After the meal, Masha wanted to go to the Jardin Botanique. So, they went and strolled about under the blazing sun.
Each garden had its own distinct theme that came from all around the world. Masha and Camille were particularly fond of the Chinese and Japanese gardens, having fallen in love with the architecture of the Chinese pavilions and the various bonsais put on display in a rock garden.
When the two girls weren't giggling or whispering in each other's ears, they were in awe. They asked Gabriel to take a picture every two steps, striking odd poses in front of beautiful flowers in full bloom. Sometimes, Camille and Gabriel switched places so that the couple would have a few pictures of them cuddling.
In contrast, Misha was as silent as a corpse; he also looked like one, with his lifeless eyes and pale face. He wasn't in the mood to admire the immense garden, nor did he feel like posing for the camera. He didn't run around, didn't play in the playground, and didn't even throw some fish food at the colorful koi in the pond. Anyway, feeding the fish wasn't something they were allowed to do. Not like Masha minded, however.
After seeing a picture of the pond in the pamphlet, she had come prepared and brought the fish food from their home, skillfully hiding it in her bag. 'As long as you are not caught, then who cares?' had always been his sister's motto, and she lived by it quite well. Their mother also turned a blind eye, suddenly fascinated by the cloudless sky.
While they were having fun and teased the poor fish, Misha stood there without doing anything. It wasn't like he deliberately wanted to be unfriendly, but Misha honestly couldn't concentrate on their conversation; he couldn't even afford to let his thoughts wander for too long, much less move around recklessly. He was battling with his heavy eyelids to keep his eyes open, feeling like he was about to faint. Meanwhile, the dizziness made him see double—when it wasn't triple.
The fatigue he felt before eating was now overwhelming him. It was to the point where he didn't have enough strength to talk or even look ahead. His head felt too heavy, and his neck hurt. As a result, he kept his mouth shut and his head lowered, staring at the ground and dragging his feet like a zombie.
Often, his mother would glance backward and ask if he was feeling unwell; every time, Misha said that he was fine, just a bit tired. He ate too much, that's all. But, of course, Gulnas wasn't convinced—she wasn't blind, nor was she stupid. Something was clearly off with her son: firstly, he was oddly silent and obedient, and secondly, his face had turned sickly pale over the past few hours.
Again, she frowned and asked the same old question. "Are you sure you're alright?"
"It's only too hot today, mom."
It wasn't a lie. The weather was particularly torrid, and the humidity was stupidly high. He wasn't the only one with a back drenched in sweat!
"Don't worry!" Misha puffed up his chest, trying to look imposing despite his tiny body and doll face. "I won't give in to a little bit of heat."
"I know, I know," Gulnas chuckled, gently tousling his hair before frowning. "The top of your head is really warm. A bit too much, actually…."
His mother bent over and rummaged through her backpack. After a short while, she took a lovely hat out of the bag before squatting down and putting it on her son's head. She also gave him a bottle of water in passing.
"I know you don't like wearing hats, but can you bear it for today? It'll help you cool down a little. And even if you're not thirsty, drink a lot, ok?"
"…Sure."
'I don't especially hate wearing hats, mom. I just really hate those girly hats that you have always loved to put on my head,' Misha complained in his heart as he opened the bottle and took a sip.
'Honestly', he thought, 'with that hat on my head, I bet people will never believe I'm a boy. What a pain.' Again, he couldn't help but miss his tall and muscular body. Without any doubt, the adult version was better. Even if his face was somewhat androgynous, no one would mistake him for a girl after seeing his broad shoulders and flat chest. And If they ever did or dared to mock him, they would soon realize that the girly guy could still throw a punch.
Honestly, Misha had never been afraid to come to blows. On the contrary, he loved to fight a bit too much, being the kind that didn't like to argue and preferred to use his fists. Resolving disagreements was faster this way, anyway.
Perhaps, he could start training early on in this life.
