TPCF 77

Chapter 77

“You skipped class today, didn’t you?”

“……”

How on earth did he know? Rosetta Hall wasn’t exactly a strict school. Even if a student missed a day, they usually let it slide up to three times. After that, they’d visit the home and have a serious talk with the parents, but still.

“Dad. Today I…”

“Is this how I raised you?”

“……”

“At the very least, if you’re going to skip, shouldn’t you tell me or your mother first?”

As if he would’ve let her stay home even if she had said she didn’t want to go. Anita swallowed her complaint. She already knew rebelling was pointless.

“I’m very disappointed in you. You’re sixteen now. Isn’t it about time you started taking responsibility for your own actions?”

“……”

“Someone mentioned it to me today. Said you weren’t at school and asked if you were sick.”

Anita, who had been keeping her head down to avoid provoking him, jerked it up at those words.

“What?”

“The kid next door. Your mother’s friend’s son.”

Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen Rutger all day. Had he actually come by the house? Anita took an involuntary step back.

“Where do you think you’re going? Come with me.”

Of course, he caught her immediately.

In the end, Anita had to sit in her father’s study and copy text. She dragged a chair to the corner of his desk, looked down at the book she was supposed to transcribe, and sighed.

An Early Philosophy Textbook for Youth

How could he only ever give her boring things like this?

The book was thick enough to easily exceed five hundred pages. Staring down at it with dismay, Anita tried to negotiate.

“Can’t I at least do this in my room?”

Nathan Rodel, who had already seated himself and was flipping through a thick case file, glared at her.

“Add fifty more pages.”

Regretting that she’d even opened her mouth, Anita surrendered without another word.

Nathan, a lawyer approaching forty, was the type who believed himself to be both a good parent and an excellent educator. Striking or starving a child was barbaric in his view; proper moral instruction was the only correct method.

And so, Anita had received punishments like this from childhood.

The horribly dull, densely written book was enough to sap one’s spirit from the very first page. After copying just three pages, Anita found herself gazing out the window. What was Rutger doing now?

Swish.

The moment Anita stared wistfully outside, Nathan yanked the curtains shut. She had no choice but to keep her nose in the book and her hand moving. She studiously avoided the clock on the wall, knowing without looking that its hands were crawling slower than a snail.

The pen that had been gliding across the paper suddenly stopped. Without realizing it, Anita propped her chin on her hand and stared at the blank sheet.

What exactly are we now?

It was a question she had never asked herself before. Lovers? Her grip on the pen tightened. Ink pooled beneath the blunted nib, but Anita sat slack-jawed, lost in thought.

Their relationship had never been something you could sum up in a single word. Too close to be just neighbors, but a little too distant to be called friends.

“Anita.”

“Y-yes?”

Startled, Anita spat out the pen she’d been absentmindedly chewing on. Seeing her vacant expression, Nathan rubbed at his temples.

“You can go now.”

“Really?”

“Yes. If I keep you any longer, I have the feeling you’ll stab me in the throat with that pen nib.”

For once, released early, Anita darted out of the room before he could change his mind. Back in her own room, she tore a sheet from her notebook and crumpled it into a paper ball.

It wasn’t too late yet—Rutger wouldn’t be asleep.

After the way they’d parted yesterday, she really should say something to him.

She opened her window and raised her hand to toss the ball toward his, but froze. What was she supposed to write? That she liked the kiss yesterday?

Or maybe…

But all her hesitation was wasted. The light in his room flicked off. The paper ball slipped from her fingers and dropped to the floor.

I guess it is a little late.

She muttered that to herself, but her eyes betrayed her—flicking to the clock. It was only 8 p.m.

One day of rebellion was more than enough. Anita trudged across the campus the next morning, her face lifeless like a zombie. On her way to physics lecture, she spotted a boy walking toward her in the distance. She thought he’d just pass by, but as he drew closer, she narrowed her eyes. Why did he look so familiar?

Great.

Of all the people she didn’t want to run into. Anita instinctively edged backward.

The boy had upturned eyes and a sharp jawline. If not for the sly, untrustworthy air that made him look like a swindler, he might have been considered handsome. Not her type, though.

“Hey.”

Please, just walk by. But of course, he addressed her. He’d been watching her approach from afar, yet pretended to notice her only now, waving with a fake cheerfulness that reeked of insincerity.

“…Hi.”

The boy with the golden-brown hair, who lowered his gaze at her with eyes clearly full of intention, was named Finian Nigel.