NOVGO.NET Chapter 111 - 32
Chapter 111: Chapter 32
The morning sun had barely begun to crest over the mountain ridges, painting the mist-shrouded estate in soft, golden hues.
Hiyori hummed a cheerful tune that harmonized with the early morning birdsong as she skipped down the polished cedar hallway, her long black hair swayed rhythmically against her back, and her emerald eyes sparkled with the kind of optimism only a girl in love could possess.
She was beautiful, and she was well aware of her own charms—the way the male disciples stammered when she spoke to them, and how her curves, barely contained by her training Gi, often drew lingering gazes.
But Hiyori’s heart was singular in its focus.
To her, there was only Samu Wanu.
He was the star of the Shirohara dojo: handsome, disciplined, and possessing a kindness that felt as warm as the sun.
When she first came here, it was Samu-senpai who helped her adapt to the new environment.
He would even help her in training and care for her, so is it really strange for a young girl to develop a crush to a dependable senpai?
Of course not! It’s only natural!
But everyone knew that Samu-senpai is very devoted to Lady Retsu. He only has her in her heart and has never shown any interest to other ladies.
Hiyori didn’t hate or even feel a shred of dissatisfaction for Retsu. How could she? Retsu was an idol to all the female apprentices.
Hiyori still remembered with a fluttering heart how Lady Retsu had personally tended to her sprained ankle months ago, her touch so cool and professional, her voice so soothing.
Hiyori had even once confidently told the other female disicples during late night gossiping sessions that if she were a man, she would’ve fallen in love with Lady Retsu as well!
But recently, there has been rumors of Retsu’s “boyfriend”, a news that traveled through the estate like wildfire.
The disciples were in an uproar—half of them heartbroken, the other half indignant that a “city delinquent” was invading their sacred mountain.
Even Hiyori was indignant! Lady Retsu is obviously so perfect, how can some no name delinquent be worthy of her!
If she had a chance, she would absolutely teach that man lesson!
However, Hiyori was also secretly rejoicing. After all, if Lady Retsu was truly taken, then Samu-senpai would finally be free.
He would need a shoulder to cry on, someone to remind him that there were other flowers in the garden.
“Today is the day,” she whispered to herself, smoothing out the fabric of her Gi.
It was a ritual for her. Every morning at this exact hour, Samu would be mid-way through his thousand-kata routine, his skin glistening with sweat, his focus unbreakable.
She loved watching him in that state of pure martial grace.
She paused, taking a moment to check her reflection in the polished wood of the doorframe, fixing a stray strand of hair and practiced her most radiant, “supportive kouhai” smile.
“Good morning, Samu-senpai!” she chirped, sliding the heavy door open with a flourish of energy.
She expected the familiar sound of his bare feet hitting the tatami mats.
She expected him to pause, wipe his brow with a towel, and offer her that gentle, heart-melting smile that made her knees weak.
Instead, she was met with a silence so absolute it felt like a physical blow.
The training hall was vast, the air inside still cool and smelling of old wood and incense.
The dawn light filtered through the high windows, casting long, dramatic shadows across the floor.
And at that moment, Hiyori’s smile didn’t just fade; it curdled.
Her emerald eyes traveled upward, following a shadow that didn’t belong on the floor.
There, dangling from the central wooden beam of the dojo—the very place where the Shirohara family crest was carved—was a figure.
Samu Wanu’s body hung limp, his neck tilted at an impossible, sickening angle. His Gi, usually so crisp and white, looked ghostly in the dim light.
His face, the handsome face she had dreamed of just moments ago, was swollen and purple, his tongue protruding slightly in a final, silent scream of his “devotion”.
Beneath his dangling feet, a wooden chair lay overturned, a discarded prop in a play he thought was a romance, but which Retsu had never even bothered to remember.
The shock hit Hiyori like a tidal wave.
The air left her lungs, and for a few seconds, the only sound was the creak of the rope as the body swayed gently in the mountain breeze.
The horror she felt wasn’t just seeing someone she loved hanging lifeless, but also in the eerie peace of the room.
It was as of Samu had diedwithout regrets, as if death was something he had always dreamed of.
Hiyori’s knees gave out, and she hit the hardwood floor with a dull thud.
Her breath came in ragged, hyperventilating gasps, her vision tunneling until all she could see was the man she loved hanging like a broken toy.
Then, the dam broke.
A blood-curdling scream ripped from her throat, echoing through the silent estate, shattering the morning peace.
*
*
*
Retsu sat perfectly poised on her heels, her back straight and her hands resting delicately on her lap.
