novelraw Chapter 212: Slice of Life! Vacation in Kumamoto Prefecture! The Ecstatic Koyama Family!
Chapter 212: Slice of Life! Vacation in Kumamoto Prefecture! The Ecstatic Koyama Family!
TV Tokyo's building still blazed with light in the night — a silent steel leviathan consuming and exhaling countless people's dreams and exhaustion. Nohara Hiroshi's figure emerged from the radiant entrance, carrying the faint scent of commotion, yet seeming to have left all its glamour sealed behind him.
The evening wind brushed past, carrying early winter's bite, sweeping the last trace of fatigue from his brow.
He murmured a few quiet instructions to Kitagawa Yao beside him — his voice warm and clear, like a stream thawing in spring, naturally commanding trust.
"Yao-chan, I'll leave the leave paperwork to you. Please coordinate the follow-up procedures with the station."
Kitagawa Yao nodded emphatically, eyes shining with admiration and trust: "Yes! Please don't worry, sir. Everything will be taken care of."
He turned to Hashishita Ichiro and the others, his gaze still as water yet carrying an unquestionable authority.
"Hashishita-kun, Yamamoto-kun, Tanaka-kun — the post-award publicity, and the celebration banquet preparations for Seven Samurai and Hachiko Monogatari. I'll need you to handle those."
"You can count on us, Department Manager!" All three bowed in unison, voices strong and full of drive.
Nohara Hiroshi nodded briefly, said nothing more, and turned toward the parking lot.
His black Toyota Crown sat quietly under the lamplight — its lines flowing and composed, like a silent knight. He pulled open the door, settled in, and smoothly guided the car out of the station, merging into Tokyo's never-sleeping river of lights.
The world beyond the windows was a kaleidoscope of brilliance — neon sketching the city's illusory yet real silhouette. Behind every illuminated window, perhaps another story unfolded: happy or sad, coming together or falling apart.
And he, Nohara Hiroshi, was driving through this web of countless narratives, heading toward where his own next story would take place.
Future Comic Club's lights glowed from a small building not far ahead — warm as a lighthouse.
Pushing open the familiar glass door, a warm current of ink, paper, and coffee fragrance washed over him. Inside the office, Misae was smiling brightly, refilling hot tea for two guests. In the soft lamplight, her profile looked especially gentle.
One guest, about forty, wore black-framed glasses with sharp, shrewd eyes — none other than Shueisha's legendary editor-in-chief, Torishima Kazuhiko, a household name in the manga world.
The other was younger, his restrained manner barely concealing an underlying excitement — Nohara Hiroshi's dedicated editor, Tadokoro Masato.
"Ding—" The wind chime on the door rang crisply. All three looked up.
"Ah! Hiroshi!" Misae's eyes lit up instantly — as if stars had fallen into them. She stood with delighted surprise.
Torishima and Tadokoro shot to their feet too, expressions shifting from surprise to a blend of admiration and eager delight.
"Nohara-sensei! What brings you here?" Tadokoro practically tripped over himself to speak first, his voice trembling slightly.
Torishima adjusted his glasses, the eyes behind them appraising Nohara Hiroshi, then broke into a genuine smile: "Nohara-sensei, what a coincidence — we were just talking about you with Misae-san, and here you are."
"Editor-in-Chief Torishima, Editor Tadokoro — good evening." Nohara Hiroshi smiled, walking over and naturally hanging his coat on the rack. "I just came from the station. Thought I'd stop by."
"The station?" Torishima's smile deepened. "We just saw your television appearances. Congratulations — winning major Academy Awards for Yamishibai, Tales of the Unusual, and Kasou Taishou. Truly deserved!"
"Absolutely!" Tadokoro nodded vigorously, adding with excitement: "And the movies! Seven Samurai has already broken eight billion yen at the box office! A miracle for period dramas! And... and Hachiko Monogatari is about to cross the ten-billion mark! Nohara-sensei, you're simply... a legend of this era!"
Facing these two manga industry titans' unstinting praise, Nohara Hiroshi merely offered a calm smile and sat down beside Misae.
"It's the result of everyone's combined efforts."
