In addition, once a week after Hunter’s lesson ended, Jiyu received a thirty-minute lesson from his coach. Aejeong had arranged it after earnestly pleading with Lauren.
Jiyu had no particular talent for sports. But regardless of talent, Aejeong firmly believed that tennis was a social sport of the upper class and that learning it now would prove useful someday.
After finishing his own lesson, Hunter would remain on the court and watch her. He snickered at her awkward backhand or grew frustrated whenever she missed an easy ball, demanding to know how she could possibly fail to hit it.
If she mistimed her swing and sent the ball soaring into a high moonball that struck the netting suspended from the ceiling, he would point at it and burst out laughing.
Even when she begged him to go somewhere else, he stayed until the end of her lesson, offering constant commentary under the pretense of practicing his footwork.
Remembering it only made him seem more hateful.
“…I can’t go. I have Chloe’s birthday party.”
Jiyu answered coldly.
“No. Come to my tournament. Just try not showing up, Ju Parker!”
Hunter bared his teeth and growled the threat.
Jiyu sighed in exasperation. Usually, when he became this stubborn, she gave in simply to avoid the trouble. But this time, it truly was impossible.
Chloe was Jiyu’s one and only best friend. Her father was a lawyer and her mother a law professor, and both were Korean. Chloe loved books just as much as Jiyu did and spoke fluent Korean as well.
The two of them got along wonderfully, often whispering secrets to each other in Korean so the other children could not understand. Jiyu could not imagine school without Chloe.
A birthday came only once a year, while Hunter entered tournaments twice a month. There was no need to think about it any further.
Skipping her best friend’s birthday party to attend Hunter’s tournament?
The idea was absurd.
“I’ll go next time. I can’t this week.”
Jiyu shook her head firmly.
“Why? Why can’t you?”
She drew a deep breath and pressed her lips tightly together. Talking to Hunter, who seemed to believe the entire world revolved around him, sometimes made her feel suffocated.
“I already RSVP’d, and I bought her a present. If I don’t go to her birthday party, Chloe will be really upset. We’re best friends.”
‘You’re not the only one with friends, Hunter Hamilton.’
She kept the final sentence to herself.
“Then what about my tournament?”
Hunter’s face twisted as he sprang up from the sofa.
Jiyu could not understand why he was reacting so strongly. He behaved as though she had personally ruined the entire tournament.
Too dumbfounded to respond, she merely blinked.
“…What do you expect me to do about your tournament?”
Jiyu turned her head primly aside, avoiding his menacing gaze. Not knowing why he was behaving this way left her uneasy.
After a moment’s hesitation, she asked,
“Is there… some reason I absolutely have to go?”
“Damn it, Ju Parker.”
Hunter glared at her, grinding out her name through clenched teeth.
She looked so frail and thin that she seemed as though she might crumple like a sheet of paper if someone grabbed her. Yet beneath that delicate appearance, she possessed a remarkably stubborn streak.
She could barely open her mouth in front of other children, but around him, she had no trouble speaking her mind.
‘Damn it. I really don’t want to tell her the truth.’
But he had no choice.
Hunter rolled his eyes upward and glared at a clump of white cobwebs in the corner of the treehouse ceiling. A shriveled fly was trapped in the strands.
Steeling himself, he reluctantly forced out the truth.
“Yeah. There’s a reason you absolutely have to come.”
“Then what is it?”
Asking Jiyu Parker, of all people, for a favor was the greatest humiliation of Hunter’s life.
But he wanted to win.
So he had no choice.
Hunter knew he was special. Everyone around him constantly reminded him how extraordinary it was to have been born a Hamilton.
He possessed so much without ever needing to strive for it. Things handed to him easily, before he even had time to desire them, quickly became boring.
Tennis was different.
Running until his body burned, sweating, and fighting to seize the championship trophy was exhilarating. Addictive.
It was the first thing he had ever truly wanted, and that made his desire for it all the more intense.
