Chapter 41: Tutoring (Please bookmark and follow! Extra-long chapter)

Spring casually grabbed a blanket to wipe things clean, holding Qingling Meirong in his arms, who was limp like a puddle of melted butter. With his left hand he lifted her delicate chin and leaned down to kiss her.

The young lady’s little tantrum had long since melted away. Her bright, wide eyes now sparkled with hearts.

She slipped her slender arms around Spring’s neck, found a comfortable position, and obediently nestled in his embrace.

The movie slowly drew to a close, though neither of them could say what it had been about.

As the saying goes: who goes to the cinema to actually watch movies?

With Yuta Okkotsu releasing Rika, the film ended and the cinema’s huge lights flared on, the sudden brightness leaving people momentarily dazed.

Couples and friends rose from the curved sofas, stretching lazily, faces radiant with smiles as they began leaving in orderly fashion.

Qingling Meirong stood up, her face flushed, the stockings at the tops of her thighs torn and trailing up to where they disappeared beneath her skirt, hinting at endless possibilities.

She tugged at her skirt’s hem, trying to keep it perfectly still, feeling uncomfortable all over; she’d sweated too much.

She shot a glare at the culprit beside her, let out a delicate huff, and strode out.

The guys nearby could only look on in envy: a man and a woman coming together to the Starry Cinema—what else could they be doing? And with such a gorgeous girl.

“Qingling, slow down!” Spring hurried after her, sighing, “You were so beautiful just now. You’re truly my goddess.”

“Are you asking for death?” Qingling Meirong shot him a sidelong glance, feeling he was only teasing her.

Spring looked at her, then suddenly spoke with seriousness, “I mean it. Qingling, you’re really beautiful.”

…

“Muda! Muda! Muda!!”

“Ora! Ora! Ora!!”

On the TV, two muscular men with bizarre animation styles were locked in a contest of strength.

Spring lounged on the sofa, bored, yawning.

From the bathroom came the sound of water, as melodious as music from the fingertips of the famous pianist Tomoko Hoshiyama.

The water ceased. Spring glanced casually toward the bathroom door.

A hazy silhouette appeared behind the frosted glass—long hair falling to the waist, a perfectly sculpted figure. She held a towel, starting from her delicate face, then her neck, slender arms, willow waist, long taut thighs, and cute little toes.

Finally, she wrapped the towel around herself, took a fresh towel to dry her golden hair.

The image was blurred, most of it left to Spring’s imagination.

Such was the nature of cheap glass doors.

A click.

The bathroom door opened.

Qingling Meirong emerged wrapped in a towel, drying her hair as she walked out.

Seeing Spring lounging contentedly on the sofa, she threw her towel onto his face in annoyance.

It smelled sweet.

“Come dry my hair for me.”

With that, she plopped down at the corner of the sofa, eyes fixed on the TV’s muscular men, muttering about the strange aesthetics.

Spring pulled the damp towel from his face and tossed it aside, then swept Qingling Meirong into his arms.

He didn’t say a word—he simply kissed her cherry lips.

Fresh from her bath, the young lady carried a mysterious girlish fragrance, her whole body dewy and her skin as smooth as milk.

“Don’t kiss me, I just showered…”

“Then let’s do it again.”

“I don’t want another bath…”

“Qingling, I like you.”

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…

“Well, then…”

“Should I wear fishnets?”

…

The night passed in silence.

It was a day off, yet the biological clock had set in; by five in the morning, sleep eluded him.

Few things are more agonizing than this: not indulging in a lazy morning felt like a betrayal of the holiday.

He tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

Looking at Qingling Meirong, peacefully asleep, he fought the urge to wake her, wiped the drool from his lip, got up, washed, and went out for exercise.

Mrs. Momodani was already waiting in the little courtyard. Seeing Spring step outside, she greeted him with a smile.

“Good morning, Spring.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Momodani.”

After yesterday afternoon’s events, their relationship had clearly become closer. The past days’ training had paid off; at least now they could run a third of the community circuit side by side.

“Mrs. Momodani, how long do you run every day?” Spring asked, breathing heavily, needing to conserve energy for the way home.

“Me? I’m only halfway done so far!” Momodani Eri replied, hands clenched, a white baseball cap perched atop her head, bouncing with youthful vigor. Her eyes shone with vitality, not a hint of fatigue.

