"I want to go have fun, too!"
Upon learning that her older sister was heading to the temple fair for the fireworks festival, Futari excitedly began to wheedle her mother.
"Absolutely not."
However, Gotō Michiyo—who usually doted on her youngest daughter—wore a stern expression as she refused this time.
As she helped her eldest daughter tie the sash of her yukata, she said, "I'll take you to the amusement park next time. But today, don't go bothering your sister and Asakura-kun, alright?"
"Ooh! The amusement park!" Futari cheered happily, throwing her hands up in the air.
It seemed that, compared to the fireworks festival, the little one actually preferred the amusement park herself.
"W-well, it wouldn't really matter even if Futari came along..." Oof!
Hitori mumbled softly, but her mother gave her sash a sudden tug, abruptly cutting off the rest of her sentence. "S-so tight... I feel like I can't breathe..."
"It fit you perfectly last year; did you gain weight again this year, Hitori?"
"Was it really bought last year? Why do I have absolutely no recollection of ever wearing it?"
"Because right after we bought it—when I told you we were going to wear them to the Obon Festival together—you started lying on the floor like a dried-up fish, playing dead and refusing to leave the house no matter what."
Gotō Michiyo explained, frowning slightly as she poked at her daughter's side. "Is it tight around your waist?"
"It's... tight around my chest..."
Hitori whispered.
"That doesn't make sense. We just got you fitted for a new bra last year, and we bought the yukata based on those measurements. How could you have grown so much in just one year?"
Gotō Michiyo muttered in confusion, then loosened the neckline of the garment slightly. "Oh well, this should be good enough for now."
"B-but it still feels a bit..."
"If I loosen it any more, you'll end up looking like some kind of shameless exhibitionist putting on a 'fan service' show," Gotō Michiyo said, shaking her head. "Or would you prefer I bind your chest for you?"
"...This is fine," Hitori replied with difficulty.
Although she had always possessed the kind of physique that looked slender in clothes, due to her personal preferences, she actually felt much more comfortable in loose-fitting garments—such as athletic wear. "Alright, Hitori, perk up! Go show Asakura-kun."
Gotō Michiyo patted her eldest daughter on the shoulder. "I know it sounds a bit like I'm blowing my own trumpet, but I've always been quite pleased with you."
"Re—really?" Hitori asked, sounding a bit surprised.
"Mainly the part above your neck and below your forehead."
"My face? You're only pleased with my face?!"
"Well, that's just because your face is the only part of you that actually looks like me."
"That is blowing your own trumpet! And Dad is going to be really hurt!"
Although Hitori protested vehemently, she was still gently nudged out of the room by Gotō Michiyo.
A girl who felt awkward even in ordinary casual clothes—like skirts—naturally felt even more out of place in a yukata, a garment she associated exclusively with the socially outgoing crowd. She moved like a vampire still getting used to a new body; even her gait seemed a little off.
As she walked nervously into the living room and met Asakura's gaze, that sense of unease intensified.
"Kuma-kun... Ugh... I knew it... Clothes like this just really don't suit someone like me, do they?"
"No, it looks absolutely fantastic, Hitori." Asakura grinned, giving the young girl a thumbs-up.
From Asakura's perspective, Hitori looked stunning in her light-colored yukata. The golden patterns seemed to shimmer and float gently beneath the lamplight; the hem of the garment trembled ever so slightly, mirroring the girl's own fluttering heart; the fabric draped gracefully over her shoulders, clinging perfectly to her contours; and the sash at her waist was tied just right.
While it is often said that traditional Japanese attire—such as the kimono—looks best on women with less pronounced curves (such as a certain younger daughter of the Yukinoshita family, who wishes to remain anonymous), seeing Hitori appear before him now solidified Asakura's belief in a simple truth: "Beautiful people look good in any outfit" (the bumblebee swimsuit being the sole exception). Unlike the women's yukata Asakura was accustomed to—which typically concealed the body quite thoroughly—the young girl's neckline was left slightly open, revealing a glimpse of delicate, pristine white skin that traced a gentle curve along her lovely collarbones.
The wide sash at her waist was tied into a seemingly intricate bow (he was convinced that the majority of the time she had spent getting dressed was devoted to this very detail), with its ends trailing down her back like decorative feathers swaying ever so slightly with her breath. The hem of her garment fell just below her knees, the fabric draping downward in smooth, fluid lines. Her small, exquisite feet rested upon the wooden floor, her toes curling inward ever so slightly—tense, as if she had just stepped onto a stage.
"Hitori, aren't you wearing socks?"
"Ah... I forgot."
"No worries! It actually has a unique charm just like this!"
"...Is it just my mind being too filthy that makes that sentence sound a little strange?"
"Not at all! I said it with exactly those filthy thoughts in mind!"
