Chapter Text
"You made fun of that couple, didn't you? But actually, you sounded to me like a person who is dissatisfied because he has not yet been able to fall in love, though he wants to."
"Did I sound like that?"
"Yes, you did. A person who has been in love himself would have been more tolerant and would have felt warmer towards the couple. But--do you know that love is guilt?"
-- From Kokoro (こころ) by Natsume Soseki
1.
"Hey, Mr. Shields! It's been a while."
The izakaya is flooded with the smell of alcohol and the chattering of the crowd. The owner is constantly running back and forth, his dial turned all the way up to eleven. Yet when he catches a faint glimpse of Shields through the dense crowd, he puts everything aside, then starts waving and walking towards him.
“I’ve been busy.”
Raymond answers, somewhat anxious from the attention. After all, he is not a frequent guest, and he doesn’t exactly remember being this familiar with the owner.
The main reason behind his visit today is that monster squatting in the street where he lives—actually, it is rampaging through all of Japan…
A monster by the name of Christmas.
With those thousands of jinja[1] upon this land, it's truly lamentable that Christmas has taken over here so completely.
2.
"IT'S BEEN SUCH A LONG TIME!!"
The owner's loud voice manages to make its way through the sea of noises in the crowded izakaya, but it is a mere repetition of what has already been said.
Raymond nods lightly and puts on a friendly look, like a dear old pal who might throw his arms around you at any second.
Yet in reality, his whole body is leaning away; that voice was so loud that it made his eardrum tremble. Honestly, he still can’t quite remember knowing this guy.
"How's your illness?"
The owner is now standing in front of him; his volume has finally come down from that painful shouting. Standing on the other side of the counter, he bends over and holds up his hand next to his lips in a deliberate fashion. His voice has become much quieter, as if trying to whisper a secret.
This time the tremor moves down all the way to Raymond's heart.
Illness.
Now he remembers; they did have a few brief encounters in the past.
Now that he can recall, Raymond finds it almost funny.
This man must have been a pretty good person, considering the fact that he still remembers all those petty details of their conversation, and is kind enough to follow up years later.
"It's been there for years. I don't think it will just go away."
"Hey, that's what I'm talking about! You gotta live on with hope! As long as you live, things will always get better—you see, now you're in pretty good shape, eh?"
Raymond waves the beer glass at him in response, half-heartedly nodding along. Yet in his head, he's idly questioning why this man felt the need to spew out all this chicken soup for the soul bullshit.
"What, you forgot? I think you were still underage then. Quite an honest fella, really—you got yourself some tea but chugged it down like genuine booze, and didn't leave till we closed. I came and asked you about it. You remember what you said to me?"
He said he’s got something fatal, that he was dying.
Raymond answered quietly in his head.
He pulls down the brim of his hat, almost low enough to cover his eyes.
"Well, I was young then… and dramatic, too. …Hey, your staff there are bleeding themselves dry! Why don't you go and give them a hand?"
3.
He’s had the illness for years, but never once went to the hospital for it.
Even if he had gone, the doctors probably couldn't even tell when it had all started.
But he knew.
Come to think of it, before this illness, he—Raymond Shields—was a decent man.
4.
Standing in front of the Law Offices, Ray could only feel the trembling in his legs and the emptiness of his head.
He tore off another post-it and shoved it into his mouth. There was something written on the note, but he didn’t care.
His nerves were definitely getting to him—he couldn’t even follow the easy-tear, and those raggedy edges were practically screaming “anxiety!” in his face.
He came here today for an interview—the role of a legal assistant.
To occupy that endless summer before high school, the teacher assigned them to shadow a profession that they were interested in. However, it usually ended up more like some sort of family activity since most kids would just choose to observe their parents’ work—well, if “observe” was even the right word for it.
For these constantly restless, careless teenagers (whose energy wells never seemed to run dry), it was already too much to ask for them to sit quietly in the office—even with a book or game to keep them busy. The most that the parents could possibly hope for was that their children would not tamper with their work.
As for the reports afterwards—well, the parents would have to take those upon themselves as well.
Pushing aside the moral ambiguity of that decision for a second—from the child’s perspective, this kind of treatment was decent to say the least, and most of them would probably flaunt their parents' benevolence in front of their peers afterwards.
—That was, unfortunately, not the case for Ray.
They simply dropped him off with the attorney who had helped them in the past.
With a situation like this, the parents would typically come up with some sort of white lie to their child, explaining why they couldn't shadow their work. But no. Ray’s parents were forthright: they said that being in the same room with him 24/7 would drive them all crazy.
Perfectly honest, perfectly square.
Raymond Shields, at the age of fifteen, lamented that life was simply not fair.
5.
Although, it wasn’t like he was really against this idea.
Lawyer, the profession that saved his father from false accusations, was very meaningful to Ray—if not downright inspiring.
Besides, he wasn’t gonna get that free report from his parents anyway.
This was more like his chance.
Yet the more he thought about it all, the more lost he became.
……
Speaking of assistants—wasn't this role usually meant for pretty girls?
From whether he had the capacity for the job, to whether he had the right gender for the job (this problem he really could do nothing about), Ray had worried about literally everything. A wave of gentle breeze flew by, carrying along a salty humidity peculiar to June. The wind snuck through his collar, leaving a thin trail of sweat in its wake.
Ray wiped away the sweat that’d been collecting around his forehead, and tore off another page from the notepad with painstaking precision; on it he had copied down “the basic rules for being a lawyer” that he found somewhere on the Internet. Then, as if performing some sacred ritual, he carefully crumpled the paper into a ball and stuffed it into his mouth.
He had copied the same notes seven or eight times now. By now, the paper had practically become his staple food.
6.
After swallowing pages and pages, Ray thought he should have—must have remembered all of those rules by now. Yet somehow, he was starting to regret that decision almost immediately.
He should have saved that last page as a cheat sheet, so that even in the worst-case scenario, he would’ve been able to sneak in a glance or two.
He was munching and mumbling away quite anxiously when someone walked up behind him.
It was a man in a pair of black-framed glasses, probably in his thirties. The shadows beneath his tall cheekbones brought an air of seriousness to his image.
No, no, no. Wait. Ray corrected himself in his head. It was really his presence. There was something special about it.
There was a curious dignity to that man’s presence.
He was carrying a few bags of takeout at the time—Ray could even smell the beef sauce that was lucky enough to escape the plastic. Yet something about him made even a mundane act like that look graceful.
Ray watched the brim of the black fedora passing before his eyes; for the first time in his life, he realized grown-ups could be that cool.
Especially with a hat.
7.
Those random thoughts completely flooded his brain, and the “basic rules” that he had copied down also disappeared with the softening paper between his teeth. It wasn’t until Ray noticed the sheer astonishment on the other person’s face that he finally pulled himself together.
—But only enough to make him stop having inner reviews and commentaries on the older man’s appearance.
He still couldn’t remember anything useful.
God, if only he had prepared a cheat sheet.
The truth is, although he still had some parts of that “important” note in his mouth, that look he just saw was enough to scare the daylights out of Ray. Right now, he couldn’t even remember whether this office was for defense attorneys or prosecutors, let alone what was on the note.
It’s for defense attorneys!
He read the sign board again to confirm. That’s right—prosecutors don’t have Law Offices.
Seriously, if he had applied to be an assistant to a prosecutor, he would have died at the very sight of that magnificent Prosecutor’s Building.
