Hearing Shione say that Saori was right beside her—right there, in the same room—Shiratori Seiya was genuinely startled. He couldn't help but ask:
"Why are you with Saori?"
Hojo Shione glanced at the girl beside her—that infuriating, unreadable face—and said flatly:
"We ran into each other."
Noticing Hojo Shione's sideways glance, Saori's ears twitched like a cat detecting prey. She reached out and tried to snatch the phone from Shione's grip.
"Saori wants to talk to Seiya."
Seeing this, Hojo Shione quickly stood up, dodged the grab, and held the phone in her other hand, keeping it out of reach.
"Ran into each other?"
Hearing Shione say that, Shiratori Seiya couldn't help but want to ask how exactly they had "run into each other." In his mind, he pictured the two of them colliding in some dramatic, swords-drawn encounter. But since it was over the phone—and he was in a stranger's house, with Mio watching him like a hawk—he continued with the practical question:
"Is Saori alright?"
Hojo Shione was first startled by the question, then—as if she'd just heard the funniest joke of the century—she let out a sharp, mocking sneer.
"Seiya, what do you think could possibly happen to her? Even if she ran into a mugger in a dark alley, she'd probably end up escorting him to the police station with a broken arm..."
Before she could finish her sentence, Hasegawa Saori hooked her arm with a practiced, fluid motion and easily snatched the phone out of Shione's grasp.
This scoundrel!
Her arm was both painful and numb from being restrained—that monstrous strength was something else entirely. Hojo Shione glared fiercely at Saori, cursing her over and over again in her mind like a mantra of pure frustration.
She really didn't know how such a monster had been raised.
Hojo Shione even couldn't help but wonder if Hasegawa Saori was even fully human. With that kind of brute force, wouldn't she be perfectly fine even if she entered men's fighting competitions? She'd probably walk out champion without breaking a sweat.
She twisted her arm a few times, using her hands and feet to finally escape the other woman's grasp. Rubbing her aching wrist, a cold glint flashed in her eyes as she stared at Saori's back.
"It's not that bad. She might still encounter some accidents. After all, Saori isn't invincible..."
"Seiya, Saori is fine."
Hasegawa Saori's voice suddenly appeared in his ear—soft, warm, familiar. Shiratori Seiya was stunned for a moment, then reacted. The expression on his face became complicated, a mix of relief and guilt.
He glanced at Mio, who was staring at him with those unblinking eyes—jealous, suspicious, ready to pounce—then turned to look out the window at the dark Nagoya sky. He took a deep breath and said:
"Saori... I'm sorry."
"Eh?"
"Why is Seiya apologizing?"
"Saori knows that Seiya definitely had something important come up—something that couldn't be helped—which is why he couldn't come to watch Saori's match. Saori isn't mad at Seiya, okay?"
Hearing her say that—so understanding, so forgiving—Shiratori Seiya's mood not only didn't improve but felt a little heavier, like a weight pressing down on his chest. He sighed and said:
"Although you say that... after all, I made a promise and broke it. That's not something I can just brush aside."
"Saori was just worried that something bad might have happened to Seiya. That's why she came back to find Seiya."
Hearing this, Shiratori Seiya's heart ached. He thought for a moment and asked:
"Oh, right, Saori. Didn't you see the message I sent you earlier today?"
After he spoke, there was no sound from Hasegawa Saori on the phone for a long moment. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward. Shiratori Seiya thought the call might have ended, so he glanced at his phone screen, confirmed it still showed "In Call," and called out to her:
"Saori?"
"Saori... lost her phone."
There was a pause, then her voice came through again—determined, almost fierce:
"Yes, Saori won."
"Because Saori promised Seiya she would win. So no matter if Seiya is there or not, Saori will always, always win."
"The next match... there's another one next month. It's the finals..."
"Yes, I know. Seiya is the best."
"..."
Hojo Shione sat on the sofa directly opposite Hasegawa Saori, listening to her every word. She couldn't help but sneer in her heart, a cold, bitter laugh reserved for the most irritating of performances.
If she wasn't on the phone right now, she would really want to ask Saori where all that intimidating, sword-wielding aura from earlier had disappeared to.
As soon as Seiya was on the line, she'd show weakness and turn as docile as a lamb.
Truly disgusting. Absolutely nauseating.
Shiratori Seiya definitely misjudged her this time. Hasegawa Saori was clearly the more skilled actress of them all. Saying she didn't care, saying she was just worried about Seiya's safety, using the "lost phone" excuse—these were all just convenient masks.
If she truly didn't care, she wouldn't be standing here tonight in the first place.
If she was genuinely worried about Seiya's safety, she wouldn't have gone to Takahashi Mio's house first to scope things out.
