Chapter 11 He Comes from the Storm
The outpatient building gradually grew quiet, with only the sound of wind and rain raging outside.
Matilda stood in front of the building, her mind drifting back to that day in third grade.
That day, the weather had been sunny and hot, but suddenly it started pouring rain. Many classmates hadn't brought umbrellas.
When school let out, parents came to pick up their kids—some on bicycles, some on motorcycles, and some in cars.
Matilda waited for her parents too, but even after all her classmates had left, her parents never came.
Later, her teacher lent her an umbrella, and she walked into the rain alone, holding it. She stepped on a broken manhole cover. Luckily, the umbrella got caught on the cover, and a man passing by pulled her up in time, or she would have been swept away.
She could never forget that terrifying moment—half her body being violently pulled by the rushing water, muddy water flooding into her mouth and nose. To keep from being swept away, she could only grip the umbrella handle with all her strength.
Soaking wet, she got home to find her parents had just finished fighting. Her father stormed out without even glancing at her, while her mother sat on the floor cursing: "Go on, go to your whore! I don't want this family either—who cares?"
Matilda quietly went to her room, changed clothes, then made herself dinner, crying as she ate.
Thinking about all this made her feel down again.
But she told herself: Matilda, you can't feel sorry for yourself. No one cares, so you have to be strong!
If she could walk home by herself as a child, why couldn't she do it now?
She was about to ask the security guard to borrow an umbrella when she saw a figure walking toward her.
He held a large black umbrella, beneath it a tall, upright figure. His steps were steady. As he approached and lifted the umbrella slightly, Matilda saw his handsome face.
Through the curtain of rain, his eyes were clear and bright.
In that moment, Matilda, who had been shrouded in gloom, suddenly felt everything around her become clear and bright.
"Why did you come?" Matilda asked.
Wentworth said, "I saw it was raining so hard and you didn't have an umbrella, so I came to pick you up."
"How did you get here?"
"I took a cab."
"Aren't you worried about getting your wound wet?"
"The wound has scabbed over, it's fine."
Matilda suddenly smiled.
In this kind of weather, someone had come through the rain to pick her up from work—what more could she ask for?
"So how do we get back?" she asked.
"We'll walk for a bit. If we can get a cab, we'll take one. If not, we'll go to a nearby restaurant for dinner and wait until the rain lets up," Wentworth said.
"Okay."
Wentworth held the umbrella as he and Matilda walked into the rain.
Since they only had one umbrella and the rain was heavy, they stayed close together.
Wentworth held the umbrella with one hand and steadied Matilda's shoulder with the other, tilting the umbrella toward her. When they came to puddles, he'd put his arm around her waist and gently lift her over them.
In this wind and rain, Matilda only got her shoes wet, but since they were high-tops, her socks stayed dry.
She felt warm inside.
Especially when Wentworth put his arm around her waist to lift her—he did it so easily, making her feel as delicate as a little bird.
...
Outside the hospital, a luxury car passed by.
Bob slowed down. "Mr. Charles Gonzaga, that looks like Mr. Wentworth Gonzaga outside."
Charles closed his laptop and looked out the car window.
Despite the heavy rain, he could clearly see that the person holding an umbrella with his arm around a girl's waist was his brother Wentworth.
Charles immediately understood—this kid was pretty smooth!
"Mr. Charles Gonzaga, with such heavy rain, why isn't Mr. Wentworth Gonzaga driving? Should we give them a ride?"
"No need," Charles said. "Don't ruin his moment."
"But with such heavy rain, wouldn't a girl feel safer in a car?"
"You don't get it. Girls like a bit of adventure sometimes. In heavy rain like this, having someone protect her with his body will be something she remembers forever. Even the best car can't give them that feeling."
"Mr. Gonzaga, you really understand girls. I don't get these things."
"I'm just good at learning from experience."
...
The next day was Sunday, and Matilda didn't have to work.
She woke up early and planned to stay in bed reading for a while.
She had just opened her copy of "Frontier Medical Compendium" when she heard knocking at the door.
She quickly got up to answer it.
Wentworth stood outside. He glanced at her, his eyes pausing for a second on her chest.
She froze, then looked down.
Her pajamas buttoned up the front and were already low-cut, and somehow the first button had come undone, revealing a hint of cleavage.
She quickly covered it with her hand. "Wentworth, what's up?"
Wentworth said, "I mentioned before that I'd teach you self-defense and fighting. Since you're off today, let's start practicing?"
"...Where?" Matilda asked.
"In the small room. I've got everything ready. You can change clothes first and eat something—I already bought breakfast."
"Okay, I'll be right over."
Matilda felt she really needed to learn this.
...
She changed into workout clothes, ate a quick bite, then went to the small room.
The small room had been empty before, but now it was covered with thick floor mats.
Besides the mats, there was some exercise equipment, and a large punching bag hung in the middle.
She asked in surprise, "Wentworth, when did you prepare all this?"
"Yesterday. You just didn't notice." He gestured for her to come in.
She took off her shoes and walked over to him.
Meeting his gaze, she suddenly felt nervous. "How—how do we practice?"
She was mainly worried about physical contact.
Wentworth's expression remained calm. "It's simple. Just follow my lead."
"First I'll teach you self-defense. First move—if someone grabs you around the neck from behind, what do you do?" As Wentworth spoke, he suddenly grabbed her neck from behind.
He didn't use much force, but Matilda still felt terrible. She couldn't speak at all, her whole body leaning against his, completely at his mercy.
If he were a bad guy, this feeling would be terrifying!
Because of the fear, she stopped worrying about physical contact—she just wanted to learn the techniques.
Wentworth released her. "I wasn't actually using much force just now. If I really applied pressure, you'd be in serious danger right now."
Matilda clutched her neck, breathing heavily with lingering fear. "So what should I do?"
He looked at her, and whether it was his professional side or not, when talking about these things, he became very serious: "When someone has you in a neck hold, you do this..."
He pressed close to her body again to demonstrate.