The door to the Service Club was pushed open gently, and the afterglow of the sunset elongated the visitor's shadow, casting it onto the polished floor.
Yukinoshita Yukino held several books, standing at the door. Her cold gaze swept across the empty and quiet classroom, finally landing on that familiar yet strange figure by the window. He was indeed here.
Kanjuro looked up from the pages of his book. After seeing who it was, there wasn't the slightest surprise on his face. Instead, a familiar smile appeared, like an elder seeing a junior, carrying a hint of playfulness.
"Yo, isn't this Little Yuki?" His voice carried its usual gentleness, yet it had a few more points of indescribable intimacy than usual. "Quite a rare guest."
Yukinoshita Yukino's arms holding the books tightened imperceptibly. She stepped into the classroom, deliberately choosing a seat furthest from Kanjuro. She placed the books gently on the table, her movements elegant yet carrying a sense of distance.
"Uncle Kanjuro," she spoke, her voice like a cold spring striking jade, clear and calm. "What a coincidence." She used honorifics, deliberately distancing herself.
Kanjuro chuckled, as if finding her act of feigning distance quite amusing. "What? After not seeing each other for a few years, you've become so distant with your uncle?" He closed the book in his hand and leaned back slightly, looking at her frankly. "I remember when you were little, you loved to run after your uncle."
Yukinoshita Yukino's eyelashes fluttered slightly, but she didn't respond to the topic of her childhood. She looked up, her eyes like icy glass staring straight at Kanjuro, carrying a hint of inquiry and calm scrutiny.
"After all, I'm no longer that little girl who followed behind Uncle Kanjuro," she said plainly, her tone steady and devoid of emotion. "And, I didn't expect that you, Uncle Kanjuro..." Her gaze lingered for a moment on his young, handsome face, which showed no signs of time. "It seems you've permanently stayed at eighteen."
This sentence was like an inadvertent exclamation, yet also like a precise probe. She stared intently at Kanjuro, not missing any subtle change on his face.
The smile on Kanjuro's face remained unchanged, even deepening slightly, as if it were just an inconsequential joke. "Time is just more lenient toward me." He glossed over it casually, then countered with a hint of playfulness, "However, for Little Yukino to specifically apply to join this Service Club that almost no one visits, could it be... you're here for your uncle?"
Yukinoshita Yukino immediately denied it, her tone resolute and even carrying a hint of coldness from being offended. "If you think I joined the Service Club because I wanted to come find you, you are gravely mistaken." She picked up the book on the table again, posing as if to read, intending to end the conversation. "I just need a quiet place for self-study."
"Is that so?" Kanjuro did not intend to let her off so easily. He leaned forward slightly, and across the distance of most of the classroom, his voice lowered, carrying an ambiguous, almost provocative tone. "I thought... you were here to'serve' me."
The word "serve" was articulated exceptionally clearly by him, filled with double meaning.
Yukinoshita Yukino's fingers flipping through the book pages suddenly paused.
She looked up and gave Kanjuro a deep look. That gaze was complex and hard to decipher—there was a faint anger from being offended by his words, contempt for his frivolous attitude, but deeper down, an extremely subtle flutter and... curiosity that even she herself couldn't fully understand.
She ultimately didn't speak up to refute him, but simply lowered her head, her gaze falling on the densely packed text on the page, yet she couldn't take in a single word.
She indeed hadn't chosen this place because of Kanjuro, at least that's what her logic told her. She needed peace, she needed solitude, and the Service Club met her requirements.
But what about in her subconscious?
She couldn't deny that she was full of curiosity about this "Uncle Kanjuro." Why did he never age? What kind of past did he have with her mother, Yukinoshita Yukino? The complex, indescribable look in her mother's eyes when she mentioned him; the tension when her sister Haruno repeatedly and seriously warned her to stay away from this school and Kanjuro... all of it shrouded her like a mist.
Eighteen years ago, her mother had attended school here, back when it was still called the "Sacred Scripture Academy." Something must have happened there. And Kanjuro was undoubtedly the key to unraveling all these mysteries.
She chose this place to investigate. To figure out exactly what the shadow was that lingered in her mother's heart and made her feel faintly uneasy.
As for whether a sliver of a thought to get closer to this mysterious, powerful, and dangerously charming "Uncle" was hidden deep within her heart... she refused to look into it.
Silence spread through the activity room, broken only by the occasional clamor of the Go-Home Club members outside and the subtle sounds of light and shadow shifting as the setting sun moved.