The "lost phone" excuse was also laughable. With so many people in her kendo club, was she the only one with a phone? Couldn't she have borrowed someone else's to call Shiratori Seiya?
She might look innocent, with those clear, wide eyes, but deep down, her heart was probably no purer than Hojo's own.
The reason she "didn't see" the message—or rather, chose not to see it—was simply to deliberately keep Seiya waiting. Some petty, calculated trick of feigned disinterest that women often used. The only reason Seiya didn't see through it was his trust in her.
Hojo Shione silently watched her performance, finding it increasingly amusing—like watching a fellow actress deliver a scene that was almost convincing, but not quite.
"Saori..."
Hasegawa Saori seemed about to say something else, to continue the conversation, but then Shiratori Seiya suddenly hung up the phone. She stared blankly at the phone screen, a look of pure confusion in her eyes, like a child who'd just been told playtime was over.
Seeing this, Hojo Shione walked over, glanced at the phone screen, and asked:
"What's wrong?"
Seeing that there was no longer a call record displayed—just the home screen—she snatched the phone back.
However, just as the phone landed in her hand, a text message suddenly popped up at the top of the screen:
"It's not convenient to talk on the phone right now. Let's talk when I get back tomorrow."
Hojo Shione read the message, then deliberately waved the phone in front of Hasegawa Saori's face. After making sure she had clearly read every word, she smiled—a cold, meaningful smile—and asked:
"So, what do you think Seiya is doing right now?"
"..."
Hasegawa Saori didn't speak, as if she hadn't heard at all. Her body, like water or liquid silk, slid down the sofa, melting into a comfortable position. She lay down, adjusted her posture, clasped her hands over her abdomen like a corpse in a coffin, and gently closed her eyes.
Ignoring her. Completely.
Seeing her eat her food, sleep in her spot, and still ignore her, Hojo Shione wasn't annoyed. On the contrary, she smiled wider and asked:
"It seems you don't even care who Seiya is sleeping with right now? Should I say you're truly magnanimous—or just completely indifferent?"
Saying that, she didn't wait for a response. She casually turned off the living room light and walked toward Shiratori Seiya's bedroom.
Since Hasegawa Saori was sleeping here tonight, she had no reason to leave either.
But as soon as she entered the bedroom and her bottom touched the edge of the bed—
A dark figure suddenly darted out from behind her.
Hojo Shione looked over and found that Hasegawa Saori was already lying on the bed, perfectly positioned, taking up more than half the space with her long limbs.
Shiratori Seiya's bed wasn't big. It could fit two people, but it would definitely be a tight squeeze—an uncomfortable, awkward night for both.
This scoundrel!
Hojo Shione suppressed the resentment burning in her heart—a fire that threatened to consume her—and stubbornly lay down beside her, wrapping herself in the blanket with a sharp, indignant tug.
At the Takahashi residence, Shiratori Seiya was about to tell Saori that he would definitely watch next month's finals—he wanted to make that promise, to set it in stone—when he suddenly heard a faint pitter-patter of footsteps outside his room.
Immediately after, there was a soft, cautious knocking sound from the hallway. Judging by the direction, he could roughly tell she was at the bathroom door.
"Mio? Are you in there?"
If it weren't for that voice—distinctly Mrs. Takahashi's—Shiratori Seiya would have thought it was a ghost in the middle of a horror movie.
Takahashi Mio's eyes went wide like a startled anime cat—full-on shock mode activated. She immediately pressed her index finger to her lips in the universal shh gesture, then pointed frantically at Shiratori Seiya's phone, mouthing silently:
"It's Mom! Don't talk! I'm going back!"
With the stealth of a ninja from a hidden village, she tiptoed out of the room, her bare feet barely making a sound on the wooden floor. Immediately after, there was a faint rustling sound outside the door—whisper, whisper, creak—and then, after a few agonizing minutes that felt like an entire filler arc, silence returned.
Shiratori Seiya glanced out the window at the moonlit Nagoya skyline, then back at his phone. After confirming Saori was fine—physically unharmed, mentally... well, that was another question—he felt much more at ease. The knot in his chest loosened, though the guilt still lingered like a stubborn status debuff. He still felt deeply apologetic toward Saori, but at least he knew she was safe and in one piece.
He could finally close his eyes and drift off—
Buzz.
His phone screen beside him suddenly lit up like a signal flare in the darkness.
He picked it up and saw a text message from Hojo Shione:
"Seiya, did you go to the Takahashi residence today?"
Seeing this message, Shiratori Seiya was initially surprised—how did she figure that out so fast?—but then he remembered that when he'd asked her about how to resolve conflicts with parents the day before yesterday, she had already guessed something was brewing. Her intuition was sharper than a katana.
