A moment of silence hung in the air—thick as the tension before a final battle. Then Takahashi Reie let out a deep breath, as if trying to dispel the oppressive atmosphere among them like a healer casting a purification spell. She stood up and said:
"I'll go make dinner."
After taking a few steps, she looked back and added:
"Shiratori-kun, please try my cooking today."
"Mio, come here and help me."
"..."
Shiratori Seiya opened his mouth, then closed it. He suddenly wondered if he had overshared just now—like a side character who accidentally dumped his entire backstory in one go.
He didn't feel any sadness at the moment. What others might see as an extremely painful, character-defining growth experience—the kind that gets a whole flashback episode—he had long since become numb to. It was just... old news.
His mind drifted back to Saori's competition. He had originally planned to deal with things here and then drive back, hoping to make it in time to see her perform. He could already picture her disappointed face if he didn't show up.
But now, it seemed he had been too optimistic—like a protagonist who thought he could clear two side quests before the main boss.
Even if things hadn't gone as smoothly as they currently were—which was not very smooth at all—if Mio had run into any serious trouble, he probably wouldn't have made it back today anyway. So much for best-laid plans.
Speaking of which... the current situation wasn't exactly smooth sailing either.
Takahashi Isao was now glaring at him from across the room like a grumpy gym leader who just lost his favorite Pokémon. Their gazes met in the air, sparking with unspoken tension. Then he said in a deep, commanding voice:
"Kid. Do you play shogi?"
Shiratori Seiya pursed his lips—here we go—and said:
"A little."
Hearing this, Takahashi Isao's eyes lit up like a hidden boss finding a worthy opponent. He tapped the table and said directly in a tone that brooked no argument:
"Come. Play a few rounds with me."
Watching him get up and march to the study to fetch the shogi set, Shiratori Seiya narrowed his eyes.
His 'father-in-law' didn't seem very convinced.
But that was normal. He had said so much earlier—showing genuine devotion, putting on a tear-jerking drama, the whole nine yards. Those tactics might work on his 'mother-in-law,' making her somewhat less resistant to him. Mothers were soft like that.
However, to truly convince this Showa-era 'father-in-law'—a man who probably thought feelings were best expressed through grunts and glares—talk alone wouldn't cut it. He needed to completely conquer him. On the shogi board.
With that thought in mind, when Takahashi Isao had set up the board, Shiratori Seiya held nothing back. He played like a grandmaster at a children's tournament.
He had started practicing shogi as a child in his previous life. Although he wasn't a professional—no titles or trophies—beating the old men in the neighborhood was a piece of cake. Like taking candy from a baby. Or rather, like taking pieces from a beginner.
Although the rules of Japanese shogi were slightly different from those of his hometown—for example, captured pieces could be reused, which felt like cheating at first—he had studied it for a while out of interest since coming to this world as a kid. It was a fun little hobby.
After only five or six moves, Shiratori Seiya roughly understood Takahashi Isao's skill level. He wasn't much better than those neighborhood old men—no standard openings, no strategy, just moving pieces around and hoping for the best. In short, he was a terrible player.
By the time Mrs. Takahashi called out "Dinner's ready!" from the kitchen, Takahashi Isao had already lost three games in a row and was locked in a desperate struggle in the fourth.
His backside was firmly glued to the sofa cushion like it had been superglued there. His face was as red as a monkey's bottom—or a tomato that had seen too much—his eyes fixed on the few remaining pieces on the board with such intensity that he looked like he wished he could grow laser vision and instantly vaporize Shiratori Seiya's army.
Finally, after several agonizing minutes of contemplation—during which you could practically hear the cricket chirps—Takahashi Isao's hand tightly gripped his rook. With great difficulty, he moved it one step to the side.
Clack!
"Check."
Shiratori Seiya placed his piece with casual precision, then calmly took a sip of tea. Beneath the table, he pulled out his phone and quickly sent a message to Saori, apologizing and explaining that he couldn't make it to her competition today. His thumbs moved fast—sorry, something came up, family stuff.
