
Kurisu Eda blinked, squinting slightly, then ventured softly, “He looks quite young.
He wouldn’t happen to be your student, would he?”
“Don’t make wild guesses.
It’s not what you’re thinking.”
Sato shot her a cool glance, her tone flat, but upon seeing Genji frown and let out a soft groan, she lowered her voice further.
“He’s asleep.
Keep your voice down.”
Kurisu Eda raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing on her lips.
It was the first time she had ever seen Sato so anxious over a man.
She leaned against the doorframe, tapping her fingers on the notebook, observing Sato’s clumsy attempts at nursing him.
That was, until she saw a third blanket being pulled out, at which point her face fell (TL Note: ‘满头黑线’ (mǎntóuhēixiàn) is a Chinese idiom, literally ‘black lines across the forehead,’ indicating exasperation, speechless frustration, or a ‘facepalm’ moment).
‘This won’t do; she clearly has no experience caring for a sick person.’
“Put that down, put it down.
Let me handle it.
Why are you piling so many blankets on a sick person?”
She set down her beer can and headed out.
“First, go get a wet towel—actually, I’ll go.
You go get the medicine.
And stop covering him with blankets; he’ll overheat.”
Hearing Kurisu Eda’s suggestions, Sato Chinatsu seemed to awaken from a daze, her expression awkward as she hurriedly went to find the medicine box.