"..."
Hearing Hojo Shione's sharp, questioning words—each one like a dart aimed at a vulnerable spot—Hasegawa Saori frowned deeply. A look of doubt flickered in her eyes, but she remained silent, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Receiving no response, Hojo Shione clicked her tongue in annoyance, rubbed her sore waist where the wooden sword had poked her, and turned off the induction cooker.
Click.
The boiling soup in the pot immediately quieted down—the furious bubbling settling into a gentle simmer, as if even the kitchen knew better than to interrupt this confrontation.
Hojo Shione turned around slowly, her movements deliberate and unhurried. She narrowed her slender eyes—those eyes that had seen too much, felt too much—and first glanced at the wooden sword still pointed in her direction. Then she thoughtfully observed the expression on Hasegawa's face—that mask of cold fury barely concealing something raw underneath.
After a long, tense moment, she seemed to understand something. The corners of her lips curved slightly upward, and she asked with a knowing, half-smiling tone:
"It seems... he didn't go to watch your competition after all?"
Seeing Hasegawa remain silent—no denial, no explanation, just that frozen glare—Hojo Shione probed further, her voice dripping with false sympathy:
"It seems you're quite anxious right now, aren't you?"
"But I remember you used to be so calm. Back when Shiratori Seiya started dating someone else—when that Mio girl first appeared—you barely reacted. You just... accepted it. So why are you so worked up this time? Just because he didn't show up to watch your little competition?"
Upon hearing this, a cold, dangerous glint flashed in Hasegawa's eyes—the kind that preceded a storm. Her hand moved slightly, and the wooden sword pressed firmly against Hojo Shione's fair neck, the wood cool against her skin. She glanced at the steaming pot beside them, then asked in a low, controlled voice:
"Where is Seiya now?"
Her neck felt cold—an unnatural chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. Yet Hojo Shione showed no fear in her eyes. Instead, she let out a soft, almost amused chuckle.
"Unfortunately for you... even if you pressure me right now, I have no idea where he is. Otherwise, I wouldn't be standing here alone in his kitchen, cooking by myself."
She paused, then added with a shrug:
"You don't need to think I'm lying to you. If you don't believe me, feel free to go check the entrance yourself—see if his shoes are there. You'll know pretty quickly whether he's actually home."
Upon hearing this, Hasegawa Saori lowered her gaze in thought. When she had entered, she hadn't paid attention to the entrance—she'd been too focused, too frantic. But now that she thought about it... with all the noise she'd made breaking in—well, entering—if Seiya were actually home, he would have come out by now.
After a moment of consideration, she raised her eyes and asked:
"Then why are you at Seiya's house?"
Pfft.
Hearing her question, Hojo Shione's eyes widened in genuine surprise—as if she'd just heard the most ridiculous thing imaginable. Then she tilted her head back and let out a sharp, mocking laugh, like a villainess in a revenge drama.
"What right do you have to ask me that?"
"What—only you are allowed to come to Seiya's house, but I'm not? Did you marry Seiya? Or are you just marking your territory like a stray dog, growling at anyone who gets too close?"
She paused, letting the words sink in, then continued mercilessly:
"Let alone marriage... you're not even Seiya's girlfriend anymore, are you? Don't delude yourself by saying you 'never agreed to break up with him.'"
"Breakups are always one-sided. Just like how you're frantically searching for him right now—running around like a lost child—but you don't see him running back to you, do you?"
As her words landed like bombs, Hasegawa Saori's pupils suddenly contracted—as if the most vulnerable, most protected part of her heart had been pierced by a spear. Her hand trembled, and the wooden blade pressed even tighter against Hojo Shione's throat.
Cough, cough...
Her throat constricted, and Hojo Shione couldn't help but cough twice—a ragged, painful sound. Yet the next moment, as she raised her face, her smile only grew wider. Her breathing quickened inexplicably, and even the corners of her eyes flushed red—not with fear, but with a kind of manic exhilaration.
"What? Did I hit a sore spot?"
"How pathetic. Do you even know what you look like right now? Like a puppy that got abandoned by its owner and doesn't know which way to run."
Feeling the sword press deeper into her throat—the pressure increasing, the wood biting into her skin—Hojo Shione did not stop. She did not beg. She did not flinch.
"Don't rush. Let me help you guess where Seiya is right now." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I bet he's with his official girlfriend at this very moment. Hahahaha..."
A hoarse, broken laugh echoed through the kitchen, bouncing off the walls like a ghost. Hojo Shione forcefully grabbed the wooden sword in front of her and pressed it harder against her own neck—pushing in, not pulling away.