But the message stayed marked as unread.
Was it because they had to put away their phones for the competition? That made sense. Swimmer athletes probably weren't allowed to have phones on them during warm-ups.
He thought for a moment, put away his phone, and looked up at Takahashi Isao, who was still scratching his eyebrow with a troubled expression—like a student staring at a math problem he knew he'd fail.
After a moment of hesitation, Shiratori Seiya said:
"You can take back a move."
Hearing this, Takahashi Isao's eyes lit up with pure, unfiltered joy. Forgetting all about his pride—what pride?—he quickly moved the rook back and advanced his general instead.
Clack!
"Check."
Pause.
"You can take back a move."
"..."
Clack.
"Checkmate!"
After being checkmated three or four times in a row—each defeat more humiliating than the last—Takahashi Isao could no longer think of any countermove. His brain had officially short-circuited. He irritably scratched his head, then angrily slammed his general piece down, threw it into Shiratori Seiya's piece box, glared at him, and grumbled:
"You call that 'a little'?!"
"Full of lies! Do you have any manly responsibility whatsoever?!"
Hearing this, Shiratori Seiya smiled—a calm, unbothered smile that probably made Takahashi Isao want to flip the table. He put away the pieces as he said evenly:
"Just luck. I gave it my all."
"YOU—!"
Takahashi Isao wanted to say more—maybe something involving fishing hooks and creative threats—but Takahashi Reie had already put down her chopsticks, glanced at the situation with the weary eyes of a woman who had seen it all, and said:
"Shall we eat?"
Hearing his wife's gentle but firm urging, Takahashi Isao could only give up. However, after taking two steps toward the dining table, he suddenly stopped, as if struck by a brilliant idea. He dove into the storage room and emerged triumphantly with two bottles of sake.
Clink.
He slammed them onto the table, raised his thick eyebrows at Shiratori Seiya, and said in a deep, challenge-issuing voice:
"Come. Have a couple of drinks with me!"
Hearing this, before Shiratori Seiya could even open his mouth, Takahashi Mio jumped in like a protective girlfriend in a dating sim:
"He can't drink."
"Huh? Why are you involved in everything?"
"Why can't he drink? Is he a woman? Reie can down a few bottles just fine..."
Takahashi Isao glared at his daughter with a face so dark it could rival a storm cloud. His jealousy and resentment toward Shiratori Seiya deepened with every passing second.
Indeed. A daughter once married is like a ninja who switched villages—she's already siding with the enemy!
Takahashi Mio turned her head, staring stubbornly in the direction of the TV as if the blank screen was the most fascinating thing in the world, and said:
"Seiya isn't twenty yet. How can he drink?"
"..."
This time, Takahashi Isao was completely stumped. His thick lips moved silently, opening and closing like a fish on dry land. Finally, he sat down on his chair with a heavy hmph and grunted:
"Eat!"
Shiratori Seiya looked at his deflated, sulking expression—like a child who'd been told no dessert—and couldn't help but glance at Mio.
The two of them looked so similar when they were pouting. He had to tightly press his lips together to keep from laughing out loud. Same stubborn genes, same defeated posture.
Perhaps to drown his sorrows—or to forget the shogi massacre—Takahashi Isao drank an especially large amount during dinner. He nearly drank himself into a stupor, his face turning a shade of red that could rival a stop sign.
After getting drunk, he still wasn't done. He insisted on dragging Shiratori Seiya out to go fishing. Even with Takahashi Reie and Mio both trying to persuade him—"You're drunk!" "Dad, sit down!"—it was no use. He said he wanted to catch the evening bite, and nothing was going to stop him.
"Do you know how to fish?"
Hearing Takahashi Isao slur this question, reeking of alcohol like a walking distillery, Shiratori Seiya knew that his 'father-in-law' was determined to get even today—to find something he could beat the kid at.
He thought for a moment and said:
"A little."
"A little" again.
