The high summer sun beat down on Tokyo, but inside the serene Sumeragi residence, everything felt cool and orderly.
For Menma, this long summer break felt less like an aimless vacation and more like a thrilling, new assignment.
Her mother, Irene, had returned to Chichibu just two days prior to oversee the peak season business at the flower shop, a task that required her immediate attention.
It was a practical move, leaving Menma securely and happily installed with the Sumeragi family for the remainder of the summer.
Meiko knew she would be collected before the autumn term began, and the certainty of the timeline, combined with the generosity of her hosts, filled her with a sense of excited gratitude rather than worry.
She woke that morning with a sense of purpose.
Her host family was already busy:
Akari was handling business calls, Kenjiro was at a meeting, Tsumugi, with her competition finally over, had gone back to her hometown with her mother, and Haruya had left before dawn.
He was spending this week immersing himself in intensive culinary practice at the grand Nakiri estate, studying under the formidable Senzaemon Nakiri and the prodigy Erina.
Menma knew he was pushing himself to the limit in that high-pressure environment.
Feeling energized but slightly restless without a project, she ventured downstairs. She found Hana Hayasaka, the maid and now house manager, in the kitchen, organizing the morning's deliveries.
"Good morning, Hana-san," Menma greeted, feeling a bubbly enthusiasm she couldn't quite contain. "Is there anything I can help with? Maybe laundry or folding?"
Hana smiled kindly, pausing her work with a ledger. "That's very sweet, Meiko, but we have a staff for that. However, I could use your expert knowledge. Akari-san mentioned you are brilliant with plants, and frankly, this humid weather is overwhelming her courtyard garden. I'm concerned about a few things that look dangerously close to fungal rot."
Menma's eyes lit up.
This was perfect.
This was a language she understood, a challenge she could solve.
It was a chance to contribute something real and valuable to the household.
"I would love to help. Where is the trouble?" Menma asked, already moving toward the back hall.
Hana directed her to the secluded, walled courtyard garden.
It was a magnificent, overgrown space.
A testament to mid-summer growth.
Menma quickly located the shed, pulling out a canvas tarp, her preferred tools, and a bag of fresh, gritty soil mix.
She knelt down on the tarp next to the plants.
Hana Hayasaka excused herself, needing to answer a call from the main house, leaving Menma in pleasant solitude.
The first patient was a large, vibrant pink hydrangea whose leaves were suffering from heat stress and soggy roots.
Menma gently uprooted the plant, confirming the soil was tightly packed and suffocating the root ball.
Working slowly and meticulously, she used the sharp tip of her trowel to separate the roots, freeing them from their self-imposed prison.
She repotted the hydrangea into a wider, shallower container with better drainage and fresh soil.
She worked for almost an hour, absorbed in the sheer focus of the task. She trimmed a cluster of leggy geraniums, pinched back a few overzealous petunias, and relocated a small terracotta pot of sun-sensitive moss to a cool, dark corner.
Every move was purposeful, professional, and satisfying.
"You truly are in your element, Meiko."
Menma looked up, startled, but not flustered. Akari Sumeragi stood in the doorway, observing the transformation of the courtyard with an approving eye.
Akari was dressed in a simple but elegant linen dress, carrying the poise of a woman who was perfectly in control of her domain.
"Aunt Akari," Menma replied, quickly wiping her hands. "I'm sorry if I made a mess. I was just giving the hydrangea roots a bit of breathing room. It was badly root-bound."
Akari walked over to admire the newly potted hydrangea, already seeming to lift its head higher. "You have your mother's hands, Meiko. Irene always knew what her flowers needed. You understand how to nurture without smothering."
She settled on a nearby stone bench. "Haruya tells me you plan everything around the life cycles of your flowers, when to prune, when to water, when to wait. That's a beautiful way to live."
Menma smiled, returning to her work of gently aerating the soil around a miniature citrus tree. "My mother always said you can't force a flower to bloom. You have to wait for the perfect time, when it's truly ready. If you try to rush it, you ruin it."
Akari watched her for a moment, the quiet clicking of the shears the only sound besides the distant buzz of cicadas.
"That's a lesson Haruya has yet to fully learn," Akari mused. "He attacks life with such speed, Meiko. His training, the bakery, school, and now music. He pushes everything forward at top speed. It's exhausting, but it's how he shows he cares. He thinks if he stops, the moment will pass, or he'll let someone down."
Menma paused, resting the trowel on her knee. "I thought I was always chasing him. Trying to keep up with how fast he moves and how many things he can do."
Akari's expression was gentle, yet firm. "But you don't. When Haruya is with you, he stops running. You are not chasing him, Meiko. You are the quiet, steady ground that allows him to pause without fear. You are the perfect pace, the place where he gets to breathe."
The analogy of the garden, of being the right soil, the necessary space, hit Menma with a profound clarity.