Luckily for him, the door to Edgeworth Law Offices was not as nearly extravagant. And the owner of this office—Mr. Gregory Edgeworth—didn’t seem to be that intimidating either.
8.
After noticing the unease in that young man, Gregory blinked a few times, as if trying to suppress some of the shock he felt. But it was really difficult to pretend that he didn’t just see something so extraordinarily bizarre.
"Are you… hungry?"
Gregory asked, after some contemplation.
Mr. Gregory is a good man.
Ray thought to himself while chewing on the beef potato stew in front of him.
He was actually a picky eater at home, and he normally wouldn’t even accept takeout food as an option. Yet this meal was somehow very satisfying—no wonder they always said that the food on other people’s plate always tastes better.
With a piece of beef between his teeth, Ray battled a chunk of potato with his chopsticks; he wanted to skewer the potato with them.
He nearly jumped when Gregory suddenly spoke to him, and almost pushed the potato right out of the bowl.
“You’re the kid that’s coming to help out in the office, right?”
Gregory asked from across the table after swallowing the beef (or potato) that he was eating..
Ray nodded quickly. With all the food in his mouth, he was gonna answer “Yes” but managed to stop himself just in time.
He was never one to mind table manners, but this time he was careful enough to not speak with food in his mouth.
This was really all thanks to Mr. Gregory. He thought to himself.
Gregory had taken off his khaki trench coat and that black fedora before sitting down to eat. His white shirt was well-ironed and well-fit, and with a tidy red tie and his neat hairstyle, he looked perfectly formal yet not boring.
Goodness, he even made the takeout food in front of them feel like a five course meal.
9.
Alack, grown-ups.
Ray had only thought of them as dry and mundane, always the same suit and tie, straight and narrow—like a bunch of mannequins shipped out of a factory. However, for some reason, he had overruled all these biases today.
Instead of “dry and mundane”, “suit and tie”, “straight and narrow”, the words Ray would use now became “dignified and refined”, “mature and reliable”, “decent and poised”.
His prejudice against an entire group had transformed into admiration for one individual.
This change of heart turned him into a childish copycat as well: he started to eat slowly and carefully, while awkwardly trying to hide the hole on his sleeve in his palm (he couldn’t even remember where he had gotten it).
After an eternity, he finally swallowed down the beef he had been chewing on. He suspected that this might have been a special interview, and that now was the time to impress.
Unfortunately, he still couldn’t recall anything from the pages he’d eaten. While battling with that chunk of potato in his bowl, Ray desperately tried to find something appropriate to say.
“I will try my best!”
Sadly, this was the only slogan he could come up with in the end. He did put a lot of energy into it, though, and it showed: with a crisp “clank!”, his chopstick finally went through the potato and met the bottom of the bowl.
Ray didn’t know what came over him: without second thought, he raised the skewer out of the bowl and held it up towards Gregory, as if proposing a toast—but with a potato.
“Nice meeting you!”
He said.
The surprise on Gregory’s face soon turned into a suppressed smile. For a second, it seemed like he was almost tempted to reciprocate Ray’s silliness. After a beat, he responded with a slight bow.
“It was nice meeting you too, Shields.”
Ray almost felt like he was intentionally messing with Mr. Gregory.
Damn! He thought to himself.
Raymond Shields… Raymond Shields! What is the problem with you? Can’t you pretend to be a good kid for just a bit longer??
10.
06/25/1997 19:45 Status: Public
I thought this was gonna be three months of hell but my boss is actually pretty nice?? And actually taught me a lot???
“The defense attorney's job is to be an alley to the deserted.”
That is AWESOME! You gotta remember this one, Shields!
Also: Well—Adults are… nice. I hope one day I can be like that, too.
Page 1 of 4
11.
Being an assistant was really not as hard as he thought, though it was possible that Mr. Gregory only assigned some simple tasks to him. Either way, after about two weeks, Ray could already finish the work at hand without freaking out too much.
—As witnessed by the fact that he was thinking about getting milk tea while organizing the case files.
After finishing his current assignment, Ray didn’t even waste one second before rolling the office chair to Gregory’s table, picking up the phone to order takeout.
Ok, let’s talk about this move.
He had to make a disclaimer: He didn’t reveal this side of himself until after his first week here.
After a week, an entire week!
Ray knew himself too well at this point to feel any shame about it. Instead, he was rather proud of this “outstanding” achievement.
Although if Mr. Gregory had asked him to stop, he definitely would have listened to him and played nice for a while. Yet the older man always had his head deep in his work, and no time to mind these childish moves of his.
It actually left Ray a little disappointed. It almost felt like he did all these silly things so that the untiring, unfaltering workaholic hidden deep within the documents might have noticed.
12.
It didn’t take him too long to reach Gregory’s desk. Ray purposefully made some noise before coming to a full stop—and finally, the older man looked up from the files and frowned slightly at him.
Although even with a frown, the message he sent out was still more on the side of confusion rather than reproach.
With a big grin on his face, Ray stood up the moment he caught Gregory’s glance, as if he had been waiting for it all along.
“Mr. Gregory, would you like a cup of milk tea? The second one is 50% off.”
There was a clear contentment in his voice.
Ray held up the pamphlet in front of him like he was showing off a treasure.
“Take a look!”
Gregory took the pamphlet and skimmed through a long list of drinks with unintelligible names. He paused for a few seconds.
“Hm… The regular milk tea is fine.”
The regular milk tea is not fine. Ray thought to himself while dialing the numbers to the milk tea shop.
Although these drinks all have ridiculous names that he couldn’t make sense of, and he really had no idea which ones were good, Ray was certain that regular milk tea just couldn’t be any good.
Still, he has already asked for Mr. Gregory’s opinion. He couldn’t just make the call in front of him and completely ignore his wish by ordering two cups of “Xmas Adolf”.
In the end, he had to settle with one regular and one Xmas Adolf. His plan was to keep the regular milk tea for himself, so that Mr. Gregory could experience the real magic of milk tea—the kind that regular milk tea simply didn’t have.
13.
Just like he suspected, regular milk tea was plain and boring. That Xmas Adolf, though, was truly something.
Mr. Gregory—for whom his first impression was “graceful” and “dignified”—now had a milk mustache on his face.
Please, please hold back your giggles. Ray begged to himself in his head. Don’t make him think you are just pulling his legs.
Now he could finally understand the name, “Xmas Adolf”.
Fortunately, Gregory didn’t think too much about it. He licked the mustache off his lips, and provided the following feedback on this drink that really wasn’t milk tea anymore:
“It’s pretty ok.”
Ray figured that the “Xmas” in the name was quite appropriate, but not so much the “Adolf” part.
It probably would have been better to offer this drink to some annoying snobs. It seemed a little extra for someone as calm and gentle as Mr. Gregory.
—Though this unnecessary addition did bring out a dorkiness unexpected for someone his age.
Raymond Shields, watch out for your words. Using “dorky” on Mr. Gregory is just too…
Well, the truth is, he didn’t really feel so cringy about using it on that man—who was, admittedly, almost twenty years older than him.
He might have pretended to blame himself for picking the wrong word, but deep inside Ray was patting himself on the back for finding such an appropriate description. For some reason, even that “bland and boring” regular milk tea tasted like something special now.
14.
07/14/1997 14:30 Status: Public
GUYS!! MILK CAP RULES!!!
Page 1 of 15
15.
Ray had become much more comfortable in his role as an assistant.
Now he no longer needed to eat a bunch of sticky notes to remember things; maybe it was because he realized that no matter how many pages he ate, there were still certain things that he just couldn’t seem to remember.