Hearing him say those exact words, Takahashi Isao felt his chest about to explode with pure, unadulterated rage. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles went white, forcing himself to resist the overwhelming urge to punch this infuriating scoundrel. He snorted coldly—hmph!—then turned to pack his fishing gear with more aggression than the task required.
Shiratori Seiya hadn't lied to Takahashi Isao this time. He really didn't know much about fishing. As a child, he loved to go fishing with his uncle Ando—those were good memories, sunny days and quiet rivers. But later, with various family problems piling up like a tower of Jenga blocks, he never fished again. It had been years.
"Keep an eye on him... don't let him fall into the river again. If anything happens, call me right away..."
Before leaving the house, Takahashi Mio reached out and tugged on Shiratori Seiya's sleeve, her beautiful eyes filled with genuine worry. She looked like a heroine watching her love interest head into a dungeon.
"Yes, I understand."
Watching the two figures disappear down the street—one tall and steady, one drunk and wobbling—Takahashi Reie turned and walked back into the house. But after two steps, she looked back at her daughter and said:
"Mio, come here. Mama has something to ask you."
Meeting her mother's calm, knowing gaze, Takahashi Mio secretly thought, This is bad.
Although her father was in charge of most things at home—the loud, obvious authority—her mother was the one who had understood her best since she was little. She could put on a righteous, defiant front with her father and get away with it. But with her mother... she had no confidence at all in hiding anything.
"Ah... okay."
Takahashi Mio responded and followed her mother into the bedroom like a student walking to the principal's office.
The two sat on the edge of the bed. Takahashi Reie held her daughter's hand with one hand and gently stroked her soft, black long hair with the other. Looking at her daughter's maturing, more adult appearance, she said softly:
"Mio has grown up."
As she spoke, a gentle smile appeared on her face—a face that had been weathered by time but still held warmth like a cozy kotatsu in winter.
"Although Mio argued with Papa today... Mama is actually very happy that you could go to such lengths for something you believe in, you know."
Listening to her mother's soft, soothing voice—the kind that could calm any storm—Takahashi Mio felt her heart enveloped by a warm current, like a healing spell in an RPG. Tears once again welled up in her eyes. She couldn't help but bury herself in her mother's embrace, her voice choked with emotion:
"Mama..."
"There, there."
Stroking her daughter's long hair—a rhythmic, comforting motion—Takahashi Reie said softly:
"Speaking of which... Mio, Mama hasn't really chatted with you in a long time. Can you tell Mama what's really going on?"
"Don't worry. Mama will definitely support your dreams. But Mama is still a little worried that you might be deceived... Can you tell Mama about you and Shiratori-kun? The whole story?"
Hearing this, Takahashi Mio sat up straight. She glanced at her mother, then lowered her eyes, swallowed the lump in her throat, and said:
"Mama... Seiya won't deceive me."
Listening to her mother's gentle, soothing voice—the kind that feels like a warm blanket on a cold night—Takahashi Mio felt her heart enveloped by a warm current. Tears once again welled up in her eyes like an emotional dam breaking. She couldn't help but bury herself in her mother's embrace, her voice choked with emotion:
"Mama..."
"There, there."
Stroking her daughter's long, silky hair—a motion as familiar as breathing—Takahashi Reie said softly:
"Speaking of which, Mio... Mama hasn't really chatted with you in a long time. Can you tell Mama what's really going on?"
"Don't worry. Mama will definitely support your dreams. But Mama is still a little worried that you might be deceived... Can you tell Mama about you and Shiratori-kun? The whole story, from the beginning?"
Hearing this, Takahashi Mio sat up straight. She glanced at her mother—searching for judgment and finding none—then lowered her eyes, swallowed the lump in her throat, and said:
"Mama... Seiya won't deceive me."
"Hmm."
Takahashi Reie raised her hand to wipe away the tears still clinging to her daughter's lashes, waiting with an expectant, patient gaze. She didn't push. She just waited, like a support character giving the protagonist space to speak.
"Seiya has really done so much for me..."
Takahashi Mio took a deep breath—the kind you take before diving into deep water—and in broken, halting sentences, poured out everything Shiratori Seiya had done for her. The words tumbled out like a river breaking through a dam.
