I, the spiritual mentor of beautiful girls from all over the world

That arm, seemingly ignoring the distance in space, precisely yet incredibly gently encircled Mrs. Yuihama's unbelievably soft waist, pulling her firmly into its embrace!

A warm, soft body collided with him.

"Well…"

Mrs. Yuihama felt dizzy, and the next second, she bumped into an incredibly solid, warm, and reassuring masculine embrace.

The expected pain did not come.

She instinctively opened her eyes.

What came into view was Lynn's handsome face, so close to his.

And those deep, soul-stirring eyes, filled with a hint of concern.

The two looked at each other.

His strong arms were still tightly wrapped around her waist, and their burning heat, even through the thin knitted sweater, almost scorched her skin.

She could clearly smell the clean, refreshing, and faint scent of soap on him.

She could clearly hear her own heart pounding wildly like a drum, as if it were about to burst out of her throat.

The bustling market, the clamor of voices, the staff's exclamations and apologies...

Everything faded rapidly at this moment, turning into a silent backdrop.

In her world, only he remained.

In that instant, the air became incredibly thick and incredibly ambiguous.

Chapter 65: Friends, Lovers, and the World: The Scales of Suffering

The door to the entryway closed, and the slight sound acted like a gate, completely shutting out the conversation between Teacher Lynn and her mother, along with that reassuring warmth.

The war has begun.

In the living room, only the exaggerated and hollow canned laughter from the variety show on the television remained, as if mercilessly mocking the deathly silence.

Yui Yuigahama's heart felt as if it were being gripped by an invisible hand, each contraction squeezing out the remaining air in her lungs.

(No... I have to say something...)

(The atmosphere... the atmosphere is so awkward it's about to explode!)

The passive skill in her mind called "reading the air" was now like a completely malfunctioning radar, frantically sounding alarms but unable to find any safe flight path.

Finally, she took a deep breath and abruptly stood up from the sofa.

This abrupt movement sounded particularly loud in the quiet living room.

She walked stiffly to the refrigerator, opened the door, and took out a carton of chilled orange juice.

This was her clumsy, ingratiating olive branch of peace, a gamble she had taken with everything.

"Um... Xiaoqiong," she forced what she thought was her brightest smile and carefully handed over the box of orange juice, "Would you like some juice?"

It's this gesture that's full of the meaning of "Let me take care of you".

Finally, some unseen switch was triggered.

The silver-haired doll that had been standing still for so long slowly turned its head.

For the first time, those gray eyes, like two bottomless ancient wells, looked directly at her.

That gaze was devoid of warmth, as if scrutinizing an intruder who had overstepped their bounds.

Then she spoke.

The voice was soft and flat, yet it pierced through all the false liveliness in the living room, precisely dissecting all of Yui Yuigahama's pretense.

"Onii-chan won't let me drink it cold."

One sentence instantly froze the smile on Yui Yuigahama's face.

The second sentence follows immediately.

"Besides, he'll help me prepare when he gets back."

If the first two sentences were merely stating facts, then this last sentence is a merciless, final blow, a death sentence.

Sora's gaze slowly moved down from Yui Yuigahama's stiff face, landing on the box of orange juice she had handed her. Her tone was calm, almost cruel:

"Therefore, your good intentions are unnecessary."

boom--!

That energetic, smiling face, like an ice sculpture struck by a heavy hammer, shattered with a "crash," leaving not a single intact fragment.

Yui Yuigahama stood there blankly, her hand still frozen in mid-air, the one offering the juice.

A wave of uncontrollable sourness rushed into her nasal cavity, instantly blurring her vision.

A hot tear broke free from her trembling eyelashes and silently slid down her cheek, landing on the cold back of her hand that was holding the orange juice.

She finally understood.

In this war called "the battle for Teacher Lynn," I didn't even have the right to step onto the battlefield.

It was this barely suppressed, faint sob that, like an invisible needle, gently yet precisely pierced the silver-haired girl who had just built a fragile sense of security for herself with cold words.

Qiongna, holding the rabbit doll, stiffened for a fleeting moment, her back slightly straightened as she asserted her dominance.

Her small hand, clutching the rabbit doll, her knuckles white from the force of her grip, made a subtle, almost imperceptible movement—wanting to loosen but immediately tightening her grip even more.

She actually... also really likes Yui.

I love the warm, sun-like aura she exudes that I'll never have.

I love her silly yet sincere smile.

but……

She cannot back down.

Absolutely not.

