"Aoyama-sensei."
The elder man's hand suddenly froze in the air, dumbfounded with what he just heard. "Sensei...?"
He was holding a teacup, preparing something to drink when he decided to face the girl who was sitting behind. "I'm sorry, did you just refer me as 'sensei'?"
The girl nodded innocently.
"No." He let out a rough cough as he fixed the wrinkles in his suit. "I'm no 'sensei'. I'm just like you, a fellow staff of this mansion." he explained.
The young Hotaru blinked.
A minute of silence filled the room.
More importantly, something was wrong with the current set up. The girl was holding something, like a picture book.
Aoyama closed his eyes to ponder the situation. He was in the middle of tutoring the girl. The sight in his front should be something like a quiet girl sitting in a couch, attentively absorbing all the words that he was saying regarding the rules of the house. Or at least, should be jotting down all information he was saying and reviewing it while he was busy preparing their snacks.
He only turned his back for a while and she was already doing something else.
"Then, Aoyama...?" the girl went on, unsure.
This made his brow twitched in annoyance. And now, without honorifics? "That is...too casual, Hotaru."
"Aoyama-dono?"
The head attendant raised a brow.
"...Aoyama..." The girl slowly pronounced his name while steadily looking at the older male, looking for any hint or clue as if she was playing some guessing game. "...san...?"
He nodded before stretching his lips into a thin line. Well, "Let's just go with the usual, yes."
She smiled, wiggling the legs that failed to reach the floor. "So Aoyama-san, this, who is she?" she pointed on and on at the image of someone in the album she took from one of the shelves in the house.
The surface of the photo booklet was old, the plastic cover, if not worn out, were already sticking at the photo itself.
She really wasn't listening from the start. The elder man could only frown. "We're in the middle of studying, get that away—"
"But I'm curious." The black haired girl insisted, taking her own fancy of turning the booklet on to the next page.
There it was again, the woman was everywhere. Most of the time, she was beside the young Akashi Seijuro.
No use.
Kids these days... really.
Left without a choice, the girl won't focus unless he told her.
As the older person, Aoyama must be patient and so, he went beside the girl and peeked a little.
He was probably the one who kept those albums in the shelf.
Years had passed since then. He already forgot the photos inside that album.
The senior attendant made a slight tilting of his chin as he gave a quick look at the photos.
Squinted eyes were formed. Ah... came to his thought the instant his eyes landed at the pictures. It felt like forever since he last saw that face. Suddenly, he was in deep nostalgia.
Should he reveal the identity of that woman? Would she even understand if he did?
Maybe or maybe not.
She was just a kid, after all.
A nod was the least he could predict from her as a retort.
"Why do you want to know?" He finally straightened his back. There was no point in looking further. He didn't want to be reminded of those gloomy days.
"I feel like she's Seijuro-sama's mother." She mumbled before ascending her head to look over her supposed teacher. "...or am I wrong?"
The girl acknowledged the idea with definite assurance. Who else would be allowed to be as close as this woman to Seijuro if not his own mother?
So she could tell. Aoyama thought.
A forefinger travelled its way to point at one particular photo, leaning a little to reach the said booklet. "This woman is Shiori-sama."
The fatigue in his eyes were visible while observing how the girl would react when he pronounced the name of the woman who used to be the sole source of sunshine in the mansion.
"Shiori...sama." Hotaru repeated, before pressing her lips together with a short nod. "Even the name..."
"What is it?"
She aired both of her palms in attempt to defend her own words, it didn't mean anything special at all. It was just... just that...
She looks like...
When did it become so hard to explain something that sounded simple in the mind?
Shiori...Shiori-sama...
The mention of the woman's name spawned an optical counterpart of such unearthly being such as those seraphs and seeing her face from the photos only supported the product of her mental activity.
In the midst of all mother and son portraits, one image had captured her attention, like an alluring affection she could almost feel just by looking.
Shiori looked like a true example of a refined and well-mannered person. She had the young Seijuro wrapped around her arms as they both sat at the piano bench.
The photograph was taken inside Seijuro's room. The background still looked the same, giving an impression as if it was only taken few months ago and not in years.
The girl's slender forefinger stroke the surface of the specific photo. That time, when this photo was taken, how did Seijuro feel? She wondered, seeing the smile that seemed to portray genuine happiness.
Onto the black and large instrument, the same exact piano inside the redhead's room, Hotaru started dipping her forefinger on the said musical object, deciding to comment on it instead. "This is the..." She trailed off.
"Oh, you've seen that one already. That is the piano inside Seijuro-sama's room."
So it is...
"It was originally Shiori-sama's piano."
The possibility crossed her mind, but she didn't think it would still surprise her when it turned out as a fact. "Shiori-sama also plays the piano...?"
"Yes, she used to play it all the time."
Aoyama noticed the finger of the young girl as it shifted to touch the area where Seijuro's face was at.
There were no noise or sound coming from the girl, she was just staring at the picture, particularly at the redhead, while seemingly in deep thoughts.
