From the far end of the aisle, Miyuki appeared, adjusting the knot of her apron as she walked out.
"Haru," she called gently.
He turned immediately. "Mom."
As he stepped closer, Haruto lowered his voice. "Tomorrow's the parent-teacher meeting."
"Oh, okay," Miyuki said, brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek.
"I just… wanted to tell you in advance. In case you come home late and I've already fallen asleep."
She smiled faintly. "Good. You told me early this time."
Turning toward the counter, Miyuki asked, "Akira, what's your shift tomorrow?"
"Same time as usual," Akira replied, still tapping her phone.
"Could you maybe come in a little early? I need to attend Haruto's meeting."
"Just a sec." Akira flicked through her Google Calendar. "Mmm… looks fine. I don't have any classes before two tomorrow, so I can manage it."
"Thank you, Onee-chan," Haruto said earnestly.
Akira winked at him over the counter. "Heh, you're welcome, Haru."
"Okay, bye, Mom."
"Yeah. Dinner's in the fridge—heat it properly before eating, okay?" Miyuki reminded him, wagging a finger.
"Got it."
Haruto rode home, ate quickly, then buried himself in textbooks for two hours. When the numbers and kanji started blurring together, he tossed them aside and reached for his manga, devouring two volumes in one sitting.
Finally, he grabbed his phone and hit the video call button.
"Yo," Haruto greeted as Daichi's tired face popped up on screen. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," Daichi groaned, scratching his messy hair. "That bullshit old geezer at cram school gave me homework. Just about to finish it."
"Should I call you later then?" Haruto asked.
"Oh, no—it's nearly over anyway." Daichi scribbled something, then looked up. "So, did you tell your mom?"
"Yeah. She said she'll come."
"Good. I told my father too… But he said he doesn't have time tomorrow. He told me to ask Mom. If she refuses, then he'll just talk with Sensei on the phone."
"Jeez." Haruto frowned. "Then you'll have to go to your mom's house, huh?"
Daichi's face soured instantly. "…Yeah. One thing I hate most in this world is seeing that woman's face. And yet fate keeps making me do it over and over."
Ten minutes later, Daichi's text popped up: I'm here.
Haruto slipped downstairs, hopped onto his bicycle, and together they pedaled off into the night.
"We should go to your mom's first," Haruto said.
"Huh? Why? Ramen first." Daichi looked annoyed.
"No, Daichi—it'll be too late to visit someone after that."
"Like I care."
"I know you don't," Haruto shot back, "but I do. So please."
"…Tch. Okay, okay, fine."
Half an hour later, their wheels crunched to a halt in front of a massive, traditional wooden Japanese house. The compound reeked of wealth and old prestige, the faint glow of paper lamps flickering through the windows.
Haruto whistled under his breath. "…I'll stay out here. You go inside."
"No way," Daichi shook his head. "You're coming in too. Don't worry, there won't be any uncomfortable conversation. I'll just tell her about the meeting, and we'll leave."
"Are you sure?"
"Hundred percent."
"…Okay then."
They slid open the huge outer gate, the polished wood heavy beneath their hands. A bronze nameplate gleamed in the lantern light—Oda.
Inside, a small garden spread before them, the faint trickle of water soothing the night air. A pond shimmered softly, a bamboo shishi-odoshi clacking rhythmically as it tipped and refilled. The rooms around the courtyard glowed faintly with warm, elegant light, the aura of wealth pressing down on them with quiet authority.
Daichi pressed the doorbell. Both boys waited, the night air heavy, hearts thudding with a strange nervousness.
With a click, the front door slid open.
An elderly woman stood there, her posture straight despite her years, her kimono neatly tied. She looked every bit the long-serving house servant.
"Hi, I'm—" Daichi began.
"Oh! Are you Master Daichi?" She cut him off, her eyes lighting up.
"Eh?" Haruto and Daichi exchanged confused glances.
"Come inside," the old woman said warmly.
"It's okay, I just—" Daichi tried again.
But she interrupted once more, her voice carrying the gentle firmness of someone used to taking care of children. "Don't be shy, Daichi-san. You too—come in." She smiled kindly at Haruto as well, her gaze filled with grandmotherly affection.
Faced with that kind of orderly love, neither of them could refuse.
Reluctantly, they stepped over the polished wooden threshold.
The interior was breathtaking. The entryway opened into a wide genkan of lacquered wood, polished so smooth it reflected the dim light of hanging lanterns. A faint scent of tatami and sandalwood incense hung in the air.
Down the hall, sliding shoji doors glowed faintly from the lamps within, casting a serene warmth. The hush of the inner rooms, the faint distant clack of the bamboo water fountain outside—it all pressed in on them, elegant yet heavy.
Haruto swallowed. "This place feels… unreal."
Daichi shoved his hands in his pockets, muttering, "Tch. Same old."
"Sit here," the old woman said kindly, pointing toward the sofa. "I will call Madam."
Both boys sat down. The room was elegant—dark wooden panels, a faint scent of incense, and the soft glow of lamps.
"Oh, Nakamura-san?" a girl's voice called.
The moment Daichi looked up and saw her, his blood began to boil. His fists clenched against his knees.
Haruto quickly pressed a hand against his arm, whispering, "Keep calm."
Then, ignoring Daichi's glare, Haruto looked straight at the girl.
She wore a modest dress, her black hair tied neatly with a ribbon. There was something disarmingly soft about her presence—like she didn't belong in this suffocatingly rich house.
She smiled awkwardly, clearly sensing the tension.
"Um… hi. You must be Oda-san, Daichi's stepsister."
Sakura nodded politely. "Oh, you know me?"
"Yes," Haruto said brightly. "He told me. Daichi-kun is my best friend, after all, so we share everything with each other."
Daichi's eyes widened in outrage.
Haruto, completely unfazed, smiled and extended his hand. "I'm Haruto Saito. Nice to meet you."
She returned the gesture, her hand small and warm in his. "I'm Sakura. Please take care of me."
From beside him, Daichi's glare sharpened, daggers practically shooting from his eyes.
Sakura, oblivious or pretending to be, continued softly. "He never talks with me in cram school. I tried so many times, but he ignores me like I don't even exist."
"Tch…" Daichi clicked his tongue, looking away.
This girl… Is she really that pure-hearted? Or is she doing it on purpose? Haruto wondered silently.