Onii-chan is her everything, the only lifeline she crawled out of hell, and she absolutely, absolutely cannot lose him.

Therefore, she can only hurt her.

This clear understanding caused a series of tiny, sharp pains to rise in Qiong's heart.

She felt a pang of pity, or rather, she dared not watch any longer.

She subconsciously shifted her gaze away from the orange-haired girl who was curling up and crying silently.

It was during this casual glance that her gaze fell upon the TV cabinet not far away.

There, a picture frame was placed.

Yui Yuigahama was immersed in her own sadness, her vision blurred by tears.

Even in such despair, a mix of resentment and humiliation drove her to wonder what kind of look the girl who had dealt her the fatal blow was giving her.

Through the mist, she belatedly caught a change—it seemed... he was no longer looking at her.

This thought made her slowly and sluggishly raise her head and vaguely look in the direction of Qiong's gaze.

It's a photo of my dad.

In the photo, the father smiles warmly as he lifts his tiny daughter high in the air, with the azure sea and golden sand behind them.

And Qiong just watched quietly.

She saw the look in Qiong's eyes; it wasn't the gloating of a victor, but rather a kind of...empty envy, as if looking at another world.

This tinge of envy acted like a key, leading Yui Yuigahama, in her despair, to subconsciously grasp the only "common ground" that might connect her with the other person—loss.

That was neither hope nor a call to fight back.

It was just a... inexplicable, indescribable impulse that made her want to get closer.

She slowly stood up from the sofa, her movements as sluggish as a marionette.

She didn't wipe away her tears, letting them flow freely down her face.

She walked to the TV cabinet, reached out her slightly trembling hand, and picked up the photo frame.

Then, she walked back to the sofa step by step and sat down again.

She didn't hand the photo frame to Qiong; instead, she held it in her hands and gently, tenderly, brushed her fingertips across her father's blurred face in the photograph.

"This is...my dad..."

Her voice was hoarse from crying, and every word seemed to be squeezed out of her throat with difficulty, accompanied by a heavy nasal tone and suppressed sobs.

“I…I remember…that day…”

A new tear slid down from her reddened eyes, landing on the glass of the photo frame and spreading into a small, sorrowful circle.

Her thoughts seemed to be carried back to that rainy afternoon by that tear.

"The rain... is so heavy... Mom... is holding the phone, her hand is shaking... shaking..."

"Later... the house became... quiet... and his voice was never heard again..."

"It took me a very, very long time to finally understand... that he will never come back..."

At this point, she could no longer hold back and buried her face in her arms, using all her strength to let out a broken sob from the back of her throat.

"So...at home...it's just Mom...and me..."

It's this last sentence, a sentence filled with sadness, yet unintentionally revealing a sense of "possession."

Like an icicle, it fiercely pierced the heart of the dome, which was already riddled with holes and had only one fulcrum left.

Silence fell over the living room once again.

A deathly silence, even heavier and more sorrowful than before.

I do not know how long it has been.

A faint, almost inaudible voice, tinged with self-mockery and endless sorrow, gently rang out from the side.

"……so good."

Yui Yuigahama suddenly raised her head, her eyes brimming with tears, and looked at Sora with confusion.

"You still have... your mother."

The voice was so soft it seemed it might shatter in the wind at any moment, yet so heavy it made Yui Yuigahama's heart stop beating.

"But my mom and dad..."

Qiong paused, as if using all her strength to squeeze out the cruel truth from the depths of her throat, a truth that could utterly crush a person.

"...They walked together."

boom--! ! !

These seemingly casual words, like the most terrifying curse from the abyss, shattered Yui Yuigahama's heart, which was still grieving for the loss of her father.

She froze.

Sadness, sympathy, shock... all emotions were instantly swallowed up by another, more terrifying, darker emotion.

It was a cold, calculated, and nauseating thing—

"Unwilling to accept it."

Why?

Why should she be so pitiful?

In this way, wouldn't all the courage I had painstakingly mustered and all my burning passion become a joke in the face of this overwhelming "misery"? — I've even been deprived of the right to reach out!

The thought was so filthy, so ugly, that the moment it appeared, Yui Yuigahama felt a chill run through her body, as if her own soul had spat on her.

An unprecedented, overwhelming sense of guilt and self-loathing instantly seized her heart.

She actually... she actually sympathized with the other person while also worrying about "qualification to compete"!

This thought, like a red-hot branding iron, was branded fiercely onto her soul, causing her pain so intense that she almost suffocated.

She no longer cared about rivals or competition.