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Chapter 79: Blindfold Splint (5)

Part 9

…You said it felt like you were repaying a debt, didn’t you?

“I’m… really, really sorry…” I stammered.

A metallic sigh came through the phone. Admittedly, calling the very next day after saying something like that was a bit embarrassing, but I had no choice.

Why do you keep stirring up trouble?

“I mean, come on, I never imagined every repair shop around would be booked at that exact time…!” I protested.

I knew pinpointing a date and time for a visit was a tall order, but I hadn’t expected every shop to say it’d be tough. Why didn’t I plan this earlier? Regret surged, but there was no time to wallow.

That aside, I’m not exactly in a related field. Why call me?

“…I asked everyone I know if they had any leads,” I replied.

…Fair point. Most people don’t just have a piano repair contact lying around. I’m guessing I was your last resort while scrolling through your contacts… Hmm.

I didn’t add, “I just had a feeling you’d have a solution.” He’d probably scoff with that mocking laugh and say, “Getting quite dependent, huh? Not ready to stand on your own?”

“…So, uh… could you help?” I asked, my voice trembling, trying to shake off the awkwardness.

He was, honestly, my last hope. If this fell through, I’d be the idiot who hyped up a stream only to flop on day one.

Alright, I’ll see what I can do.

“…Huh?” I blinked.

I said I’ll check with a contact.

I was speechless. Had I secretly given up? It took an embarrassingly long time to process his words. Realizing they were positive, I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp.

“…Seriously?” I asked.

No need to lie about this.

“How…?” I blurted.

My reflexive question must’ve been taken differently. Another cryptic sigh came through, tinged with, Do I really need to explain?

Being a doctor, once settled, often comes with free time. Hobbies are essential for those with that luxury.

“…I see…” I said, uncertain.

Most don’t know, but medical associations often hold music events. Some well-known folks attend regularly, and whether you like it or not, joining’s expected.

His tone dripped with reluctance, as if he disliked the music events. Did something happen there? I wondered, when a sudden thought struck.

“…You’re part of it, aren’t you?” I asked tentatively.

Silence answered, as good as a confirmation. A short hum followed.

…I learned flute as a kid, so… it just happened.

“Flute?” I echoed, unable to stop myself.

He didn’t seem the type for something as delicate as an instrument. Was my image of him off?

…Think it doesn’t suit me?

“No! No, no, no…” I stammered.

You don’t need to hide it. I know my vibe—hardly artsy or musical.

His sunken tone, almost pitiful, made me clam up. I felt like I’d read his mind, and my fluster confirmed it.

The conversation stalled awkwardly. Someone needed to pick it up or end it, but guilt kept me quiet. He was probably regretting his whiny comment, hesitant to speak again.

As the requester, I’d messed up. Should’ve just said thanks and hung up. The mental image of him holding a flute with a sulky face made the silence unbearable.

“…But! Um, now that I think about it, it suits you!” I blurted, desperate to say something.

My face burned recalling my earlier words, but no reply came—neither a blessing nor a curse.

“I always thought you look great in your white coat, like you’d rock a suit too!” I rambled.

Better than silence. Just say it and wrap this up.

“So! Uh… a guy in a suit playing a brass instrument? That’s super cool… right…?” I trailed off.

The more I spoke, the lamer it sounded. My voice, bold at first, dwindled pathetically.

“…I mean…” I mumbled.

…You think so?

I was ready to apologize and beg for help when his voice cut in. Another moment of shock, but I recovered in time. No clue what prompted that, but I can’t let this slip into awkward silence!

“Absolutely! When I was learning piano, I really wanted to try a wind instrument. A senior playing the flute looked so cool—the metal’s vibe is just it!” I gushed.

…I see. A guy playing a brass instrument is cool…

“Huh?” I blinked.

Nothing, just talking to myself.

His voice seemed to fade, maybe with a faint laugh.

Anyway, I’ll contact my people. If you know what’s broken, send a photo or description. It’s Sunday, so I’ll look into it by tomorrow. Sorry for the hassle.

“…Thank you, really, every time,” I said.

Just part of patient care. I’m looking forward to your stream.

“You’re gonna watch? Wait—!” I gasped.

By the way, the flute’s a woodwind.

His bombshell landed as the call cut off, ignoring my plea. I’d thought streaming for familiar viewers wouldn’t faze me, but him watching?

“…Arghhh…!” I groaned.

It felt like my parents watching my stream—different from friends catching me goofing off, where we’d laugh it off. This was like getting caught burning a pot—mortifying.

“Kidding, right? You’re busy! Why aren’t you picking up…!” I muttered, redialing.

“The number you’ve reached is unavailable…” The rejection message felt like teasing. I pounded my innocent bed in frustration.

He’s impossible to read. Talking to him makes me feel like a kid, yet somehow reliable when it counts.

“…Seriously, quit messing with me,” I grumbled.

A twisting feeling in my chest sent me rolling on the bed. Another loss…