The Shibuya night bled through the window, the gym’s lights a cold, piercing glare.
Sato Chinatsu stood in the training area, her fists pounding against the sandbag, each dull thud echoing like raindrops hammering the earth.
Dressed in a black tracksuit, a form-fitting tank top accentuated the lines of her shoulders and back, her hair loosely tied into a short ponytail, sweat trickling down her neck.
Chinatsu’s face remained impassive, her gaze vacant and unfocused; only when her fists lashed out did a hint of raw ferocity, impossible to conceal, emerge.
The sandbag swayed violently beneath her onslaught, emitting a constant barrage of grating thuds, yet she continued to punch, unwavering.
Other gym members, upon seeing her, invariably chose to give her a wide berth, and even the coaches refrained from approaching.
Despite her striking beauty, the sheer force behind each punch deterred anyone from risking a blow to their own face.
After nearly half an hour, she finally paused, panting, her chest rising and falling faintly as she walked back to the rest area and sat down.
Pulling the towel from her wrist, she casually wiped her face.
Her bangs, soaked with sweat, clung to her fair skin, a few stray strands sticking to her forehead, creating a subtly dishevelled beauty.
Kurisu Eda sat at the other end of the sofa, a new issue of a magazine in her hand.
The previous month’s debut works had already been published, but none were particularly outstanding, resulting in another month of unremarkable sales.
As the associate editor-in-chief of Spring Autumn Literary Circle, she had known Chinatsu for nearly a decade.
Initially, their relationship wasn’t particularly close; their meetings mostly revolved around manuscripts.
It was only after a particular banquet that they truly became acquainted.
‘Primarily, it was Chinatsu herself – a tough nut to crack, indeed.’
Glancing up at Chinatsu, Kurisu Eda subtly furrowed her brow.
“What’s gotten into you today? First running, now boxing,” she said, closing her magazine and moving closer, her tone casual.
“You’re practically pulverizing that sandbag.
Did something upset you?”
The last time she had seen Chinatsu this fierce was a month ago.
Ever since the ‘nanny incident’ had passed, Chinatsu hadn’t invited her to the gym many times, leading her to believe she had recovered.
Sato Chinatsu stared down at her water bottle, her fingers gripping its body, the plastic shell emitting a faint creak in her palm.
She remained silent, recalling the events of the afternoon.
Her chest felt constricted, a suffocating weight that made her long to throw a few more punches.
“It’s nothing,” she finally murmured, her voice low, the displeasure unmistakably evident.
Kurisu Eda shot her a glance.
She knew Chinatsu too well; once this woman’s emotions flared, she became impervious to reason.
Setting down her magazine, Kurisu Eda softened her voice.
“Your doctor told you not to bottle things up, didn’t they?
Have you been taking your medication on time?”
Sato Chinatsu opened her eyes, casting a sidelong glance at her, but offered no reply.
She was aware of her psychological symptoms: an inability to regulate her own emotions, which, when suppressed for too long, would inevitably erupt.
Activities like today’s, though ostensibly for exercise, served primarily as a release for her pent-up feelings.
Her doctor had mentioned it several times, and she had been taking her medication as prescribed, yet there had been no noticeable improvement.
Chinatsu pursed her lips.
“I’ve encountered a few vexing matters.
Student affairs, though, have nothing to do with this.”
Kurisu Eda raised an eyebrow, resting her chin on her hand.
“Students?
That girl from before?
Or are you mentoring another student now?”
A note of curiosity entered her voice.
Many manuscripts she handled came from Chinatsu’s students, some of whom had even achieved commendable recognition in previous years.
However, very few managed to persevere in their writing, and even fewer still achieved lasting fame.
After all, possessing a high degree and research skills did not guarantee that one’s written works would be embraced by readers.
The chasm between aspiration and reality was often too vast, and abandoning a path when hope seemed absent was, in itself, a choice.
Sato Chinatsu’s hand stilled.
Frowning, she replied coldly, “Yes, assigned by the school.”
‘Though she feigned indifference, her heart gave a little leap.
She wouldn’t admit it, but the irritation she felt that afternoon wasn’t solely due to Genji’s evasiveness; it was his flimsy excuse and Fujita Misaki’s (TL Note: The glossary lists Fujita Misaki as female.) interference, as if someone were incessantly buzzing in her ear.’
