sinovels Chapter 76 Kiss
Chapter 76 Kiss
Chapter 78 Kiss
A red banner outside the record store fluttered in the wind, bearing the eye-catching slogan: "[ZARD's debut album, now selling well and receiving rave reviews!]".
A long line formed in front of the cashier, young men and women holding the dark blue CD in their hands, their faces beaming with enthusiasm that had not faded even during the economic downturn.
This is a very strange phenomenon.
Newspapers were filled with daily reports of securities companies going bankrupt and real estate companies incurring debts, and adults were frowning as they calculated their dwindling assets.
However, the entertainment industry presents an almost pathological prosperity.
The less clear the future seems, the more willing people are to pay for immediate pleasure. A CD, a movie—these have become the cheapest anesthetics in this gloomy spring.
"Cheers!"
A crisp sound of glass colliding.
But the location wasn't the upscale French restaurant I'd imagined, nor was it a revolving restaurant overlooking the Tokyo night view.
This is an ordinary apartment located near Roppongi.
The living room wasn't big; a guitar case and stacks of sheet music were piled up in the corner, and the air was filled with the delicious aroma of stewed meat.
Izumi Sakai was wearing a loose gray sweatshirt, holding a can of Suntory beer she had just bought from the convenience store, her cheeks flushed with a healthy rosy glow from her earlier work in the kitchen.
"I was planning to treat you to that two-Michelin-starred restaurant; I've been saving up my vouchers for ages."
She glanced regretfully at the simple dishes on the coffee table, her tone betraying a hint of disappointment. "So the manager said the big boss had booked the whole place—when there were clearly plenty of seats! Seriously—can money buy you to cut in line?"
"If you look at it from another angle, a company that still goes so far as to book out an entire venue for a celebration at this time is probably not far from going bankrupt."
Kitahara Shin sat cross-legged on the carpet, picked up a piece of stewed potato that had been cooked until soft, and put it in his mouth.
It has a soft texture, with a perfect ratio of soy sauce and sugar, giving it a comforting, homey flavor.
"Besides, those French dishes that are only the size of a fingernail can't compare to what you've made."
"real?"
Quanshui's eyes lit up, and the gloom of her ruined date instantly vanished. "This is how my mom taught me to make it. You have to add a little butter at the end for a richer flavor."
"Really, I have no reason to lie to you."
Kitahara Shin took another sip of beer and stretched his long legs comfortably.
Bill Evans' jazz piano music filled the room.
"Oh, right."
Kitahara Shin seemed to suddenly remember something, put down the wine jar, turned around and took out a beautifully packaged small box from the backpack behind the sofa.
"Although it's a few days late, as promised, there will be a gift as long as the single sells well."
He handed the box to the spring, saying, "Happy birthday, Ms. Sakai."
The spring was stunned.
She looked at the dark blue velvet box, and her heart skipped a beat.
She herself had almost forgotten the "birthday promise" she had casually made on the beach at night.
She thought it was just a joke at the time, or a pie in the sky offered to encourage her.
Unexpectedly, he remembered it all along.
"This is----"
She carefully took the box and opened it.
A fountain pen was lying inside.
It wasn't one of those Montblancs you see everywhere, but a deep red Namiki Maki-e fountain pen that looked quite vintage.
The penholder is decorated with delicate cherry blossom patterns, which shimmer with a warm luster under the light.
"This pen was a collection of a female writer from the early Showa era."
Shin Kitahara explained softly, "I think it suits you very well, not just for signing your name, but also because I hope you can use it to write more heart-touching lyrics like 'Good-bye My Loneliness'."
Spring water's fingers gently traced the delicate patterns on the penholder.
The touch was slightly cool, yet it went straight to the heart.
It's not just the value of the gift, but more importantly, the meaning behind it.
He knew that she cared more about creation than jewelry, about the lyrics written on paper that expressed her emotions.
He was truly watching her, watching her efforts, watching her soul.
My eyes suddenly felt hot.
The bittersweet feeling welling up from the bottom of her heart left her somewhat at a loss.
"Thanks----"
Her voice choked with emotion, "It's really—too precious."
"It's nothing," Kitahara Shin smiled. "Take it; it's an investment in a future superstar female singer."
