Chapter 163 – Pimple-Popping Twist

Have I ever told you that Hazel owns a clinic just a stone’s throw away from her beach resort? It still blows my mind. Back in school, she was the quiet classmate who barely spared me a glance, and now here she is—managing not just a resort but her very own clinic as well. Sometimes I can’t help but feel a little envious. She’s still in college, yet she’s already playing life on the highest difficulty and somehow winning with ease.

Anyway, Ephraim and I ended up being ferried straight to that clinic after our little accident. Myrrh clung to my side like a worried guardian, while Clarisse mirrored her role beside Ephraim. The place itself smelled faintly of disinfectant, the kind of crisp, clean scent that makes you feel both reassured and slightly uneasy.

I found myself lying on a stark white bed, the sheets cool against my back, while the doctor leaned over to inspect my injury. With deft fingers, he peeled open a band-aid and pressed it onto my forehead. The sting of alcohol lingered faintly, but the bleeding had already stopped by then.

“There,” the doctor said, straightening up with a small nod. “You’re all good now, Mister Callahan. The wound was shallow—it had already stopped bleeding before you even got here. Still, better safe than sorry.”

“What happened to him, Doc?” Myrrh asked, her voice edged with worry. Her eyes were fixed on me as if I were moments away from death’s door.

The doctor gave the most deadpan reply imaginable. “His forehead pimple got popped by the volleyball.”

I blinked. “That’s it?” I asked, one hand rising instinctively to touch the little square band-aid that now crowned my forehead.

“That’s it,” the doctor confirmed, his tone utterly serious.

Myrrh didn’t seem convinced. “What about Ephraim?” she pressed, her brows knitting together.

“I’ll go check on him next,” the doctor replied, already moving toward the door. Then he paused and glanced back at her with a raised brow. “Care to come along?”

Myrrh glanced at me, then shook her head at the doctor. “No. I’ll stay here.”

“Make sure to drink lots of water. You seem a little dehydrated from the heat,” the doctor called over his shoulder as he finally stepped out of the room. The door clicked shut and the clinic’s quiet hummed back into place.

“Yeah. Thanks, Doc,” I said, fingers finding the soft circle of the bandage on my forehead.

I could feel the faint ridge where the ruptured pimple had been — the one I’d been hiding under my bangs since the vacation began. Now that it was exposed, it made sense why the impact hadn’t felt as bad; the volleyball had hit skin that was already tender and ready to give.

“It’s just a pimple, huh,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

Myrrh couldn’t hold it in. Laughter bubbled up the way it always did when she tried not to be dramatic. “Pffft! Ahahaha!”

I let out a laugh too, the sound loosening the last of the tension in my shoulders. “Hahahaha.”

She gave my arm a playful slap. “Seriously, you made me worry for a second there, Zaft! I thought you were gonna die… again.”

“With that pimple-popping embarrassment,” I said, smiling, “I kinda hoped I’d die for good.” The joke landed between us like a fragile breath, and for a moment the clinic felt impossibly ordinary and safe.

“Hey, don’t say that!” Myrrh scolded, but the scold softened into a smile as she pushed herself up. “It must be lunchtime. I’m famished — let’s hop back to the party and eat!” Her voice had that careless, bright lilt that made it impossible to stay grim for long.

“Yeah, let’s.” I stood, feeling the mattress slump under me, and followed her out of the small treatment room. The corridor outside smelled faintly of antiseptic and suntan lotion — a reminder of the beach just beyond the clinic windows. Sunlight filtered through the blinds in warm bands, making the linoleum glow. Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs novelFirｅ.net

When we passed the next room, its door yawning open, the scene inside stopped me cold for a second. Ephraim lay propped up on a hospital bed, hair mussed and cheeks flushed, while Clarisse hovered beside him with a spoon and a bowl of caramel ice cream. She fed him carefully, like a scene from some private rom-com playing out in slow motion. For a second I wondered which of them was sweeter — the ice cream or the way Clarisse looked at him.

Myrrh watched the tableau, then let out a soft, barely audible sigh. I couldn’t tell whether it was relief, annoyance, or something quieter still; her face folded into an expression no one but her could read. Without exchanging words, we turned and left — the silence between us dense, threaded with small, complicated things we weren’t ready to name.

The sun blazed high overhead, casting sharp golden light across the beach as lunchtime arrived — the perfect cue for the main event of Hazel’s birthday celebration.

