BODYGARD

Chapter 39: Does He Like Me?

"Do you not remember?" Monroe queried insistently. "You couldn't have forgotten, could you? Back then when you put that kitchen knife on the desk closest to the podium, stabbing it into the tabletop, the person sitting there was me. You don't remember?"

Jack thought back.

He did have some recollection of the event.

How could he forget something like wielding a kitchen knife at his sister's school when he was eight years old?

He remembered barging into his sister’s classroom, basically reenacting the way his mother would put a knife down while cooking, and plunged the knife straight into the desk. It must have been quite a sight, reminiscent of a butcher ready to slaughter, startling everyone in the class.

Even the female teacher hid in the corner, scarcely daring to breathe. After all, a thug with culture is scary, but a young boy with a kitchen knife is even more terrifying.

He remembered that a girl sitting in the first row at the time.

She was very beautiful.

He just didn't have an impression of her then.

"Oh, I remember now!" Jack suddenly exclaimed. "You're that rich girl. I've heard my sister mention you. She said the prettiest and wealthiest girl in her class was you, chauffeured to and from school every day!"

It was apparent that Monroe came from a wealthy family.

When his sister was going to school, they couldn't afford to attend any notable schools based on their family's financial situation - that was Houston University, a famously good school.

But his sister's grades were excellent.

She was admitted for free to that private high school that others could only attend by paying a high price.

And most of the students there were wealthy.

Even among the rich kids, Monroe stood out, a testament to her family's substantial background.

During Monroe's high school years, she had a nickname - "Little Rich Girl." Due to her family’s affluence, no one dared to mess with Monroe.

"Little Rich Girl?" Monroe smiled with delight, "I was the prettiest? I'm nowhere as beautiful as your sister. By the way, how is your sister doing these days? I haven't seen her in so long!"

Jack found Monroe easy to talk to.

"She's okay," Jack touched his nose.

Monroe seemed genuinely interested. "How did you manage that at the time?"

She had a lasting impression of Jack.

Why?

Because she was attentively sitting in class when suddenly a little boy appeared and placed a kitchen knife on the desk in front of her. She was absolutely startled, thinking the boy was going to kill her, but in reality, after setting down the knife, he pointed at a bunch of boys in the classroom.

After that incident, no one dared harass Mary again.

So many years had passed.

Yet, she never forgot.

It was no laughing matter; could anyone forget such an incident if it happened to them?

She vividly remembered this man, who as a child, had the guts to wield a knife to protect his sister.

The reason Monroe's memory of Jack was so vivid perhaps largely owed to that incident.

The things this man did as a child, all for his sister.

Just how much did he love his sister?

"What do you mean by 'how did you manage that'?" Jack did not quite understand.

"About going to school with a kitchen knife at eight years old!" Monroe replied while sitting in a rolling chair, her long legs crossed without revealing anything inappropriate.

"I didn't think much of it!" Jack shook his head.

"Weren't you worried about the consequences?" Monroe looked surprised.

Where did such a small boy get such courage?

If such actions were common, then it would not have been that memorable for her.

"Nope, I was just a kid then and didn't consider the consequences," Jack said with a wry smile.

"And if you had to do it now, would you still?" Monroe probed further.

"I would!"

Jack furrowed his brows, his expression turned serious. "No one should think about bullying my sister!"

He had the guts back then.

And he still did!

He wouldn't allow anyone in this world to bully his sister. It was a vow he made when he was a child, having relied on each other for so many years, no one knew of his deep bond with his sister. Just like back then, if he couldn't beat them, he'd carry a knife. If that didn't work, he'd consider stealing a dagger!

"Haha!"

Monroe chuckled, "Still so reckless even when you're all grown up!"

"I'm not being reckless!" Jack retorted somewhat annoyed. "I'm just protecting the people I want to protect."

"Did you know, after you brought that kitchen knife to our school, you became a celebrity there, and until graduation, many people talked about you. Many students inquired about you with your sister. However, why did your sister drop out midway?" Monroe asked curiously.

Jack fell silent.

What to say?

Mention that his parents had died?

And that it was just him and his sister left?

Monroe was a smart woman.

Seeing that Jack didn't say anything, Monroe gave a slight smile and chose not to ask further. She stood up, took the flowers all brought back by Jack, while the flowers he handed her were personally held in her hands. She glanced at the flower, leaned forward to sniff it, and her petite nose twitched. "It smells good! I never expected you to be a fan of mine. You should come to my concerts more often!"

Jack remained silent. He was delivering the flowers on behalf of someone else. To reveal that might hurt this woman's feelings. After chatting for a while longer, Jack took the initiative to say goodbye. "It's getting late, I should be going now!" Jack waved and left.

"I'll walk you out, you won't know your way!" Monroe said with a smile. Jack didn't refuse, because — indeed, he didn't know the way out. Monroe took Jack to the exit and said, "Leave your phone number, will you?" until Jack left.

Monroe then watched in the direction Jack left. After so many years — she still remembered. She didn't know when she had adopted the belief that a man is supposed to protect the woman he likes, it is only natural. And when such a man has nothing else, he would still risk his life to protect the woman he wants to protect; that is the kind of man worth cherishing. When we are children, we often reveal our true natures.

Monroe's impression of Jack was too profound, inscribed so deeply that time could not erase it. At that time, a knife was placed in front of her. A little boy, a knife, and it crafted a story. She had never been in love, nor had she had a boyfriend. She just felt that they all lacked something.

Returning to the dressing room, Monroe sat in the chair, still holding the flowers Jack had given her. "What's this —" she noticed a thin sheet of paper amongst the flowers Jack had given her. With a delicate pinch of her graceful fingers, she retrieved the letter paper from the bouquet.

Unfolding it, Monroe glanced over the letter, which read like so:

You are an exalted goddess.

I do not know how to express my feelings for you, I've been listening to your songs for a long time, and I have come to realize that not only have I fallen for your songs, but I've also fallen for you. Your songs can touch a person's soul; I am just one of the many who appreciate you greatly.

It might be improper to say this. After all, we are alike.

However, my feelings for you are profound.

I have found that not listening to your song each day feels like lacking something, something so essential that it's as if I've lost a significant part of my life.

A long part.

This was specially prepared by a few girls. Monroe looked at it for a long time. She received many such letters. Usually, she only read a portion of them since her time was limited, and she couldn't respond to every fan's care.

But today, she read this letter entirely, not one word missed, and even after reading it once, she read it again. The writing was beautiful, delicate and elegant. Like a woman's handwriting. Ah, indeed it was written by a woman. With a few strokes of the pen, lovingly signed by your fan.

Monroe stared at the letter for a long time.

"Does he like me?" Monroe murmured to herself.

Was this letter from Jack a confession to her? Astonishingly, she didn't feel any particular aversion. This man likes her.

But why, just now, didn't she see any hint of infatuation in this man's eyes? A person's eyes cannot hide their feelings, not even a bit; she never saw any of that from Jack's eyes, unlike what the letter said.

This man — is truly hard to understand, just like that time years ago.

Monroe was smart, but at this moment, she felt somewhat troubled.

"He likes me?"

She repeated to herself again.

Unbeknownst to her, the flowers, and the letter, were delivered by Jack on behalf of a few women named Fren.