Night had fallen by the time Makoto arrived alone at the Sawamura residence, a Western-style detached house that stood out among its neighbors.
Among the players, the Sawamura family's finances were second only to Makoto's own.
Rumor had it that Sayuri Sawamura's boys' love novels were outselling Jiraiya's Make-Out Paradise in bookstores across the Land of Fire, with recent numbers threatening to pull ahead for good.
Then again, everyone knew women spent money more ferociously than men.
Airi had wanted to tag along, but Kayoko Akizuki held her back.
"Cling too tight and you'll suffocate him."
Solid advice.
He knocked.
The door opened to reveal a woman in a kimono whose face was practically a carbon copy of Eriri's, distinguished only by soft purple hair. She beamed at him.
"Oh, Mr. Nishikado! Come in, come in. Ah, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Sayuri Sawamura, Eriri's mother."
They internet was right. Purple really did have a certain allure.
Makoto smiled. "You look far too young to be anyone's mother, Mrs. Sawamura."
"Do I?" She hid her mouth behind a fan, but her eyes curved into crescents. Every person who met her said the same thing, but the words hit differently depending on who said them.
Getting complimented by Kakarot and getting complimented by Momonosuke were not remotely the same experience.
Inside, the "Saekano Trio" were ferrying dishes out of the kitchen. Megumi set a bowl of soup on the table and looked up. "Sensei, you're here."
Makoto nodded and took the seat Sayuri enthusiastically pulled out for him. Within two minutes, every dish was on the table.
"Please, don't be shy. Try my cooking." Sayuri hovered with the attentiveness of a five-star hostess.
Makoto eyed the spread of sushi, sashimi, and other traditional fare, then picked up a piece of sushi and popped it in his mouth. Two chews in, his eyebrows rose. "It's cooked?"
Sayuri's smile widened. "Megumi and Utaha mentioned you're not a fan of raw fish, so I prepared everything cooked."
He'd watched plenty of anime in his previous life, but Japanese cuisine had never won him over. The obsession with raw food... what was that, a parasite reunion tour?
Still, the effort was genuine, and the food was good. He had to give her that.
Reading his mood, Sayuri pressed her advantage. "Calling you 'Mr. Nishikado' feels so stiff. Would it be alright if I called you Makoto?"
He chuckled. "You could even call me 'Makoto-kun' if you wanted."
Sayuri waved her hands in a fluster. "No, no, no, that's too much..."
She didn't have the nerve.
The meal passed in easy conversation. Eriri kept stealing glances at her mother, marveling at how effortlessly Sayuri kept the banter flowing with Makoto. Good thing Dad isn't here. He'd throw a fit.
Knock knock knock.
A sudden rapping at the door.
Sayuri, who had been the picture of composure a second ago, instantly lost her nerve. "That better not be my editor chasing a deadline." Eriri, get the door. If it is, tell them I'm not home."
Makoto smirked. Back in his world, web novelists never had this problem. Editors couldn't be bothered to chase you down. You wanted to abandon your novel? Go ahead. Unless you were a top-tier author, nobody cared.
Utaha nodded in solidarity. She'd lived through her own share of editorial harassment.
Come to think of it, she hadn't written anything in ages. Her last novel, Koisuru Metronome, was probably a lost cause at this point. Four years in another world had wrung every drop of inspiration dry.
Once they got back to reality, she'd need to start something new.
She'd call it... Naruto.
The protagonist would be named Makoto Uzumaki. Yes, modeled after the shameless teacher sitting right in front of her.
Why Uzumaki? Mostly because Naruto Uzumaki had left such a strong impression during the first exam. The quintessential hot-blooded hero template. Fuse that with Makoto, create something new.
Maybe dial back the perversion a few notches.
And the heroine... Utaha Uchiha. Perfect.
Eriri dragged herself to the door.
It wasn't an editor.
The entire Yukinoshita family stood on the doorstep, all four of them. Mrs. Yukinoshita led the group, cradling an elegantly wrapped gift box. Her husband and both daughters trailed behind, laden with bags.
"Um... what's all this..."
Before Eriri could finish, Mrs. Yukinoshita cut in. "Is Makoto here?"