Kanjuro looked at Yukinoshita Yukino's lowered profile. Her cold and exquisite features softened slightly in the warm halo of light, but her tightly pursed lips betrayed the turmoil within her.
A deep, inscrutable curve formed at the corner of his mouth.
Little Yukino... have you stepped into this domain of your own accord because you truly just seek peace, or... have you unknowingly been drawn by the threads of fate towards my eternal darkness?
Whatever the reason, this "investigation" you've started will likely lead you to an answer that far exceeds your imagination.
And I am looking forward to seeing what kind of expression your face will show the moment you uncover the truth. A suffocating silence spread through the activity room. Yukinoshita Yukino stared down at the book, but her vision wouldn't focus. Kanjuro's double-meaning mention of'service' still vibrated in the air, making her ears burn.
Just as she thought this awkward confrontation would last indefinitely, Kanjuro suddenly gave a light chuckle, his voice returning to its previous gentle composure.
"Speaking of which," he casually picked up a book by his side, Raymond Chandler's The Long Goodbye, "does Little Yukino like mystery novels?"
Yukinoshita was slightly taken aback, not expecting him to suddenly switch to such an ordinary topic. She cautiously raised her eyes: "I wouldn't say I like them. Just logic games."
"Oh?" Kanjuro flipped through the pages. "But the character Marlowe is very interesting. Those so-called 'principles' he insists on are nothing but ridiculously stubborn in the eyes of the world. Would you say he's clear-headed or foolish?"
"To do something knowing it can't be done is foolish," Yukinoshita replied coldly.
"Is that so?" Kanjuro smiled slightly. "But I feel that in this world where everyone is compromising, being able to stick to one's own 'ridiculousness' is actually a rare kind of clarity."
Yukinoshita pursed her lips: "This kind of romanticized interpretation is childish."
"Then from another perspective," Kanjuro said unhurriedly, "in Anna Karenina, do you think Anna really loved Vronsky, or was she just using him as a tool to escape her dull life?"
This question made Yukinoshita sit up a bit straighter: "She loved him, of course. Otherwise, she wouldn't have given up everything for him."
"Given up everything?" Kanjuro raised an eyebrow. "Including her son's custody, her social status, even her life? Isn't this kind of love too selfish?"
"Love is inherently selfish," Yukinoshita countered. "Tolstoy used this extreme to show the oppression of women by society."
"An interesting interpretation." Kanjuro nodded and picked up another book. "What about One Hundred Years of Solitude? Do you think the solitude of the Buendía family was destined by fate, or was it the result of their own choices?"
Yukinoshita pondered for a moment: "It's a curse branded into their bloodline. They couldn't escape it."
"Couldn't escape, or wouldn't escape?" Kanjuro's voice lowered. "Perhaps solitude is the very essence of their existence, just like how Colonel Aureliano spent his later years constantly making little gold fishes, knowing they would eventually be melted down to start over."
This conversation made Yukinoshita lean forward involuntarily. She found that Kanjuro's understanding of each work was extremely profound, always able to cut in from an unexpected angle and propose thought-provoking viewpoints.
"Then what do you think of Crime and Punishment?" she couldn't help but ask back. "Was Raskolnikov's theory right or wrong?"
Kanjuro showed a meaningful smile: "What do you think, Little Yukino?"
"He was wrong," Yukinoshita said with certainty. "No one has the right to decide the life or death of others."
"Even if that person is a parasite of society?" Kanjuro pressed.
"Even then." Yukinoshita's gaze was firm. "This isn't a question of morality, but a question of humanity. Once that line is crossed, there's no going back."
Kanjuro watched her, a flash of admiration in his eyes: "A very sharp insight. But have you ever thought that perhaps what the author wanted to express was exactly the opposite—that a Raskolnikov lives in everyone's heart, but most people don't have the courage to face that fact."
They went back and forth like this, from War and Peace to The Stranger, from Dream of the Red Chamber to The Catcher in the Rye. Yukinoshita found herself completely immersed in this intellectual sparring, forgetting the time and her guard against the man in front of her.
Kanjuro's knowledge was terrifyingly vast; no matter how obscure a work she mentioned, he could immediately pick up the topic. What startled her even more was that his insights were always so unique, as if he had read through these books thousands of times.
When the sun had completely sunk below the horizon and the activity room fell into dimness, Yukinoshita realized with a start that they had been talking for an entire afternoon.
She looked at Kanjuro's profile in the dim light. That face, forever eighteen, appeared even more mysterious in the shadows. A wave of complex emotions welled up in her heart—admiration for his talent, annoyance at herself for being so easily drawn in, and a hint of an indescribable flutter.