But Misae couldn't contain her excitement. She gripped Nohara Hiroshi's hand, eyes sparkling at him like a child bursting to share a treasure.
"Hiroshi, you have no idea! Editor-in-Chief Torishima and Editor Tadokoro came today with AMAZING news!"
"Oh?" Nohara Hiroshi raised an eyebrow.
"It's YuYu Hakusho!" Pride overflowed in Misae's voice. "Editor-in-Chief Torishima says the cumulative tankōbon sales have already... already broken TWENTY MILLION copies!"
Even the mentally prepared Nohara Hiroshi felt a stir at this number.
Twenty million copies. In this era, for a manga still in serialization, this was nothing short of astronomical.
Torishima picked up the thread, his tone steady and forceful — carrying the bearing of a man commanding the full picture: "Nohara-sensei, your work is making history. YuYu Hakusho has ignited the passion of an entire generation of young readers. They go wild over Yusuke Urameshi's battles. They fall head over heels for Kurama and Hiei's charisma. It's no longer just a manga — it's a social phenomenon."
Tadokoro added: "And Doraemon! Now practically every family with children is talking about that blue, pocket-gadget-producing robot cat. It's brought children boundless joy and dreams. That's actually one reason we're here — to discuss officially launching standalone tankōbon volumes for Doraemon!"
"Not only that." Torishima's gaze settled on Nohara Hiroshi with an investigative edge. "There's also Midnight Diner, with its unique style. It's struck an enormous chord among young office workers. Many reader letters say they see their own exhausted, post-midnight selves in the manga — and find solace in that tiny eatery. We're planning standalone tankōbon for that as well."
"One work ignites youth's fighting spirit. One guards children's dreams. One soothes the urban soul." Torishima concluded with emotion. "Nohara-sensei — single-handedly, you've captured the hearts of three entire generations of Japan."
Nohara Hiroshi picked up the hot tea Misae had poured, took a gentle sip. The warm liquid slid down his throat, chasing away the winter night's chill.
"I have no objections whatsoever." He set down the cup, regarding the two editors. "Having Shueisha's recognition is my honor. For the specifics, please coordinate with Editor Tadokoro — I trust his professional judgment entirely."
Tadokoro flushed with emotion, bowing hastily: "Yes! I will do my absolute best — I won't let you down, Department Manager Nohara!"
Torishima nodded approvingly, but his purposes today clearly extended further. His expression turned serious, the legendary editor's commanding presence surfacing unbidden.
"Nohara-sensei, besides delivering good news and discussing the tankōbon, we actually have another — and perhaps the most important — matter."
"Please go ahead." Nohara Hiroshi responded with perfect calm.
"It's your time." Torishima spoke with deliberate emphasis, his gaze locked on Nohara Hiroshi. "We all know you're now a top director in the entertainment industry — incredibly busy. TV dramas, films, promotions, appearances... all of this drains enormous energy. And manga creation — especially maintaining three high-quality weekly serializations simultaneously — demands total immersion and massive amounts of time."
His voice brimmed with genuine concern — not performative, but born from a true editor's love for the work.
"We worry about your health. And even more... we worry that these three magnificent works might suffer in quality due to time constraints — or be forced into hiatus."
Tadokoro nodded beside him: "Yes, Nohara-sensei. Reader enthusiasm is incredibly high. A sudden hiatus would cause enormous backlash. We just... we just hope you'll have sufficient time to complete the artwork."
Torishima watched Nohara Hiroshi's silent profile, then offered his proposed solution.
"So we have a suggestion. Of course, this is merely a suggestion — the decision is entirely yours."
"Please."
"If you don't have enough time to personally handle the artwork, you could provide just the story scripts and rough storyboards." Torishima's voice dropped low, carrying a subtle persuasion. "For the drawing itself, Shueisha can arrange a top-tier manga artist team to complete it. You would simply be credited as original creator — there's industry precedent for this. It's a well-established collaborative model."
"Exactly, Nohara-sensei." Tadokoro immediately chimed in. "It's an open secret in the industry, standard practice. Many well-known manga artists choose this approach after achieving fame, to ensure consistent publication. It won't damage your reputation — in fact, it would free you from the grueling drawing workload."
