Hiromi Collection

Chapter 14

“Black hair, black eyes…” Aijia suddenly looked toward the corner where the young man was standing, only to find that the man had disappeared at some point.

"Mommy, what's wrong?" Lillian saw her mother staring blankly and quickly reached out her little hand to touch her forehead. "Mommy doesn't have a fever, so why is she so dazed? Is Mommy... is she going to sleep again? No, Lillian doesn't want Mommy to sleep anymore!" With a pout, she burst into tears.

"Lillian, Mommy's okay, don't cry, be good!"

"Wow……"

"Lillian, don't cry!"

"Wow, Mommy taught Lillian how to hit that... waah... what ball... Wow, Lillian stopped... stopped crying!"

"It's tennis, Lillian!"

"Anyway, it's that ball..."

"Okay, okay, Mommy will teach you, Mommy will teach you!"

"real?"

"Mommy is a puppy when she lies."

"yeah!"

"When did Lillian learn this, Mr. Smith?"

"It was Riley who said that adults are most afraid of children crying!"

"This...this grandson of mine is really outrageous..."

The young man strolled leisurely through the hospital corridor, his hands in his pockets. Doctors, patients, nurses, stretchers—everything seemed to pass through him as if they were nothing, invisible to everyone. Occasionally, one or two messengers of the dead would pass by, glance at him briefly, and then leave.

"Luckily you stopped in time, Aiga. I will extend your life by ten years for the remaining minute of your life. Live well." Gengke turned the hourglass over and carefully put it into his pocket.

"I definitely prefer watching people's dramatic lives to collecting souls," the black-haired youth muttered to himself, disappearing into the bright autumn sun.

Ten years later, fifteen-year-old Lillian Stanford ascended to the pinnacle of women's tennis, becoming the second youngest Grand Slam winner, just like her mother more than twenty years earlier.

In the same year, Aja Stanford passed away suddenly at the last whistle while watching his daughter's last match, at the age of thirty-seven, thus completing the generational shift in the tennis world!

Guest, what is your wish? Please come to Bomeiji, where you will find the most rare and precious goods and the most incredible wonders. Just follow the path as the sun sets, and you will surely arrive!

***

This is why I've been putting off writing it. As someone who knows absolutely nothing about tennis, I don't understand why I chose a tennis player as the protagonist of this story. The research has been incredibly difficult. Those who understand and love tennis, please be lenient with the technical issues in this article. Back to work, updates will slow down again.

Chapter Twenty: Dreamers

Name: Void Gender: Unknown Age: Unknown

Occupation: Owner of Duxu Shop Address: No. 41, Xikou Street, Bomeiji

Kitagawa staggered down the street, a cheap floral tie loosely hanging from the collar of his pristine white shirt. Half of the shirt was tucked into his trousers, the other half outside. His briefcase was slung slung over his shoulder, its opening casually dangling out, from which flyers occasionally spilled. He carried a beer bottle, shouting loudly as he gulped down several mouthfuls of beer.

"Fuck the hell...fuck the bastards!" After gulping down the last mouthful of beer, Kitagawa cursed and was about to smash the beer bottle on the ground like those thugs often seen on TV when a policeman walked by and glanced at him. The bottle he was holding in mid-air was unconsciously lowered.

"Damn it, I'm so useless, so utterly useless!" Before he knew it, tears streamed down his face, and Kitagawa broke down in tears in the street. On the deserted street, only a few people occasionally passed by, glancing at him before hurrying away. Tokyo was a cold, impersonal city, treating everyone the same.

Kitagawa is 34 years old this year. About ten years ago, he left his hometown of Kumura and took the northbound Shinkansen to Tokyo. Like most young people his age, he dreamed of finding his career and future in the metropolis of Tokyo. He worked in restaurants, as a cashier at a 24-hour convenience store, and as an office worker in a small company. Even an hour ago, he was a beer salesman for Matsuzaka Trading Company. Now, he has been fired. Waving a beer bottle with the pine tree logo, Kitagawa is overwhelmed with emotion. Ten years have passed, and he has gained nothing!

Even in the most difficult times, when he didn't know where his next meal would come from, when he lived with impoverished elderly people in dilapidated old wooden houses, when he used shabby public toilets that seemed never to be clean and emitted a strong stench, when he bathed in communal shower rooms on each floor that provided nothing but intermittent cold water, he never despaired. But now he truly felt despair.