Her gaze was fixed on Seijirou’s face, tracing the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.
In the soft, pre-dawn light filtering through the window screens, he looked almost peaceful, the sharp edges of his usual delinquent scowl softened by sleep.
A gentle, obsessive smile played on her lips, but her eyes remained terrifyingly still.
To any outside observer, she looked like a dedicated wife; to a biologist, she looked like a predator guarding a prey she had watched grow and ready for taking.
At this moment, she was currently operating in a state of absolute physiological suppression.
She had dialed her Ki down to a microscopic flicker, masked her scent, and even regulated her heartbeat to a slow, rhythmic thud that blended with the ambient house noises.
She knew Seijirou’s body was a finely tuned instrument of survival; his subconscious was a radar that would pick up the “weight” of a human gaze if she weren’t careful.
And she refused to let anything—even her own presence—interrupt the “natural recovery” of his biological systems.
If she wasn’t afraid of waking him up, she would’ve already caressed her face, or even took pictures.
However, the absolute silence she had cultivated was suddenly marred.
Even through the soundproofed walls of the traditional wing, she could feel the vibration of frantic footsteps on the cedar floorboards.
The spiritual atmosphere of the estate, usually as still as a frozen pond, was suddenly churning with waves of shock, grief, and terror.
Retsu’s smile didn’t fade, but her eyebrows twitched in a microscopic show of annoyance.
Someone is being loud near her and Seijirou’s sanctuary.
She stood up with a fluid, ghost-like motion, ensuring not a single floorboard creaked.
She slid the door open just enough to slip through, then closed it with a soft click.
The second she was in the hallway, the mask of the “gentle caretaker” settled back into place, though it held that uncanny, alien perfection.
In the distance, she saw white-clad disciples sprinting toward the main training hall, their faces pale and their eyes wide.
She blurred into motion, moving like a silver streak that reappeared instantly beside a young male disciple.
The boy let out a strangled yelp, nearly tripping over his own feet as Retsu manifested in his personal space.
Recognizing the young lady, he immediately skidded to a halt and bowed so low his forehead nearly hit his knees. “L-Lady Retsu! Good morning!”
“Good morning,” Retsu hummed, her voice like wind-chimes as she tilted her head with an expression of mild, polite curiosity. “The house feels quite… agitated today. Did a stray cat get into the kitchens again? Or perhaps a training accident?”
The student looked up, his face slick with sweat and tears. “L-Lady Retsu, it’s a tragedy! Samu-senpai… the Master’s top disciple! He was found in the Great Hall this morning! He… he took his own life! He’s gone!”
Retsu paused.
Samu? Who’s that? She ran a quick search through her mental trash bin. Ah, right. The one with that met with her last night and the one with tedious declarations.
She remembered the conversation from the night before—the way she had leaned into his ear and whispered about “spiritual longing” and “eternal love.”
She recalled the way she had practiced her “sad” face to see if she could trigger a self-destructive response in a human subject.
He actually did it? The thought hit her with the force of a dark, delightful comedy. She told a toy to break itself to prove its love was ’real,’ and the toy actually obeyed.
How profoundly pathetic.
How hilariously weak.
She almost wanted to burst into laughter right there.
The absurdity of it was delicious. To end one’s own existence—the only thing that actually matters in this simulation—over a few whispered words about “love”?
It was truly the pinnacle of human stupidity.
“I see,” Retsu said, her voice dropping into a tone of practiced, somber mourning. She placed a hand over her heart, her eyes casting downward in a perfect imitation of grief. “How truly terrible. Samu-kun was so dedicated to his craft. It is a heavy loss for the dojo.”
The student, moved by her “sadness,” bowed again.
Retsu stared at him, “It seems all of you are heading there?”
“Yes, Lady Retsu! The Master has summoned everyone to the hall to discuss the matter and honor him! If there is nothing else, may I take my leave?”
“Of course,” Retsu waved her hand dismissively. “Do not let me keep you from your duties.”
As the student sprinted away, Retsu’s “grief” vanished instantly.
She turned back toward Seijirou’s room, her steps light and airy and a mocking, razor-sharp smile carved its way across her face.
’Samu, was it?’ she thought, her eyes glinting with cold amusement. ’You wanted to be remembered for eternity? I’ve already forgotten what you even look like. But thank you for the morning entertainment. You’ve proven once again that compared to Seijirou, everyone else is just… disposable plastic.’
She reached Seijirou’s door and paused, smoothing her hair.
She had a breakfast to serve, and she wanted to make sure that Seijirou doesn’t mind the delay of his training now that the dojo was filled with the stench of a useless tragedy.