She seemed like a sixteen-year-old at her physical peak—yet, in truth, she was married and a mother.

“I can’t go on. You run ahead, don’t wait for me, I’ll rest and head home soon,” Spring said, finally understanding that the stamina rating of 76 was no joke—the system’s evaluation wasn’t baseless.

He really might die young.

“You’re doing great, Spring!” Momodani Eri encouraged him, still pursed-lipped and supportive of his persistence.

To Spring, though, it felt like a subtle humiliation!

How could he accept this?

It was like being a three-second man, and every time, someone would say, “Wow, you’re amazing! Geigei!”

Shame kindled within him. Quickness may be hard to fix, but training would surely grant him greater endurance!

Strength and vitality! Stay the course! Never retreat!

“One taro bubble tea, please.”

Spring entered the milk tea shop, smiling at the server as he ordered, gazing at the dazzling array of drinks on the sign above.

It was odd—just past seven in the morning, yet the milk tea shop was already open.

Why buy milk tea?

To drink it, of course!

But once Spring had the bag in hand, he suddenly lost interest; better to give it to Qingling, let her gain weight alone while he kept fit—outdo her!

Certainly not because she’d clamored for milk tea last night!

Back home, after his shower, Qingling Meirong was still sprawled on the bed, utterly unladylike.

He felt a little annoyed; he was already up—why should she still sleep? Was it because she was so delicate?

He thought for a moment, then strode over.

Smack!

He gave her upturned bottom a sound slap.

“Wake up! You’ll be late for school!”

“Huh?!” Qingling Meirong’s mind hadn’t booted up yet. She scrambled from bed and dashed into the bathroom.

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…

Soon, an angry voice echoed from the bathroom.

“You bastard! It’s a holiday today!”

…

It was a day off, yet neither of them had plans to go out.

Where they went didn’t matter; what mattered was who accompanied them.

Spring played games with Qingling Meirong until four in the afternoon, then checked the time—he’d need to go to Anzawa Kaede’s house for tutoring soon.

“I’ll be back after my lesson; you stay here and behave,” Spring said.

“You’d better not come back!” Qingling Meirong retorted, unimpressed.

“If you’re bored, learn to cook. If I leave, you’ll starve!” Spring laughed, then dashed away.

He didn’t give her a chance to respond; as long as he escaped fast enough, her curses would never reach him.

Sure enough, as Spring ran out of the courtyard, Qingling Meirong’s furious shout rang behind him.

“You bastard, don’t you dare come back!”

…

Anzawa Kaede lived in a modern apartment building.

Spring followed the address to the third building, fourth floor, a unit-style residence.

He checked the door number for accuracy, pressed the bell, and waited quietly.

Three or four minutes passed before the unit door clicked open.

Today, Anzawa Kaede wore a yellow floral dress, with a deep V and slit; her long, white legs and the view from above were fully on display.

Her jet-black hair fell over her shoulders, her delicate face unadorned by glasses, her beautiful eyes lively and bright.

“You’re here, Spring,” Anzawa Kaede greeted him with a radiant smile.

“Good afternoon, Miss Anzawa,” Spring greeted politely and followed her inside.

Anzawa Kaede lived alone; her apartment was similar in size to the one Spring rented, but newer and more modernly furnished.

“Take a seat, I’ll change clothes—the weather’s a bit hot!” Anzawa Kaede settled Spring in the living room, handed him a bottle of cola, then turned and headed into the bedroom.

The bedroom door seemed not fully closed. Spring could hear the faint sounds of her changing, and it made him uneasy.

If this were a story, surely he’d be peeking through the door crack by now? And then…

He shook his head, banishing the thoughts. This was real life, not a novel or an action film. He couldn’t keep up with the world of particles.

Wait—October, and she says it’s hot in a dress?

His intuition told him this tutoring session would not be simple.

Soon enough, the bedroom door opened. Spring noted he hadn’t heard the lock turn; it really hadn’t been properly closed.

He turned to look—and froze.

Anzawa Kaede’s outfit was… rather different.

On top, she wore a scant black crop top, tightly fitted and stretched full. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore only denim shorts below—so short they barely reached her thighs.

Her plump, long legs were left completely bare.

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