He wet his dry lips.
“There’s something I need to confirm.”
“What?”
“Whether you really are my winning jinx.”
“…What?”
Jiyu stared at him in shock. Her pale brown eyes, their color slightly muted, widened until they looked ready to pop out.
When Hunter said nothing more, she asked again.
“What do you mean, I’m your winning jinx?”
He dragged a hand down his face and let out an irritated grumble.
“When I thought about it, it seemed like the reason I didn’t win the last few tournaments was because of you.”
“What?”
“Ju Parker. Is ‘what’ the only thing you know how to say?”
“…What?”
The two glared at one another in silence.
Jiyu gave an unmistakable scoff of disbelief.
Hunter nearly exploded at the sound, but somehow managed to suppress his anger. It was infuriating and humiliating, but he was the one who needed something from her.
Not Ju Parker.
He pressed his lips together, his jaw twitching, and drew a deep breath. He had never made a habit of holding himself back, so he had not realized just how difficult restraint could be.
Once he had calmed down slightly, he began again.
“Listen carefully. All great tennis players have jinxes. Rafael Nadal arranges his water bottles in a specific order before a match. Serena Williams wears the same socks she wore when she won for the rest of the tournament. Roger Federer always arrives at the venue at the same time and follows exactly the same warm-up routine. Some players even believe their father attending is bad luck, so the father deliberately stays far away during matches.”
Do you understand now, Ju Parker, you idiot?
He kept the final sentence in his head.
Jiyu tilted her head, still looking displeased. The stories about the players’ superstitions were interesting, but she still failed to see the point.
“So? What does any of that have to do with me?”
“In my recent tournaments, I did everything exactly the same as I did during the two tournaments I won. I wore the same clothes and the same shoes. I’m much better now than I was back then. I hit far more aces too. But I still got knocked out before I even reached the finals.”
Hunter cocked his head and glared at Jiyu.
She instinctively drew her shoulders in.
“The only difference was you. You weren’t there watching my matches. When I thought about it, it seemed like you might be my jinx.”
“…That’s ridiculous. It makes no sense at all.”
When Jiyu protested, Hunter pressed on.
“That’s why we need to test it! If you come and I still don’t win, then you’re not my jinx. If you come and I win again, then you are. And if you keep refusing to cooperate…”
His eyes narrowed.
“I’ll tell my mom to invite your mom.”
“Th-that’s cheating!”
“Who cares?”
Hunter gave her an infuriating sneer and folded his arms.
Jiyu glared at him, breathing hard.
Charging ahead like a bulldozer while wielding completely illogical arguments was Hunter Hamilton’s specialty.
If Lauren asked, Aejeong would obviously tell Jiyu to skip Chloe’s birthday party and attend Hunter’s tournament instead.
‘How do I get out of this?’
Jiyu racked her brain.
Then she remembered a book she had read when she was younger.
‘The Kissing Hand!’
It was a picture book meant to soothe children suffering from separation anxiety. Aejeong had never read it to her, but Jiyu had loved it so much that she read it over and over again.
In the story, a young raccoon was anxious about going to school and being separated from his mother for the first time. So his mother kissed the center of his palm and told him that whenever he missed her, he could press that hand to his cheek and feel her love even while they were apart.
The final pages of the book contained several heart-shaped stickers with the word Kiss printed on them.
Whenever Jiyu felt anxious about being forced to go on a playdate with Hunter, she would place one of those stickers on her palm before leaving home.
Suddenly, an idea came to her.
After taking a moment to arrange her thoughts, Jiyu looked up.
“Hunter?”
“What?”
Hunter, now tall enough that his head nearly brushed the treehouse ceiling, answered in a bored voice.
“Um… I read in a book by a famous psychologist that a person doesn’t necessarily have to be physically present for someone else to feel their presence.”
Hunter’s eyes flickered with bewilderment at the confusing statement. Then his brow furrowed deeply.
“What kind of nonsense is that?”