Thinking of it now, it wasn't surprising at all. Hojo Shione had always been perceptive—too perceptive for her own good, sometimes.
He didn't hide it and directly admitted the truth. No point in lying; she'd see through it anyway.
However, this feeling wasn't pleasant. It inexplicably felt like being caught cheating by his wife on a business trip and being asked if he'd slept with another woman. The timing, the tone, the pointed questions—it all screamed jealous girlfriend energy.
Especially thinking of Hojo Shione's aggressive, possessive personality—the kind that would make any yandere proud—she must not be feeling well right now. She was probably pacing in his apartment, ready to explode.
He thought for a moment and typed back:
"Just handling some family matters for her. Her parents are still home."
"Are things resolved?"
"Pretty much."
"Congratulations."
There was a pause—a long, tension-filled pause that stretched across the digital divide—and then she replied again:
"Hehe, even if you explain so much to me, Seiya, I'll still be a little jealous..."
"You've been to my house so many times before, but you've never spent the night at my place."
"Also, regarding Hasegawa, I know you probably feel some guilt right now, Seiya, but I don't want you to be sad because of things like that..."
"Oh, right, can you come back tomorrow? Actually, it's okay if you can't come back—I won't mind."
Looking at the series of messages from Hojo Shione—each one a subtle, calculated jab wrapped in sweet words—Shiratori Seiya felt inexplicably annoyed. Was she trying to guilt-trip him? He thought for a moment, then replied:
"I'll be back. Good night."
Then he directly turned off his phone and tossed it aside like a hot potato.
Whether it was Saori or Shione, they both took emotions way too seriously—like love was the only stat that mattered in the game of life. Was their life goal only love and affection? Didn't they have careers, hobbies, ambitions?
How good would it be if they could all be like Mio, loyal to their careers and putting love and affection on the back burner?
Unconsciously, Shiratori Seiya felt as if he had been caught in a whirlpool—a swirling current of jealousy, expectations, and emotional demands—and was being drawn deeper and deeper into its center.
The next day.
Shiratori Seiya originally wanted to greet Takahashi's parents in the morning—a polite, respectful farewell—and then drive away with Mio back to Tokyo. Clean, simple, efficient.
However, when he got into the driver's seat and started the engine, he found that the two rear tires were completely flat. Completely. Like someone had deliberately let the air out overnight.
"Ah, the tires are flat. You were too careless when driving, weren't you? It's okay, I'll call a car to tow it away and get them changed for you in a bit..."
"Anyway, there's still time, so you can just come fishing with me for a while."
"..."
Looking at Takahashi Isao's sighing, fake-concerned expression—the man was practically glowing with satisfaction—Shiratori Seiya thought for a moment and understood exactly what was going on.
It was indeed pretty much as Mio had described.
He was definitely an old scoundrel. It seemed he wouldn't be able to swallow his pride unless he beat the kid at something—anything—after getting demolished at shogi and out-fished at the river.
"Kid, I don't know if what you said yesterday was a lie or not."
Shiratori Seiya was thinking about how to compensate Saori when he got back—maybe a nice dinner, maybe a heartfelt apology—and also wondering what Shione would say to him tonight, when Takahashi Isao's gruff voice suddenly came from beside him.
He turned his head and looked at his 'father-in-law's' slightly weathered face—those deep lines etched by years of hard work and worry—and said:
"No, I—"
"You don't need to explain. Even if you lied, I can't find any evidence right now. So it doesn't matter."
Takahashi Isao lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his stern features. He exhaled a large cloud of smoke that drifted away on the morning breeze.
"Actually, I even hope you were lying. If you're really that talented—writing hit songs, getting scripts picked up while you're still in university—you'll certainly have no shortage of women in the future. You know this without me telling you, right?"
"..."
Shiratori Seiya stared at the fishing float, bobbing gently on the water's surface, and remained silent. There was nothing he could say to that.
"Don't make Mio sad."
Takahashi Isao suddenly turned his head and stared at him with fierce, burning eyes—the kind of look that could pierce through armor.
"I don't care how many women you have in the future. I don't care what you do behind closed doors. Just don't make Mio sad. Otherwise, even if I have to risk my life, I won't let you off easy. Understand?"
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low growl:
"Think about how many years you can live. Think about how many years you can enjoy. And then think about how many years I have left. It's not worth it for you to cross me."
Shiratori Seiya's heart stirred. He had originally thought that his 'father-in-law' was just unconvinced and wanted to get back at him by dragging him fishing. But now it seemed that getting a promise from him was the real goal today—a father's final shield for his daughter.