The air seemed to crystallize in that moment.
Misae looked at Nohara Hiroshi with concern. She knew how much he loved drawing — the process of bringing stories from his mind to paper with his own hands was, for him, a joy.
Yet Nohara Hiroshi smiled.
His smile was faint, but it was like a stone dropped into a still lake — sending ripples outward in concentric circles.
"I appreciate the thoughtfulness of you both." He began slowly, voice not loud yet reaching every ear with clarity. "But that won't be necessary."
"Nohara-sensei?" Tadokoro looked puzzled.
"My stories — they're only complete when drawn by my own hand." Nohara Hiroshi's gaze swept both editors, his eyes holding not the slightest hesitation — only a confidence rooted in his very bones. "As for the time issue — don't worry. I'll manage."
I'll manage.
Three simple words. From his mouth, they carried an inexplicable persuasive power.
Torishima and Tadokoro exchanged glances, each finding deep astonishment reflected in the other's eyes.
They'd seen countless manga artists — geniuses, workhorses, madmen — but in Nohara Hiroshi they saw something categorically different. A composure that transcended mere confidence, as though the constraints of time and energy simply didn't exist for him.
A top-tier genius spanning both entertainment and manga — his self-assurance seemed to rest on ample foundations.
"If Nohara-sensei says so, we naturally trust you." Torishima drew a deep breath, suppressing his shock. "Only — please take care of your health."
"I will." Nohara Hiroshi nodded, then pivoted to drop an even more unexpected bombshell.
"As it happens, I'll be going to Kumamoto Prefecture for the next two weeks. A vacation."
"Eh? Vacation?" Tadokoro blinked, anxiety spiking immediately. "But... the manuscripts..."
Nohara Hiroshi looked at his nervous expression and couldn't help finding it amusing.
"Relax. When I'm back from Kumamoto, I'll hand over the manuscripts."
"Two weeks of vacation... then after you return, you'd have to work through the night catching up? That's too much!" Tadokoro's face was a portrait of worry.
"No." Nohara Hiroshi shook his head, lifting his teacup and speaking at leisure. "When I return, I'll deliver — in one batch — enough material for six months of serialization."
"CLUNK!"
The teacup in Tadokoro's hand lurched. Tea splashed out. He didn't even notice.
Torishima's perpetually composed face lost all expression management in that instant. His glasses nearly slid off his nose.
"S-six... months?!" Torishima's voice cracked. "Nohara-sensei, are you saying... all three series will have six months' worth of serialization backlog?"
"That's right." Nohara Hiroshi answered as casually as describing the weather.
"Good God!" Tadokoro was beyond words. He counted on his fingers, muttering: "One chapter per week... six months is twenty-six chapters per series... three series... that's seventy-eight chapters of manuscript... completed during a two-week vacation?!"
This... this was beyond humanly possible workload! Had the God of Manga descended?!
Torishima steadied his glasses, forcing himself to calm down. He must have misunderstood.
"Nohara-sensei, you mean each of the three manga will have enough backlog for the next two months, correct? That alone would already be astounding! We'd absolutely accept that! Six months' worth is really..."
He figured two months' worth was the most optimistic promise Nohara Hiroshi could make under extreme conditions.
However, Nohara Hiroshi's next words struck like a thunderbolt — splitting the skulls of two editors who thought they'd seen it all.
He set down his teacup, looked at their flabbergasted faces, smiled, and corrected them — word by deliberate word:
"No, Editor-in-Chief Torishima. You've misunderstood."
"What I mean is: for all three manga, I will prepare... enough backlog for six months' worth of tankōbon releases."
The entire office plunged into deathly silence.
Only the wall clock's tick-tick-tick remained, accompanied by the two editors' breathing — heavy as bellows.
Six months of tankōbon backlog...
Torishima's and Tadokoro's brains crashed simultaneously.
They frantically calculated what this number meant.
One tankōbon typically collects about ten chapters. Six months, at one volume every two months, meant three tankōbon.
Three tankōbon meant thirty chapters.