"Really..." she sighed softly, her tone carrying a helplessness she hadn't even noticed, "What a loathsome Uncle Kanjuro."
There was no longer the initial coldness in those words; instead, they were mixed with a certain indefinable quality.
Hearing this, Kanjuro's lips curved slightly in the darkness.
This "chance encounter" seemed even more interesting than he had anticipated. The campus in the evening was shrouded in a warm golden afterglow, with students emerging from the teaching building in groups of two or three. When Kanjuro and Yukinoshita Yukino walked side by side down the corridor, they instantly attracted countless gazes.
"Look! Who is that guy?"
"A freshman? He's so handsome!"
"A transfer student, right? I've never seen that face before."
The girls' suppressed exclamations and whispers spread through the corridor. Kanjuro's forever eighteen-year-old handsome face seemed to be plated with a halo in the setting sun. His tall figure and composed aura formed a sharp contrast with the green youths around them.
Yukinoshita Yukino frowned slightly and subconsciously quickened her pace. She didn't like this feeling of being in the spotlight, and she liked the gazes directed at Kanjuro—filled with infatuation and curiosity—even less.
However, Kanjuro seemed completely oblivious to the commotion around them. He naturally kept pace with her, a faint smile on his lips.
"Where are you taking me?" Yukinoshita finally couldn't help but ask, her voice carrying a hint of imperceptible tension.
Kanjuro didn't answer, but simply led her through the teaching building to the sports field. The field was very lively in the evening, with various clubs conducting activities. The most eye-catching was the Tennis Club's exhibition match, with the sidelines crowded with spectators.
"Why did you bring me to a place like this?" Yukinoshita stopped, her tone clearly displeased.
Kanjuro turned to look at her, the sunset dancing in his eyes: "I wanted to show Little Yukino some different scenery." His voice was gentle, yet it carried an air that brooked no refusal.
Just then, a commotion suddenly broke out on the tennis court. Miura Yumiko, who was playing, clearly noticed their arrival, and her movements stiffened for a moment. When she saw clearly that it was Yukinoshita Yukino standing beside Kanjuro, her expression instantly became complex—amazed by Kanjuro's handsomeness, yet feeling a strange jealousy at the sight of him and Yukinoshita standing side by side.
Coincidentally, it was Yui Yuigahama's turn to serve. The pink-haired girl nervously gripped her racket, her gaze also involuntarily drifting toward Kanjuro outside the court.
"Yui, focus!" Miura Yumiko shouted impatiently, her tone carrying a strange flare of anger.
Yui Yuigahama hurriedly retracted her gaze, but because she was distracted, she served with too much force, and the tennis ball flew straight toward Miura Yumiko.
"Did you do that on purpose?" Miura Yumiko narrowly dodged it, her anger rising. She glared at Yuigahama, then couldn't help but look again at that dazzling figure outside the court.
Kanjuro seemed not to notice the interlude on the court. He naturally sat down on a bench and patted the spot next to him: "Isn't it tiring to stand, Little Yukino?"
Yukinoshita Yukino hesitated for a moment but eventually sat down beside him, though she deliberately kept some distance. She looked at the clearly distracted Miura Yumiko and Yui Yuigahama on the court, then looked at the instigator beside her, and couldn't help but sigh softly.
The match on the field became a bit chaotic. Miura Yumiko's hits grew more forceful, but her gaze occasionally drifted toward the bench. Yui Yuigahama appeared even more flustered, making consecutive errors.
"It seems your appearance has disrupted their rhythm," Yukinoshita said faintly.
Kanjuro chuckled softly, "Isn't this quite interesting?"
Just then, Miura Yumiko delivered a fierce volley, and the tennis ball flew straight toward the bench. Amidst the gasps from the sidelines, Kanjuro didn't even stand up; he simply raised his hand casually and caught the incoming tennis ball with precision.
His movements were elegant and composed, as if he were merely brushing dust off his sleeve.
The entire field fell silent instantly. Miura Yumiko stood rooted to the spot, her cheeks flushed red—whether from the exercise or something else.
Kanjuro stood up and walked slowly to the edge of the court, handing the tennis ball back to the stunned Miura Yumiko.
"A very exciting match," he said with a smile, his voice gentle. "However, please be a bit more careful next time."
Miura Yumiko took the tennis ball blankly, unable to say a word for a moment.
Kanjuro turned back to the bench and extended his hand to Yukinoshita: "It's time for us to go, Little Yukino."
Yukinoshita looked at the well-defined hand before her, then at the countless pairs of eyes watching them, and finally placed her hand gently upon it.
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