The 34-year-old man was still just a lowly beer salesman, working for a company of no more than a dozen people. Every day, he was dressed in 101 suits, constantly running to supermarkets and stores, dealing with all sorts of presidents and section chiefs, enduring their disdain, and listening to their vicious jokes like "salesmen are just dogs who live off us." He still had to smile and say "yes, yes," while continuing to force down the company's cheap and toxic alcoholic beverages until his face turned pale and his stomach ached unbearably. He still had to take those customers back one by one, and even then, there was no guarantee of getting an order. The girls he was introduced to for blind dates, even though they were obviously ugly, would act like haughty princesses, glancing at him and saying, "Don't introduce me to this good-for-nothing country bumpkin next time." He endured all the unbearable pain, suffering, and disdain, all for the day he could make something of himself and earn a place for himself in Tokyo. And now, he had been fired under the pretext that the company was poorly managed and needed to lay off employees. He clearly saw the man who had replaced him looking at him with disdain, a victor's smile on his lips.

"So what if he's the section chief's nephew...so what..." Kitagawa buried his face in his hands and sat on a bench in the park, sobbing uncontrollably.

A faint sound came from the grass behind the bench, weak, like someone groaning, but Kitagawa, immersed in grief, did not notice it.

"Help...help me..." This time it was a voice, and the volume was a bit louder than before. Kitagawa stopped crying, looked around in confusion, and only after making sure he didn't see anyone else did he lower his head again to continue cursing those who had tormented him.

"Help...help me...help me..." The voice rang out for the third time, and this time Kitagawa noticed it clearly. It was a woman's voice, and it was right behind him. Could it be...? Kitagawa stood up fearfully and tentatively peered into the bushes behind him. The ornamental orchids in the park looked small and cute during the day, but at midnight they appeared lush and verdant. Could some crime have happened there?

"Who...who is it?" Kitagawa asked timidly. The snow-white streetlights shone from afar, and the tall trees cast long, suspiciously distorted shadows on the ground. Even the wind seemed to become eerie at that moment.

No one answered. A soft rustling sound came from the grass, probably from a tender branch being weighed down by something. Then, in the quiet night, a crisp snapping sound rang out.

"If you don't tell me... I'm calling the police!" Kitagawa said, trembling. Even as a grown man, he couldn't help but be scared if something like this happened in the middle of the night.

The soft rustling sound resumed, growing louder, and then something emerged from the shadows of the honeysuckle and suddenly grabbed Kitagawa's ankle.

"Oh my god!" Kitagawa screamed and fell to the ground. The arm that grabbed his ankle was a fair-skinned woman's arm.

"Help...help me..." A disheveled woman poked her head out of the bushes. "I've been robbed..." After saying this, she seemed to have used up all her strength and fainted. Only the hand that was gripping Kitagawa's ankle was still tightly clenched and refused to let go.

Kitagawa himself didn't understand why he had brought the woman he found in the park home. In the small room, barely 10 square meters, Kitagawa laid out a thick mattress for the woman to lie on. She had a fever and several abrasions, but didn't seem to be seriously injured. Kitagawa reached out to check the woman's forehead temperature, sighed, and replaced the ice pack with another one. "I'll take her to the police station when she wakes up," Kitagawa thought.

Looking closely at the sleeping woman, he realized she was actually quite pretty. Her delicate oval face was framed by eyes covered with long eyelashes, and beneath her small, straight nose were small, thin lips. Her face was flushed from the fever, and her dark hair was scattered messily on the pillow. Kitagawa was so captivated by her beauty that he didn't realize the porridge he was cooking had overflowed until the range hood emitted a piercing beep.

Just as Kitagawa was frantically turning off the stove and serving the porridge, the woman woke up with a soft moan. Kitagawa had never seen such beautiful eyes before; delicate, warm-feeling brown eyes looked at him with a hint of confusion, then curved into a smile.