Eriri nodded and stepped aside. The Yukinoshitas filed in one after another.
Everyone at the table stared.
"Makoto, we've come to apologize."
Mrs. Yukinoshita's opening line left him genuinely speechless.
Before he could respond, Mr. Yukinoshita dropped to his knees in a full prostration. "We are so deeply sorry!"
"What... is happening?"
Makoto included, the entire room went blank.
Mrs. Yukinoshita offered a brief explanation: they'd convinced themselves that Makoto's decision to give Megumi special training was a calculated move against the Yukinoshita family.
"Ha... hahahahaha!"
What followed was the hardest Makoto had laughed since awakening his Mangekyou Sharingan.
"You've got it all wrong, Mrs. Yukinoshita!" He was practically tearing up. "I'm training Megumi because I found a jutsu that's perfect for her. It has nothing to do with your daughters."
"T-truly?"
Mrs. Yukinoshita still looked shaken. She feared offending Makoto and inviting retaliation against her family, but she feared him growing to despise her even more.
"Relax, Auntie." Utaha was struggling to keep a straight face. "Sensei-kun can be petty, but he's not that petty."
Smack.
Makoto's palm connected with her backside. Utaha clapped both hands over the impact zone, face flushing scarlet as she glared daggers at him.
Sayuri swooped in to defuse the moment. "Well then... everyone, please sit down. Join us for dinner. I'll whip up a few more dishes."
Once Mrs. Yukinoshita confirmed that Makoto harbored no grudge against her family, the tension bled out of her shoulders. She followed Sayuri into the kitchen.
"I envy you, you know. Your whole family came together." Sayuri sighed as she chopped vegetables. "My husband's still in the real world. Doesn't know a thing."
"I'd rather mine hadn't come at all."
Mrs. Yukinoshita's voice was flat as she rinsed rice. At least then, her image of him wouldn't have deteriorated this badly.
Sayuri's eyes lit up, a spark of mischief crossing her face that was entirely too youthful.
Ooh, drama.
But Mrs. Yukinoshita offered nothing more. She understood the principle of keeping family disgrace behind closed doors.
They talked plenty about other things, though. Mrs. Yukinoshita predicted that once they returned to reality, everything would change. These children would reshape the global order. Whether established families like theirs could maintain their positions was anyone's guess.
Sayuri nodded along.
But neither woman said what they were both thinking.
The one who would reshape the world wasn't Utaha, or Eriri, or any of these girls just beginning to grasp their new abilities.
It was Makoto.
Gratitude was a convenient excuse. The real reason Sayuri had invited Makoto tonight was to build goodwill.
Back at the table, Mr. Yukinoshita was doing exactly what Sayuri had done minutes earlier: scrambling for conversation topics, desperate to forge some connection.
But Makoto's warmth had vanished. His responses had shrunk to "mm," "oh," and "sure," each one more perfunctory than the last.
The dynamic was painfully familiar. Like watching a desperate simp trying to text an unbothered crush.
Mr. Yukinoshita's smile grew strained.
Yukino pressed her lips together, wanting to do something to salvage her father's dignity.
But under the table, Haruno had a death grip on her sister's hand, warning her not to make a move.
Then Utaha broke the silence. "Sensei-kun, you gave Ran private lessons, and now you're training Megumi. Am I the student you don't see value in?"
It was obvious she was pouting. Out of his three students, Ran Mouri and Megumi Kato had both received special treatment. She was the only one left empty-handed.
For the one who considered herself the group's standout in both looks and figure, this was unacceptable.
Makoto reached over and ruffled her hair, like smoothing the fur of a bristling kitten.
"Utaha, knock it off. This is important."
Every expression around the table froze.
It was rare to see Makoto look this serious.
The tension drained from Utaha instantly. She lowered her head. "...Sorry."
"Don't worry about it. When I find a jutsu that suits you, I'll teach you."
He smiled, his hand sliding from the top of her head to her shoulder, gently pulling her closer.
The whole sequence was effortless. Smooth as water.
Mr. Yukinoshita's eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He looked at the flock of girls orbiting Makoto and couldn't suppress a single, reverent thought:
Now that's what a real man looks like.