Walking home from Sakura's house that night felt like descending from a different realm. The air was cooler, the streets quieter than the polished perfection of the Yamato residence. My mind was replaying every moment of the dinner, every question Mr. Yamato had asked, every subtle shift in his expression. "Interesting." Was that really a good sign? Or just a polite dismissal?
I texted Kenji when I got home, giving him a brief, slightly shell-shocked report.
Me: Operation Meet The Parents complete. I survived.Kenji: YES! Tell me everything! Did you spill anything? Did you impress the dad?!Me: Didn't spill. Not sure about impressing. Her dad is... intense. He said it was 'interesting' meeting me.Kenji: 'Interesting'? Hmm. That's vague. But hey, you survived! That's a win in my book! Did Sakura seem happy?Me: Yeah, she seemed happy it was over. Said 'interesting' from her dad might be a good sign.
Talking to Kenji helped a little, grounding the surreal experience in familiar reality. But the weight of the evening, the glimpse into the world of expectations Sakura lived in, stayed with me.
The next day at school, seeing Sakura felt different. The public Sakura Yamato was still there, radiant and composed. But the real Sakura, the one who had been nervous about her father's reaction and who carried the burden of family expectations, was now inextricably linked to that image for me.
We exchanged quiet smiles in the hallway. There was an unspoken understanding between us, a shared experience of the dinner.
Later that day, during lunch (eaten together, sometimes just us, sometimes with Kenji and Aiko joining), I asked her more about it.
"Has your father... said anything else since last night?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
Sakura paused, taking a sip of her tea. She looked thoughtful. "He... he talked to me this morning," she said softly, her gaze distant for a moment. "He said... he said you were polite. And you seemed passionate about the club, which he appreciated because of my grandmother."
That sounded positive. My heart lifted slightly.
"But," she continued, her voice dropping, "he also said... he's concerned about my focus this year. With the exams coming up. And university applications. He said... he hopes my 'new interests' won't distract me from my future."
'New interests.' That was clearly code for 'me.' The positive feedback was immediately followed by the concern about our relationship impacting her academic future. The expectations were always present.
"He's worried about... us?" I asked, feeling a familiar knot form in my stomach.
Sakura nodded, her expression serious. "He didn't say it directly. But... yes. He thinks... our relationship... might be a distraction from my studies. Especially since... since my future is... very important to him. And to the family."
She sighed softly, the weight of her family's expectations visible on her face for a moment. "He said... this year needs to be my top priority. And... he hopes I understand that."
His words, relayed through Sakura, felt like another subtle warning, a reminder of the hierarchy of priorities in her world. Our relationship, while perhaps not outright forbidden (yet), was clearly seen as a potential obstacle to her academic path, the path that carried the weight of her family's reputation and her brother's dreams.
"So... he wants you to focus on studying," I said, stating the obvious, but needing to hear it out loud.
Sakura met my gaze. "Yes. And... and he's not wrong, Hiroshi-kun. This year is important. For my future. And... and for them."
Her mentioning "for them" highlighted the pressure wasn't just about her own ambition, but about fulfilling the hopes of her family, particularly her father and perhaps honoring her brother's path.
"What does that mean... for us?" I asked, my voice quiet. The fear of being a 'temporary solution,' a distraction that would eventually need to be set aside, resurfaced.
Sakura reached across the table and took my hand, her grip firm and reassuring. "It means... we need to be smart, Hiroshi. We need to both focus on our studies. Support each other. And... we need to show them. Show my father. That this... that we... won't be a distraction. That we can handle our responsibilities and be together."
Her determination was evident. She wasn't suggesting we break up or hide our relationship. She was suggesting we face this challenge together, proving that our relationship could be a strength, not a weakness.
"Show him?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, her eyes shining with resolve. "Show him that I can still meet expectations. That my grades won't suffer. That I'm still dedicated to my future. And show him that you... that you are someone who supports me, not someone who takes away from that."
It was a new mission. Not saving a club, but saving our relationship from the potential interference of her family's expectations. It meant our relationship would have to be strong, supportive, and somehow coexist with the immense pressure she was under.
"It won't be easy," I said, stating the reality. Balancing intense study, the demands of her world, and nurturing our real relationship would be challenging.
"I know," Sakura replied, squeezing my hand. "But we can do it, Hiroshi-kun. Together. Just like we saved the club."
Her belief in "us," her willingness to face this challenge head-on and include me in it, filled me with a mix of apprehension and determination. We had survived meeting her parents. Now, we had to navigate the fallout and the conditions it implicitly placed on our relationship.
The pressure was real. The expectations were high. But facing them with Sakura, as her partner, felt like the only way forward. The next phase of our unexpected love story would be about proving that love could thrive even under the weight of the most demanding worlds.