If Xiao hadn't lost her memory, he wouldn't have kept her. Xiao knew nothing, forgot everything; letting her go back like this, leaving her alone, would be immoral, Kitagawa tried to convince himself. Beside him, Xiao happily ate ice cream, her brown eyes curving beautifully! The park was full of families picnicking on Sundays: reliable fathers, gentle mothers, and adorable children. Elderly people sat comfortably on benches by the fountain, basking in the sun. Kitagawa hadn't experienced such a beautiful and peaceful feeling in a long time, like the chilled plum juice his mother used to make every summer in his hometown—sweet and unforgettable. And all of this was brought about by Xiao.

Kitagawa gazed tenderly at the woman who was lost in thought watching the children fly kites, and couldn't resist reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face, ruffled by the playful wind. Xiao turned her head, looking at Kitagawa in surprise. Oh no! Kitagawa's heart skipped a beat. His outstretched hand froze in mid-air, unsure whether to retract it or not. He had been too rash; he had really messed things up this time! Perhaps Xiao would never speak to him again! Thinking this, Kitagawa lowered his head dejectedly.

"Is Hao unhappy?" Xiao looked at Kitagawa strangely, with a bit of ice cream still on the corner of his mouth.

"I...I'm sorry," Kitagawa murmured, his only worry being that Xiao would leave him. This woman who had given him hope and sunshine into his life would one day leave. Kitagawa admitted that he had kept her around out of selfishness, but that was unfair to Xiao. Xiao, who had lost her memory, must have a life somewhere, perhaps with a lover or even a husband, while he was ultimately just a man, a failure!

“Laugh…you’re not actually called Laugh…” Kitagawa stammered, as if he had eaten a lot of wasabi, the spicy taste spreading throughout his mouth and reaching his heart. “I don’t know who you are. I saw you in the park…” Kitagawa spoke haltingly and with difficulty about everything that had happened before, while Laugh just listened quietly to him.

"So... if you want to go back, we can go to the police station later... I'm so sorry for keeping you here for so long." With each word Kitagawa spoke, his heart ached. He himself didn't know why he had fallen hopelessly in love with someone in such a short time, and now that person was leaving him.

"I love Hiro." After a long silence, a "miracle" suddenly appeared before Kitagawa, who was waiting for the final verdict. Smile looked at him with a gentle smile, just like always, and her soft little hand covered his face. "Smile will not leave Hiro-kun. Smile will stay with Hiro forever."

When Kitagawa felt the girl's soft lips touch his forehead, his heart was deeply intoxicated at that moment.

"Smile, I'm going to work. I'll bring you something delicious when I get back." Kitagawa Yangyang smiled at his newlywed wife as she saw him off, his briefcase in hand.

"Okay, please be careful on your way." Wearing a white apron, she gently handed him the lunchbox, straightened Kitagawa's collar again, and watched him leave.

Life can be so beautiful! Kitagawa walked along the road, his steps light, the sunlight shining on him and casting long shadows on the ground... but there were no shadows on the ground!

The ceiling, walls, and sheets were all spotless. A pile of medical equipment beeped mechanically under the bright lights. The man lying on the bed was emaciated, with sunken cheeks, clearly having been unconscious for a long time.

"It's really strange. I've seen quite a few people in a vegetative state, but only this one has such a happy expression on his face." The young nurse in charge of changing the sheets said to her colleague while deftly tidying up her things.

"Maybe he's having some happy dream, oh, who knows?" The older one shook his head and pushed the cart away.

A southerly breeze blew in through the window, causing the name tag hanging above the bed to flutter. It displayed a man's photo and name: Kitagawa Hiroshi.

Pomeranian can give you everything you want...

Are you satisfied with this dream?

Chapter Twenty-One: Changing Faces

Name: Yan Shi Gender: Male Age: Appearance: Twenty-something

Occupation: Owner of Yiqianju Restaurant Address: No. 34, Xikou Street, Bomeiji

Jean-Ségur is twenty-seven years old this year, and like most of the French men described in fictional romance novels, "this man is not only handsome but also romantic!"

He had a head of fluffy, soft, flaxen short hair. Those thick strands, comparable to the finest fabric, always curled with an indescribable languid air, covering his masculine face, which resembled that of the sun god Apollo. Hidden beneath his casually flowing bangs were a pair of azure eyes more passionate than the River Silver. His nose was naturally straight and high, and his well-proportioned, muscular physique was perfect, like that of a magazine model. Each of these features was a treasure privately held by the Creator, and any one of them would be enough to cause a collective shock to the opposite sex, let alone all of them combined in one person!