Though, what would a child like her think about such? Aoyama doubted at first that she would understand what was going on.
The old man narrowed his eyes a bit, sighing in the end.
"Shiori-sama was his first teacher." he paced forward, back to what he had been doing before he was interrupted by the girl, while remembering the exact scenario back then. He had been serving the Akashi family for almost half of his life. The event in the photo was like a daily routine before, when the woman was still alive. "I believe it was Shiori-sama that taught Seijuro-sama how to play."
Hotaru elevated her eyesight to the old man's figure. This time, she watched him as he prepared the long-overdue snacks.
He let out a long wistful sigh. Reminiscing the old days in the mansion was too sad.
"She was a very magnificent woman. It is such a shame that she had to leave so soon."
For a while, Hotaru wondered why he seemed sad and affected despite not being blood-related to the family. And suddenly, she found herself realizing the answer. Wasn't it just exactly what she was feeling towards the boy? Maybe, Hotaru knew how he felt.
"Seijuro-sama must have been very sad..."
The black haired man pulled his head back, "No..." he frowned. –Wait, no, that isn't right.
He had to rephrase that 'No', it didn't seem the right word to use. "I mean, he must... He definitely was..."
Aoyama aired one palm to give a point, "But you know what Hotaru-chan, that kid... I don't remember seeing him mourn."
"Why is that?" the girl leaned forward, putting more attention at the old man's story, pressing the photo album to her chest.
In spite of that, Aoyama wasn't sure if the girl would understand even if he explained. The Akashi family, after all, was a very complex family. It wasn't just some ordinary relationship that he could easily compare to his own family or even the girl's family.
He knitted his brows.
She was the son's personal attendant. Considering that, maybe she had the right to know.
Aoyama turned around, in his hand was a round tray containing two cups of tea and some biscuits, all ready to be served..
Afterwards, he didn't bother sitting beside the empty chair. The old man preferred to talk beside where he could get a clear view of her expression.
"It's not that he didn't want to, rather, he just couldn't seem to do it...?" He blinked, that was intended as a statement but he became doubtful in the end. Somehow, he realized he was only speaking based on his own observation. A forefinger was curled and touching the surface of his chin as he tried to rephrase it into something easier to understand.
"I don't understand Aoyama-san."
Well, it was just as expected.
"You know, Seijuro-sama has always been busy with his studies, even before Shiori-sama died." He said and ensured if the girl was following the message of his words.
The girl was nodding slowly.
"...but after what happened to Shiori-sama," his tone was like reading syllables at a slow pace. "Masaomi-sama gave Seijuro-sama more tasks, even personally supervising his son just to make sure that he wasn't... well you know, crying and weeping in a corner as if the world ended."
Hotaru blinked and looked back at the photo once again.
Shouldn't that be normal?
When she lost her own father, she cried almost every day.
All she felt was sorrow, like nothing mattered anymore. Her chest felt so heavy and straightening her knees became so hard. The only thing she wanted to do was stay in bed, under the blankets. That was until the Akashi family took custody of her.
"Such a shame..." Aoyama mused.
"I understand... Aoyama-san."
That must be hard...
The old man, however, lifted one brow. Did she really understand? He could only wonder that time.
.
.
.
.
.
When the girl entered his room, something she had been doing almost every day, it was only by then that she understood how lonely his back appeared to be.
Every time, it was the same sight that welcomed her.
Only then that Hotaru fully noticed how the quiet surrounding that she used to think as a symbol of dedication to studying was actually a proof of solitude. He was like a boy exiled from reality.
Even the simple holding of book suddenly meant different from her view.
For Hotaru, if not because of what happened to her own father, she would have been outside, playing in this weekend afternoon. She probably wouldn't know that not all children of her age could do the same.
She noticed the thickness of Seijuro's new book. She probably wouldn't want to be stuck with that kind of book. Moreover, Hotaru could only assume that it was just another autobiography of someone he or a child like them shouldn't even caring about.
Why not fairytales? Those were the types of books she wouldn't mind reading non-stop.
"Hotaru...is it?" She winced from the sudden call.
Effortlessly, Akashi Seijuro didn't have to look or turn around to figure who entered his room. As expected, even if he was engrossed in reading, he was still fully attentive of his surroundings.
As Hotaru looked at his busy figure, she was once again mesmerized at the tune that she first heard from him. Maybe that was why it sounded so sad, like a serenade completely filled with sorrow. Even so, it was really beautiful.
She thought she could sympathize with him because they both lost someone dearly. Yet, as time passed by, as she had gotten more information about him, spending more time with him, she realized how they weren't entirely alike.
"Hotaru?" his eyes glanced briefly, taking notice of the unusual long silence of the girl whom he knew was the opposite of this.
Hotaru was never the silent type, he recalled. The girl always had something to say every time.
"Is something wrong?"
He was... lonely.
.
.
.
.