Three series meant... ninety chapters!
Ninety chapters of high-quality manga manuscript!
Completed in two weeks?!
This wasn't confidence. This was a miracle!
Torishima opened his mouth but produced no sound. In decades commanding the manga world, having discovered countless geniuses and witnessed countless miracles, nothing — nothing — had ever overturned his understanding and shaken his soul like this moment.
Tadokoro, meanwhile, collapsed into his chair as if every ounce of strength had been drained, staring blankly at the man before him.
He felt that what he faced was perhaps not human at all.
But a being from a higher dimension... wearing a human skin... a monster.
Nohara Hiroshi watched their shell-shocked states and simply smiled, offering no further explanation.
Some secrets were destined to be his alone.
After all, for other manga artists, the process required painstaking plotting, agonizing over composition, deliberating over how to keep the artwork clean yet flowing.
But for him?
He only needed to look at the memories in his mind — and replicate. Or rather, copy. That was all.
Outside the window, Tokyo's night deepened. The ocean of countless gathered lights still blazed tirelessly — as though bearing witness to this room, this era, and the rise of a one-of-a-kind legend, ascending in the most incredible way imaginable.
...
The office's heavy wooden door closed softly behind them. Editor-in-Chief Torishima and Editor Tadokoro had taken their leave from Future Comic Club.
But those gazes — swirling with shock, worship, and the instinctive human terror before the supernatural — seemed to linger still in Misae's presidential office.
Nohara Hiroshi stood smiling faintly, looking out at Tokyo's early evening lights through the window — the neon of five colors resembling the yet-unpopped bubble of desire enveloping this colossal city, shimmering with a mesmerizing, unreal haze.
He was in excellent spirits.
After all, having just pulled off an epic flex, his inner satisfaction was immeasurable.
Misae followed at his side like a nimble fawn, her face bright with irrepressible excitement. She quickstepped to catch up, tilting her head to gaze up at him, eyes sparkling.
"Hiroshi!" She tugged his sleeve, voice ringing with crystalline joy. "Did you SEE Torishima-san and Tadokoro-san's faces just now? Their mouths were hanging open wide enough to stuff in Omagari's specialty giant radish! 'A workload humanly impossible to complete'... both of them — one a legendary Shueisha editor-in-chief, the other a veteran dedicated editor — said so simultaneously!"
She mimicked Tadokoro's glasses-adjusting disbelief and dissolved into giggles first.
Nohara Hiroshi turned to watch her, eyes soft with affection. The night breeze carried autumn's faint chill across his neatly combed temples, and ruffled the bangs at Misae's forehead.
"Saw it." His voice was level, as though stating objective fact. "They're just accustomed to normal human efficiency." He paused — no arrogance in his tone, only a matter-of-fact certainty. "Those top-tier colorists at the manga studio — working overtime all day, how many pages can they color? Even they would need ages to face ninety chapters of original art and detailed storyboards."
Misae nodded vigorously, thoroughly convinced: "Right, right! Yamashita-san and the others color so fast, yet every time they see your manuscript delivery speed, they question their entire reality! Hiroshi-kun, you're like... hmm, like someone sent by the God of Manga!" She was quite pleased with her comparison, laughing even more brightly — an eighteen-year-old's adoration and love, pure and unalloyed.
"The God of Manga?" Nohara Hiroshi murmured softly, his deep eyes lifting toward the night sky stained purple-red by neon. The corner of his mouth seemed to rise by a fraction of a degree — bearing a subtlety only he himself could understand. "Perhaps."
With an entire other world as his foundation, to this world, he truly WAS an impact on the level of a deity.
He turned to Misae, tone casual: "Enough about that. Tonight — no thinking about manuscripts, no thinking about station headaches." He gently patted the back of her hand. "Since the vacation starts tomorrow, let's walk around Ginza tonight. Have something nice. And pick out some gifts for your parents, Masae-nee, and Musae."
"You've really decided on Kumamoto?!" Misae's eyes went perfectly round — like two black grapes gleaming in the night. "R-really? Yes! Yes!" The surprise was so sudden she almost stuttered, her smile outshining every neon sign.