Although he had grown up without parents in both his past and present lives—a fact he'd long since made peace with—he could still feel the profound, unspoken love Takahashi Isao had for Mio. It radiated from every gruff word, every suspicious glare.
He nodded and said seriously:
"I understand."
Seeing Shiratori Seiya in deep thought, looking like he was actually considering the weight of the warning, Takahashi Isao 'tsk'ed and couldn't help but add:
"You brat, are you really planning on having multiple wives? Hmph, you're not as honest as you look!"
Hearing this, Shiratori Seiya was startled—wait, that's not what I meant—not expecting his 'father-in-law' to trick him like that. He opened his mouth, about to explain.
But Takahashi Isao waved his hand dismissively.
"Forget it. No one can say for sure what will happen in the future. I just hope you keep it in mind."
"When you're free in the future, bring Mio back to visit often. After all, there's always a place for you at home."
He paused, then added with a grunt:
"Also, my life isn't as valuable as yours. So don't test me."
"..."
They fished for a whole morning under the warm autumn sun—but neither of them caught a single fish. Not even a nibble.
Despite this, Takahashi Isao was overjoyed, as if a draw counted as a win for him. He practically whistled as he packed up his gear.
After bidding farewell to his unofficial 'father-in-law' and 'mother-in-law'—with promises to visit again, polite bows, and a stack of homemade snacks pressed into his hands—Shiratori Seiya drove Takahashi Mio back to Tokyo.
However, when he was buckling her seatbelt—leaning across her to pull the strap—he noticed a deep flush spreading across her face like cherry blossoms in spring. He couldn't help but ask:
"What's wrong with you? Why is your face so red?"
"Huh?"
Hearing this, Takahashi Mio was startled. She touched her cheeks with both hands and asked:
"Is my face very red?"
"Yes. Like a tomato."
"Cough, cough... I, I'm fine... Maybe it's just hot in here."
Takahashi Mio gave a perfunctory answer, then guiltily turned her face to look out the window. Her gaze fell on the trees and houses passing by, but her mind was somewhere else entirely—back in her mother's bedroom that morning.
Her mother's words echoed in her head like a broken record:
"Mio, you haven't done it with Shiratori-kun yet, have you?"
"Although you're still in school, since you're already married—legally, at least—it's time to put that on the agenda."
"Are you shy? As you said, if Shiratori-kun is truly such a talented person, just relying on your looks isn't enough to keep his heart. Look, you can't cook, and I haven't seen you do any housework at home. You should at least put some effort into this area, right?"
"Do you want Mama to share some experience with you..."
"..."
Too embarrassing!
Just thinking about it, sweat seeped into Takahashi Mio's palms, and her whole heart became sticky and flustered—like a rom-com heroine in the middle of a confession scene. She couldn't help but turn her head and secretly glance at Shiratori Seiya, who was focused on driving.
Her gaze swept over his eyes—steady, focused—his nose—straight, sharp—his shoulders—broad, reliable—his waist—lean, firm—and his thighs—strong, powerful...
Her breathing unconsciously quickened. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid bursts.
What would it be like to make love with him?
Gulp.
She swallowed hard, the watery gleam in her eyes becoming as thick as honey. The feeling of shame that welled up in her heart dyed the corners of her eyes and her neck a deep, embarrassed red.
['Takahashi Mio' Affection: 77 → 90]
"What exactly is wrong with you?"
Just as they reached the next traffic light—red, a brief pause in the drive—Shiratori Seiya's heart thumped as he saw the sudden, surging affection level on his interface. He quickly turned to look at Mio and noticed that her state was clearly off—flushed, fidgety, avoiding his eyes.
He frowned and quickly reached out to touch her forehead:
"Are you running a fever?"
"Ah, no!"
Seeing him lean closer—his hand reaching toward her, his face inches away—Takahashi Mio instinctively dodged to the side, pressing herself against the passenger door. But after dodging, she felt a twinge of regret.
Couldn't he be a little more forceful?
['Takahashi Mio' Affection: 90 → 88]
Why did it drop again?
Shiratori Seiya looked at Takahashi Mio with a completely puzzled expression, not knowing why she had suddenly started acting so strangely. His brain was running through possibilities—fever? food poisoning? emotional breakdown?—none of which seemed to fit.
He couldn't help but ask again:
"What exactly is wrong with you?"
"Ah..."
Takahashi Mio opened her mouth, then closed it. Her cheeks burned even brighter, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her seatbelt.
Then, in a voice so small it was almost swallowed by the hum of the engine, she whispered:
"Do you want to... make love?"
"?"
The word hit Shiratori Seiya like a critical hit in a fighting game. His brain briefly short-circuited, processing what he'd just heard.
Wait. What?