She rubbed her temples, muttering, “So dense, it gives me a headache.”
Kurisu Eda chuckled, choosing not to press further.
Leaning back into the sofa, she reopened her magazine and remarked casually, “Students, they all have their dull spots.
Don’t take it too much to heart.
Remember to take your medication when you go home, and don’t pull all-nighters revising papers like you are now.”
She added, “I’ll still be hounding you for your manuscript next week, so don’t try to fob me off with this excuse.”
Sato Chinatsu let out a hum, opening her eyes to gaze at the ceiling, her fingers lightly tapping the water bottle.
After venting, her mind felt considerably lighter, enough to endure at least another week.
Before Genji moved into the apartment, she had typically come here at least once a week, though the frequency had somewhat decreased recently.
Kurisu Eda was right; Genji was just a bit dense.
There was no need for her to fret over such a minor matter for so long.
She took a deep breath, softly saying, “Understood.”
Leaning against the sofa, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, she lightly tapped her water bottle, seeking to ease her taut nerves.
Kurisu Eda glanced at her, assuming she was still troubled by her student’s issues.
Closing her magazine, she remarked offhandedly, “Mentoring students seems quite draining for you, always revising papers and grading assignments.
Couldn’t you just relax properly when you come out, and put those things aside?”
Sato Chinatsu offered no reply, her eyelids drooping as she feigned not hearing.
After a moment of silence, she suddenly spoke.
“It’s not just about the student.
I’ve been, uh, I’ve been thinking of getting a pet recently.”
She paused, her fingers tightening around the water bottle, the plastic shell letting out another faint creak.
“I’d spotted one at the pet shop, played with it for a few days, but then it ran off with someone else.”
Kurisu Eda froze for a moment, then turned to look at her, her eyebrow subtly arching.
“You?
Want a pet?”
A hint of surprise laced her voice as she propped her chin on her hand, as if she had just heard something utterly outlandish.
This woman had never been the type to keep cats or play with dogs.
To hear such a thing from her lips felt utterly incongruous.
Sato Chinatsu merely glanced at her, offering no further explanation.
Leaning back against the sofa, she gazed at the condensation on her water bottle, murmuring, “It just looked so pitiful.”
Her words, however, sounded somewhat disingenuous.
Kurisu Eda sighed, moving closer.
She helped Chinatsu remove her fingerless boxing gloves, revealing knuckles that were red and slightly swollen.
“Is it really worth putting your hands through this for such a trivial matter?”
Sato Chinatsu looked down at her hands.
She felt no pain, only a throbbing sensation that was, strangely, somewhat comforting.
Withdrawing her hand, she leaned back against the sofa, her perfectly ample curves pressing into the cushion, subtly outlined as she shifted forward.
“I simply dislike this feeling,” she articulated, finding a suitable expression.
“The feeling of not being able to hold on.”
Kurisu Eda stared at her.
“There are countless things beyond our grasp.
You only sink deeper into this state because you overthink everything.
Perhaps you should learn from me.”
She lowered her gaze, flipping through the magazine, appearing utterly at ease.
Sato Chinatsu cast a sidelong glance at her.
“Coming from you, that certainly carries some weight.”
It would have been even more convincing, of course, if Kurisu Eda hadn’t called her, crying, about authors missing deadlines.
“Right?
Alright, once you’ve rested enough, go take a shower.
We should start thinking about what to have for dinner.”
Missing Chinatsu’s subtle jab, Kurisu Eda appeared rather pleased with herself as she proposed their next plans.
“What about that restaurant we went to before?” Sato Chinatsu pouted.
Kurisu Eda’s eyes darted around before she suddenly brightened with an excited expression.
“Or, how about your place?
Now that I think about it, I still haven’t met that nanny auntie of yours.
Judging by your reaction, her cooking must be quite exceptional, right?”
She often went to Chinatsu’s home to drink, and it would be perfect to have the auntie prepare some appetizers to go with the alcohol.
“Absolutely not!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Sato Chinatsu flatly refused.
Kurisu Eda looked at her, her eyes shifting from confusion to an uncontrollable curiosity.
“You’re definitely hiding something from me!”