At the center of the gathering stood a cake so massive it looked like someone had wheeled in a refrigerator, frosted and decorated with dazzling layers of cream and sugar. Hazel’s parents, dignified in their summer wear yet still carrying the air of CEOs who owned half the coastline, stood proudly on either side of their daughter.

At the very top of the towering confection flickered a cluster of candles, their flames shivering in the ocean breeze. As the chorus of “Happy Birthday” rose from the guests, Hazel leaned forward and blew them out in a single, graceful breath. Cheers erupted, applause mingling with the distant crash of the waves.

The celebration shifted seamlessly into a grand barbecue feast. Several trucks had been parked by the resort, their coolers and freezers brimming with every kind of indulgence imaginable. Hotdogs, thick burgers, and skewers stacked with chicken, pork, shrimp, and crisp vegetables sizzled over rows of charcoal grills. The air grew heavy with smoke and spices, rich with the savory perfume of searing meat and caramelizing glaze. Even grilled fish, scallops on their half-shells, and golden ears of corn joined the lineup, popping and hissing as the flames licked at them.

For drinks, rows of colorful stalls stood ready: fresh coconut juice still in the shell, tall glasses of mango shake and banana smoothie, pitchers of lemonade and iced tea sweating in the heat. A cocktail booth had been set up too, its polished counter promising exotic blends later in the afternoon — but for now, it remained frustratingly closed.

Naturally, my friends and I wasted no time diving in. Jordan and I piled plates with skewers, vegetables, and whatever else we could grab, while John claimed his post at the grill with the zeal of a seasoned pitmaster. My own stick was a miniature feast by itself: tender chicken, juicy ribs, and a rainbow of charred vegetables speared between them.

“Man, this is real food!” I cried, my voice carrying over the sizzle of fat dripping onto the coals. “The broccoli from the highlands, the corn straight out of some rich sunny cornfield… and these chicken skewers — frozen or not, they still taste fresh off the farm!”

John tore into his flame-grilled burger, a streak of sauce on his cheek. “Now it makes me wonder what kind of food you guys eat in Xyraxis.”

I answered without hesitation. “Cup noodles, potato chips, and hardtack. And the occasional greasy pizza.”

Jordan barked a laugh, juggling his hotdog and fried egg like a man on a mission. “Isn’t that just the usual diet for us broke college students anyway?”

While we were busy devouring skewers and burgers, my eyes drifted toward the far side of the beach. There, by another set of grills, I spotted Myrrh surrounded by her high school student council friends. She was laughing, flipping something on the grill with practiced ease, the ocean breeze tugging at her hair. When she noticed me watching, she raised her hand in a cheerful wave.

I couldn’t help but wave back. A part of me wanted to walk over, to slip into her circle and soak in her company — I missed being beside her more than I cared to admit. But I held myself back. She deserved to enjoy the easy camaraderie of her own friends, and I… well, I had my old high school buddies right here, waiting to make new memories with me. The next school year would give me plenty of chances to be near her again. For now, I told myself, it was best to savor this day.

“Hey…” John nudged me in the stomach with his elbow, mischief glinting in his eyes. “Is it true you and Myrrh are going out already?”

“Huh?” My face flushed hot in an instant.

My mind scrambled, and the first thing that surfaced was my so-called role as her pest control. But that wasn’t something I wanted to blurt out. Neither did I want to lie.

So, with what little composure I had, I muttered, “No comment.”

“Don’t lie, Zaft! You two are way chummier than you used to be,” Jordan chimed in, his grin wide enough to split his face.

“As the old saying goes,” Jeffrey added with mock wisdom, “the more you hate, the more you love!”

I scratched my cheek, feeling the heat of embarrassment spread across it. “Well… let’s just say I don’t hate her like I used to.”

John leaned closer, jabbing me with his words now instead of his elbow. “Just tell her you love her, man!”

My throat tightened, and before I could stop myself, the words slipped out. “F-Fine. Okay, okay, I love her, alright? But I haven’t confessed yet.” I forced a crooked smile, hoping to laugh it off.

“You idiot!” my friends shouted in unison. In the next second, their fists descended like a flurry of playful hammers against my head.

“Ow! Ow! Okay, okay! I’ll confess soon!” I yelped, half-laughing, half-crying out.

“You better!” Jordan barked. “That’s always your problem, Zaft — you’re always procrastinating!”

Their laughter blended with the roar of the waves and the chatter of the party, but beneath it all, I felt a twinge of truth in their words.

More and more, it seemed like everyone was getting tired of waiting for me to act. Maybe I was, too.