However, Jean, now hurrying along the Boulevard de la Fossoni, had lost interest in exchanging glances with the women who frequently stared at him. Even the elegant demeanor of a medieval nobleman, which he had long since practiced and which seemed to have melted into his blood as if it were innate, was temporarily forced aside. If Jean Seger were to use one word to describe his current mood, it would be exasperation, although to others it would only appear as a gentlemanly little irritation.

Armani's iron-gray suit was now open at the front, looking somewhat disheveled. His tie was nowhere to be seen, and the open shirt collar revealed his healthy, tanned skin. He reached into his pocket for a silk handkerchief, seemingly to wipe away sweat, but then lost interest, haphazardly stuffing the fine silk into his trouser pocket. The white fabric peeked out from the pocket, seemingly bewildered as to why its usually impeccably dressed owner had become so disoriented.

"Damn it!" Rang cursed again. He never imagined that the seemingly innocent and naive only daughter of a hotel tycoon, who had been so easily fooled, would actually be a police detective! He had almost been completely deceived! At her request, he obediently followed her to the pub filled with plainclothes officers. If it weren't for that scoundrel causing a disturbance in public, he would probably already be in the police station. Although he had escaped successfully, it wouldn't be long before an arrest warrant was issued.

"Damn it!" Jean cursed again, completely unaware that he had wandered into a market filled with an oriental atmosphere. A short man approached him, and the two almost bumped into each other. Jean couldn't help but curse again, but the man merely raised his face from under his hat and quickly glanced at Jean before lowering his head again and walking away.

However, that fleeting glance was enough to make Rang's heart stop. It was definitely the first time Rang had ever seen that face, yet it triggered a heightened state of tension. It had always been like that; Rang always possessed an inexplicable sensitivity to creatures that lived in the dark. Just a slight sniff, and the unique scent of those creatures of the dark would fill his nostrils—perhaps this was a kind of professional sensitivity for Rang, the professional sensitivity of a professional con artist!

This world is always full of all sorts of people, some bored rich people and some empty women! These people, who are clearly many times happier than others, are always eager to lament their misfortune, their loneliness, and their lack of understanding. Jean's job is to approach these bored women, find ways to gain their trust, and then extract their money. Jean never considers himself to be committing a crime, even though legally it could indeed be classified as "fraud."

Jean was an orphan, and from a young age he understood that his appearance would be his most powerful weapon. Living in the orphanage, from small things like begging the nuns for more candy to bigger things like shifting blame for his troubles, Jean knew very well that people are always more likely to lower their guard and be deceived by beautiful things, especially women.

Whether it's a powerful businesswoman who reigns supreme in the business world or a pampered only daughter of a corporate tycoon, Rang always manages to make women easily submit to him, wholeheartedly giving him money to squander, even to the point of handing over their entire fortunes while naively believing he's truly devoted to them! It's laughable; whenever he sees those women begging him to change his mind, he can't help but laugh. Having him play house with them costs a fortune; poor folks, get out of here!

But this peaceful life was easily shattered by a woman named Peach! Three months ago, Jean first saw her at a high-society party, and his initial impression was that she was undeniably stunningly beautiful. Further investigation revealed that she was the only daughter of hotel tycoon Howard Prestige. The girl had just turned twenty and was currently studying music in Vienna. This was practically a rare gift from heaven for Jean, who was already tired of constantly changing "clients," and perhaps this was a turning point. Therefore, in the following months, Jean did everything he could to win the girl's heart, finally receiving her consent to marry him in the third month. However, at this crucial juncture, Jean, blinded by the joy of success, finally realized something was amiss—things had progressed too smoothly. And today, this ominous premonition was confirmed; he had one foot in a trap set by the Paris police. Fortunately, he managed to extricate himself, but what would he do now?

As he tallied up all his belongings, aside from the expensive suit he was wearing, he only had forty francs and seventy-five sous on hand. If he also included the Citizen watch on his wrist, it would barely last him a month. It was impossible for him to go home to get more money now, and his bank account had probably been frozen. He felt like a well-dressed dog that had fallen into the water, destined to be brought back to reality sooner or later.

Welcome to Yiqianju.

