Kobe Suzuo sighed and waved at Satoru Gojo.
“I remember we agreed that you can't come over and stare at me during sleeping hours.”
Satoru Gojo walked over and squatted in front of Kobe Suzuo, grabbing her slightly cool fingers and shaking them.
“I only came to find you because I wasn't sleepy.”
He didn't wait for Kobe Suzuo to respond before asking again, "Did Suzuo just have a nightmare?"
His tone was flat, lacking the usual overflowing emotions.
It was like the early morning before sunrise, cold and clear, making Kobe Suzuo forget to continue lecturing and instead remember the dream from just now.
He pulled his hand away from Satoru Gojo's hand and gently touched Satoru Gojo's cheek.
It wasn't a nightmare. I think I just dreamed..
Kobe Suzuo's fingertips brushed against the silver-white eyelashes as she said hesitantly, "Then that might have been you when you were a child."
Satoru Gojo leaned in with half of his face, grabbing Kobe Suzuo's wrist to rub against his palm.
Me as a child?
Kobe Suzuo recalled the dream, which was becoming increasingly vivid, said with certainty, "Yes, I dreamed of you when you were just born."
He rubbed his thumb, "You were tiny like a kitten, with a face as soft as daifuku, but you cried very loudly."
Satoru Gojo listened, stunned, his eyes wide. "That's fake, right? I rarely cried when I was little! And I certainly wouldn't have cried so ugly."
His indifferent and distant aura vanished in an instant as he knelt on the carpet, lunging forward to wrap his arms around Kobe Suzuo's waist.
“Am I really this kind of image in Suzuo's heart? No, no, you must go back and dream again immediately.”
Satoru Gojo pressed Kobe Suzuo onto the bed, lying on her and acting out unreasonably:
I must have been cool and edgy when I was little; I could have been a child model since I was a baby. Why do you only dream about the embarrassing parts!
Kobe Suzuo felt an itch from the cool strands of hair brushing against her waist, as she pressed her hand against the top of Satoru Gojo's head to push him away, laughter bubbled up from her throat.
Satoru, you're also quite cute when you cry. It's such a great contrast; I really love it.
Satoru Gojo suddenly stopped his movements, propping himself up on his arms, looked up at Kobe Suzuo. "Really?"
Kobe Suzuo confirmed, "Really."
He stared at the ceiling, recalling the brief but real dream over and over again, his palm covering the slightly hot tattoo.
“Satoru.”
Satoru Gojo noticed the somewhat dazed look in Kobe Suzuo's eyes, sat back down by the bedside, replied, "Go ahead."
That was no dream.
Kobe Suzuo murmured, "I think it should be you, something that Satoru Gojo truly experienced."
Half of Satoru Gojo's face was hidden in the shadows, after a long silence, he asked, "To you, is this a good thing?"
Kobe Suzuo's eyelids felt very heavy.
It was likely because the dream had affected his sleep; once the discomfort upon waking had subsided, drowsiness gradually surged back.
He said dizzily, "I'm not quite sure yet.. but.. for now, it doesn't seem like a bad thing."
If there were no follow-up, then this dream could simply be treated as a one-off incident.
But if new and more dreams were to arise, he would have to act quickly to devise appropriate countermeasures.
Satoru Gojo did not wait for the rest of Kobe Suzuo's words; he turned his head to look back. Kobe Suzuo's calves were still dangling off the edge of the bed, her head tilted to the side, sleeping deeply in such a sprawled position.
He instinctively wanted to wake her up, but after his hand touched Kobe Suzuo's cheek, he withdrew it, staring for a long time like a true feline.
He saw Kobe Suzuo frowning because of a dream; his fingers curled and then uncurled, his already loose pajamas fell completely open, the ties and his calves dangling by the edge of the bed, the tattoo on his waist exposed to the air.
It was a bit clearer than the last time he had seen it.
It was exactly the same as the one he remembered bit by bit, traced onto the paper, as if he had drawn it with his own hands, belonging to him.
He approached unconsciously, his hands gripping her hips.
Using a bit of ability, he lifted Kobe Suzuo's waist into the air, revealing the entire golden Balloon Flower pattern.
Fingertips slid along the lines, slowly tracing the pattern, only to be interrupted by the missing memories.
Kobe Suzuo recoiled, slapping away Satoru Gojo's wandering hand in her sleep.
His abdominal muscles were taut from an improper sleeping position, his waist was lean and strong, arching into a slight, beautiful curve supported by Limitless.
Satoru Gojo felt that he must have seen Kobe Suzuo in this state before.
Besides golden balloon flowers, perhaps there should also be pink ones, food, cakes, or something else.
Luminous skin appearing in cool tones under the light, a sweet scent carrying traces of moisture, an impatient mood.
These memories should be able to be connected together.
Their relationship might have been even more intimate than it is now.
But now, he remembers nothing.
Satoru Gojo stared at Kobe Suzuo; he was sleeping fitfully, his brow constantly furrowed, he had no idea just how loudly or annoyingly his younger self had cried.
It would be better to just wake him up.
He thought mischievously, slowly lowering his head and opening his mouth wide, as if he were eating a dessert, took a large bite right where the Balloon Flower was.