The spring closed the lid and gripped the pen tightly.
She looked up at Kitahara Shin's eyes, which always held a faint smile and seemed to encompass everything.
Feelings of emotion, gratitude, and long-suppressed feelings of "liking" burst forth at this moment.
"Well—to celebrate receiving such a wonderful gift, I'm going to have another can!"
She suddenly spoke loudly, and to hide the tears in her eyes, she grabbed the unopened beer on the table, snapped it open, and took a big gulp.
The alcohol relaxed her usually tense nerves, and she became more talkative.
"Mr. Kitahara, may I talk to you about a few more things?"
"certainly."
"My hometown is Hadano in Kanagawa Prefecture. Although it's not far from Tokyo, it feels like two different worlds. There are mountains and rivers there, and everyone knows each other. But here—"
She looked out the window.
"Here, even if you stand at the Shibuya Crossroads and thousands of people walk by, not a single person will look at you. I'm like a pebble dropped into the sea, without even a sound."
Kitahara Shin put down his chopsticks and listened quietly.
He knows that feeling.
In his past life, he had also stared at the ceiling countless times in the dead of night, wondering what he really was in this huge arena of fame and fortune.
"Later I became a model, you know, a race queen."
Hearing this word, Izumi subconsciously shrank her shoulders. It was a past she had always wanted to avoid. "Everyone complimented me on my beauty and my figure, but when I stood there wearing those clothes, I felt like a commodity, displayed on a shelf for people to choose from. They weren't looking at me; they were looking at the label 'Sachiko Kamachi.'"
"Sometimes when I'm backstage getting my makeup done, looking at myself in the mirror, I feel like I'm a complete stranger. My makeup is so heavy, my smile is so perfect, but who is that?"
"It's often like this: you're alive, but you still feel like a walking corpse."
"Until I met you."
Izumi turned her head and stared intently at Kitahara Shin.
Perhaps because of the alcohol, her eyes held less shyness and more bold frankness.
"That day at the racetrack, when you put your coat on me. And that time in front of the convenience store, when you were humming a song."
"You are the first person to see my dream through all that messy clothes and makeup."
"9
"You said my voice was powerful, you said I was a singer, and I was really touched at that time."
As she spoke, her voice choked with emotion.
It was a feeling of grievance and gratitude that had been building up in my heart for too long, and with the help of alcohol, it finally found an outlet.
"When I received the royalty check a few days ago, I was actually quite scared. The number was so big that it felt unreal. I was afraid that it was all just a bubble, and that when I woke up tomorrow, I would be back to that little model trembling in the corner backstage."
"Besides, I was actually quite worried about you, worried that you might also be affected by these things, but now it seems that everything is really great————"
Kitahara Shin looked at her.
At this moment, Quanshui's hair was casually tied behind her ears, with a few stray strands falling beside her cheeks.
She was just a fragile, sensitive girl who longed for recognition.
He reached out and gently ruffled her hair.
"Don't worry, I've made plenty of preparations, it won't be affected."
His palms were broad and warm. "And now, eating your stewed potatoes and drinking your beer, even if I'm really affected and in a bad mood, I'll probably be cured in no time."
"Really? I'm afraid it's just another nice thing to say—"
Spring Water muttered something.
She put down the empty wine can, her body swaying slightly.
The alcohol is starting to take effect.
Her eyes became unfocused, as if veiled by a layer of mist.
She slowly shifted her position, moving from the other end of the coffee table to next to Kitahara Shin.
Their shoulders touched.
Kitahara Shin could feel the heat emanating from her body, as well as the faint smell of alcohol mixed with the fragrance of shower gel.
"Mr. Kitahara————"
Quanshui turned to the side and gently rested her head on his shoulder.
I'm a little sleepy.
"Then go to sleep." Kitahara Shin didn't push her away, but simply adjusted his sitting position to make her more comfortable.
"I don't want to move—my legs are weak."
She's being coquettish.
This is an extremely rare gesture, one that is only shown in front of someone with whom one has the utmost trust.
Normally, Izumi Sakai, who is always on edge in the recording studio and subject to strict demands, was as soft as a cat that had been basking in the sun.
The room fell silent.
Only the CD player kept spinning tirelessly.
