'Huh?'
Hojou Ichirou blinked, confused by the man sitting beside him.
It's the weekend! Isn't taking a break something to enjoy?
Why would someone rather be buried in reports and downing energy drinks at their desk all day? What kind of weirdo finds joy in that?
Then he heard the sound of a porcelain cup being forcefully set down on the table beside him. A flicker of irritation flared in Ichirou's chest.
'Come on,' he thought.
'I'm practically half the host of this banquet, I've been trying so hard to show respect—and this guy's still going to act like this? Doesn't he know how to read the room?'
He nearly muttered under his breath, 'If my future daughters-in-law saw this, they'd give him the full Ishida Hidenori treatment…'
Feeling a little wronged, he turned his head to confront Miyamizu Toshiki—only to realize the man wasn't even looking at him.
No, Toshiki was looking off to the right, where his gaze had locked onto his daughter, Miyamizu Mitsuha.
Just one look—and all of Ichirou's frustration melted away.
His face softened as he followed the line of sight.
Over there, Mitsuha was holding a small white dish in one hand, daintily offering a grilled venison rib to that Hojou brat, her cheeks glowing with a playful smile as she coaxed him to take a bite.
Kyousuke had his lips clamped shut, stubbornly refusing to eat.
And yet, Mitsuha showed not a shred of impatience.
Her face only grew gentler, her tone softer.
Ichirou even saw the red meat juices dripping down her thumb, sliding toward her wrist and about to stain her sleeve—but his boneheaded son still refused to open his mouth.
'Seriously!?' Ichirou thought.
'This brat was happily devouring venison back in Kushiro! Why's he acting all coy now?'
But then, after Mitsuha pouted sweetly in mock frustration, Kyousuke finally gave in—taking the tiniest nibble from the rib, still looking thoroughly unimpressed.
And yet, the smile that blossomed across Mitsuha's face was like a sunflower in full bloom—so warm, so satisfied, as if she were the one who had taken the bite.
Ichirou chuckled inwardly.
'Ah. So this is that "couple stuff."'
'Not bad, kid. Not bad at all.'
He had already been impressed by his son's incredible growth tonight—but somehow, Kyousuke kept delivering surprise after surprise.
Feeling like he suddenly understood Miyamizu Toshiki just a little better, Ichirou picked up a sake flask and poured it for him.
"Here, Miyamizu-san. Let's drink."
As he lifted his cup for a toast, his peripheral vision caught Mitsuha once again trying to feed Kyousuke something else.
And in that moment, Ichirou noticed: his own actions weren't all that different from hers.
Looking at the troubled expression on Toshiki's face, Ichirou suddenly understood—this is what being a parent is. We're here to pay off emotional debts.
And if one day his beloved daughter Kasuko fell for someone like Kyousuke.
Hojou Ichirou—Tokyo's most theatrical defense attorney—would stand tall in court and show the world exactly why his firm boasted a 3-year unbeaten streak in criminal trials.
With that mental preparation complete, he turned calmly toward Miyamizu Toshiki's burning stare.
Who knows? Maybe one day they'd sit together like this again—swapping complaints and laughing about their kids.
Toshiki finally tore his eyes away from his daughter and looked at the man beside him.
"Hojou-san… did you see that?"
"Hahaha, what, you want to try the venison too?" Ichirou laughed, quickly raising his hand to call a waiter.
"Excuse me—can we get two more plates of the grilled venison?"
"…..." Toshiki narrowed his eyes.
Really? Did he think such a weak dodge would work on someone with this many years in the bureaucracy? This wasn't his first rodeo.
Carefully, Toshiki circled his thumb and forefinger around the rim of his porcelain sake cup and lifted it with practiced precision.
The sake was filled to the brim, shimmering and ready to spill.
Looking into the crystal-clear surface, he saw a reflection of his current life.
The pain-soaked memories of Itomori, that cursed town he could never escape—the place he'd once vowed to destroy with his own hands using modern logic—was wiped out long before he could.
A comet had done the job for him.
Years of hatred, restless nights, and defiant prayers to indifferent gods… all of it had been swallowed up by fate itself.
Anyone else might have crumbled when the comet fell.
But not Miyamizu Toshiki.
He had his wife's final words.
He had his daughters.
And—though it pained him to admit it—he also had that damn brat's clumsy reassurances.
He clawed his way out of fate's grasp and finally built the happy life he'd longed for.
His career aside, he'd reconciled with his parents.