Still, as an old habit, he would gobble up a note whenever there was something important that he needed to remember, if only as a suggestion.
Mr. Gregory has lectured him many times on this. He said he was leaving too strong of an impression by doing this in front of strangers, and that it was a little too bizarre.
That being said, whenever their client freaked out about seeing a young man eating a post-it right in front of their eyes, Mr. Gregory would still come out and explain for him:
“This is just a bad habit of his. Please do not mind.”
It had almost become an addiction for Ray.
Sometimes he would take notes on some really trivial matters and shove it into his mouth, basking in the astonished looks he received, and wait for Mr. Gregory to explain for him with complete resignation.
But on the other hand, he also wanted to be a little more well-behaved so that he wouldn’t embarrass Mr. Gregory too much. That’s why he changed to a smaller notebook, and tried to lower the frequency of his behavior to what he considered to be an acceptable level.
This was the first time Ray realized the paradoxical side of himself.
He really wanted to be like Mr. Gregory, but he also couldn’t help but misbehave, just to get noticed by him.
It was rare for Ray to know exactly what he wanted (though what he wanted might seem a little self-contradictory), so he decided to simply follow his heart.
Despite the frequent pranks and mischief he pulled during their investigations, whenever Mr. Gregory decided to finally say something about it, Ray would always stop and behave himself immediately.
Deep down, he felt like he just wanted them to talk about something other than work.
After all, everything about Mr. Gregory was pretty perfect, except he was a little too quiet.
After all, Ray felt like everything about himself was pretty good, except he was a little too chatty. Just a little.
16.
That man’s kindness was really all in his actions—
He would pour Ray a cup of tea when he was drowning in the sea of files and documents. He would give Ray some errands to run when he became too restless from sitting in the office.
There was much care and consideration in his actions, but he rarely put them into words.
Was that a bad thing? No—of course not! Everything Mr. Gregory did was good.
He was reserved but not distant or apathetic. He could always navigate through his part of the world with ease. And whenever it seemed like he was stepping into Ray’s world, he would make the turn just in time, leaving Ray with only the sight of a khaki-colored tail.
Yes, Mr. Gregory was that measured.
It was just like how no one would expect the fish in a tank to crash head-on with the glass wall—well, it could happen to some really silly fish—but that wouldn’t be Mr. Gregory.
Ray would say that man was a betta fish: sharp and handsome.
Waves and lights bounced off of that silklike tail, slipping right past the tip of his heart, leaving him all befuddled and confused.
Yet the worst part of it all was that it never did reach him. So what was he all flustered about?
Raymond Shields—are you finally losing your mind?
17.
Ray had no idea what was bothering him so much. What if all teenage boys had this problem, and that it was simply part of the natural progression—did he just have to suck it up and accept it?
Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t really expect Mr. Gregory and he to be best buddies, having deep talks, long walks, telephone calls all the time—
Then what was he expecting? Wasn’t this the best, the most comfortable distance for them?
Ray bombarded himself with all these questions, until he was too irritated to think.
With deep frustration, he scratched his head and tossed all of his questions on the ground, trying to look for a scapegoat instead.
In the end, he declared that the root cause of it all—his endless troubles, worries, and distress—was Mr. Gregory’s new aftershave.
It was a cologne-style aftershave, and it worked super well on Mr. Gregory.
When Ray took a deep breath, he could still smell some of the faint scent in the air. He couldn’t tell whether it was brought over by the cool wind from the AC, or the scent had been there in his nostrils all along, and that he was only feeling its residues.
In fact, Ray originally thought the smell came from a perfume. But after picturing Mr. Gregory putting on perfume before work, Ray decided that it simply had to be an aftershave.
Judging from this, he actually had some wacky, self-centered expectation about Mr. Gregory—what’s the deal with that?
Also, who said that men couldn’t wear perfume?
18.
Ray didn’t notice: right after finding a scapegoat for this “problem”, his thoughts immediately circled back to Mr. Gregory. Again.
At this point, he was basically digging his own grave.
Yet who can remind him of it? After all, he didn’t even realize that his own thoughts were constantly circling around Mr. Gregory.
Every day, the name “Gregory” would tumble in his brain a dozen times; he’d gotten used to it.
19.
In the end, he decided to take a detour on his way home to get a bottle of aftershave—for himself.
He was just thinking about how cool it must be to put on aftershave when he felt some light stubble on his chin.
Hey, his prayer had been answered!—ok, it wasn’t exactly like that. Still, it was genuinely exciting news. Ray could feel the thrill climbing up his spine and rushing him towards the mall.
How strange. Although he had fantasized about growing up in the past, Ray never expected himself to grow this impatient about it.
But once you grow up, Peter Pan will never come and invite you to Neverland. Would you be ok with that, Ray?
20.
He walked into the aisle for men’s care—a realm he had never set foot in before.
Normally, he would hang out in the Video Games section two floors away. However, this time he forgot all about games; instead, he was fascinated by a myriad of aftershaves with mysterious effects.
To hell with Neverland! Ray thought to himself.
Even if Neverland rejected him, he would still have Edgeworth Law Offices to return to.
He even had the key to the office—so why bother with Neverland?
He wanted to get a cologne-style one as well; the smell still lingered around his nose even now.
It wasn’t like he never knew aftershave before, but the smell he noticed today somehow won him over completely.
Ray was hoping to find the one Mr. Gregory was using, although he had no idea what it might be.
It shouldn’t be a really cheap brand; the man was already in his thirties, so he probably wouldn’t settle for some second-rate stuff.
However, it shouldn’t be too expensive either. Ray was certain that Mr. Gregory wasn’t the type to spend big money on trivial things like an aftershave.
Cologne, cologne… A mature, subtle type…
Ray bent down and scanned through the shelf, all the while mumbling to himself. Rather than looking for a cologne-style aftershave that matched his liking, he was really trying to figure out which one Mr. Gregory was using.
Ten seconds later, he found himself staring at one particular bottle.
21.
An unspeakable bitterness had taken over Ray.
He just wanted to get the one that Mr. Gregory was using, or a similar cologne-style aftershave at the very least.
He ended up buying something that had absolutely nothing to do with neither Mr. Gregory nor cologne.
You might say, “Then don’t buy that one! It’s not like someone threatened you with a gun or something.”
But Ray just had to.
The reason behind it was really the name of that product.
He had no idea what it would smell like; the plants listed in the top notes, heart notes and base notes all seemed really impressive, but he didn’t quite understand what they were.
After he got home and took a good look at the aftershave he bought, Ray realized that it was in fact a perfume-style aftershave. Fancy schmancy.
But how could he refuse? In the sea of numerous boring, sometimes nameless aftershaves, among all the cliché and banality, he caught a glimpse of this “Passage d’Enfer”.
My God—Ray felt like it ran through his soul with a spear.
The scent particles left in his nostrils couldn’t stop him. Technically speaking, Ray wasn’t even breathing at the time. No matter how hard the particles were screaming to get noticed, they were doomed to be left behind.
Maybe they could take some comfort in the fact that Ray came to his senses the moment he got home.
He wasn’t at the slapping-myself-in-the-face level of upset, but he had to admit to himself—quite desperately—that he might still have a chance at getting that ticket to Neverland.
22.
He tried to find an excuse—it must be the music was too loud in the mall, or that the AC wasn’t cool enough, or the crowd around him, or his empty stomach—all these factors together resulted in his impulsive buying.