She wasn't just a visitor; she was contributing to the health and balance of their world. She felt the anxious anticipation about her mother's return and the end of summer fade.
"I feel very welcome here, Aunt Akari," Menma said sincerely. "And I'm glad my mother's flower business is doing so well that she can trust me to stay here while she's gone."
Akari nodded. "That confidence is well-placed, on both sides. You belong here, Menma. You are part of the arrangement, and the garden is thriving because of you. That won't change when the season does."
As a mother, Akari observed her son's growth very well.
Perhaps she was more aware than him currently about the relationship of the people surrounding him, especially with little girls such as Meiko Honma or Alice Nakiri.
Haruya was not yet fully aware of what the future could hold, but as a mother, she had her own insight.
Perhaps this was her own way of clearing a path for her son.
"Thank you, Aunt Akari," Menma said, and this time, the gratitude was completely pure and heartfelt.
"Good," Akari said, her tone suddenly practical. "Now, the hydrangeas are beautiful, but they need proper afternoon shade in this heat. I'm going inside to make us some fresh juice. You, however, need to move these pots to the eastern wall, where they'll only get the morning sun. Consider that your next expert task."
With a wink, Akari stood and disappeared back into the cool interior of the house.
Menma spent more time carefully transporting the pots, using a small wheeled cart she found in the shed.
The work was demanding but deeply satisfying.
When she was done, the entire courtyard felt balanced, orderly, and ready to face the intense afternoon sun.
The air was thick and golden, vibrating with the sounds of cicadas.
She was just wiping the last of the dirt from her arms with a damp cloth when she heard the back door open again.
It wasn't Akari.
Haruya walked into the courtyard, looking less like a boy who had just finished a high-stakes match.
He was wearing clean, pressed clothes.
A simple white polo and dark trousers, and while there was no hint of mess from cooking, there was a faint, sharp scent of starched fabric and something complex and savory, perhaps rich stock or rare herbs, clinging to him. As well as a bit of sweat.
He carried a small, worn leather notebook under his arm.
He looked tired, but not messy. He looked spent, focused, and mentally drained from the sheer effort of keeping up with the culinary giants at the Nakiri estate.
Haruya stopped the moment his eyes landed on her.
Menma was kneeling by the small fountain, rinsing her hands.
Her hair was pulled back loosely, and she had a faint smudge of dirt on her chin, but she was surrounded by the neat array of pots and the newly vibrant colors of the garden.
She looked peaceful, grounded, and utterly beautiful.
"Menma," Haruya whispered.
She stood up quickly, a delighted smile spreading across her face. "Haru! You're home early."
He dropped the notebook onto the stone bench and covered the distance between them in two long strides.
He didn't rush his movement, though. He moved with a kind of measured care, the same way he handled delicate dough or rare ingredients.
"I finished the knife skill rotation early," he said, his voice low and slightly husky with exhaustion. He took her hands in his, his thumbs gently rubbing the tops of her wrists.
His hands were warm and smelled faintly of lemon and something metallic, like fine steel. "I thought I'd be later. But Erina was ruthless today. She just dismissed me without ceremony once I hit the precision benchmark."
Menma gave a soft, amused little hum. "You look absolutely exhausted, though. Like you ran a marathon."
Haruya laughed.
That's because he did.
"It felt like it," Haruya smiled. "But this… walking in here and seeing you like this. It erases it all. You look like you belong in a painting."
Menma's heart hammered sweetly against her ribs.
She didn't need to tell him what she had done, because he could see the results everywhere: the healthy glow of the plants, the order of the space, the new sense of tranquility.
"I repotted the blue hydrangea," Menma told him softly. "It was root-bound. Aunt Akari and I talked for a long time about it. She said I did well."
"She's absolutely right," he nodded.
He finally let go of one hand and used the other to gently tuck a stray strand of her white hair behind her ear. "Go clean up. You have dirt on your chin. And then let's go sit somewhere cool."
"Only if you tell me every single detail about what you did today." Menma countered, feeling confident and playful.
"Deal," Haruya agreed, his relief at being home and seeing her palpable. He walked toward the house, but stopped at the doorway and looked back at her. "I'm glad you're here, Menma. I really am."
She watched him go, then turned and looked at the courtyard one last time.
The transplanted hydrangea was already beginning to lift its drooping leaves, seeking the gentler shade.
...
Progressing it faster. Soon to come is the introduction of the next FMC, Kaori Miyazono, and then middle school. The middle school plot will revolve around the FMC I introduced before, Ai Mie from The Girl I Like Forgot Her Glasses, and Kaori mostly.
Honestly, now that I am at this point, I see the burden of writing such a huge harem story, but whatever. I'll just take my time with it. I am just treating this novel as the central hub of my stories anyway. My main intention is to grow popularity and then write solo series fanfictions, which are mostly wish-fulfillment, not really surprising with slice of life fanfics, though. Just stories that I personally would like to read.