CHAMPION | NCT

o14

"Why does the color red affect the infected people so much?"

Each one of us was only give one chance to answer. Each competitors wore a calculated expression, formulating their answers inside their brain.

One of us raised his hand in the air.

"Yes!" Johnny was high-spirited today. Maybe he himself was also curious of the answer.

The competitor, who was the one who only returned my smile earlier, opened his mouth. "Red is a strong color. Fierce, even. And infected people's cells are weaker. They have less defending layer in their eyes. So for instance they stare at the color, it penetrates the layer and gives them headaches."

"Wonderfully put answer!" Johnny exclaimed. "I wonder if that's the real explanation though," Johnny glanced at Yuta's father and his son. "Our Illustrious Distingué here told me he will first hear all of our eight competitor's responses. And by then, will the winner be announced."

So I was right. Yuta's father does know. Yuta, however, looked confused as I watched him lean near his father and whisper something to his ear.

Another competitor tried to answer. Then another. And another.

When it was Xiao Jun's turn, I was twice attentive.

"Red reminds infected people the color of blood, the color of their fate, the color of death. I believe it bothers them, Your Distingué, since the virus deals with not only the physical condition of the infected but also their mentality."

"That sounds credible and likely to be true," Johnny answered.

It did. But I don't think that he got it right. Because when I glanced at Nakamoto Taka, he didn't show any signs of glee or surprise. Or maybe he's just good at hiding his emotions.

All of a sudden, the memory I had in my childhood howled for me.

One daybreak when I was nine.

Red. Red. The word was tugging at a past memory. Snowy field. Basket and knots. Coffees and rivers. Then Baba's face.

"Hopefully no human saw you take them...?"

Take what?

Then the voice of a child, me.

"Apples. I came here to pick apples."

A pair of brown eyes. Seven colors. A small he. "The color of that fruits is sacred." More memories, more words, more clues. "The sunlight passes through the droplets of water." Then a memory of my feet, moving into the snow. An image of a basketful of apples. Dewdrops. Rainbow. "Just a wolf...." I heard my own voice tighten. "How? How does it do that?" Cruel eyes, a boy not from town. "The less it bends," a pale finger pointed towards the river, "the more it travels . . . "