Chapter 114: Of Course, I Choose to Forgive Her

Tsukasa Aoki sat on the living room sofa, feeling somewhat disheartened. The television was left on a random channel as he clutched a medical book, poring over its pages intently. Today’s efforts with Sora had once again yielded no results. No matter what, Sora refused to open her door. He couldn’t fathom what he’d done wrong, and this inexplicable frustration gnawed at him.

After about half an hour, as it neared dinner time, Tsukasa finally set the book aside and stretched lazily, leaving the TV on as he prepared to cook.

He fetched some vegetables, humming a tune softly. The female host on the variety show was telling jokes, and the thought of sleeping in tomorrow on his day off filled Tsukasa with a rare sense of happiness, making him more eager than usual to chop the vegetables.

Every day, because of the grueling practice sessions in the dream training room, Tsukasa never felt fully awake in class; exhaustion weighed heavily on him. As he sliced the vegetables, the host’s jokes occasionally made him chuckle.

“By the way, what have you been busy with recently?” a male celebrity on the screen asked the host.

She smiled softly and replied, “Well, I haven’t been too busy lately because I’ve been preparing for my wedding.”

“Ohhh!” came an exaggerated chorus of surprise from the TV group, “We didn’t expect you to be getting married so soon!”

“Yes, neither did I,” the host said, her voice tinged with shyness. “But whenever I mention marriage, I’m reminded of the show ‘Yakuza Rebellion: The Notorious Youth, Tiger,’ which airs every night at seven…”

“Ah!” Tsukasa flinched at the sudden shift in conversation. His hand trembled, and the knife sliced into his finger. Instinctively, he dropped the knife aside, clutching his wounded hand and stepping back—only to bump into a chair by the dining table. The chair toppled backward with a loud clatter, scattering onto the floor.

“Ouch…” He gasped, grimacing as blood poured from the cut. Hastily, Tsukasa rinsed the wound with water, a sudden surge of irritation toward the host rising in his mind. “How much did they pay you to drag a wedding into this nonsense? With all the advertising costs for that lousy show, does it even make a profit?”

Wrapping his finger temporarily with a kitchen towel, Tsukasa crouched in the living room, searching desperately for a bandage.

Upstairs, Sora had heard the crashing sounds from below—the sudden noise of something falling and shifting. Cautiously, she cracked her door open. Listening to the commotion, she quietly descended the stairs and peered around the corner into the living room.

She suspected this might be Tsukasa’s ploy—a trick to lure her out of her room. That man always wore a simple, guileless expression but somehow managed to be cunning. He must have realized that she couldn’t keep a straight face whenever she saw him, so he was trying every possible way to talk to her face-to-face.

But when she saw Tsukasa crouched there, brow furrowed, rifling through drawers with one hand while the other was wrapped in blood-soaked tissue, she immediately stepped out.

“Sora?” Tsukasa looked up in surprise at her approaching figure, his brow still knitted in concern as he pulled his injured hand back. “Why are you downstairs now?”

“Give me your hand!” Sora’s face was cold, her tone sharp as she seized Tsukasa’s hand. Though she tried to maintain a distant attitude to show she hadn’t forgiven him yet, her touch was inevitably gentle.

Carefully peeling back the tissue, she examined the cut—a messy gash, neither too large nor too small. Her brows knitted tightly in displeasure. “Idiot... you can even cut your finger while cooking?”

Despite her childish appearance, her voice held a mature firmness. Tsukasa couldn’t help but smile.

“What are you laughing at? You idiot!” Sora rolled her eyes, then moved to the cabinet beneath the TV. With two quick motions, she pulled out a first aid kit and handed it to him.

Watching Tsukasa awkwardly hold the kit with his injured hand, Sora sighed helplessly. “Really…”

She came closer, kneeling before him. Opening the kit, she first took out some iodine and a cotton swab. Pouting, she said, “Stop staring and hold out your hand.”

Obediently, Tsukasa extended his wounded finger.

Sora set the bloody tissue aside, dipped the swab into the iodine, and carefully applied it to the cut.

Tsukasa inhaled sharply.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, her touch even more cautious.

He shook his head and grinned sheepishly. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”

“You idiot!” Sora lowered her head, cheeks flushing slightly. After cleaning the wound, she looked at Tsukasa with a mock-cold expression. “Go wash around the cut and come back.”

She handed him another cotton swab.

Tsukasa obediently got up and used the swab to clean the bloodstains near the wound, then returned, beaming at Sora.

She took out a bandage, cupping his finger gently as she applied it. Seeing his cheerful expression, she blushed and pressed firmly on the bandage with her finger.

Tsukasa winced in pain but gave a grunt and stood up. He turned to head upstairs.

“Sora!” Tsukasa’s voice softened as he looked at her silver-white hair.

She had intended to ignore him but heard him continue, “Thank you, Sora.”

“You idiot.” Sora couldn’t help but turn her head, looking at Tsukasa’s smiling face with a mixture of shyness and annoyance. “Only you could cut your finger while chopping vegetables, big dummy!”

With that, she scampered back to her room and slammed the door shut.

Leaning against the door, Sora sighed in disappointment and patted her head. “Why can’t I hold it in? Now Tsukasa’s definitely going to get smug again! Honestly…”

Tsukasa felt warmth spread through his chest. What a child she was—so guarded, yet so sincere. His smile lingered, impossible to erase.

After tidying up the first aid kit, Tsukasa glanced back at the TV, where the female host was still babbling about the drama’s co-production between two countries and its cultural merits—utter nonsense, really. Yet somehow, he didn’t dislike her as much anymore.

Well, everyone had to make a living.

Tsukasa chose to forgive her. Of course, he had no intention of watching that show. Those characters fought and argued nonstop—too extravagant for reality. He already had enough excitement around him and didn’t want a TV drama to lower his standards any further.

Patting the bandage on his finger, Tsukasa returned to the kitchen and resumed his joyful cooking.

“Ah Zhen, fell in love with Ah Qiang~” he sang a random Chinese song that popped into his head, his smile stretching nearly to his ears.