But he just couldn’t find it in his heart to admit that he was being naïve, that there was nothing special about the name “Passage d’Enfer”.
Come on. That name was Just. Too. Cool.
23.
But Ray himself really wasn’t that cool.
—He couldn’t even use the aftershave correctly. Instead, he had to wear it like a perfume.
Who would have thought that shaving could be this hard?
Ray had his head filled with how cool aftershaves were, but he never thought shaving itself could be so painful.
His jolly trip of impulsive buying yesterday didn’t even include a full toolkit for shaving.
He had to make do with his dad’s shady disposable plastic razor and a bottle of almost-empty shaving cream, and the result was utterly disastrous—he was basically mutilating himself in front of the mirror.
After looking long and hard at the bloody wound on his chin, Ray stood there with the bottle of “Passage d’Enfer” in his hand for a while. In the end, he decided to fight against his impulse—so that it wouldn’t actually take him on a passage to hell—and sprayed it on his collar instead.
24.
Life was full of twists and turns.
Stumbling all the way to the office, Ray figured that he might never become as poised as Mr. Gregory.
Was it just because of his age? What if he still couldn’t be quite at ease when he hit that age?
Ray was willing to bet that it was because Mr. Gregory was special, and he couldn’t even hope to emulate.
This realization made him somewhat dispirited; his wound also began to hurt.
He pressed against his chin to feel the wound. The burning sensation came from a small patch of his skin—a silent, stubborn infection.
Ray suddenly felt helplessly depressed. He couldn’t understand himself anymore. And if this truly were what they call “growing pains”, then growing up really sucked.
25.
As usual, after stumbling into the office like a zombie, Ray ran to the AC immediately, basking in the glorious cool air.
“It’s so friggin hot out there.” He said.
But this time Gregory stopped him in the middle.
Could it be that Mr. Gregory, who always had his head buried deep in work, just happened to notice that something was off with him today?
Or, could it be that Mr. Gregory had always looked up and noticed him when he came in every day, dragging himself straight to the AC, half-dead from the sun—and he simply never realized?
“Your chin… What happened?”
The older man asked. He was frowning slightly, as if worrying that Ray might have gotten into a fight.
This unexpected question jolted Ray out of his little world.
He almost blurted out the entire embarrassing tale of how he had cut himself while trying to shave.
Fortunately, he stopped himself just in time, and offered a cover-up instead:
“Mr. Gregory, can you teach me how to shave?”
Somehow this felt even more blunt.
But who cares? Ray didn’t have the time for trivial details like that. He watched Mr. Gregory going into the office pantry and returning with a first-aid kit. He took out the antibiotic ointment and a box of band aids.
“It’s just a cut…”
Mr. Gregory stopped him before he could finish the sentence.
“You haven’t treated the wound, have you?”
Indeed. He had not.
26.
Ray felt like he was being shepherded.
He figured that Mr. Gregory must have been somewhat a master in Zheng Fa’s “Tai-Chi”.
He saw it on TV that Tai-Chi was best known for its clever leveraging—without using any brute force, it could still knock people down quite easily.
It was almost like some sort of telekinesis—although they had never had any physical contact, and that Mr. Gregory had always maintained a proper distance, somehow Ray just couldn’t help but—wait, they were touching now.
Ray lifted his head and pressed his lips together as Gregory had asked, exposing the wound in front of him.
With the stretching of the skin, the sting from the ointment, and the pressure of Gregory’s thumb, Ray felt like his wound was catching on fire. He suspected that it was already infected.
“Shields, it’s ok to have some stubble at your age. You don’t need to rush to shave it.”
Mr. Gregory shot him a glance while handling his wound. He was probably trying to persuade this clumsy, careless young man from ruining his face any further.
Unfortunately, Ray only took in the first half of the sentence.
Did you hear that? It was such a domestic conversation. Even the smartest fish sometimes would overstep and hit on the glass—
Ok, that wasn’t really what was happening here.
Come to think of it, Mr. Gregory probably didn’t have any reservation about him in the first place. Although it was a little bold for him to say, Ray believed that Mr. Gregory actually thought pretty highly of him.
Then there wasn’t really any “overstepping” between them. Mr. Gregory probably didn’t intend to put up a wall to begin with.
Ray had figured it all out. He suddenly became quite happy.
27.
He finally understood why he held such a different opinion for Mr. Gregory when he had thought of grown-ups as bland and boring all along.
Because Mr. Gregory was different.
When all the other adults were put in one place, they all looked pretty much the same.
But just like how Ray was enthralled at first glance by the “Passage d’Enfer” among all those nameless bottles, it only took him one look to decide that Mr. Gregory was different from everyone else.
Even if this man were to hold his hand and walk him down a passage to hell with no return, the only thing Ray would think about was probably how warm Mr. Gregory’s hand felt, and he would simply follow him anywhere.
Well, it wasn’t really that scary.
Ray only discovered after using it: the smell of “Passage d’Enfer” had little to do with hell. It was actually a bit sweet.
28.
The AC’s automatic fan brought the cool air to Ray, along with the “culprit”—that cologne-style aftershave—to occupy his nostril once more.
You can’t really say that.
He reminded himself quietly.
If that’s really the case, then wouldn’t the other culprit be the one who treated his wound?
With his head turned up high, Ray’s vision was filled by the colorless ceiling. Yet if he stretched his eyes down without moving his head, he could still peek at the head of “Mr. culprit”.
Ah, well—it is just a head…
29.
When Gregory asked what he was giggling about, Ray finally let out a long-suppressed laughter. With all the air rushing out of his lungs, he almost choked on his own breath.
It was a fragrant summer.
30.
Ray hasn’t been able to write anything today, but he was still staring stubbornly at the editing page.
The truth was he had too many thoughts and feelings filling up his heart. They had been collecting in his chest, overflowing to his throat, even his eyes—almost flooding his head.
Almost drowning him down.
He let out a sigh. The air traveled in water bubbles all the way to the top, its babbling sounds bouncing off the walls of this tiny, foggy bathroom, suddenly bringing out a boiling vibe in the room.
He’d been in the tub for so long that even with a water-proof bag, his phone still couldn’t escape from the pervasive steam; its screen had become misty and hazy, even a little bit surreal.
Save me—Mr. Gregory.
Of course, Mr. Gregory couldn’t come and save him.
So he went on sighing and whining, trying to understand what was going on, to find out what was behind his tangled heart, his restlessness, his endless worries and unease.
How could he understand? This was the first time he’d ever felt this way. Ray even began to reminisce about the good old days, when he was still free of worries, free of care.
No one told him that he would grow so sentimental after middle school.
31.
He stayed in the bathtub till his fingertips were all wrinkled, till his head became dizzy from lack of oxygen. He was in there so long that his dad came and knocked on the door, questioning whether he was planning on living in the bathroom instead.
32.
Ray was still staring at the editing page when he started drying his hair.
The door behind him let in some cool air; thankfully, he didn’t become all sweaty right after a bath.
The reason why Ray had taken such a long bath in summer was that he was feeling really, really off. He needed a way to let off some steam.
The bath turned out to be helpful. To some extent.
He stepped out of the bathroom and took in a lungful of clean, fresh air. He looked through all the previous posts in his blog—again—and finally found the source of his restlessness.
It was a tiny icon of Earth. Right next to it was a word:
“Public”.
33.
What’s wrong with it being public?