Hotaru opened her eyes slowly, and twitched because of the sudden brightness coming from the window of the bus. The consecutive line of trees in the outside, passing by in a blur, greeted her.
"—And forgotten the word that was spoken."
"Gee, Reo-nee, that doesn't suits you at all."
"Oh please, I'm not reading it for you."
Suddenly a discordant group of sounds surfaced her ears, particularly in a sneering tune from a familiar voice which interrupted her mind, awakening her from what it felt like a long dream.
No, not exactly as a dream but more like a memory of the past.
Of all the memories she had, why it must be that one?
She looked around.
Hayama was the first one she noticed, who was occupying the seat on her front, at the left row. He was in the middle of bickering (again) with Reo who was on the right row.
"I can't believe you're reading that!" The blonde uttered with an intense surprise and slight disgust.
"Excuse me, but Heinrich Heine is a well-known poet in the world." Reo countered, not bothering to look at his blonde critic.
"Maybe that is in your world." he joked.
The black-haired player ignored the noisy member's remark.
"Hey! You two, can you keep quiet? Ah? I'm trying to sleep." Nebuya who was sitting at the front row of the two interjected.
Mibuchi grimaced upon the sight of their Center. His built was way too large, almost occupying the entire seat that was meant for two passengers.
Ah.
Tsk.
You people are the noisy ones.
A certain Mayuzumi Chihiro frowned as he closed the book in his hand. He scanned the faces and state of everyone around. The noise was coming mostly from the three regulars, led by the one and only Hayama Koutaro.
Why couldn't those three be like their captain? He wondered.
Akashi Seijuro sat on the row to Mayuzumi's left, he had his eyes closed while sitting firmly like a mannequin. He seemed to be in deep sleep. How was that even possible considering these noises?
He squinted, suddenly noticing some sort of small object attached to the ears of Akashi. Ah, an earplug huh?
Mayuzumi sighed.
He would never be able to read at this rate.
Should he just watch and appreciate the scenery outside? Even though there was nothing spectacular about it?
He leaned the back of his head at the headrest hoping to find a comfortable position.
Two fingers kept on tapping the corner of his book as he made his self deny the noises, forcing his self to believe that he wasn't hearing anything.
Mibuchi's voice echoed inside the bus, and by that, it seemed like he was reciting a poem again.
"My ears gonna bleed Reo-Nee!" screamed by one.
Mayuzumi didn't have to look to know who was the owner of that cheery voice. Also, he wondered, now that he heard it again, what's up with that epithet?
Curiously, he pondered the history of that nickname, or was that actually a pet name? Though, he really didn't care that much. It was just one of his curiosities that would soon be forgotten.
And for the record, he wouldn't mind agreeing with that blonde. Certainly, those poems were too romantic and blatantly unrealistic.
Such words belonged to literature, written in books, only meant to be read as a form of entertainment. It was not something that people should pronounce to someone.
—Or maybe not. He could be wrong but who would care anyway?
In addition, people only wanted the feeling they'd get when such impractical ideals were to be declared on them.
It might be a fanciful display of affection —someone proclaiming their love using sweet and scripted lines like that, yes? But in reality, no one could possibly be that passionate. People probably couldn't care less about the whole meaning of those deep words. They only wanted that giddy and pleasant sensation as if they were floating in the air, drowned in this overrated emotion they called love, all so they could feed each other's ego.
What a waste of time, he thought.
He sighed once more.
"Well... aren't you sighing a lot?" For a change, he heard a female voice this time.
His gray eyeballs moved on to the corner of his eyes and noted someone peeking from the seat northwest from where he was at.
Her arms were folded and leaning on the armrest as she bobbed her head as a greeting the moment their eyes met.
What is this situation? He wanted to blurt out the question until he remembered the last time they were together.
That's right...
It still lingered to his memory, at that only and first time he held her arm.
She seemed to have forgotten it already, being all casual and natural.
"...It's nothing."
Hotaru smiled, her shoulder-length hair sprung swiftly as she made a short nod.
And then her attention was gone, putting it back at the scenery outside the window to her left.
Mayuzumi took the chance and attentively observe the girl. From his viewpoint, all he could see was the black strands of her short hair, the right part of her shoulder being leveled quite highly than the other due to her right arm still rested at the armrest.
They were conversing normally now, he noticed.
Would he really consider them as friends now? Was this how friends talked?
Like him, like her, a short glance, a small talk, a bit of smiles here and there.
Sasazaki
That was her name, he recalled. So... that would be... Sasazaki-san(?), Sasazaki(?),—he was older and on a higher year after all, so Sasazaki would be the correct way of addressing her.
Sasazaki...
Mayuzumi then realized, he didn't actually yet know the first name of the girl. Was it really Zaki? Sasazaki Zaki? He assumed that nickname came from the family name.
This realization turned to: Does he need to know?
He frowned, not finding any pleasure on the thought that his mind was creating, refusing the importance of having her presence in it.
He fixed his self and he opened the book once again. It wasn't just his teammates that must be shut quietly but his mind as well.
.