Fast, precise, ruthless; Kobe Suzuo's eyes stung, tears clung to her eyelashes before she could even open them.
He struggled violently, his waist jerking upward, forgetting the position in which he had closed his eyes. His arm swung up and, as it fell, he slapped Satoru Gojo squarely in the face.
Kobe Suzuo slapped herself awake, even in her dazed state, she didn't care why her waist was aching.
She looked at her palms, then raised her head to look at Satoru Gojo's red-tipped nose. Tears that were about to fall streamed down her cheeks, staining the corners of her eyes with a faint red, as she wondered if she was having a lucid dream.
No, it wasn't a dream.
Kobe Suzuo's night vision was average, completely unable to compare to a cheat-like individual like Satoru Gojo.
But as soon as he saw Satoru Gojo's face, he began to struggle again, his expression turning into panic:
“Satoru, let go, quick! I've caused you a nosebleed.”
Satoru Gojo subconsciously wiped his nose with the back of his hand upon hearing that. His skin was pale, making the smear of red even more prominent.
Kobe Suzuo was tossed and turned so much that he woke up twice during the night, by now, he had no judgment left at all.
She didn't notice Satoru Gojo's gaze had been locked on her, nor could she see Satoru Gojo's unusually excited expression.
Satoru Gojo used Limitless to restrict Kobe Suzuo's movements, making a rapid decision; he lowered his head, choosing to bite once more.
His teeth applied pressure, his tongue pressing against the skin, leaving a bite mark before releasing before the skin could break.
For a day or even longer, it could remain on Kobe Suzuo just like these Balloon Flowers.
Kobe Suzuo gasped, her mind reeling so much that she actually calmed down, she reached out to grab Satoru Gojo's wrist.
However, Satoru Gojo reacted even faster. He swiftly withdrew his Limitless, climbed down from Kobe Suzuo's bed, apologized muffledly while holding his nose.
I'm sorry, Suzuo, my mood isn't quite right today.
Satoru Gojo turned around. "I'm going to tidy up and get some sleep first. You can punish me however you like tomorrow."
After saying that, he quickly opened the door and ran.
At five in the morning, Kobe Suzuo didn't know whether to chase him or not; he turned on the light, revealing two glaring bite marks on his flank.
I can't keep spoiling him; he's truly becoming unbearable.
Chapter 97: That is a Witness
Light snowflakes fell one after another.
The sky was a cold, desolate leaden gray, the bark of the winter trees had been stained ink-black by the wind and snow. A portion of the snow had melted, leaving the swept stone paths still slippery.
Quiet, somber, grey-white; it was a cold winter day, it was impossible to tell what time of day it was.
Kobe Suzuo gazed toward the distant, long outer wall of the courtyard; within her field of vision, a bright red umbrella appeared first, like a single drop of blood fallen onto the snow in the story of Snow White.
The woman holding the umbrella lagged one step behind the white-haired child, maintaining a distance that was neither too close nor too far, tilting the umbrella to cover his head.
The child, wearing a light blue kimono with dragonfly patterns, had hair and eyelashes as white as snow; with a cold expression, he looked like an exquisite classical doll.
That kind of demeanor, appearing as if he had already seen through the sins of the mortal world, was far too strange for a child to possess, so indifferent and detached.
But after seeing those eyes, everyone would find it only natural—he was indeed a "God's Child," a person who was not quite human.
Kobe Suzuo followed the two people under the red umbrella.
Along the way, the household servants rushing about their own business gradually diminished, while the patrolling guards in training uniforms grew in number, until they finally arrived at a courtyard tightly shrouded by a barrier.
The woman stopped in front of the gate, held out a red umbrella toward Satoru Gojo, said softly, "Young Master, dinner will be delivered in ten minutes. Tomorrow at the Hour of the Dragon, the Clan Head will examine your studies. I will come to pick you up on time."
Satoru Gojo looked up at her, his eyes clear and bright, but his soft voice carried a chillness like falling snow.
“Are you not escorting me in today?”
The woman extended the umbrella in her hands slightly outward and said respectfully, "The Clan Head has decreed that from this day forward, no one is permitted to enter the Young Master's courtyard without permission."
Satoru Gojo merely watched her quietly, then after a few breaths, he turned and stepped over the threshold.
The woman watched his figure disappear into the courtyard, then bowed deeply, her back curving into a heavy arc.
The servants attending to Satoru Gojo's daily needs in the courtyard hurried to and fro like programmed robots, silently completing their assigned tasks and silently departing.
Satoru Gojo did not attempt to strike up a conversation, quietly accepting their service like a divine statue placed atop a high altar in a temple, revered and untouched by the mortal world.
The snow was falling heavily; by the time the candles were lit, a thick layer had already accumulated.
After the night watchman had fallen fast asleep, Satoru Gojo pushed open the shoji of the washitsu, stepped on his geta, leaped over the engawa into the garden.
With a crunch, both feet sank into the snow.
He lifted one foot and tested the snow, stepping down very, very lightly, thus another pit appeared on the snow's surface.
With footsteps varying in depth and the rustling sound of stepping on snow, Satoru Gojo walked in a large circle around the courtyard, leaving a long trail of footprints behind him.