Ray was definitely the showy type. His writings weren’t super interesting: they were mostly about some boring stuff that happened during his day. Yet whenever he noticed the view count had gone up, Ray would think that he had shared some parts of his life, thoughts, and feelings to this little Earth.
It was a great feeling, and it gave Ray much satisfaction. Or at least it used to.
Now—now he suddenly didn’t want it to be public anymore. The rising view count only added to his anxiety.
It had become too obvious.
After reading all these posts, even his dad would realize that Ray was the writer, and the man he was talking about was Mr. Gregory. He would also know that for the past two weeks, he had not written about anything other than Mr. Gregory.
He knew that Mr. Gregory didn’t know about blogs. Even if he did, with the tens of thousands of blogs out there, what were the chances that he would stumble upon Ray’s?
But that tiny Earth just seemed so eye-catching—as if his heart was laid bare for everyone in this world to see. He almost wanted to run away.
34.
The next day, with his headphones on, Ray was half-heartedly processing some annoying documents when he made the decision to change the blog status to private.
After that annoying little Earth turned into a seemingly secured lock icon, Ray finally felt a wave of relief.
He even made a new post: “Mr. Gregory is so great. I want to buy him a Xmas Adolf again.” Blatantly showing off his newly found “freedom of speech”.
But he wasn’t really that relieved.
His heart was still all tangled up, burdened by a nameless anxiety.
Ray was glad that nobody in this world had any magical item that could tell whether someone was hiding any secrets; otherwise, they would see quite a few locks when they met him.
But rather than hiding something on purpose, it was more like Ray didn’t even know what he was hiding himself—which made it all the more frustrating.
35.
So Ray had to let himself be restless, maybe throwing a glance at Mr. Gregory from time to time. He couldn’t tell whether it was calming him down or making him even more confused.
He never managed to catch Mr. Gregory looking back at him. In fact, if they didn’t go out for an investigation and only stayed inside for paperwork, an entire day could pass without their eyes ever meeting.
Ray had always known: Mr. Gregory was very serious about his work. He was always dedicated and meticulous.
Unlike him—who not only listened to rock ‘n roll during work but also shook his legs to the rhythm, claiming proudly that like any good drummer, his body simply couldn’t resist the beat.
From the point of view of an aspiring-lawyer-and-current-assistant, he couldn’t ask for a more outstanding role model.
From the point of view of a “Mr. Gregory-is-so-great”-and-I’ve-made-my-blog-private writer, he couldn’t help but feel unsatisfied.
Ahhhhhh!!! When can we go out for an investigation so I can—
36.
The death growl in his headphone had only started before it was interrupted by Mr. Gregory.
Startled, he spun around and realized that Mr. Gregory was standing right behind his chair.
That man was holding a cup in one hand—he was probably going to get more water—while holding his earbud in another, with a resigned look on his face.
“I tried calling out to you, but you didn’t hear me…” Gregory said, as if apologizing for his impolite behavior.
37.
Ray remembered that he participated in a vote last year. The poll asked them which adult behavior was the most annoying.
He voted for “taking out your earbuds out of nowhere”, with a comment saying that it was on par with “asking ‘What are you listening to? Can I try?’ when I’m listening to music!”.
Oh yeah, he had a story to tell.
But right now, with the lead singer growling out of the earbud in Mr. Gregory’s hand like a dying animal, with the broken melody sneaking out loudly into the air, Ray had no time to blame the adult here—he was overwhelmed by embarrassment and regrets instead.
First: he needed a pair of earphones that do not leak sound.
Second: he needed to listen to calmer music during work!
“Next time try not to listen to music during work. It can be distracting.”
Mr. Gregory said, calmly and peacefully.
Yes yes that’s right! No music at all! I should be focusing on work instead!
Ray nodded like a mad woodpecker.
38.
However, Ray realized that the man standing in front of him had suddenly gone silent. After what felt like an eternity, he finally let out a sigh.
Ray’s childish attitude of grinning away his faults and errors suddenly disappeared.
Wait a minute, wait a minute—Mr. Gregory definitely dislikes people who do not take their work seriously…
He began to panic. This time the issue was probably a bit more serious than eating notes or touching evidence or trashing important documents.
This time it was about his attitude.
39.
He held his breath unwittingly, then suddenly let it out again. He thought it might be best to properly apologize this time.
Fortunately, Gregory broke the silence before he did:
“Am I…being too harsh?”
“… Huh? What?”
Ray looked up and saw something completely different than he expected: although he was frowning, Mr. Gregory’s expression was more troubled than disappointed.
“No! Not at all!”
Still, he rushed to answer the question.
Harsh? Just wait till you meet my dad.
“You always seem to be tip-toeing around me… And you’re more like yourself when we are outside.”
Is that so? Ray thought to himself.
Despite all his inner drama—or drama queen, really—he actually seemed pretty grounded…?
Ray could feel his back straightening up from pride.
“To be more like myself—that’s easy! I’ve just been holding back—”
A big smile climbed up his lips. He felt a breeze had come in and dispelled some of the mist in his heart.
Suppressing his true self was pretty unhealthy—that was Ray’s main takeaway.
“You’re… That’s not quite what I meant. I don’t understand—you are always so quiet when it’s just the two of us, but the minute we’re outside you become so rambunctious. Well… nevermind. Whatever works best for you.”
After his comment, Gregory smiled gently, clearly not knowing what to do with this kid.
40.
Now that Mr. Gregory had asked, Ray gave him a mischievous grin and promised that he would balance it out in the future.
Although the “making less trouble outside” part was a little difficult, he could definitely be more like himself in the office. That was half of the job done, wasn’t it?
Also, he really liked the phrase “just the two of us”, so he just promised without really thinking about it—after all, there was no “two” or “us” only fifty days ago.
Ray wasn’t the type to dwell on words. Honestly, he was rather obtuse about things like this before. Yet now a simple phrase was enough to make him laugh and giggle inside, it truly wasn’t like him—
But of course it wasn’t like him. Now he had become a lawyer’s assistant—Gregory Edgeworth’s assistant. Of course he was different.
41.
“……”
The credibility of his words was truly questionable. Fortunately, the older man didn’t seem to take them too literally.
In fact, judging from Gregory’s slightly furrowed brows, he must have guessed that Ray would put all his efforts in one direction. But at the same time, it was almost like he found him quite interesting—a soft smile crept up on Mr. Gregory’s face, and it became clear that he would simply let Ray have his way.
42.
This was bad. This was really bad.
Ray knew himself to be the audacious type. With Mr. Gregory’s over-tolerance, he would probably dig up a hole on the ceiling tomorrow—
No. He had to behave. He must behave.
Don’t make Mr. Gregory regret saying those words to you today.
43.
Gregory returned the earbuds to Ray. Gently swirling the mug in his hand, he casually asked about the song Ray was listening to. He told him that the volume seemed to be quite high and might be bad for his ears.
There it was! His second least favorite topic!
It was truly extra annoying that adults would lecture him on the negative impacts it might have on his ears. After all, you couldn’t really force a teenager to behave like a fragile old man.
Yet now this topic had suddenly become one of his absolute favorites.
Ray extended his hand and offered Gregory the earbud in his palm. He even took off the one left in his ear and offered it as well.
“It’s stereo sound.” He said.
“Do you wanna give it a try?”
44.
Ray was leaning back on his chair, so there was a considerable height difference between them. He stretched his arm as far as he could, almost touching the older man’s chin.
It was only when Gregory took over his earbuds that he realized that he probably needed to find a relatively “normal” song.