A sudden male voice rang in my ears, making me realize that I seemed to have unknowingly wandered into a shop. A magnificent Persian carpet was laid out in the center of the shop, its exquisite patterns revealed under the light of oriental silk lanterns. The shop was not large, but every available space was filled with all kinds of masks, from Easter masks to ancient oriental patterned masks, making it almost a world of "faces." The one who had spoken was clearly the man standing under a huge mask pattern, wearing a dark blue brocade oriental robe with gold patterns. His long black hair was braided into a plait at the back of his head, just like in a Chinese movie I had seen when I was a child. The man's features were not bad-looking, but a hideous scar ran from his left eyebrow across his entire face, extending to his right throat before stopping. At first glance, it was quite frightening.

"Sorry, I went to the wrong place," Rang said, frowning, and prepared to leave.

"Would you like to live a different life?" The man ignored Rang's words and slowly spoke, his tone gentle, "Change your identity so that no one can find you."

He turned around in surprise and said warily, "Please forgive me, I don't understand what you mean."

As he spoke, he observed the other man's expression, trying to decipher his meaning. He had just escaped from the tavern; the police shouldn't have found him so quickly, and the arrest warrant wouldn't have spread so rapidly. So why did the tavern owner's words seem directed at him?

"No need to be so nervous." The scarred shopkeeper seemed to smile, but the terrifying scar stretched out with his movement, coiling on his face like a centipede. This was definitely not a reassuring smile, so instead, it made Ren even more wary, taking two steps towards the door and glancing around out of the corner of his eye, trying to spot if there were any people lying in ambush.

"What do you think of that man just now, the one who brushed past you?" the shopkeeper continued unhurriedly, "Mr. Seger?"

The grip on his throat tightened, and the overwhelming terror almost made him scream. Why?! Why did this complete stranger recognize him?! He nearly lost his balance, and even the courage to run away vanished in an instant.

"I'm just a businessman, I have nothing to do with the police." The man remained calm and composed, taking in Ren's panic without being moved.

"Who...who exactly are you?" It took him a long time to finally manage to squeeze out a sentence.

“Yan Shi, the owner of Yi Qian Ju.” The man forced another awkward smile. “The name might sound strange in French, but that doesn’t matter. I reiterate, I’m just a businessman. By the way, have you heard of the Emmentie serial murders?”

The serial murders in the Emmentie district, a major incident that occurred a month ago, saw fourteen single women attacked and killed on their way home at night. The perpetrator remains at large, casting a shadow of fear over almost all of Paris. (Let him nod passively.)

"The man you just saw is the fugitive criminal." Yan Shi seemed completely unconcerned that his actions constituted the serious crime of harboring a criminal, and casually revealed the truth that should have been kept secret.

"You are... a plastic surgeon?" This put him slightly at ease. Pierre Homensch, the serial killer in the Emmenti district, had his face plastered all over the streets, but he was certain that the person he had just seen was not the gentle-looking high school Chinese teacher on the wanted poster.

"You could say that, or you could say that it isn't." Yan Shi said, casually opening a mahogany cabinet in the corner and pulling out a wooden box from it.

“These are some blank masks.” Yan Shi opened the box and pulled out a roll of soft, milky-yellow sheet from the small box. It looked like the plastic film used for doctor's gloves. “Put it on the face of the person you want to change. It will copy the other person's face and then cover it onto your own face, and your face will change.”

Yan Shi handed the roll of thin slices to Rang, saying, "Now it's yours."

"Of course, you have to pay a price for what you gain," Yan Shi said calmly, watching the handsome figure disappear into the distance.

****

"Viewers, you are now watching the nighttime news. Reporter Batu is reporting live from Schönbrunn Palace. At 11:45 PM tonight, real estate tycoon Duvat Gabriel was found assassinated in his mansion. A large crowd has already gathered at the scene... It is reported that after Duvat's death, his entire estate will be divided equally among his two wives and five children..." The camera switches to a luxurious bathroom, where a man wearing a silk bathrobe lies face up in the center of the bathroom, a gold bottle opener stuck in his chest.

Suddenly, the Sun Wukong mask next to them started screaming hysterically, disturbing the few people who were engrossed in watching TV.

"Ah, the new creation is finished." Yan Shi was the first to stand up, walked to the sink, and scooped something out of it.