Chapter 99: Confession Night
"Quit dragging your feet. Is the thought of a blind date with me really that terrifying?" Himeko nudged Rovel with the toe of her shoe, a playful glint in her eyes.
"Himeko, a thought just occurred to me," Rovel mused, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "Is it possible all your previous blind dates were scared off by that fiery temper of yours?"
Hearing this, Himeko immediately bristled.
"Nonsense!" she shot back, her voice sharp. "When I'm on a date, I'm the picture of perfection. Intellectual, gentle, beautiful, generous... I exude the unique, irresistible charm of a mature woman from every pore."
"I'm pretty sure at least half of those words have absolutely nothing to do with you," Rovel said, rolling his eyes dramatically.
"Oh? And which half would that be?" she challenged, crossing her arms.
"Intellectual, gentle, and generous," Rovel listed off without a moment's hesitation.
"Hmph. Not bad," Himeko conceded with a satisfied nod. "At least you didn't deny my charm." Her satisfaction was short-lived, however, as her expression soured. "But you can't pin it all on me! Every single time I go on one of these things, something completely bizarre happens."
"Like what?" Rovel asked, genuinely curious.
"For example," she began, her voice laced with frustration, "a Death Soldier or some low-level Honkai Beast will just pop up out of nowhere. I can't just sit there and let it run rampant, can I? But by the time I've finished mopping the floor with it, my date has already sprinted for the hills."
She sighed, swirling the imaginary dregs in an empty cup. "And don't even get me started on missions. Just two days ago, right when the Third Honkai Eruption kicked off, I was in the middle of a date. It was going so well! We were just about to hold hands—hold hands!—and then my comms crackle to life telling me there's an 'abnormal situation' in Nagazora City."
"And there's more..."
Himeko launched into a litany of her dating disasters, recounting each strange anecdote with the kind of exasperated fondness one might reserve for dysfunctional family heirlooms.
"Let me get this straight," Rovel said, summarizing her tragic saga. "You're about to turn twenty-seven, you go on blind dates all the time, and you're telling me you've never even managed to hold a guy's hand?"
"If you're so good at talking, why don't you say a little more?" Himeko's voice was dangerously sweet as her hand shot out, wrapping around Rovel's neck. It wasn't a real choke, but the message was clear.
"Can't... breathe..." Rovel wheezed, struggling playfully. He had to admit, having his head pressed against Himeko's rather generous chest was far from the worst way to go, but asphyxiation was still a genuine concern.
With a final, theatrical huff, Himeko reluctantly released him.
"Cough... cough, cough..." Rovel gasped for air, rubbing his neck.
"Heh, serves you right," Himeko said, rolling her eyes. It was a clear warning to stop blurting out such brutal truths.
"Himeko, have you never considered just... being yourself on a date?" Rovel asked, his curiosity piqued.
She looked at him as if he'd just told the stupidest joke in the world. "Be myself? You mean the alcoholic or the violent one?"
"No need to sell yourself short. Besides those things, you have plenty of other merits," Rovel offered comfortingly.
"Oh? Do tell," she said, leaning forward with immediate interest.
"For example... uh... hmm..."
For a full thirty seconds, the only sounds that escaped Rovel's mouth were meaningless, contemplative hums.
"You brat, you're just asking for another beating, aren't you?" Himeko's eyes narrowed. She could clearly see he was just teasing her.
"After all, we just met," Rovel said, weaving a quick lie. "We still need to get to know each other, right?"
His words seemed to placate her, and Rovel was spared from another near-death experience.
Himeko led Rovel to a high-end restaurant, the kind with soft lighting, hushed conversations, and a wine list thicker than a textbook. She handled the hostess stand and the maze of tables with a practiced ease that suggested she was a regular.
"So," Himeko began, a suspicious glint in her eyes as she settled into her chair, "have you been to places like this often?"
"Why do you ask?" Rovel blinked, feigning confusion.
"Because... you don't seem the least bit intimidated," she elaborated, propping her chin on one hand. A faint, knowing smile played at the corners of her lips.
"You know, on a blind date, you can learn a lot about a person without them saying a single word. It's all in the details."
