Chapter 72
Her wrist was held tight.
An’an tried to pull her hand away, but couldn’t. Instead, in the struggle, her toe caught on the wrinkled carpet, and she was tripped forward.
Furuya could have dodged, or he could have steadied her. But he chose neither, letting the dark-haired girl tackle him to the ground.
With a muffled grunt, Furuya fell back, looking up at the girl who was pinning him down.
The girl’s long, cascading hair fell in a messy tangle, a few black strands entwined with the blond.
An’an looked down at him.
The dim light of the room cast a hazy glow. From her high vantage point, everything was clearly visible.
Time seemed to stand still.
An’an slowly reached out, her fingertips touching Furuya’s neck, her cool palm pressing against his carotid artery.
The skin under her palm rose and fell with his breath. With just a little force, the person pinned beneath her would be deprived of oxygen.
The blond young man was docile, his neck pressed against her palm.
His body language was completely relaxed. Except for one hand, which held An’an’s wrist firmly, not allowing her to leave, all other control was given to her.
“You can retaliate against me however you want,” Furuya said in a low voice. “I’m right here. I won’t resist anything.”
Retaliate against him?
Of course An’an was going to retaliate against him.
Retaliate against his concealment, retaliate against his deception, retaliate against him for breaking up with her just like that.
He clearly liked her.
He clearly couldn’t let go.
He was the one who had broken up with her, and now he was determined to win her back.
He had set up a trap with all kinds of tricks. Under his gentle exterior was a firm attitude: Don’t even think about getting rid of me.
It was a little annoying, but very effective.
An’an kept telling herself: You’ve already broken up. You have to keep your distance from your ex-boyfriend.
The fact was, her gaze still unconsciously sought the blond young man’s figure. There were so many people on the set, yet she always saw him first.
And every time, he was also looking at her.
His gaze followed her figure even before the camera did.
…
“Teacher An’an,” Director Ochi said, holding a script and making a request. “I know this is a bit difficult, but can you act with a little more emotion?”
“Although it’s not written in the character bio, the villain and the male lead actually have a history. The way she looks at the male lead should be a little more complicated than how she looks at others.”
Director Ochi gesticulated. “The feeling of lingering affection—you know what I mean?”
An’an: “Huh? But isn’t the villain’s ultimate goal to kill the male lead and chop him into a million pieces?”
Director Ochi: “It’s not a conflict. The audience loves a love-hate relationship these days. Trust me, it’ll be a hit.”
A single glance is enough for the audience to ship them for a long time. They’ll imagine the story between these two on their own. If the popularity is high enough, they can even have a spin-off. The director’s little abacus was clacking away.
Besides, it saved a lot of money. They didn’t need to film a few more flashback scenes. A close-up on the villain’s face would be enough.
“What a photogenic face,” Director Ochi said, intoxicated. “The male lead’s opinion is not important. The audience will ship them on their own.”
The male lead, who was being beaten and tortured to death by the villain in the script: As long as the director and the audience are happy, don’t mind me.
It was the day after the hotel haunting incident. The male lead had been scared all night. Insomnia and a nervous breakdown had made his face haggard. He was lying on the ground with a battle-worn makeup, looking pathetic.
According to the original script, An’an would pinch his chin and lift his face, giving him a “looking at a dog” look.
Now she had to change the “looking at a dog” look to the “lingering affection of an old lover” look. It was very difficult for her.
“I’m sorry,” the girl said sorrowfully to the male lead. “I heard you debuted through a talent show and later switched to acting. You’re a recognized idol, but I have my own aesthetic.”
The corner of the male lead’s mouth twitched. Teacher An’an, I’m offended.
He was an idol in the entertainment industry, where there were countless handsome men and beautiful women. If you didn’t like his face, it must be your aesthetic that’s the problem—
“The director said to take a break before filming again. Here, the water is here.”
A hand inserted itself between the dark-haired girl and the male lead, handing the girl a water bottle.
The spotlight shone on Furuya’s dazzling blond hair. In that instant, it was as if all the light sources had gathered here, outlining his superiorly handsome face like stars around the moon.
The blond young man was unconcerned, only focused on An’an.
“Why is my water bottle with you again?” the girl asked, taking it with suspicion. “Honestly, did you secretly pour espresso into it to prank me?”
Faced with her accusation, Furuya nodded frankly. “I did add something.”
The male lead watched as the girl, while saying, “I’ve caught you,” unscrewed the cap and took a sip.
The Male Lead: No, are you that trusting?
“It’s salted plums,” An’an tasted it. “So sour. So you didn’t want to kill me with bitterness, but with sourness. You despicable fellow.”
The Male Lead: Then don’t chug the water bottle!
So much to complain about.
The short break ended after they finished their water. An’an’s gaze at the male lead was still very sorrowful.
The male lead was enlightened: Teacher An’an’s aesthetic is not the problem. She’s just been eating too well.
Facing him was a downgrade in aesthetic. She couldn’t wrong herself no matter what.
“Director, I have a suggestion,” the male lead decided to save himself. “Can you have Mr. Amuro stand at a designated position?”
An’an: “What are you doing?”
She watched, puzzled, as the male lead went through a series of motions. Director Ochi didn’t even object and helped to direct his position.