Ray really wanted to put on one of his favorites, but his absolute favorite was the song playing before.
The lead vocal had such a divine, anguished growl, and his voice never failed to murder Ray a little.
But he really wouldn’t dare to play it for Mr. Gregory—after all, for people who had zero experience with the genre, this kind of song was practically auditory torture.
Ray couldn’t let that happen, yet this type of song seemed to be the only kind he had.
……
Wait—this one… he didn’t remember seeing it before, and probably didn’t listen to it a lot… So it shouldn’t be too noisy?
45.
He first turned down the volume to the recommended level, then started playing the song.
“How’s the volume?”
“It’s all good.”
Good, then.
46.
But instead of becoming instantly relieved, Ray was still feeling somewhat unsettled. It probably had something to do with the fact that he wasn’t sharing headphones with Gregory, and the loudest sound in his ears right now was the AC’s gentle humming.
All the windows and doors were closed, but he could still hear some faint buzzing from the cicadas outside.
It should be a quiet song, right? At least this time Ray couldn’t hear any leaked sound from the headphones.
He could only make random guesses as to what kind of song it might be, if it had a good melody and whether the intro had finished yet…
He saw the name of this song—“Hope”, and figured that it probably had a positive vibe at least. Probably.
Wait, what was he thinking? He still had the phone in his hand, so why not just look at the lyrics?
For someone as bright and brilliant as Ray to become this slow—he could only attribute it to Mr. Gregory’s presence.
47.
“You got lips like the sunset.”
Hmmm? From the sound of it, this is a love song? It also has subtitles—
That’s right. Ray’s English wasn’t exactly the best. Although the scrolling lyrics weren’t moving too fast, if it were all in English, he would still have some trouble catching up.
His eyes followed the lyrics down—then immediately hoped the translation would disappear from the screen.
“When you get undressed
I'm losing my head
I'm losing my head
I'm losing my head
You got moves that can keep up…”
No no no please don’t keep up! STOP!! STOP!!!
48.
Jackpot. It was indeed a love song—a pretty erotic one, too.
It only got more and more ridiculous from here. “When we get down”, “I feel you in my bones”, “Love up my body”, “Kiss up and down my spine”… All that good stuff.
Ray wasn’t worried about being corrupted by these innuendos himself. The problem was, both earbuds were in Mr. Gregory’s ears at the moment.
This was just like when his dad came rushing into his room and opened the folder named “study material” and scrolled down all the way to the bottom—
He could literally feel his knees buckling under him.
Fortunately, Mr. Gregory didn’t seem to mind the lyrics too much, and was only enjoying the melody.
Ray started praying to God that the lead vocal wouldn’t start groaning and moaning half way through the song.
Judging by Mr. Gregory’s expression… Maybe not?
But why was he so bothered by this? He didn’t write it. He didn’t sing it. He had nothing to do with it.
There was nothing wrong with erotica—he was merely an innocent listener.
Still, Ray couldn’t help but panic. Somehow he decided that every move he made and every interest or habit he took up would affect Mr. Gregory’s impression of him. And he happened to care about his opinion. A LOT.
Although why wasn’t he thinking about this when he tossed post-it notes into his mouth…?
But really though, why do I care so much about what Mr. Gregory thinks of me? Why do I… care so much about Mr. Gregory?
49.
The older man returned the earphones to Ray. He told him that it was a good song, and he wouldn’t mind if Ray played it out during the break.
Looked like everything was fine.
Yet Ray vowed to never do this again, ever—it was too much for his heart.
The adrenaline that was rushing through his blood stream finally subsided. Now Ray felt like an inflatable boat that finally reached shore—“swoosh!”—then all the pressure left his body, leaving him almost a little hungry.
He plugged the headphones back into his ears; the thick, smoky voice of the lead vocal came rushing through his eardrum, digging all the way down to his beating heart.
Along with one line in the lyrics.
“I love every little thing you do.”
Ok, the original lyrics said “I like the way you work it”, and contextually, it was probably referring to certain physical interaction.
But, but…
“Work” could also refer to actually working.
The lyrics suddenly felt like… they were about him?
He… loved the way Mr. Gregory worked?
Ray felt his heart tremble.
But that can’t be it. He never talks to me when he buries himself in work. I don’t like that.
So it was more like the translation: he loved every little thing that Mr. Gregory did?
Ray felt his heart tremble again.
That word was right there—the more he looked at it, the more he knew. It was pushing him, shaking him, telling him to wake up.
But in reality the only thing he did was repeat the lyrics. Still, Ray felt like he had laid his fingers on something.
50.
That was it… That was it!
Why did he care so much about everything Mr. Gregory did? Why did he always look back during work? Why was he so anxious and restless? Why did Gregory Edgeworth become the only one he looked at, the only thought on his mind—so much that he allowed that name to fill up his entire personal blog?
The lyrics showed him the answer—although what followed immediately was another round of kissing and touching and feeling up and down.
The words were like the Yata no Kagami[2], reflecting the very depth of his soul. All of the mists and fogs and worries and concerns were gone; his heart had become crystal clear.
51.
Case solved, case solved. He thought to himself.
Ray had thought that his final goal was to form an unbreakable friendship with Mr. Gregory, like Watson and Holmes.
But that wasn’t the case. Who would have guessed that I would take it up two notches, all the way up to…
Although he was only talking to himself in his head, Ray still had to pause from sheer nervousness.
Beloved[3] .
Ray spelled out the word tentatively in his mind.
Raymond Shields, you’ve got some nerve.
Deep down, he probably had known the answer for quite some time now, and it was only clogged by the water that got into his head during those endless baths he took.
But now he knew—all thanks to one simple line of lyrics.
52.
He said he’s got it now!
Raymond from the future would tell him no you did not.
It is truly frustrating: the future self always has the experiences that the current self does not have, and if he came and tried to warn you about it, you probably would beat him up and send him right back.
Fortunately, nobody came and warned him about anything, so he didn’t have to beat anyone up.
53.
Ray felt a gust of wind coming through.
Rosy and sweet, with petals dancing around the air, filling up his summer. Wait, no. The summer was almost over.
But his life was only about to start.
Why did he suddenly become so happy? If he looked at things as they were, nothing really changed.
But Ray had this to say:
“Romance—this I can do.”
54.
08/17/1997 20:26 Status: Private
[A Photo]
Page 1 of 32
55.
Today, Ray became more anxious than all the previous days combined. He must have been deluded to think that things would get easier from here once he realized it was love.
It was love that they were talking about here; so many had gone mad or broken-hearted or even died over it. Where would it take him—someone who had just become a high schooler?
Where? Ray couldn’t care less.
He almost wished that his feet were off the ground, so that there would be less friction in the way of where they were going.
He checked the time on his phone again—it wasn’t time yet.
But even after checking the time, he still turned and looked at the door, hoping that the bell would ring earlier than expected.
Ray had already lost count of how many times he had checked—he only realized this after a whimsical attempt to count how many times he had turned his head.
56.
Ray couldn’t help but check his blog again, adding yet another star to his anxiety chart.
He posted the picture of the flower shop’s receipt on his blog. Although protected by a tiny lock, unknown to the rest of the world, Ray still felt an exhilarating thrill over his great plot.
But how could you blame him for being so anxious and restless? Today was to be a big day for him—it would be the first time he made a move after figuring out his feelings.
And how could you blame him for being so reckless and hotheaded? There were only two weeks left in this summer. He didn’t know what to do in these two weeks, but he couldn’t just do nothing.
57.