Mitsuha no longer had to climb the sacred steps as a shrine maiden, her life predetermined.
Instead, she made it into a top university, left ignorance behind, and came to the big city.
His younger daughter was growing up too—and now, he got to actually be there, to enjoy the blessings of fatherhood.
The nightmares were gone.
Sometimes, he even dreamed of his wife.
Futaba still looked as beautiful as ever in his dreams, her smile still just as gentle.
Even though neither of them could speak, he would wake up smiling after those dreams, the warmth lingering for the rest of the day.
He was content with everything he had now.
He truly was.
'Even if…'
'Even if Mitsuha really chose to marry Hojou Kyousuke,'
He'd give them his blessing.
He'd even help them stand up to the family—to keep Kyousuke from getting dragged into the Goguchi clan or the Miyamizu name.
But—
"Hojou-san," Toshiki said quietly, "I love my daughters deeply. Every day, I carry them like a cup filled to the brim—carefully, afraid even a drop might spill."
"I get it. Daughters are angels," Ichirou nodded solemnly.
He could feel the man's murderous intent radiating with each word.
Toshiki continued, "So tell me—do you think that's normal? Your son. My daughter. All those other girls around your son. You saw it too. Does that look normal to you?"
With that, Toshiki downed the entire cup in one go. The sake splashed onto his suit, but he didn't care.
Then, he exhaled—hard—right into Ichirou's face, the sharp scent of alcohol stabbing through the air like a knife.
If they were still in the countryside of Itomori, Toshiki swore he would've already raised his hunting rifle and pressed it to Kyousuke's forehead.
The only reason he hadn't done it yet…
Was because he didn't want to scare his daughters.
'…Don't look at me.'
'I'm a lawyer, for crying out loud. Of course I know none of this is normal.'
'I've tried to talk to him, honestly I have!'
'But your daughters are all too amazing, my wife and my son both adore them, and frankly—I have zero authority in my own house. I couldn't stop this if I tried.'
Ichirou clenched his jaw, forcing his nervous eyes to stay still as his brain went into overdrive.
'So this is what it means to "pay back a karmic debt"… Just how much do I owe for this brat in my past life?'
'Let's count. How many girls are there now?'
'Wait—is each one going to have a turn?!'
"Miyamizu-san…"
He reached for another sake flask, trying to buy some time by pretending to pour.
But—wait, that one felt too light.
Empty.
He grabbed another.
Also empty.
Then another. And another.
All four flasks on the table… bone dry.
His brain, already overheating, now threatened to blow a fuse.
He slowly raised his head—and glared at the two empty-headed fools across from him.
Still arguing over who was Kyousuke's most loyal underling.
Still completely useless.
Still adding fuel to this absolute dumpster fire.
Hojou Ichirou turned his head, looking to replenish his drink from another table—only to find a sake flask suddenly presented before him.
It was Tetsuya Shimomura, the editor who had bolted earlier.
With a smile plastered across his face, Ichirou instantly realized: these bastards had all been waiting for the drama.
'Damn it.'
'Just as I thought—every single one of that brat's friends is a damn troublemaker!'
He cursed inwardly but found some comfort in the fact that, at least, this wasn't a tense family meeting at home.
They were surrounded by the soothing influence of alcohol, even if, unfortunately, it was all mild, low-proof sake and not the good strong stuff.
As the tension in Miyamizu Toshiki's eyes grew darker and more intense, Ichirou knew he had no choice but to speak up.
"Miyamizu-san, did you go to college?"
Toshiki glanced sideways at him, quickly running through possible reasons behind such a question.
He'd already looked into the Hojou brat's background—knew he'd been specially invited by Tokyo University, knew his father had graduated from Todai's law school.
And that even his mother had attended a prestigious—if not top-tier—university. In short, an elite family of high intelligence.
Recalling all this, Toshiki guessed the man might be trying to pull the "intellectual superiority" card—to dominate the conversation with lofty rhetoric.
So he shot back coolly:
"I graduated from Kyoto University. Afterwards, I worked at their Institute for the Humanities."
Compared to Tokyo University's reputation for producing politicians, Kyoto was stronger in academia—and he himself was proof enough of that.
"Oh! Impressive—a researcher, no less!" Ichirou exclaimed, raising his cup in admiration.
Toshiki, of course, didn't fall for the flattery.
Though he also drank the cup in full, his guard remained firmly up, ready to lash back at any moment.
"It must have taken incredible dedication to enter a research institute, right?" Ichirou asked, pouring more sake and again offering a toast.