In his teens, because of the self-loathing and anger he had built up after his mother's death and his father's physical abuse, he often lost it and fought with his classmates for the stupidest reason. Over the years, those reckless fights in the school's backyard honed his instinct. But it also left many scars.
However, Misha never properly learned how to fight, and because of his infamous reputation, every martial art class he contacted refused to accept him. They didn't want to deal with the problem child, and their disciples weren't allowed to fight outside the dojo, a rule that the young man clearly wouldn't follow.
In the end, Misha could only keep on brawling with punks and drunkards to learn by himself. He was perfectly aware that he lacked techniques and was full of openings. That was to say; his adult self was nothing more than a wild beast. Well, in his present state, he didn't even know if his body would react accordingly to his 'past' experiences and if his reflexes were still there or not. So maybe he'd need to start from scratch again.
But, whatever. If Misha had to learn everything again, so be it. He wanted to be able to defend himself and protect his loved ones this time around, and he, for sure, wasn't planning on slacking off.
If his father were to pick up his bad habits from his previous life and turn to alcohol despite his mother not dying, then Misha had to be able to crush him regardless of his body build. That man was a violent drunk, and he knew his family would suffer from it; his mother was too frail, his sister was still a teenage girl, and he was only a little boy. None of them could fight back against his father if he lost his temper.
All that to say that Misha thought of asking his mother to sign him up for Aikido after returning home. It was one of the most useful martial art to learn for children and women as it used the opponents' strength to overthrow them. He also thought of pestering his sister to take the class with him. It wouldn't be bad for her to learn a move or two.
As for the physical contact that would inevitably occur while practicing joint-lock or throwing techniques, Misha told himself that he'd think about it once it came to it. Fighting with his fists was fine. Therefore, Aikido should be alright as well. If not, he'd think of a solution after reaching that point.
Anyway, he knew he had to get rid of this little problem of his sooner or later. So getting accustomed to physical contact with others during Aikido classes wasn't a bad idea. Maybe?
Misha slightly shook his head. His thoughts were drifting further and further away. First, he had to dispose of Gabriel, discard his father from their life, and ensure that his mother and sister escaped their fates. Then, after all of that, he'd have the right to think about how to handle his own problems.
But Misha didn't know where to start. Everything that required using his brain, he had always avoided it like the plague, and now that he had to use his head, nothing came to his mind. He couldn't think of any plan that made sense. They were all childish or unrealistic.
Lost in thought, Misha mechanically followed behind his mother like a little duckling the entire time they were in the garden.
His sister was busy with her best friend and her lover, and thus, she didn't notice something was wrong with her little brother, who usually clung to her all day long. She still bought him a popsicle along the way and asked him if he was feeling unwell, if the weather was too hot for him, if their rather long stroll had taken a toll on his body, etc. In short, the basic questions and the usual concern; nothing Misha couldn't handle. Only a few words were necessary to send her off to her friends.
Today was her birthday, and Misha didn't want to cast a shadow over her special day. Thus, he kept telling everyone that he was fine, even if he wasn't.
As Misha was thinking of what to do while eating his popsicle, he felt more tired with each passing second, and his head soon started to throb. His sole consolation was that he at least hadn't fainted, but the unpleasant feeling of gradually losing his consciousness was still there, putting him on edge.
When they finally arrived at their hotel a little after 4:00 PM, Misha was exhausted. After checking in and putting their luggage in the corner of their room, he dragged his feet to the nearest bed without a word, sprawled across it, and quickly fell into a deep slumber.
____________
Mini theater
ML: You know, when you're not feeling well, you're supposed to say it.
MC: Shut up.
ML: I'm just showing concern for your well-being, don't be so rude!
MC: Yeah, sure. I don't need your fake concern, thanks.
ML: *Mumbling* But I'm not faking it…
Chapter revised on 2022-04-17
Edited by Clozed! ♥
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