"I guessed correctly, yet I can't bring myself to feel happy about it at all..."
"Don't worry about it! It just goes to show that we're on the same wavelength, Hitori!"
"R-Really...? Ehehe... Ugh..." The girl smiled shyly at first, but then—realizing exactly what Asakura had implied—she curled up slightly in embarrassment. "I... I'm going to go put on some socks."
"Hitori!"
"Wh-What?"
"White tights or tabi socks. Aside from those two, I won't accept any other options."
"Your preferences are surprisingly specific?!"
In the end, since the Gotō household didn't have any white tights in Hitori's size—save for Futari's child-sized ones—she opted for the tabi socks that had come as a free gift when they bought her yukata.
"Have a wonderful time!"
Gotō Michiyo stood in the entryway, waving her hand as she called out to Asakura and Hitori.
"Thank you, Auntie." Asakura steeled himself—brazenly ignoring the look she gave him that seemed to ask, 'What exactly are you supposed to be calling me?'—and offered his thanks.
"W-We're heading out now!" Hitori, having slipped into her wooden clogs, called out in a flustered voice. Then, with her head hung low, she bolted out the door and charged straight toward the wall enclosing the yard. Alarmed, Asakura quickly ran after her, grabbed the girl's hand, and led her away from the Gotō residence.
Watching the pair disappear beyond the garden wall, Gotō Michiyo finally lowered her hand and spoke in a tone filled with wistful sentiment: "Goodness... It feels like she's grown up all of a sudden..."
"Mommy, do you want some yokan?" Futari skipped over to her side and asked. "The rabbit-shaped yokan that Onii-chan brought is super yummy!"
"I do! Let's finish off all that rabbit yokan together today!"
"Yay!"
Meanwhile, at his office—where he was currently slacking off—Gotō-papa suddenly let out a sneeze.
☆
After leaving the Gotō residence, Hitori's expression took on a somewhat peculiar look.
"Are you alright?" Asakura asked with genuine concern. "N-No, it's nothing…"
"Are you sure it's nothing?"
"I-It's just that my HP drops with every step I take!"
"Is this a 'Poisoned' status effect?!"
"I'm just… not really used to… dressing like this…" the girl whispered in reply. "The thought of someone as gloomy as me… wearing a yukata—such a bright, cheerful outfit, the kind only 'normies' here would wear—just creates this… sort of… 'elemental conflict'… like a vampire stepping out into the sunlight…"
"It's just clothes, after all. You'll get used to it," Asakura reassured her.
"Mm, I'll try my best."
"So, there's no need to be so tense. Just relax—come on, relax!"
"I feel like if I actually relax… the sunlight will just vaporize me…"
"Are you actually a vampire?!"
Asakura couldn't help but quip in exasp"...Video—it really is a magical thing."
"Hey! Don't dodge the question!"
The venue for the fireworks festival wasn't particularly far from the Gotō residence; in just over half an hour, Asakura arrived in the vicinity of the festival grounds.
"Huh? Are we parking here?" Stepping out of the car, Hitori realized they were on a narrow street. "It doesn't look like there are any parking spots..."
"Isn't the sidewalk plenty wide?" Asakura declared with a perfectly straight face.
"Eh? Is that actually allowed?" Hitori looked a bit bewildered.
"Of course not." Asakura chuckled; with a sudden lurch, the old Ford sank into the ground beneath them and vanished from sight. "But our car is very eco-friendly, so it's fine!"
"..."
The look on the young girl's face practically screamed, 'What does that have to do with being eco-friendly?!' But before she could fully process what had happened, Asakura took her by the hand and led her in the direction of the fireworks festival.
The festival was spearheaded by the City Hall, with the grounds provided by a nearby shrine. This arrangement allowed the City Hall to save on expenses while simultaneously boosting the shrine's popularity—a true win-win situation.
The path leading to the shrine was lined with all sorts of stalls, giving off a distinct déjà vu of a school festival. However, compared to the amateurish stalls run by students during a school festival, the vendors here were far more professional.
The yakisoba was bland and unseasoned; the paper scoops used for goldfish scooping dissolved the moment they touched water; the sugar art figures were brittle and fragile; and even the chocolate-covered bananas were made with cocoa butter substitutes.
"...Actually, it feels like a completely inferior version of a school festival."
Hitori muttered under her breath.
After all, during a school festival, students often spare no expense in selecting high-quality ingredients just to boost their sales figures—even if, in the end, the revenue generated doesn't even cover the class funds they spent. For them, the true goal is simply to create a lively atmosphere and have a good time.