He stayed quiet for a while, but the room began to feel too quiet.
He just wanted to talk to Mr. Gregory; he didn’t even care about what.
They could talk about the Grand Teton National Park, about what they had for lunch, about Canaan, about what hairspray brand was good, about the zebras running on Waikiki beach.
Otherwise, this silence would be the death of him, making Ray the victim for their next case.
Yet his feelings were wrong. The office today was no different from the office yesterday. Even the temperature of the AC was set to 26 °C, same as always.
Ray himself was the difference. Now he harbored a secret in his heart, an eager expectation for his surprise for Mr. Gregory, and a hidden love that had yet to be sung.
58.
Like a magnifying glass, these secrets amplified the silence, and tinted the air with his furtive ploy.
With each passing minute, they grew more and more concentrated, merging into a beam of dazzling light shining right into his heart, exposing every wish and desire.
He couldn’t run away from it—that light kept chasing him, like the spotlight on a stage.
They took him captive, forced him to give a speech, to talk about his feelings.
With his heart under the spotlight, he had no choice but to tell the truth.
He liked Mr. Gregory.
He loved Mr. Gregory.
He said.
He could hear the sound of paper rustling coming from behind him, like an applause to his speech—or an objection to his words.
Although that sound dispelled the silence in the air, it couldn’t quite chase away the light beam fueled by quietness. It closed in on Ray mercilessly, lighting him up from head to toe.
“What else? What else?”
The light pressed harder.
Almost burned by the heat, Ray had to press his palm against his cheek, trying his best to fight off the blood rushing to his head.
“Bodhi Svaha.” Ray began reciting from the Heart Sūtra.
The Sūtra might be helpful, yet unfortunately, that was the only line he knew.
59.
When Ray was cupping his face like the troubled Juliette on her balcony, he heard someone calling his name.
Although he wasn’t listening to music this time around, Ray still got quite startled—
When he turned around, a sea of crimson petals flooded his vision like a red tide. The roses cradled him in, blocking the tormenting spotlight away.
The flowers danced towards him in a charming, elegant waltz, their steps delicate and graceful.
After regaining some of his composure, Ray looked past the giant bouquet of roses in front of his face, at the person who brought it to him.
“… Eh… Mr. Gregory?”
Now he was the one caught off guard, the one all flattered and flustered.
He never expected the surprise came for him first.
Albeit with some difficulty, Mr. Gregory managed to look past the flowers and right into his eyes. This was a habit of his: whenever Mr. Gregory was talking to someone, he would always look them in the eyes.
60.
He said the flower shop delivered this here, was this meant for you?
Ray almost admitted to it.
Yes, he bought the flowers, he set up the surprise. But now the table was turned, and Mr. Gregory brought the flowers to him—as if he were giving Ray the bouquet of sweet words and adoring secrets. He was almost tempted to take it like this.
“No no! Wait, I think there might be a note on it…”
Mr. Gregory lowered the bouquet and looked for the alleged note. He couldn’t seem to find one.
“What… That’s weird. Let me take a look…”
Ray got a little upset; he began to worry that the shop had forgotten to put the card in—the one that said “To Gregory”.
61.
He stood up and took over the flowers. He sat down with that big bouquet of roses resting against his chest, and began searching through it hurriedly.
Among the blossoms, the ruby roses were arranged with great care and delicacy, their vibrant, fiery colors hinting at the sender’s message. But right now, the only thing that could clearly lay out his feelings did not appear in the sea of roses as expected, reducing his loving confession to an anonymous murmur.
62.
“I don’t think there is one… Although I’d say it is meant for you.”
After hearing this comment, Ray snapped his head up, with shock and disbelief written all over his face. Gregory saw his expression and explained:
“Do you have any admirers or something like that…? They must have liked you a lot to send over such a big bouquet—”
“No!”
Ray was absolutely unyielding this time; he didn’t even allow Mr. Gregory to finish his sentence.
His expression was serious and determined, with a hint of aggravation and exasperation.
Gregory seemed a little stunned; he hesitated for a few seconds before trying to comfort him:
“There will be.”
“……”
63.
Ray should have told the truth from the very beginning, “the flowers were meant for you, Mr. Gregory”—although that stupid card was nowhere to be found.
But then he heard Mr. Gregory say, “They must have liked you a lot to send over such a big bouquet.”
Those few words were enough to beat him down to his timid self. The mind of steel he had when he made the order became melted and diminished, washing away all the courage within him; the burning passion he had when he planned out his love confession became cold and dwindled, taking away all the fight inside him.
64.
Was Mr. Gregory wrong, though? No, he was absolutely right.
Indeed, he liked Mr. Gregory a lot, and that was why he decided to send him a huge bouquet of flowers.
But it was because Ray liked him so much that he didn’t know how to put his feelings into words.
“But…”
He just couldn’t be straight with it.
“It could be for you, Mr. Gregory.”
“No way. Who would send me flowers?”
Me! Me!!
65.
Ray was helplessly anxious now; he only wished that he could close his eyes and just let the words fall out.
Otherwise, after today, he would exile himself to a country named Oz and wait for a girl called Dorothy to go on a journey to look for lost bravery and courage.
No more Edgeworth Law Offices. To Oz.
Otherwise, Ray would probably die from sheer frustration over himself.
66.
Ray started putting the flowers into the vase, because they didn’t figure out the sender nor the receiver.
So he suggested decorating the office with them.
Raymond Shields, you just hop right into that grave you dug for yourself!
Despite his frustration, Ray could never just leave the office like that.
Well then—here’s what he would do: he would fill this office with love. He would put the flowers everywhere, making the office look like a dating agency in heat—and all shall be well!
67.
He didn’t really know who his anger was truly aimed at, but the result was pretty predictable: Mr. Gregory would look at the office’s questionable décor and sigh in resignation, telling him that it was fine, it was ok. And Ray would be mocked and jeered at by those merciless, infuriatingly exuberant flowers sprawling all over the place.
Shields, you are—
He was gonna lecture himself some more and get back up again—just decorate the flowers properly and show some taste, and pick the gifts more carefully next time; there would be plenty of chances in the future…
But his thoughts were interrupted.
With deep suspicion, Ray stared at the card he just found near the stems. He no longer knew what to think of all this.
It was DOWN THERE?!
Fair enough—that was indeed a more secure place to put the card, so it wouldn’t fall out easily…
68.
Silently, he pressed the card into his hand, as if trying to force the note and the faint ink writing on it right into his palm.
He wanted to tell himself to give up, that this has become too much of a farce, let’s just wait for next time—
But that candid, beating heart in his hand was burning with such intensity—where should he even put it?
Into your mouth?
A nasty jerk in his brain muttered viciously.
Screw you! Ray jumped at him and gave him a good beating.
Even the Cowardly Lion was still a lion. If he simply put the heart back to where it belonged, even his cat would sneer at him when he got back.
69.
Taking the somewhat wrinkled card out of his sweaty palm, Ray flattened and smoothed out the card carefully.
Opening the Pandora’s Box—let this be the beginning of it all.
It was a white card with faint golden patterns, like a pigeon from Noah’s Ark flying back with golden olive branches.
70.
“You see, Mr. Gregory—this was really for you.”
“Ah… I see. But who could it be?”
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
“What? What… Why me?”
“It’s written all over your face. ‘It was me! Please give me credit!’—something like that.”
“So it really was you?”
“Yep. The office just seemed a bit bland, and… Eh, nothing. It’s just, you know, colors are pretty and all that. And now that the summer is almost over, I wanted to thank you for your guidance for the past few weeks.”