"I'll give you some advice—free of charge." Her eyes stared intensely into Hasegawa Saori's, revealing a surging, undeniable madness. Her voice dropped to a cold, flat whisper:
"If you want Seiya to be inseparable from you—to have only you in his heart, to never look at another woman again—then kill me right now."
"Kill Takahashi Mio."
"And kill every single person he dares to date in the future."
She paused, letting the weight of her words settle like lead.
"Kill me."
Feeling Hojo Shione's pulling motion on the long sword—she wasn't defending, she wasinvitingthe blade—and hearing her hysterical, almost ecstatic voice, Hasegawa Saori's slender brows furrowed deeply. With a sharp tug, she snatched the wooden sword back from Shione's grip.
Cough, cough, cough...
With the wooden sword finally removed from her throat, Hojo Shione bent over and coughed hard twice, the violent urge to vomit bringing tears streaming down her cheeks. She wiped them away carelessly with the back of her hand, took a few deep, shuddering breaths to suppress the nausea rolling in her stomach, then raised her face again.
She looked... disappointed.
Disappointed in the girl standing before her.
Then she laughed—a contemptuous, almost pitying laugh.
"Heh heh... nothing more than that."
Just a bluff after all.
Hearing this, Hasegawa Saori tilted her head slightly—that same bird-like, curious gesture she'd had since childhood—and looked at Hojo Shione with unsettling calm. She asked:
"You're not afraid of death?"
"Death?"
Hojo Shione glanced at her—a long, unreadable look—then turned and walked toward the living room. As she passed, she deliberately bumped Hasegawa Saori's shoulder, leaning in close to whisper in her ear with a smile:
"What's life or death? Is it really that important?"
After saying that, she took two more steps forward, then suddenly stopped. She turned her head slightly, her profile catching the light, and her tone dropped to something cold and distant:
"Sometimes... living requires far more courage than dying. Don't you agree?"
Without waiting for an answer, she walked into the living room and unhurriedly began to prepare tea—measuring leaves, pouring water, going through the motions like a well-practiced ritual. Her slender fingers subconsciously drifted to her neck, tracing the sore spot.
Although she hadn't looked in a mirror yet, the pain radiating from her throat told her there must be a mark there—red, angry, real.
But at this moment, all she felt toward Hasegawa Saori was disappointment.
If it had been possible... she truly wished Hasegawa had killed her just now.
If Hasegawa had dared to strike—if she had drawn blood, or even half-crippled her—then whatever fragile connection remained between Hasegawa and Shiratori Seiya would have shattered beyond repair.
And even if she died... Shiratori Seiya would remember her forever.
She would occupy an eternally unfillable void in his heart—a space no other woman could ever touch. No matter how many women he met in the future, no matter who he dated or married... none could ever compare to the one who died for him.
As for being afraid of death?
Death was just a moment of pain—a single sharp note in an otherwise endless song.
But those days when even breathing hurt? When every inhale felt like swallowing glass? She had suffered through every single second of that torture. Compared to that... what was death?
Thinking of this, Hojo Shione scoffed disdainfully. As she waited for the water to boil, she poured out the tea leaves and turned to look at Hasegawa Saori, who was still standing motionless at the doorway, long sword in hand like a statue. She said calmly:
"I know you're probably very anxious right now—your heart racing, your mind spinning. But why don't you sit down and have some tea first?"
"Because what's done is done. And being anxious won't change a single thing."
"..."
Hearing this, Hasegawa Saori's gaze shifted toward the fragrant pot on the stove—the soup still simmering gently. She swallowed—a small, almost imperceptible movement—and then turned and walked toward the living room.
During the time they waited for the hot water to boil, the atmosphere between them remained heavy and silent. Neither spoke. But Hasegawa frequently glanced toward the kitchen, as if she wanted to say something—her lips parting, then closing—but ultimately, she just bit her lip and swallowed her words.
Hojo Shione noticed her hesitation—those furtive glances, that restrained tension—but only smiled without commenting. When the hot water finally boiled, her emotions had visibly calmed down, like a storm passing over the ocean.
She skillfully brewed the tea—smooth, practiced motions—and pushed a cup in front of Hasegawa Saori.
Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, she suddenly narrowed her slender eyes and fixed her gaze on the girl across from her.
"Seiya didn't go to watch your competition?"
"Mm."
Hasegawa Saori gently blew on the steaming tea in her cup—a small, careful breath—and took a sip. The hot liquid slid down her throat and settled in her stomach, barely suppressing the gnawing hunger she'd been ignoring all day.
Hearing her confirmation—that simple, quiet mm—Hojo Shione's eyes sharpened like honed blades. She said directly:
"You're lying."
"?"