But for legitimate business operators, it is obviously impossible to ignore the bottom line. Much like how the food sold at the seaside "Beach Houses" that pop up every summer tends to be of dubious quality, this industry, too, lacks the "masters"—the yakisoba virtuosos, the goldfish-scooping experts, the candy-art artisans, or the chocolate-banana specialists—who might serve as gimmicks to genuinely elevate the value of the products themselves. Consequently, it comes as no surprise that the end result is so utterly lackluster.
In any case, for many people attending a fireworks festival, what they truly enjoy is simply the lively, festive atmosphere; the intrinsic value of the goods themselves rarely enters into the equation.
That being the case, stalls featuring games—such as shooting galleries or ring toss—actually become the places where one is most likely to find joy (though they are also the places most likely to make one "tilt" in frustration).
"Hey, Boss? Isn't that grand prize of yours a little... off?"
Asakura stood there holding a cork gun. He had originally intended to win a stuffed animal for Hitori as a prize, but after his cork "bullets" repeatedly struck the massive panda doll—er, presumably a panda?—designated as the grand prize, only for the doll to remain completely motionless, he couldn't help but lodge a protest with the stall owner.
"Nonsense," the owner replied, his eyes glued to his smartphone without ever looking up. "It's just that the doll is quite heavy; a shot or two usually isn't enough to budge it."
After all, a larger size implies an easier target—even if it's placed in the back row—so it stands to reason that there might be a few "special adjustments" involved.
Asakura narrowed his eyes slightly.
The cork guns themselves didn't pack much punch to begin with. Furthermore—unlike standard airsoft guns that fire BBs—they couldn't fire in rapid succession; one had to manually reload a cork into the barrel after every shot, making for a rather clunky and cumbersome toy.
"Maybe we should just let it go?" Hitori whispered from behind Asakura.
The owner let out a soft, scoffing chuckle—so faint as to be barely perceptible, yet just loud enough for the young man standing at the counter to hear. It was the kind of sound calculated to be the ultimate provocation.
It seemed this was his chosen marketing strategy.
"Alright, Boss," Asakura said. "I'll take every single cork gun you've got here."
"That'll be nine hundred yen."
There were three cork guns laid out on the counter in total. At three hundred yen per gun, the price certainly didn't seem steep...
Assuming, of course, that the prizes hadn't been tampered with. Asakura first picked up the first gun. Thanks to his earlier test shots, he had already more or less mastered the performance characteristics of the cork gun; its actual trajectory was surprisingly consistent—though it didn't shoot very far, the distinct parabolic arc of the projectile was quite pronounced.
With a soft thwack, a cork once again struck the panda plushie serving as the prize.
However, unlike the previous attempts, the previously motionless plushie began to sway ever so slightly—as if some unseen force that had been holding it in place had suddenly been neutralized.
Even so, a single cork shot was still insufficient to exert a significant enough impact on such a bulky toy.
Yet, moving with superhuman reflexes, Asakura had already raised his second and third cork guns. Just as the plushie reached the peak of its sway, two consecutive corks struck it right in the head—the point where the torque was greatest and where the leverage effect would be most pronounced.
And so, in the very next instant—after having sat in the back row for who knows how long—the panda plushie was knocked clean off its perch, tumbling down from the platform right before the stall owner's wide, disbelieving eyes.
"Alright, Hitori," Asakura said with a beaming smile, leaning casually on his gun. "Go claim our spoils of war."eration.
In any case, the way Hitori was right now, she clearly couldn't handle squeezing onto a crowded train. Besides, judging by yesterday's turnout, the fireworks festival seemed to be quite a lively affair; the trains were bound to be packed. If she were to run into any of those "normies," it would likely deal a devastating double dose of psychological damage to Hitori.
So, Asakura decided to drive the girl to the festival grounds instead.
"Hitori, have you ever been to a festival before?" Asakura asked the girl as they rode along in his Ford.
"I have."
"You actually have?!"
"W-Well, even I have been to one, obviously… though that was back when I was about five years old."
"Ten years ago… So, the last time you went to a festival was when you were about the same age as Futari is now?"
"I-I actually watched a video on YouTube last year…" the girl insisted, though her voice lacked conviction. "It was a travel blogger filming their trip to a festival! That pretty much counts as… me going there, too…"
"No, no, no—that doesn't count at all! If simply watching videos were enough, you could watch footage from the International Space Station and claim you've been to outer space!"
"...Video—it really is a magical thing."
"Hey! Don't dodge the question!"
The venue for the fireworks festival wasn't particularly far from the Gotō residence; in just over half an hour, Asakura arrived in the vicinity of the festival grounds.
"Huh? Are we parking here?" Stepping out of the car, Hitori realized they were on a narrow street. "It doesn't look like there are any parking spots..."
"Isn't the sidewalk plenty wide?" Asakura declared with a perfectly straight face.
"Eh? Is that actually allowed?" Hitori looked a bit bewildered.