“Alright, Teacher An’an. You stand at this spot and half-squat down.”
The camera was right in the girl’s face, for a close-up of her eyes.
Don’t show a “looking at a dog” look. Lingering affection. Make people see that she’s different towards him… An’an repeated in her mind, trying to assist her acting by brainwashing herself.
She brewed her emotions, fully preparing herself to face the male lead’s refugee-style, battle-worn makeup.
Huh? An’an was taken aback. This position…
“Action!”
Perfect. The male lead thought as he acted. It was too perfect.
He would bet that this gaze alone was enough for the audience to ship them to death. It was so full of story.
—Although she wasn’t looking at him.
The male lead thought sadly, his heart weeping.
Differential treatment! Teacher An’an, you’re really showing differential treatment!
It was all a lie that she wasn’t good at romance scenes. It was fine to fool others, but don’t fool yourself. Look at yourself in the camera. Do you dare to say your eyes are empty?
A smooth one-take. An’an broke free from the script and was met with the male lead’s all-knowing expression.
The Male Lead: Switching to a “looking at a dog” look in a second. You’re really something else.
“I think I did something excessive,” the girl mused. “What was it?”
She couldn’t think of it. It probably wasn’t important.
Furuya good-naturedly let the director command his position. After An’an’s scene was finished, he came to settle the score.
“I didn’t expect the script consultant’s job to also include being a supporting actor,” the blond young man asked thoughtfully. “Should I be charging extra?”
If you want to be paid, go to the director, An’an complained in her heart. Why are you talking to her?
“Because the one who needs me is Teacher An’an, right?” Furuya tilted his head.
“To be able to perform with emotion only when you’re looking at my face. It’s truly an honor.”
The girl was about to turn red.
Some things are better left unsaid. Do you have to say it out loud?
“What else?” Furuya chuckled. “Let you get away with it again?”
His pursuit of the girl was so obvious that even the security guard in charge of the props on the set could see it. Only the person involved insisted on the unreasonable rule of “if I say I don’t know, then I don’t know.”
The blond young man cornered An’an in the dressing room, his foot blocking hers. “So, my payment?”
The dressing room door was unlocked. Someone could come in at any moment. An’an just wanted to get it over with quickly. “Later, we’ll talk about it later.”
She had thought it wouldn’t be so easy to get away with it, but Furuya was surprisingly easygoing. He raised his hand to fix the girl’s upturned collar and then made way for her.
An’an was inexplicably uneasy.
She had a feeling that there were more tricks waiting for her.
As expected.
In the dimly lit room at night, the moment she was tricked into opening the connecting door and fell to the ground in a tangle with her ex-boyfriend, the girl was enlightened.
She had stepped into the trap much earlier than she had thought.
Furuya owed her a retaliation. An’an owed him a payment.
“Don’t say anything about the two canceling each other out.”
The undercover Public Security officer had predicted her prediction and said bluntly, “Don’t even think about it.”
Under the lenses of his glasses, his purple-gray eyes showed a hint of stubbornness.
An’an was straddling his lower abdomen. One of her hands was caught, the other was free. As Furuya had promised: she could retaliate against him however she wanted.
And after the retaliation, he would ask her for payment… what a person who would never lose out.
‘I’m being completely led by the nose,’ An’an thought.
It was so frustrating.
As if everything was under his control, a calm and composed scriptwriter.
The girl’s rebellious spirit was aroused.
Whatever you say goes? Why should she follow your rhythm?
Payment and retaliation can’t be canceled out?
She would insist on it.
“The same thing, it just depends on how you interpret it,” the dark-haired girl murmured to herself.
“If you think it’s a payment, then it’s a payment. If you think it’s a retaliation, then it’s a retaliation.”
She took off Furuya’s glasses and casually tossed them aside.
A wind had picked up at night.
The wind blew through the unclosed window, the curtains rustling, as if pushed to the sides by an invisible hand, revealing the open night view outside the floor-to-ceiling window.
A full tree of night cherry blossoms bloomed elegantly under the moonlight. The pink petals were swept up by the wind, like a grand rain.
A rain of cherry blossoms. The girl leaned down, her breath brushing against Furuya’s lips.
Her moist lips were about to press against his dry ones.
“YAAAAAAAH—!!!”
“Something’s- something’s happened! Someone, help!”
A scream interrupted the unfinished kiss.
An’an: “…”
Furuya: “…”
She calmly stopped. “Alright, this is retaliation.”
An’an thought she heard her ex-boyfriend’s low curse. To which she could only say it was a pity.
The timing and the location were all perfect. The only thing they had lost was the person. Perhaps this was fate.
Fate had forcefully interrupted the progress of their reconciliation. Was it telling her not to force what is not meant to be… mmph!
A hand that had somehow been placed on the back of the girl’s head pressed her down, her breath swallowed by his lips.
“…”
An’an whimpered and gasped for air several times before the fierce kiss finally ended. Fresh air flooded her lungs, and she breathed heavily.
“The retaliation and the payment, I’ve received them both.”
Furuya affectionately rubbed the girl’s nose.
“Next, I’ll go and deal with that person who ruined the atmosphere.”