"Mm. It's decided." Nohara Hiroshi led Misae to the parking lot, opened the car door, and gestured her in. "Buckle up."
The engine rumbled low. The black Crown sedan merged into Tokyo's flowing traffic.
Inside the car, the city's noise was sealed away. Only the heater's hum remained, and Misae's excited, quiet humming.
Nohara Hiroshi's long fingers held the steering wheel steadily, his gaze calm upon the glittering road ahead.
The window glass reflected his deep, composed profile — and beside it, the joyful, swaying silhouette in the passenger seat.
Ginza — the totem of this era's luxury and consumerism — unfurled its signature golden splendor as they arrived.
Massive display windows showcased luxury goods from around the world. Elegantly dressed people strolled with measured grace.
The very air seemed to carry a unique scent — a blend of expensive perfume, fine cuisine, and the smell of money.
They didn't choose one of those reservation-only high-end ryōtei.
Nohara Hiroshi led Misae into a well-known teppanyaki restaurant called "En."
Not the fanciest private room, but the lively atmosphere more than compensated.
Besides — a light meal made it easier to shop Ginza for Kumamoto souvenirs afterward.
"Sizzle—" Tender marbled beef danced merrily on the scorching iron plate, fat sputtering fragrantly under flame. The master chef's spatula flew like a swift dance.
Misae stared at the sizzling delicacy, eyes glowing.
"Hiroshi, this smells AMAZING!" She whispered in awe, watching the chef precisely transfer a perfectly seared slice of premium wagyu to her plate.
Nohara Hiroshi took a sip of his drink, watching Misae nibble the wagyu — eyes squeezing shut in pure content. The faint arc at his mouth deepened. "If you like it, eat more. Their Hokkaido scallops are very fresh too."
His portions were precisely calibrated — neither so modest as to seem cheap, nor extravagant enough to draw attention.
Misae felt every bite tasted of happiness. Occasionally she glanced up at the composed man across from her, and her heart brimmed to overflowing.
The restaurant's soft light played across his chiseled features. That beyond-his-years composure made him look perfectly at home in this luxurious setting — as though he naturally belonged here, yet could let it all go without a second thought.
After a satisfying meal, the shopping expedition officially began.
Display windows featured the latest French designer ready-to-wear on mannequins.
Nohara Hiroshi's eye was precise and efficient.
For his future father-in-law Koyama Yoshiharu, he chose a distinguished black cashmere cardigan and matching trousers from a venerable British label. For his future mother-in-law Koyama Takasae, a substantial, softly colored mulberry silk kimono jacket, paired with a Kyoto Yūzen-dyed real silk scarf.
His movements were decisive — not a trace of the typical male shopping hesitation.
"Won't these be too expensive for Mom and Dad?" Misae fingered the silky scarf, slightly worried they'd refuse.
"They're worth it." Nohara Hiroshi had the clerk wrap everything immediately. These were gifts for the in-laws!
Next, gifts for the sisters.
Nohara Hiroshi seemed remarkably well-informed about Misae's two sisters' interests.
For the gentle eldest sister, Koyama Masae: a full set of classic Shiseido skincare in a gift box. For the youngest, the lively and adorable Koyama Musae: a sleek, petite Casio women's digital watch and a pair of trendy cat-eye sunglasses — the latest craze among young people.
"Wow! Hiroshi, how did you know Musae's been wanting sunglasses?" Misae asked in delighted surprise.
"Last time you called home, she and Masae were fighting over a plastic pair on the other end — practically came to blows, didn't they?" Nohara Hiroshi answered calmly, taking the wrapped bag from the clerk.
Misae stuck out her tongue, remembering that chaotic yet hilarious phone call.
Leaving Mitsukoshi, Nohara Hiroshi walked into a venerable gold shop called "Kinchō."
Without much browsing, he had the staff bring out several simple, elegant gold pieces: for his future mother-in-law and Masae, delicate gold collarbone chains with auspicious meaning;
for Musae, a dainty gold-coin pendant.
For himself, he chose a pair of solid-gold cufflinks, polished to a subtle matte finish.
