TPCF 35

Chapter 35

“Do you really have to go this far?”
“What?”

Ruttger, bracing his hands against the table, suddenly let out a sigh. Anita, who had been leisurely sipping her cocoa, raised her eyebrows.

“I mean, there’s no need to pretend you’re interested in that person.”

She could almost hear the snap of her last thread of self-control breaking. The anger bubbling up inside her threatened to boil over. Anita slammed her cup down hard. Cocoa splashed up and wet the back of her hand, but that was the least of her concerns.

“So you think I’m pretending to be interested? You think you know me that well? Wait—when was it that we first met?”
“……”
“Oh, right! We met when we were seven. Which means… thirteen years, huh?”
“……”
“We’ve known each other for that long. Or at least, I thought we did. But now? I have no idea what’s going on in your head.”
“Anita…”
“Get out.”
“Just listen to me—”
“I said get out.”

Almost immediately, Anita felt embarrassed for showing so much emotion. She always wanted to keep her composure, but sometimes words just slipped out before she could stop them. Venting everything she wanted to say left her feeling lighter, but regret always followed.

Especially in front of Ruttger—she didn’t want him to see her at her lowest. The more you exposed yourself, the more you revealed your weaknesses.

A dull ache throbbed in her head.
“Go.”
“Anita…”
“Sorry, but I’d really like you to leave right now. Looks like the rain’s stopped, anyway.”
“……”
“I’ll just clean up before I go.”

She had no desire to look at his face right now. Turning away, she spoke coldly.
“The longer you stay, the more work I have to do. But if you insist on hanging around—be my guest.”

She thought she heard him call her name about five times. But she never turned back. If she did, it would make it obvious that she was hyper-aware of him. So she kept herself busy, pretending to work—putting away her untouched cup, righting a toppled chair.

Maybe her cold attitude had worked, because after a long moment, she heard the bell at the entrance. He must have finally left.

Only then did her stiff shoulders slump. All that for just one person leaving, and yet the air felt noticeably lighter.

With a much calmer expression, Anita finished tidying up. She even pushed in a book that had been sticking out of the shelf. She was about to head home when, for some reason, she glanced to the side.

Through the shop window, she caught a glimpse of a black silhouette darting away. The strange feeling in her gut didn’t go away. Picking up the still-hot kettle, she stepped outside and scanned her surroundings. But there was no sign of anyone.

Did I imagine it?

Setting the kettle back on the counter, Anita closed up and headed for the dorm. She climbed the stairs unsteadily, her body and mind completely worn out. If only her room were on the first floor—why did she have to deal with stairs?

Grumbling to herself, she reached her door and fished through her pocket. Just as she found her key and was about to slot it into the lock, she froze.

The door opened far too easily—she hadn’t even inserted the key yet.

So I didn’t imagine it earlier, after all.

She didn’t step inside. Instead, she stood at the threshold and pushed the door open.

Creak—the usual sound of the hinges felt unusually ominous tonight. Light from the hallway spilled into the room, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the shadows.

Anita lingered at the doorway for a moment before pulling out a spray can, popping the cap, and rolling it into the room.

When she was younger, a burglar had once broken into their home. Anita had been asleep, so she hadn’t seen it herself, but her father had been furious. He’d stormed around, vowing never to let such a thing happen again, and sat her down for a thorough safety lecture.

Thanks to that, Anita knew exactly how to deal with most everyday emergencies.

Watching the canister spew smoke as it rolled across the floor, she quickly shut the door. She pulled out a handkerchief, covering her nose and mouth, and waited. Only after a long while, when she heard neither coughing nor movement inside, did she open the door again.

Even with her face covered, the smoke still stung her eyes, making them stream with tears. She forced her way to the window, flung it open for ventilation, then used a freshly washed cloth to wipe down every corner of the room.

After a long, diligent effort, the space finally felt familiar again.

That night, Anita couldn’t sleep until late. Nothing was missing—but that only made her more uneasy. If nothing was stolen, then what was the point of breaking in?

Tossing restlessly in bed, she eventually sat up and climbed out. She knew no one was there, but still crouched to check under her bed one more time.

Her mind was already a tangled mess because of Ruttger, and now it was even worse. With an irritable sigh, she raked her fingers through her hair.

Whatever.

Flopping face-down on the bed, she decided she was done thinking about it. Her head was still a jumble, but exhaustion finally won out, and she drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, Anita went straight to the shooting range.

Bang!
Bang!

From early dawn, when dew still clung to the grass, the crack of gunfire rang out. Shell casings clinked as they hit the ground.

Even after yanking the bolt back hard to load another round, no sound came. Unaware the chamber was empty, Anita kept fiddling with the bolt.

“Uh, Anita?” Liliana ventured. “I think you’re out of bullets.”

“…Oh. Right.”

Her reply came noticeably late. Liliana, watching Anita burn through rounds in silence since early morning, thought she was acting strangely and tried to strike up a conversation. But Anita didn’t offer much of a response.

Bang!

Anita reloaded her rifle, stepped up to the firing line, and aimed at the target.