Rinna’s steps faltered.
“Rinna’s hands are cold.”
Hisaki stopped walking, turned around, and took Rinna’s other hand into her own palm.
Both hands wrapped around Rinna’s right hand, the warmth of her palms seeping in little by little through her skin.
“Soaking in warm water promotes blood circulation.”
Hisaki kept her head lowered, her thumb gently brushing across the back of Rinna’s hand.
Her voice was soft, carrying a tone that was earnest, like she was reciting from memory, but far gentler than that.
“It improves naturally cold hands and feet, deficient qi and blood, and the physical weakness that makes you feel light on your feet when you walk.”
She paused, lifted her head, and her deep brown eyes looked especially deep in the dim light of the stone lantern, like a small piece of moonlight-soaked crushed gold embedded in dark amber.
“But Rinna can’t soak for too long, or it’ll have the opposite effect.”
When she said this, her brow furrowed just slightly, a tiny crease forming between her eyebrows, like a piece of crumpled paper someone had carefully smoothed out, but the fold remained.
That was the expression Hisaki made whenever she was weighing the balance between “care” and “worry,” wanting Rinna to soak in the hot spring to improve her body, but afraid she’d soak too long and faint.
Rinna looked at her expression and suddenly felt like laughing.
Hisaki was always like this. She treated everything about Rinna as her own responsibility, from her walking pace to the force of her hugs, from the small space she’d carve out for Rinna on the train to now, the length of time she’d soak in the hot spring.
She wasn’t taking care of Rinna. She was studying Rinna with all her heart and mind.
Studying her constitution, her habits, her limits, and then converting the results of that research into every action, precise down to the millimeter.
Soaking in the hot spring.
With Hisaki.
Rinna ran the thought through her mind again.
There was no problem.
Really, there wasn’t.
The water was hot, it was good for the body, and Hisaki said not to soak too long, so they wouldn’t soak too long.
Everything was perfectly normal.
The only problem was that to soak in the hot spring, you had to take off your clothes.
Rinna felt like some switch in her brain had been flipped.
Take off your clothes.
In front of Hisaki.
Then Hisaki would take off her clothes too.
Then the two of them would soak in the water together.
Even though the memories of that past life were starting to feel more and more like a movie she’d watched a long time ago, that awareness hadn’t completely faded from her soul yet.
Soaking in a hot spring with a girl.
Even if she was a girl herself now, a small gear in her brain still jammed.
But what if she acted resistant?
What if she blushed and said, “No, no, I’ll wash by myself,” or made some excuse to back out? What would Hisaki think?
Hisaki would think it was strange, wouldn’t she?
After all, if the two of them had grown up together, bathing together was probably a normal, everyday thing by now.
The original Rinna had probably bathed with Hisaki countless times. When Hisaki said, “Let’s soak in the hot spring together,” her tone was so decisive, so easy, like she was saying, “The weather is nice today.”
Maybe Hisaki had already seen her body.
Maybe, without her knowing, before she had transmigrated, Hisaki had already saved the image of “Rinna’s body” into her memory.
Maybe, to Hisaki, bathing with Rinna was just as normal a part of their daily routine as eating together, walking together, or sleeping together.
If she acted resistant, would Hisaki think Rinna had changed again?
Would she think Rinna was pulling away from her?
Would she swallow all that anxiety again and say, with a smile, “Then I’ll go by myself,” her shoulders slumping just a little as she turned around?
Rinna remembered the voice, muffled into the hollow of her neck, when Hisaki had said, “I thought Rinna hated me.”
She didn’t want to hear that voice again.
So, it probably wasn’t a big deal.
“Mm-hmm.”
Rinna nodded.
Her voice was soft, the final tone tilting up a little, as if she was giving herself a pep talk.
Hisaki smiled happily.
She took Rinna’s hand and continued walking forward.
The corridor in the inner residential quarters was even quieter than when they had arrived.
Hisaki slid open the room’s sliding door.
In the 15-tatami-sized space, the lamp on the low table was on, casting a soft, warm yellow circle of light onto the tatami mats.
On the bed, the two pillows, one big and one small, were still propped side-by-side against the headboard, the white sheets marked with the shallow creases left by their bodies lying there that afternoon.
Hisaki walked over to the wardrobe and pulled open the door.
A very soft “shhh” sound escaped as the door slid open, like the sound of turning a page.
Inside the wardrobe, all kinds of clothes were neatly folded: school uniforms, casual wear, training uniforms, pleated trousers, and one section specifically for yukata.
Hisaki’s fingers quickly glided over the stack of yukata, the tips of her fingers brushing against the different fabrics, making a fine, rustling sound.
“This one.”
She pulled out a yukata, turned around, and held it up for Rinna to see.
A cherry blossom pattern.
The base color was an extremely, extremely pale pink, so pale that under the warm yellow light it almost looked white.
Only where the light directly hit did it show a faint layer of cherry blossom color, like the last trace of color left behind after rinsing a real cherry blossom in water many, many times.
Slightly darker pink cherry blossom petals were painted onto the yukata. The edges of the petals were light, and the color deepened towards the center, layered and overlapping, like a small, small cherry blossom forest blooming on the fabric.
The sleeves were wide, the hem long, and the edge of the collar was trimmed with an extremely fine white piping, the stitches so fine they were nearly invisible.
Hisaki pulled out an obi from the wardrobe.
Purple. But not that bright kind of purple. It was a grayish-purple, the kind of color that looked like a bunch of purple grapes had been sun-dried for many, many days.
On the obi, a grid pattern was woven with a slightly darker purple thread. Tiny, tiny gaps were left between the squares. From a distance, it looked like a stretched-out chessboard.
She draped the obi over the yukata. The purple and pink overlapped, like the color of the evening sky settling onto a cherry blossom tree.
“Rinna, wear this one.”
Hisaki handed the yukata and obi to Rinna.
The fabric landed in her palm, light and airy, cool to the touch, carrying the faint camphor wood smell of the wardrobe mixed with the gardenia flower scent from Hisaki.
Then Hisaki turned around and pulled out another yukata from the wardrobe.
Black.
Pure black. No patterns, no decorations at all. Like a piece of night sky cut into the shape of a yukata.
The fabric had an extremely, extremely faint luster under the light. It wasn’t a reflection; it was the little bit of residual light that the black itself had absorbed and then released.
The edge of the hem was embroidered with an extremely thin, dark red thread, a single petal of a red spider lily. The tip of the petal was slightly curled, as if it were growing right out of the black fabric.
It was so understated it was nearly invisible. It only flickered for a second when the light hit it from a specific angle.
Hisaki draped the yukata over her arm and turned around.
Her expression hadn’t changed at all, but Rinna noticed that her finger pressed lightly on the spot where the red spider lily was embroidered, her thumb brushing over the dark red threads, as if she were recalling something from the past.