Kitahara Shin turned his head to look at the girl leaning on his shoulder. Her eyelashes were long and trembled slightly with her breath.
Her lips appeared exceptionally red and full because of the alcohol she had consumed.
Just as he was about to carry her back to the bedroom, Quanshui suddenly opened her eyes.
The two were very close.
They were so close that they could see each other's reflections in their pupils.
"Kitahara-kun."
She changed to a more affectionate way of addressing her.
There was no warning whatsoever.
Perhaps it was that title that gave her courage, or perhaps the atmosphere at that moment was too beautiful, making her not want it to end like this.
She reached out and wrapped her arms around Kitahara Shin's neck.
Then, she tilted her head back and leaned in.
soft.
Moist.
It has a faint aroma of beer malt.
Their lips met.
Kitahara Shin was stunned.
His hand was still hanging in mid-air, originally intending to support her shoulder.
This is not a movie shoot.
It was a completely clumsy, unskilled kiss.
It was just touching, gently rubbing against each other.
It's like confirming something, or like stamping a document.
About three seconds passed, or maybe longer.
The spring water loosened its grip.
Her face turned bright red, almost bleeding, and her eyes flickered in a panic, as if she were frightened by her own boldness.
But then, the effects of the alcohol hit me hard, and my eyelids felt incredibly heavy.
"Ugh————"
She uttered a muffled groan, tilted her head, and fell directly into Kitahara Shin's arms.
His breathing instantly became long and even.
She fell asleep instantly.
'
Kitahara Shin remained in that stiff posture, looking at the perpetrator in his arms who had "lit the fire and run away".
He raised his hand and gently wiped his lips with his thumb.
There was still a trace of warmth on it.
A helpless, bitter smile appeared on his lips.
"Really—"
It's definitely not his first kiss. After all, he's kissed actresses in TV dramas before, and he's filmed at least 80 or 100 kissing scenes.
We've seen all kinds of scenes: fake kisses, real kisses, passionate kisses, and forced kisses.
But this kind of private kiss—unguarded, purely heartfelt, even a little silly—was a first for him.
My heart skipped a beat.
He had to admit it.
He lowered his head and looked at the spring's unguarded sleeping face.
If he were a decent person, he should wake her up now, or at least leave her on the sofa and walk away.
If he's a jerk, this is an opportunity that's practically a once-in-a-lifetime chance.
But he is neither.
He was a normal man, but also a greedy one.
"Ms. Sakai, you've delivered yourself right to my doorstep."
He murmured to himself, his tone tinged with affection.
He bent down, put one hand under her knees and the other hand on her back, and steadily lifted her up.
In her sleep, Quanshui unconsciously rubbed against his chest, finding a more comfortable position, showing no signs of waking up.
I went into the bedroom and gently placed her on the bed.
Help her take off her slippers and cover her with the blanket.
Kitahara Shin sat on the edge of the bed and did not leave immediately.
He reached out and gently ran the back of his fingers across his flushed cheeks, brushing aside a few stray strands of hair.
He was perfectly aware of his feelings for Rie, Akina, and even the girl in front of him.
escape?
No need.
This is a treasure of the Heisei era.
Since God gave him a second chance at life and granted him his current status and abilities, why should he act like those melodramatic male protagonists, being coy and hesitant?
Not wanting to hurt anyone? That's just an excuse for the weak.
The logic of the strong is that I have the ability to make everyone live well, and I have the ability to protect these precious sentiments.
He'll continue as long as they're willing.
And it will catch perfectly.
Goodnight, spring.
He leaned down and placed a very light kiss on her forehead.
After closing the bedroom door, Kitahara Shin returned to the living room and began cleaning up the leftover food.
I'm in a surprisingly good mood.
It seems that this "Jiang Taigong's fishing rod" can not only catch important people, but also bring a lot of good luck in love.
at the same time.
On the other side of the world, in New York.
In a dance studio in Manhattan, the energetic music suddenly stopped.
Akina Nakamori, wearing a tight-fitting training outfit, had sweat dripping down her long, slender neck. She finished her last pose in front of the mirror and was about to grab a towel to wipe away the sweat.
"Achoo—!!"
A huge sneeze suddenly erupted, almost choking the black dancer next to him who was drinking water.