"Their upbringing, education, even their financial status... it all comes out in the little things. The way they hold their fork, how they speak to the waiter. It's not a hundred percent accurate, of course, but it's a fantastic way to weed out the ones who are just pretending to be high-rollers."
"I've been watching you since we walked in," she confessed. "And so far, I can't find a single flaw in your etiquette."
"So, that leaves two possibilities: either you're a seasoned veteran of the dating world, or you're the young master of some wealthy family. Am I right?" she concluded with an air of certainty.
"I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you, Himeko. I'm just an ordinary person," Rovel replied, shaking his head with a gentle smile. He raised his wine glass, gesturing to clink it with hers.
The crystal glasses met with a crisp, clear chime.
The ruby-red liquid swirled in his glass before he took a sip, the complex notes of the wine warming his throat.
Seeing him deny it so smoothly, Himeko simply offered a meaningful smile of her own, choosing not to press the matter further.
The two chatted amiably as they enjoyed their dinner. Suddenly, Himeko's gaze locked onto something, and her eyes lit up with an idea.
"Ah, that's right. You couldn't think of any of my good qualities earlier, could you? Well then, allow me to demonstrate one of my talents."
With a newfound purpose, Himeko stood and walked over to the small performance stage at the corner of the restaurant. A single violin rested on a stand, its polished wood gleaming. She picked it up, and under the soft, warm spotlights, her fiery red hair seemed to catch fire. Her fingertips rested gently on the instrument's shoulder, a familiar and intimate gesture.
She took a deep breath, her bow hovering over the strings for a moment before descending.
The first note that emerged was pure and clear, slicing through the ambient chatter of the restaurant. It was as if an invisible hand had pressed the pause button on the world; conversations died mid-sentence, and wine glasses hung suspended in the air.
All eyes were drawn to the woman on the stage and the wooden instrument that glowed with a gentle luster in her hands.
The melody was hauntingly beautiful, weaving its way into the ears of every patron. The gentle rhythm carried an undercurrent of hesitation, a story of unspoken feelings and words left unsaid.
As the piece progressed, the music swelled, growing more impassioned. The initial shyness erupted into a torrent of emotion—sadness, longing, and a deep reluctance danced on every vibrant note.
The climax was a downpour of sound, a sudden storm of feeling that drenched the silent room before receding just as quickly into a fragile calm, only to be ignited once more in a final, stunning crescendo.
As Himeko's bow came to a rest, the final note hung in the air like a single, delicate feather, landing softly on the heart of everyone present.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, a single person began to clap, and soon the entire restaurant erupted in heartfelt applause, a genuine affirmation of the stunning performance they had just witnessed.
"That piece," Himeko said, returning to the table with a triumphant gleam in her eyes, her lips curling into a teasing smile, "is called 'Confession Night'."
"Mm, I know it," Rovel nodded. "The background is from 'The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter,' isn't it? When Princess Kaguya has to return to the moon and say goodbye to her earthly family. The music is filled with the sadness and reluctance of that farewell." He delivered the explanation matter-of-factly, neatly sidestepping the trap she had laid with the song's title.
"Oh?" Himeko raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "I didn't expect you to know the story behind it. Most people just hear the title and the melody and assume it's about the pain of a rejected love confession."
"There are a thousand Hamlets in a thousand people's eyes," Rovel quoted softly. "I don't think there's anything wrong with that interpretation. Art isn't a reading comprehension test with a single correct answer."
He met her gaze. "Sometimes, a personal interpretation is far more romantic, don't you think?"
"Mm-hmm, I couldn't agree more." Himeko raised her glass, clinking it against Rovel's. She drained the rest of the wine in a single, elegant motion. A faint, rosy flush bloomed on her cheeks, adding a captivating charm to her features under the warm restaurant lights.
"So," she said, her voice a low murmur, "why don't you go up and play something?"
Rovel considered her for a moment, then gave a slight nod. "...Alright."
He didn't refuse. He simply stood, walked to the stage, and settled onto the bench in front of the grand piano. His fingers, long and steady, came to rest on the cool ivory keys.
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