“I was wondering why you were upset just now. So this is why.”
“No, no! I wasn’t upset! Oh by the way, can I still come here and be your assistant from time to time? You know, during the weekends and holidays and whatever—as your chief assistant.”
“Of course. You have become quite reliable, Shields. It would be really helpful if you can keep coming here.”
“Speaking of which, did you write your report for the school?”
“…………?!!?? OH CRAP!”
80.
Was there anything worse than having to finish an entire summer’s worth of work in the last few days before school?
Yes. When the work he had to catch up on was something that he couldn’t copy from others yet didn’t know how to write himself.
Could it get even worse than this?
When you asked Ray that question, he would tell you yes of course it could.
He attempted to make it perfect.
81.
Yes, he “attempted to”.
With a heart full of ambition, Ray was ready to compose the best school report that this world had ever seen.
Sadly, the reality was he spent half an hour looking through blogs, and another hour staring into space, his brain completely blank—just like when he handed the card to Mr. Gregory.
All the great expectations in his head began tumbling down. The only one goal that remained—“I will not copy a report from the Internet”—stood like a sentinel in his mind, blocking his every attempt to put anything down.
82.
Now, Ray just wanted to recite a poem—to be a poet.
Unfortunately, he was no erudite scholar and didn’t really have anything to show off.
In the end, he had to resort to searching for love poems on the Internet, and pasting the one that resonated with him the most on his blog.
“Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me prov'd,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.”
Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare.
It captured his feelings so well that Ray figured the poem was practically about him. Anyone who would argue otherwise must have never loved.
83.
Ray basically procrastinated the entire night away. Now lying in his bed, he put his hand on his chest and made a vow, and it almost looked like he would be true to it.
Tomorrow! Tomorrow, I, Raymond Shields, would devote my entire being to study and study alone.
84.
He must write an opening for the report first. Ray’s plan was to make it as grand as possible, as flowery as possible, and as wordy as possible.
But what about his previous goal?
Ray would refute and say there was absolutely nothing wrong with padding out! He only promised not to plagiarize, and if the words on the page all came from his head and his heart, then he had nothing to be ashamed of.
—Like every student facing an upcoming deadline ever.
Ok now. If he were to write a regular five-paragraph essay, he first had to summarize this summer.
85.
What was his summer like?
If Ray had to be objective about it, he would say that this was truly the summer of discontent.
How could he be contented?
Admittedly, he also had to catch up on his assignments last minute for all the previous vacations, but it was always because he had been too busy having fun.
But this time he was too busy with work to finish his assignments earlier!
Ray remembered the console he bought before this summer—it had been sitting there this whole time, collecting dust. He could literally hear his heart breaking.
How could he not be discontented?
Ray had never known the taste of worries or concerns back in middle school. Yet right after graduation, he was caught in this tangled web of feelings that was supposed to be still quite far away.
If he had a choice, Ray would hope that he would simply never meet Mr. Gregory. Let him meet a girl around his age instead, and maybe they would even start a magical romance—this was the kind of thing he could deal with.
But it was all in the past. Now Ray has been hooked. Now he couldn’t even find it in his heart to think that way anymore.
Never meeting Mr. Gregory? The mere thought of it would shatter his heart to a million pieces and send him bawling under a blanket.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel unsatisfied.
Ray knew that it was by some divine fortune that he got to know Mr. Gregory—but good God, this man was a tough target.
After all, Mr. Gregory was an irritating adult.
86.
If Ray had sent the flowers to a teenage girl, he would 100% receive a surprised smile and some adoring attention—and blushing cheeks as pink as blooming roses.
Roses were magical; it was said that Aphrodite once kissed these flowers, and that when given to a loved one, the roses would imprint her kiss on their heart.
Ray knew about this secret. Don’t forget—he did say that he was good at romance.
But he sent the flowers to Mr. Gregory. He told him thank you and said, with a smile, that this was so ceremonious that he got startled.
Mr. Gregory really had the best smile. He had a small dimple on one side of his cheeks, and Ray felt like he was falling head over heels into it. He only wished that he could have a good dream in it.
Yet he was still wide awake. He knew that Mr. Gregory wasn’t really that surprised.
Or, he should say, his action did surprise him—but the older man simply had more knowledge, more experiences.
He was surprised, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t know what to do.
87.
Ray knew that Mr. Gregory wouldn’t stare at the flowers and daydream about them. He wouldn’t let his mind wander or get lost in imagination.
Ray said that he just wanted more colors in the office, and that it was a token of gratitude for his guidance throughout the summer—and Mr. Gregory simply accepted it.
It wasn’t that Mr. Gregory was insensitive; rather, it was because roses no longer held any romantic connotations for him.
After all, there was a difference of sixteen years between them—Ray should have known that their heartbeat could no longer align.
88.
Ray had realized it the first time around, but he still decided to send more flowers.
This summer was painfully hot, and most flowers couldn’t last for more than two days, which provided him with the perfect excuse.
Later on, Ray didn’t even ask for delivery anymore; he would take a small bouquet of flowers with him to work, and put them into the vase when he got there.
89.
Roses were no good. So what? He could just change it to something else—begonia, hibiscus, hyacinth…
He even picked a few blossoms from the flame tree near his house.
The crimson petals stretched out gracefully like a gypsy dress, like the tail of a betta fish. The anthers had a smooth, elegant curve, as if they were the crown of a phoenix.
Mr. Gregory was unstirred. So what? He could just keep buying more red flowers.
Almost like proposing a challenge, Ray would always put the vase with the most abundant flowers on Gregory’s desk, and secretly hoping that some of that crimson would one day tint his cheeks as well.
But in the end, it was him that ended up turning and staring—through the leaves and stems and blossoms—
Ray couldn’t tell whether he was falling out of or right into this romance.
—Just like he didn’t know whose cheeks these flowers had painted.
90.
Whenever he walked in with the flowers, Mr. Gregory would ask what he had brought in today.
Gregory did try to talk him out of it, but only for a day or two. Like he did with his habit of eating notes, of listening to music during work.
Later on, Mr. Gregory would even put in some flower requests himself—what kind? Lilies.
Ray would always tell him, no, that couldn’t work, because lilies weren’t red.
With some audacity, Ray acted like a peculiar, stubborn child. Because he knew that Mr. Gregory would just indulge him with a smile, and said he didn’t understand why it had to be red—was there any special meaning behind it?
It made Ray feel pampered; it made him feel loved.
91.
At one point, he answered Gregory’s question. He said that red suited you best, Mr. Gregory.
This kind of stagy teasing wasn’t really anything clever, but somehow he came across as incredibly honest and genuine.
He loved and loved—with glowing warmth and shining passion. With the enthusiasm and abandon of a young man.
He didn’t care how long this unrequited love would take. The road was long, if he just kept walking, he would see the day when Mr. Gregory began to warm up towards him. This thought alone was enough to overwhelm his heart with joy.
92.
What’s wrong with unrequited love? What’s wrong with unrequited love!
He could only live once—and to fall in love at the age of fifteen, Ray really felt like he was the luckiest person on Earth.
Love, love.
Everyone said it was the greatest thing in this world; Ray just never expected he could be so fortunate to be blessed by it.
93.
He was so certain.
Yet reality would later come in and tell him that he was wrong, that it was all wrong.
The two things he was so certain about—neither of them were true.
Raymond Shields was ill, but he had no idea.