Toshiki nodded, replying calmly, "It was hard, but since I was researching things I loved, it didn't feel that way."
What a noble research spirit, Ichirou thought.
Internally, he was sharpening his rhetorical blade.
"I had a lot of classmates in university too—so focused on their future that they had no time for parties or mixers. I always felt kind of ashamed next to them."
Toshiki nodded slightly and, still holding his empty cup, didn't place it back on the table.
"Hojou-san, this isn't what we should be talking about right now, is it?"
"Oh come now," Ichirou laughed, unbothered as he filled Toshiki's cup once again. "As a researcher, surely you know: you can't rush meaningful inquiry!"
Then, with a grin, he asked, "So I'm guessing you didn't attend many parties or mixers yourself, huh?"
Toshiki stopped drinking, giving Ichirou a sideways look full of disdain.
His voice was sharp and curt:
"I already had a fiancée back then. So whether it was parties or mixers, I basically never went."
The word "fiancée" wasn't just emphasized—it was practically spat out, as if he wanted to grab Ichirou by the ears and scream it at him.
'Alright, alright, no need to yell—I can hear just fine,' Ichirou thought with a pained smile.
He understood what Toshiki was trying to convey.
But what could he do?
He wasn't just a lawyer long divorced from morality—he was also the father of a very troublesome son.
There was no way out but through.
"No wonder you'd see Kyousuke and Mitsuha's relationship as... unusual."
"Huh?" Toshiki's eyes widened dangerously.
His sharp-featured face looked even more intimidating.
Ironically, the more intense Toshiki's expression became, the calmer Ichirou felt.
That look? He'd seen it hundreds of times in court—from prosecutors trying to break his clients with nothing but a stare.
But that kind of fire in the eyes only exposed one thing: emotional vulnerability.
Ichirou mirrored Toshiki's posture, holding his own sake dish between thumb and forefinger as he spoke evenly:
"When you say it's not normal—do you mean for you? Or for them?"
Toshiki turned to look again.
Now Kyousuke was preparing food for Mitsuha, while a cheerful blonde girl had joined them, chatting away.
Who knew what needed prepping when the food was already plated?
He looked from them to Ichirou, then exhaled slowly.
"No matter who you ask—that's not normal."
Ichirou kept his smile steady.
But when he caught a glimpse of his son in the corner of his eye, the corner of his own eye twitched violently.
'Damn it, kid! Can't you behave for just two minutes!?'
Still smiling, Ichirou reminded himself—he'd handled plenty of smug defendants who thought hiring him meant they could get away with anything.
He was seasoned.
Spinning the pale gray sake dish gently, he said in a composed tone:
"Parties, mixers, drinks with friends—these are all rites of youth. They become precious memories and sources of motivation later in life."
"Rubbish. I never did any of that—"
"Exactly," Ichirou cut him off. "You never did. You poured all of your youth into your research."
"And yet, now, when you see your daughter enjoying her youth, you feel... disconnected. You start to think it's somehow wrong."
"I didn't attend parties, and my life turned out fine. I have a happy family!" Toshiki protested.
"And yet," Ichirou said, voice sharpened, "you want to project that monotonous version of youth onto your daughter—and rob her of the most beautiful years of her life?"
Toshiki's fury surged.
Who did this man think he was, accusing him like that?!
Did he have any idea how much he'd sacrificed to give his daughters a good life?
The senior Tokyo bureaucrat almost slammed his hand on the table—but stopped himself just in time. He knew anger wouldn't help.
"What the hell are you trying to say?" he growled.
"Young people gathering together isn't just about wasting time—it's how they meet inspiring friends, grow together.
Look over there: there's a self-made entrepreneur from Mitsuha's college, a bestselling author, a promising young illustrator, a future voice actress… Surrounded by people like that, Mitsuha's youth becomes even more vibrant."
Ichirou spoke clearly and calmly, then raised his dish and drained it in one go.
"Of course, if you still insist on taking that from her... Well, you're her father. I suppose that's your right. Not our place to say."
"I would never want to rob my daughter of her youth! That's ridiculous!" Toshiki shouted.
"Of course, of course," Ichirou laughed, raising the sake bottle again. "There's no such thing as a parent who doesn't love their child, after all."
"Exactly!" Toshiki drained his drink fiercely.
Yes—just like Mitsuha said.
There's no such thing as a child who doesn't love their parents, and the reverse is just as true.
Watching the change in his expression, Ichirou knew—
He'd successfully talked his way through.
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