While Abe Rokurou was anxiously waiting, Senior Tamako and Senior Fushimi were sound asleep.
Their consciousness gradually sank into the darkness with the murmur, quietly and unknowingly journeying into the depths of their hearts.
After an unknown amount of time, Fushimi Roku saw a door. He knew where he was but didn’t know who he was, instinctively stepped forward to push open the door.
Fushimi Roku stepped barefoot on the wooden floor, the dampness of the attic floor seeped through his toes. He turned around, but the door he had come through was gone, and the cramped attic was in full view.
On the wooden wall near the window, there was a full-length mirror.
Fushimi Roku stood in front of the mirror and found that he was not yet taller than the mirror, probably only about one meter and twenty centimeters tall. His face had become much rounder, his dead fish eyes more pronounced, wearing common children’s jeans and a blue short-sleeved shirt, looking like a seven or eight-year-old boy.
Ah, he remembered; he used to live here.
Fushimi Roku originally thought he didn’t care anymore, but an inexplicable nostalgic emotion rose in his heart.
He rubbed his eyes, not realizing he was in a dream, and didn’t think deeply about how he returned to the past, just continuously surveying the familiar things around him... The awards on the wall, the shelf filled with books, the large mahogany desk that was too tall, and the lamp with bubble gum stickers.
Fushimi Roku felt a bit hungry, skillfully opened the floor door, went downstairs along the telescopic ladder, and again looked around after landing.
He was on the top floor hallway of a detached villa, moving forward was the empty spiral staircase, backward was the elevator door, and in the middle was the large flat floor with floor-to-ceiling windows, with a refined carpet covering the ground, offering a view of the river.
Fushimi Roku peered in for a look, the interior was decorated with exquisite simplicity, every seamless tile exuded an aura of wealth.
He didn’t see the small fridge, estimating it was taken away by the maid.
Fushimi Roku had to go down the spiral staircase, remembering not to use the elevator to avoid delaying his parents’ commute. Even if just for a second, they would be furious.
He walked and walked, and in his impression, this spiral staircase was endless.
But actually, it took less than five minutes to go down. Fushimi Roku held the stair railing and stood in the lobby on the first floor, hearing voices from the reception room, pausing unconsciously.
The kitchen was behind the reception room.
Fushimi Roku was about to return the way he came; suddenly, a familiar voice whispered in his ears, urging: "If you want to eat, just go eat... Don’t be afraid... There’s nothing to fear..."
He hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward, carefully crossing the living room, trying not to disturb the people inside the reception room.
This villa’s initial design extravagantly wasted space, with rooms hardly partitioned, using various furniture to distinguish functional areas. Therefore, the ’hallway’ Fushimi Roku walked didn’t have walls on either side.
On the left was a screen, while on the right was an antique display shelf.
Though Fushimi Roku had lightened his steps, the people in the reception room still noticed him. Someone quietly inquired who the child behind the display shelf was; a middle-aged woman sitting on the sofa turned her head, glanced briefly, then withdrew her gaze, saying quietly that it was the maid’s child.
Fushimi Roku felt his face heat up, hastily quickening his pace.
He entered the kitchen, where the maid was busy preparing tea and snacks for the hostess and the guest.
Fushimi Roku stood at the door, remained silent, watched as the snacks were carried away, then opened the fridge, searched for a bit, and when he didn’t find any instant food, he had to cook himself a bowl of noodles.
He ate in the kitchen, left the bowl on the counter, and too timid to return the same way, took a detour to the study to pass the time with a book.
After about ten minutes, the reception room quieted down, and the hostess saw the guest off, then returned home, shouting Fushimi Roku’s former name.
"Zhou Hao! Zhou Hao, where are you?!"
Fushimi Roku suddenly felt the name somewhat unfamiliar; it seemed a long time since anyone had called him Zhou Hao.
The hostess shouted a few times, receiving no response, and had to look for him, finding Fushimi Roku in the study and questioning: "How many times have I told you not to wander around when we have guests! How am I supposed to explain this to the guests? Your household registration is not even settled yet!"
Fushimi Roku still didn’t say a word.
As a child, he didn’t understand what DY meant, nor did he comprehend why his mother wanted him to move out while his father insisted on keeping him... Family encounters always came with endless arguments; he didn’t want to argue, so he kept silent, waiting for his mother to finish venting, naturally quieting down.
But he didn’t expect his mother’s emotions to be particularly intense today; she continuously scolded and questioned him, coercing Fushimi Roku to speak; he had to explain, but she would then challenge why Fushimi Roku was talking back.
Fushimi Roku felt a bit breathless.
His mother seemingly hated him but also pitied him. In anger, she would use extremely harsh words to insult him, calling him a bastard, a parasite, wishing he would quickly go out and get run over; yet, when calm, she would apologize sincerely, saying those were just words of anger, giving him lots and lots of money... If he accepted the money, she wouldn’t be happy again.
At the moment, Fushimi Roku did not know how long he had been scolded, maybe ten minutes or hours; he couldn’t remember, his mind was elsewhere—he could only think about other things to prevent those words from entering his heart.