"Hey, Akina, are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
Akina rubbed her slightly itchy nose, her brows furrowing slightly.
The sneeze came so suddenly, and what's with this strange, unsettling feeling in my heart?
It's like—someone is stealing the pudding she's been saving for ages.
She walked to the window and looked at the bustling street scene of New York.
The advanced training courses here are nearing their end.
Her mentor said she was a genius and there was nothing more to teach her, and even suggested that she debut here directly.
But she refused.
Because there's someone waiting for her in Tokyo.
Or rather—there's a creature that might be snatched away by another stray cat if we don't hurry back and keep an eye on it.
"Kitahara-kun----"
She murmured the name softly, a dangerous glint flashing in her eyes.
Her intuition told her that the "battle" over there might be even more intense than she had imagined.
"Well, he's not the kind of womanizer, is he? He should be fine."
She grabbed a towel, vigorously wiped her face, and a confident smile appeared on her lips.
The next morning.
An unfamiliar ceiling, and some glaring sunlight filtering through the gaps in the curtains.
"Ugh————"
Izumi Sakai groaned in pain, feeling as if a ball of water-soaked cotton had been stuffed into her head, making it heavy and swollen.
A parched throat is the most direct punishment for a hangover.
She sat up groggily, looked at the blankets covering her tightly, and her brain went blank for two seconds.
where is this?
A few seconds later, memories of last night came flooding back like beads from a broken string.
Potato Stew with Meat — Beer — Kitahara-kun's Shoulder — Gift —
"ah!"
She gave a short shout, threw off the covers, jumped out of bed, and rushed into the guest room's ensuite bathroom like a headless fly.
I turned on the tap and splashed the icy water hard on my face.
"Whoosh—whoosh—"
The cold water brought her to her senses slightly, but what followed was a clearer and more shameful recollection.
In the mirror, the bare face, still glistening with water droplets, was turning red at a visible speed.
Not only her cheeks, but also her ears and neck were tinged with a blush.
"What—what have I done—"
Quanshui covered her face with her hands, slowly squatted down by the sink, and curled herself into a small ball.
The sensation of lips touching, the sound of breath so close, and my own shameless words, "I don't want to move."
.
It really is—using alcohol as an excuse to commit violence!
Izumi Sakai, you're doomed! How are you going to face Kitahara-san now? Will he think I'm a frivolous girl? Will he think I'm the kind of annoying person who acts recklessly when I'm drunk?
"Waaah————"
She let out a mournful cry, wishing she could disappear into the drain.
But amidst this extreme shame, another thought, like a small blade of grass stubbornly pushing its way out of a crack in the rock, quietly sprouted.
and many more.
Kitahara-kun at that time—it seems he didn't push me away?
The spring water slowly raised its head, looking at its reflection in the mirror through its fingers.
Although her memory was a little hazy, she remembered very clearly that he was not angry and did not try to avoid her.
Moreover, when I woke up, I was sleeping soundly in bed, with even the corners of the blanket tucked in properly.
"No refusal————"
She murmured those four words to herself, and her initial feeling of shame, which was about to explode, suddenly felt as if a pink bubble had been injected into her, making her feel light and airy.
Does not refusing mean — consent?
Does this mean that he also likes me a little bit?
"hey-hey----"
The girl in the mirror suddenly gave a silly smile.
The hangover headache is still there, but it doesn't matter anymore.
Quan Shui stood up, patted her burning cheeks, and took a deep breath in front of the mirror.
do not care!
Anyway, they've already kissed!
It's like writing a song. Since the intro has already started, you can only grit your teeth and finish singing the whole love song. She tidied her messy hair and carefully turned the doorknob.
The living room was quiet, but there seemed to be something on the dining table.
She peeked out.
A cup of steaming honey water, with a sticky note next to it.
The font is strong and powerful:
Drink this when you wake up. There's porridge in the kitchen. Also, next time, if you can't hold your liquor, don't try to be a hero; your drinking manners are terrible.
One Kitahara]
"Their drinking etiquette is terrible —"
Quanshui picked up the note. Although she had been teased, she couldn't suppress the smile on her face.
She picked up the glass of honey water and took a small sip.
Very sweet.
It's even sweeter than the potato stew with meat I had last night.