Of course, she didn't dare tell her mother about the loan yet. Some instincts run deeper than trust, and she felt that bringing that up would only make her mother more suspicious of Shiratori Seiya. One crisis at a time.
"After he found out I wanted to be an actress and a star... he decided to stop writing songs. Then he started studying scripts every single day. He even found me so many books on acting—whenever he had free time, he would sit with me and explain acting theories, breaking down scenes like a coach training an athlete..."
"He also spent his own money to send me to artist training classes. Every time I went to training, he would sit right beside me—not on his phone, not distracted—and take notes on my shortcomings in each session. He recorded everything so I could improve..."
"He took me shopping, bought me clothes, did my hair, bought me delicious food even when I said I wasn't hungry..."
"Every time I started doubting myself—every single time—he just knew. He'd look at me and say, 'If you don't believe in yourself, then believe in me.' Seiya said he would never let me down..."
As she spoke, Takahashi Mio's voice cracked. She took another deep, shuddering breath, her eyes rimmed red like a character after a emotional confession scene. She looked at her mother and asked:
"But Mama... if it were you, could you accept all of this with a clear conscience? Could you just take and take without feeling like you owed something back?"
Takahashi Reie's gentle smile had long since faded. She slowly shook her head—not in denial, but in understanding.
After all, this was her own daughter. From Mio's words, she could naturally understand how much Shiratori Seiya had given her. She could comprehend her daughter's touched, overwhelmed heart.
Her daughter and she were actually the same kind of person. They knew who was genuinely good to them. And when they felt someone's kindness—real, selfless kindness—they wanted to do everything in their power to reciprocate. It wasn't about obligation. It was about love.
Seeing her mother's response, Takahashi Mio bit her lip and cried:
"Right, Mama. You couldn't just accept someone's love like that either, could you? Neither can I."
"So... he has invested so much in me. And I absolutely cannot let down his expectations."
"Mama... I like him. I really, really like him."
Meanwhile, by the riverside, under the silver glow of the moon...
Shiratori Seiya followed Takahashi Isao to the water's edge. He painstakingly adjusted the float—his fingers fumbling a bit, out of practice—and lightly cast his line into the dark water.
"Use this. Don't say I'm bullying you," Takahashi Isao grunted, ungraciously throwing a lump of bait into Shiratori Seiya's tray. "This is my newly bought bait. Special formula. Don't come crying to me if you don't catch anything."
Then he proceeded to fish on his own, turning his back like a rival in a competition arc.
Takahashi Isao glanced sideways at Shiratori Seiya, noticing his obviously clumsy baiting technique—the way his fingers slipped, the bait unevenly spread. A scoff escaped his nose.
This time, for sure, I'll win.
He cast his rod into the water. The luminous float slowly stood upright, bobbing gently on the surface. Under the night sky, the water reflected the bright moonlight like a mirror. Occasionally, the croaking of frogs echoed from the reeds—a peaceful, almost nostalgic sound.
Compared to Takahashi Isao, who was laser-focused, his eyes locked onto his float like a hawk watching prey, Shiratori Seiya's mind wasn't really on fishing. He stared at his own float—unmoving, patient—pondered for two minutes, and then said carefully:
"Uncle... Mio talked about you a lot when she was at school."
Takahashi Isao still stared intently at his float, but his index finger—resting on the fishing rod—twitched almost imperceptibly.
Seeing that he didn't respond—didn't tell him to shut up, didn't walk away—Shiratori Seiya continued:
"Mio told me that she actually admires you greatly. Since she was little, she thought you knew everything. She said you were always willing to take her out to play, that you treated her very well. She never forgot any of it..."
Takahashi Isao still didn't speak. But he took a deep breath—a long, slow inhale—and couldn't help but scratch the back of his head. A nervous habit.
"However," Shiratori Seiya pressed on, "she also told me she doesn't understand why your attitude toward her becoming an actress is so harsh..."
Click. The lighter ignited.