"Of course not." Asakura chuckled; with a sudden lurch, the old Ford sank into the ground beneath them and vanished from sight. "But our car is very eco-friendly, so it's fine!"
"..."
The look on the young girl's face practically screamed, 'What does that have to do with being eco-friendly?!'
But before she could fully process what had happened, Asakura took her by the hand and led her in the direction of the fireworks festival.
The festival was spearheaded by the City Hall, with the grounds provided by a nearby shrine. This arrangement allowed the City Hall to save on expenses while simultaneously boosting the shrine's popularity—a true win-win situation.
The path leading to the shrine was lined with all sorts of stalls, giving off a distinct déjà vu of a school festival. However, compared to the amateurish stalls run by students during a school festival, the vendors here were far more professional.
The yakisoba was bland and unseasoned; the paper scoops used for goldfish scooping dissolved the moment they touched water; the sugar art figures were brittle and fragile; and even the chocolate-covered bananas were made with cocoa butter substitutes.
"...Actually, it feels like a completely inferior version of a school festival."
Hitori muttered under her breath.
After all, during a school festival, students often spare no expense in selecting high-quality ingredients just to boost their sales figures—even if, in the end, the revenue generated doesn't even cover the class funds they spent. For them, the true goal is simply to create a lively atmosphere and have a good time.
But for legitimate business operators, it is obviously impossible to ignore the bottom line. Much like how the food sold at the seaside "Beach Houses" that pop up every summer tends to be of dubious quality, this industry, too, lacks the "masters"—the yakisoba virtuosos, the goldfish-scooping experts, the candy-art artisans, or the chocolate-banana specialists—who might serve as gimmicks to genuinely elevate the value of the products themselves. Consequently, it comes as no surprise that the end result is so utterly lackluster.
In any case, for many people attending a fireworks festival, what they truly enjoy is simply the lively, festive atmosphere; the intrinsic value of the goods themselves rarely enters into the equation.
That being the case, stalls featuring games—such as shooting galleries or ring toss—actually become the places where one is most likely to find joy (though they are also the places most likely to make one "tilt" in frustration).
"Hey, Boss? Isn't that grand prize of yours a little... off?"
Asakura stood there holding a cork gun. He had originally intended to win a stuffed animal for Hitori as a prize, but after his cork "bullets" repeatedly struck the massive panda doll—er, presumably a panda?—designated as the grand prize, only for the doll to remain completely motionless, he couldn't help but lodge a protest with the stall owner.
"Nonsense," the owner replied, his eyes glued to his smartphone without ever looking up. "It's just that the doll is quite heavy; a shot or two usually isn't enough to budge it."
After all, a larger size implies an easier target—even if it's placed in the back row—so it stands to reason that there might be a few "special adjustments" involved.
Asakura narrowed his eyes slightly.
The cork guns themselves didn't pack much punch to begin with. Furthermore—unlike standard airsoft guns that fire BBs—they couldn't fire in rapid succession; one had to manually reload a cork into the barrel after every shot, making for a rather clunky and cumbersome toy.
"Maybe we should just let it go?" Hitori whispered from behind Asakura.
The owner let out a soft, scoffing chuckle—so faint as to be barely perceptible, yet just loud enough for the young man standing at the counter to hear. It was the kind of sound calculated to be the ultimate provocation.
It seemed this was his chosen marketing strategy.
"Alright, Boss," Asakura said. "I'll take every single cork gun you've got here."
"That'll be nine hundred yen."
There were three cork guns laid out on the counter in total. At three hundred yen per gun, the price certainly didn't seem steep...
Assuming, of course, that the prizes hadn't been tampered with. Asakura first picked up the first gun. Thanks to his earlier test shots, he had already more or less mastered the performance characteristics of the cork gun; its actual trajectory was surprisingly consistent—though it didn't shoot very far, the distinct parabolic arc of the projectile was quite pronounced.
With a soft thwack, a cork once again struck the panda plushie serving as the prize.
However, unlike the previous attempts, the previously motionless plushie began to sway ever so slightly—as if some unseen force that had been holding it in place had suddenly been neutralized.
Even so, a single cork shot was still insufficient to exert a significant enough impact on such a bulky toy.
Yet, moving with superhuman reflexes, Asakura had already raised his second and third cork guns. Just as the plushie reached the peak of its sway, two consecutive corks struck it right in the head—the point where the torque was greatest and where the leverage effect would be most pronounced.
And so, in the very next instant—after having sat in the back row for who knows how long—the panda plushie was knocked clean off its perch, tumbling down from the platform right before the stall owner's wide, disbelieving eyes.
"Alright, Hitori," Asakura said with a beaming smile, leaning casually on his gun. "Go claim our spoils of war."