Chapter 48: The Wind Is Also Gentle (Please Subscribe)

The two girls present froze in an instant.

Especially Rukia, whose mind was a complete blur right now, making the figure of the President before her seem momentarily hazy.

Matsumoto Rangiku was the first to snap back to reality, asking once more, "What did you just say?"

Shin picked up his wine cup, a faint smile slowly surfacing on his face.

"I said I like her."

Boom!

Hearing those two words again, Rukia felt as though a planet had exploded in her mind.

Even though she had now become a young lady of the Kuchiki noble house, she knew very well what kind of person she truly was; the prestige of the Kuchiki clan only provided her with a magnificent yet false veneer.

But the President—the President, he...

He was a deity-like figure in Rukia's heart, utterly untouchable.

The President she admired so deeply, the President she looked up to, the President who excelled at everything he did!

What did he just say?

Was he drunk?

He had only had two cups.

Dazed and lightheaded, with Matsumoto Rangiku supporting her by the shoulder, Rukia found it impossible to understand or believe.

Rangiku stared intently at Shin, before suddenly bursting into a hearty laugh a moment later. Her laughter was so unrestrained and clear that it brought a renewed sharpness to her eyes.

"Good! Wonderful! I never expected to witness such a wonderful confession."

Shin continued to sip his wine leisurely, his expression calm and unruffled, as if what he had just said was nothing of particular importance.

It was precisely this demeanor of his that began to make Rukia doubt whether she had simply misheard him earlier.

Did Vice-Captain Matsumoto mishear him too?

Why could the President remain so calm after saying something like that... Could the President be joking, playing with us?

Rukia's heart was an utter mess right now, a thousand thoughts rushing forth at once, leaving her incapable of calm, rational reflection. She kept her eyes wide open, her expression still lingering in a daze.

"And you?"

Rangiku turned her gaze to Rukia, asking the question.

Me?

What about me... How do I feel about the President...

Rukia felt somewhat lost. She finally managed to regain a modicum of composure, but the next second, her face burned as if on fire.

It was her turn to answer. Why did she have to answer?

She was completely unprepared. The relationship between her and the President was supposed to be nothing more than that of a plain superior and subordinate, wasn't it?

Because the President was a good person, that was why he was so nice to her, right?

Perhaps there were moments of subtle ambiguity in their interactions, but Rukia had always assumed the President was simply unconstrained by petty details. She believed he certainly hadn't thought in that direction, and she herself didn't dare to think in that direction.

She didn't dare to raise her head. She felt that the President must be looking at her right now, which suddenly made her feel somewhat terrified and afraid—because lifting her head meant confronting the unbearable weight of the word "like" that the President had just uttered.

Rukia wanted to flee, never having felt such an urgent desire to escape from a place before.

At that moment, however, Shin let out another light chuckle.

"Why are you asking her?"

Rangiku looked puzzled. "Of course I have to ask. It's the girl's turn to respond now, isn't it?"

Shin replied, "I wasn't asking for a response."

"Eh?"

Rangiku froze, somewhat failing to grasp Shin's meaning.

Wasn't that a confession just a moment ago?

Did Shin say it wrong, or did she misunderstand?

Or perhaps she had been meddling; after all, this was a matter between the two of them.

She knitted her delicate brows, pondered carefully for a moment, and asked Shin, "Don't you at least need to know whether she accepts or refuses?"

Shin smiled faintly. "Rangiku-san, your question is rather strange. It was you who asked me a question just now, not her asking me, nor was I speaking to her. What I said just then was merely an answer."

Rangiku felt his words were a bit convoluted and couldn't help tapping her own head, assuming she must be too drunk to understand what Shin was saying.

"Wait a second."

Shin continued, "What I said just now was neither an inquiry nor a request, neither a demand nor a requirement. I think Rukia is an exceptional person, a very good girl, and so I like her. That's all."

"..."

Rangiku sat in a daze for a long while before swaying to her feet.

"I'm drunk. I'm really drunk. I'm heading out first; you two can chat."

With that, Rangiku walked somewhat unsteadily toward the exit of the izakaya.

"Have a safe walk back, Rangiku-san."

After Rangiku's departure, the atmosphere between Shin and Rukia lapsed into an eerie, quiet stillness.

Seeing the President sitting across from her, quietly eating and drinking by himself, Rukia felt her previously chaotic, tangled thoughts gradually settle down to the rhythm of his unhurried movements.

Cautiously and tentatively, she raised her head and saw Shin in the middle of pouring another drink.

Rukia bit her lip. "President, how much have you had to drink?"

"Are you worried I'll get drunk?" Shin asked with a faint, amused smile.

Rukia could not understand how he could still smile with such poise. Such composure felt blindingly sharp to her, as if she were the one who had done something to feel guilty about.

She averted her gaze from Shin and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. "What the President said just now... what did it actually mean?"

"Wasn't my meaning clear enough?"

"..."

In truth, it had been clear enough. Rukia understood the import of those words: it wasn't a request, it wasn't a demand, and it didn't require her to give an answer. It was simply the pure expression of a sentiment.

Such an action made Rukia feel that the President's affection was far too pure. Could such a pure emotion even exist in this world?

And was she truly worthy of such a pure fondness from the President?

Or was it simply that the President appreciated her as a person, but used the word "like" to express it too strongly?

A moment ago, Vice-Captain Matsumoto had clearly interpreted it in that other way; if the President didn't mean it like that, shouldn't he at least explain?

"Aren't you going to eat?"

Shin suddenly asked.

Rukia remained silent. She had lost all appetite at a time like this, feeling that the atmosphere between the two of them was exceedingly strange.

The ambiguous romance that should have been there seemed to have existed only at the very beginning, vanishing entirely after Vice-Captain Matsumoto left—even her shyness had gone with it.

It felt as though nothing had happened between them at all, and that only Rukia was harboring a guilty conscience.

"I... I'm not hungry."

"Very well." Shin called the owner of the izakaya to settle the bill, then stood up first.

"Time to go."

"Ah? Oh!"

The two of them walked out of the izakaya. The moment the doorway curtain fell behind them, the warm scent of wood was cut off.

Rukia felt that familiar palm settle onto the top of her head once again.

Instinctively, she shrank her neck. She felt she ought to dodge it—she really should keep a bit of distance—yet she was afraid of misjudging the measure and making a total mess of everything.

All of these were thoughts she would have later, but right then, the sensation on the crown of her head filled her with a strange, lingering reluctance to let go.

The President's movements seemed even lighter and gentler than usual, and his voice sounded tender as well.

"Let's go."

The blue-gray flagstones absorbed the silver moonlight, their footsteps sending ripples through the quiet street, startling the scattered stars curled up on the rooftops.

In the distance, lamplight flickered on and off like square jellyfish stranded in the night. A breeze swept over the low pyramid of empty wine bottles, striking two or three muffled notes before being instantly dissolved by the moonlight dripping from the eaves.

As Rukia looked up, a drift of stray clouds passed overhead, and those scattered stars turned into silver sand falling through a sieve, sifting softly into the deep turquoise night.

In a daze, she felt as though the pavement was coated with an illusory shimmering mist, like glistening water left behind on the mudflats after the tide receded. In her trance, she watched her own shadow being spun into long, slender threads by the night breeze, gently tying itself to the brightest star at the edge of the sky.