Takahashi Isao's hand left the fishing rod. He lit a cigarette for himself, the small flame illuminating his weathered face for just a moment before dying out.
"I know you certainly love Mio more than anyone. You genuinely want what's best for her. So... why aren't you willing to let her at least try?"
"Try?"
Hearing this, Takahashi Isao finally responded. The word seemed to open a floodgate. He spoke in a low, rough voice:
"How long should she try? How much time does she have to waste on trying? Hic~"
He burped—the sake still working through his system—and continued:
"Besides, aren't you, young man, a bit too naive?"
"All those scandals on TV—are you blind? Haven't you seen them? Her older cousin always wanted to be a star too. And what happened? What has she become now? Stuck in limbo. Neither here nor there. A ghost with a pulse."
"And... I don't know if your brain got run over by a truck or something, but can you honestly accept your wife kissing and cuddling with other actors on screen? If you can, then you're truly magnanimous. Disgustingly so."
Ptooey!
As he spoke, Takahashi Isao spat into the water—a final punctuation mark on his rant.
"So that's the meaning behind why I write scripts," Shiratori Seiya said calmly.
Takahashi Isao froze. He couldn't help but turn to look at the young man beside him, searching his face for any trace of embarrassment or deflection. He found none.
Shiratori Seiya stared at his float, his tone serious—almost solemn:
"Of course, I'm not as magnanimous as you say, Uncle. In fact, I'm quite selfish. I get annoyed just seeing my girlfriend talking to other men for too long. So this is exactly why I want to be a producer."
"Not all films and TV shows are about romance. The reason I want to be a producer is partly because of... possessiveness, yes. But also because I want to be able to protect Mio as much as possible when she encounters difficulties in that world."
He paused, letting his words sink in.
"Also... you've said a lot, Uncle, but aren't you really just worried about Mio's future? That's fair. That's what fathers do."
"But even if we take Mio's dream of becoming a star out of the equation... have you actually planned her future for her? Have you asked Mio what kind of life she wants? What kind of future she dreams of living?"
"You haven't planned anything concrete for her. You don't really care what she truly thinks. You just presumptuously believe that your way is 'good for her.' Is that what you understand as love?"
Hearing this, Takahashi Isao's face turned ashen—like storm clouds rolling in before a typhoon. The veins on his arm, the one gripping the fishing rod, bulged visibly. He glared at Shiratori Seiya with cold, simmering fury.
"How old are you, you little brat, to start lecturing me? Do you think just because you're marrying Mio, you can talk to me like this?"
Shiratori Seiya ignored the outburst. His voice remained steady, unwavering:
"I will work hard to climb up. And I will accompany Mio as she climbs up alongside me. I'll give her as much protection as I can—so that she can both realize her dreams and remain untouched by the filth of that world. That is what I believe loving her truly means."
As the last word fell—
The glowing float on the water suddenly plunged completely under the surface.
Fish on!
Shiratori Seiya sharply pulled up the rod. The fishing line whirred, cutting through the night air like a blade.
Inside the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium, Kendo venue, A17 resting area.
A girl in full kendo attire sat on the floor—her armor set aside, her shinai leaning against the wall. She wrapped her arms around her knees, holding herself together, her clear, bright eyes fixed unblinkingly on the entrance.
Watching. Waiting.
Yokoyama Miyu looked at her friend, who had practically become a 'waiting-for-her-husband stone'—the kind you see in old folktales where a woman turns to stone from longing. She couldn't help but ask:
"Saori... isn't he here yet?"
The girl didn't speak. Her gaze never left the entrance for even a moment—as if blinking would make him appear, and she couldn't afford to miss it.
Seeing this, Yokoyama Miyu's heart filled with irritation—not at Saori, but for her. She couldn't help but say:
"Is he... not coming today?"
This time, the girl finally reacted. She shook her head slightly—a small, fragile movement. Her smooth chin rested on her knees, and she murmured to herself, barely above a whisper:
"Seiya wouldn't lie to Saori..."
He promised.