<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Moe folded the 10,000 yen note with the care of a devotee and nestled it in the deepest pocket of her wallet\u2014a talisman, no longer mere currency, but a fragile relic of \u201cfatherly love.\u201d The note\u2019s weight was more spirit than substance; whenever her fingers grazed its crisp thickness, she felt an invisible hand on her shoulder, a silent guardian in the frozen city gloom. To spend it would be to break a spell, and Moe was afraid that once spent, the warmth\u2014borrowed, not earned\u2014would evaporate forever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In her shoebox apartment, Moe unfurled the notebooks belonging to Professor Shigemitsu\u2019s daughter, Sayaka<\/strong>. The pages breathed with languid, looping handwriting, each curve and dot brimming with an innocence Moe could only study from afar. She traced every sentence, searching for the secret tempo of Sayaka\u2019s world\u2014a world where annual journeys to Tuscany, Paris, London were not dreams but traditions, and where sun, rain, and mist were souvenirs rather than fantasies. Outside, Adachi Ward simmered with a sullen, cloud-choked sky. Moe watched its leaden expanse, envy seeping into her marrow: some doors open not with effort, but with birthright.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One page was a riot of yellow ducks, plump and round, drawn with a child\u2019s abandon. Sayaka had confessed a fondness for collecting Little Yellow Duck trinkets, claiming their soft, silly shapes made her believe in the world\u2019s kindness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLittle Yellow Duck\u2026\u201d Moe whispered, feeling something brittle stir inside her. She longed for such innocence, knowing it had never truly belonged to her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In Moe\u2019s childhood, \u201ctoys\u201d were currency traded for grades. Her mother\u2019s voice, cold and precise, echoed across the years: \u201cOnly the top ten deserve gifts.\u201d Moe was always just shy of that bar, her older sister\u2019s shadow stretching long and unbroken. At night, Moe played \u201chouse\u201d in secret, hands trembling as she arranged cast-off plastic bowls and spoons in the wardrobe\u2019s darkness. Once caught, shame had burned her cheeks, and the memory clung like a shroud.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow did you learn to steal?\u201d her mother had hissed, each word a pinprick. \u201cYou\u2019d rather take than strive?\u201d Her grandmother\u2019s sigh was a winter wind: \u201cUncle was right. Moe is vain, just like her father.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n To this day, Moe could not fathom how a fleeting game became a verdict on her soul. But she clung to the hope that, someday, she might achieve something dazzling enough to buy back the love reserved for her sister.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Lost in these thoughts, Moe drifted into a gleaming department store, bypassing perfume and handbags for the quiet shrine of the stationery floor. She bought a \u201cLittle Yellow Duck Highlighter Set\u201d\u2014a foolish luxury, and yet, as she clutched the bright plastic, a childish joy fluttered in her chest. For a moment, she too could be like Sayaka: a girl sheltered by adults, permitted an innocent whim.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The next three days vanished in a blur of labor. Moe wrote, ghosting Sayaka\u2019s voice, her own hope burning at the edges of every sentence. If this \u201cPersonal Statement\u201d could pry open the gates of an Italian university, the Professor\u2019s promised introduction might become her passport. She pictured herself at last a university student, her future no longer marked by the small humiliations of part-time jobs, but lifted by a hard-won degree.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was her last, best gamble for escape.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On handover day, Moe entered the caf\u00e9 buoyed by cautious excitement. She laid the manuscript before Professor Shigemitsu, her smile bright and unguarded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cProfessor, I modeled this on Sayaka\u2019s style. Please have a look.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She reached into her case for a highlighter. The Little Yellow Duck set tumbled out, scattering across the table, one pen rolling to rest against the Professor\u2019s coffee cup. His face froze; the warmth in his eyes iced over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He did not touch the pens. His voice turned frigid. \u201cMoe, what is the meaning of this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Moe\u2019s smile faltered. \u201cI thought they were cute\u2014like Sayaka\u2019s notebooks\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou misunderstand,\u201d the Professor cut in, his words soft but sharp as a knife. \u201cI\u2019ve seen your real handwriting\u2014plain black pens, frugal and fitting. That simplicity suits your station. I asked you to mimic Sayaka\u2019s writing, not her life.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Moe\u2019s heart thudded, stunned into silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cParents shield their children so innocence can flourish. Sayaka\u2019s ducklings are possible because we built her a greenhouse. But you, Moe\u2014you\u2019re clever, industrious, from a good school. Your place is to finish this work. Everyone has a boundary. To cross it is a kind of theft. True refinement is knowing your place.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Moe stood motionless, her eyes burning. She didn\u2019t understand why the Professor reacted with such vehemence\u2014why his gaze, cold and wounded, was the same as her mother\u2019s and grandmother\u2019s when they\u2019d found her playing with forbidden toys.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Did grown-ups really believe that even the right to like something cute was reserved for the fortunate?<\/p>\n\n\n\n Under the Professor\u2019s withering stare, Moe felt her borrowed warmth and innocence crumble\u2014plastic fragments on a caf\u00e9 table. She had hoped words could build a bridge, but the wall called \u201cclass\u201d had never let her cross, not even a single step.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Moe folded the 10,000 yen note with the care of a devotee and nestled it in the deepest pocket of her wallet\u2014a talisman, no longer mere currency, but a fragile…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1594,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"fifu_image_url":"https:\/\/dovc.co.uk\/eng\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/Moody-Cinematic-Book-Chapter-Cover-1.png","fifu_image_alt":"","_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[77],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1590","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-novel"],"yoast_head":"\n