Then came the souvenir segment.
From Ginza's venerable Sembikiya: an exquisite, expensive fruit basket — Shizuoka muskmelon, Fukuoka strawberries, packaged like art.
Next, premium Japanese confections from Toraya — limited-edition yōkan and chestnut yōkan in a gift box printed with exquisite ukiyo-e designs.
Finally, he entered a specialty liquor shop and picked up two bottles of Yamazaki 25-year-old single malt whisky and two bottles of Les Forts de Latour Bordeaux — not the grand vin, but in Kumamoto Prefecture, an absolute luxury.
Watching the shopping bags nearly fill the Crown's spacious trunk, Misae finally tugged at Nohara Hiroshi's trenchcoat sleeve, whispering: "Hiroshi... isn't this too much? These are... really expensive."
She eyed the elegant bags, mentally tallying the price tags, feeling slightly faint. All of this combined could more than cover a regular farming family's yearly living expenses.
Nohara Hiroshi had just placed the last confection box when he heard her. His lips twitched upward.
"Silly girl." He reached out, the motion perfectly natural, brushing the back of his finger against the tip of Misae's upturned nose — an intimate gesture that sent pink flooding across her cheeks. "For Department Manager Nohara's current net worth, this kind of spending is nothing."
His tone wasn't boastful — more like stating the most mundane of facts.
That was a confidence built on the combined foundation of Yamishibai and Tales of the Unusual's sustained high-ratings revenue shares, Kasou Taishou's enormous licensing influence, Seven Samurai's lavish box-office earnings, and the colossal royalties from YuYu Hakusho, Doraemon, and Midnight Diner manga.
More important still: the treasury locked inside his mind — THAT was the truly inexhaustible wellspring of wealth.
"Deep pockets" was, applied to him, both precise and utterly unexaggerated.
The black Crown started again, carrying a carful of heartfelt gifts away from glittering Ginza.
Back at their upscale apartment in central Tokyo, the warm amber interior lighting melted away the autumn night's chill.
The hour wasn't too late yet.
Unable to contain her excitement and pre-journey jitters, Misae dashed to the elegant landline phone, deftly dialing the Koyama family's number in Kumamoto Prefecture.
"Ring... ring... click." The call was answered quickly. Koyama Takasae's voice came through, tinged with drowsiness and Kumamoto dialect: "Hello? Moshi moshi?"
"Mom! It's me, Misae!" Misae's voice was crisp and bubbling with joy.
"Misae? Calling so late — is something wrong?" The sleepiness instantly drained from Takasae's voice, replaced by maternal concern.
"Mom! Listen!" Misae drew a deep breath, her tone brimming with barely contained delight: "Hiroshi and I... we've decided to come home TOMORROW!"
"T-TOMORROW?!" On the other end, Takasae's volume spiked several octaves, stammering, overflowing with incredulous joy. "Hah?! What did you say?! Hiroshi and you... coming home TOMORROW?!"
"Yes! Tomorrow!" Misae nodded emphatically — though the other end couldn't see.
Then a man's voice came through the phone — deliberately stern yet failing to mask its agitation and nervousness. Background noise suggested someone had been startled awake: "Who's calling? What about tomorrow? Misae's coming home?" It was Koyama Yoshiharu.
"It's Misae! She says... Hiroshi and she will be here TOMORROW!" Takasae relayed the bombshell, her voice swinging between shock and delight.
"WHAT?! That fast! Hiroshi's coming too?!" Yoshiharu's composure crumbled completely — the dignified patriarch's facade shattered.
Through the receiver, his slightly rapid breathing was clearly audible, along with what sounded like agitated pacing. "Quick... quick! Takasae! That... that thing — book a hotel for tomorrow! And first thing at the market! Buy the best wagyu! No, no — Kumamoto's most famous kurobuta wagyu! And — those matsutake mushrooms Ito-san sent last time, do we still have them? Get them out! We need new-crop rice too! And the house — give it another thorough cleaning! This is Hiroshi's FIRST formal visit! Nothing can be half-hearted!"
His voice boomed, commands firing in rapid succession — a complete departure from his usual taciturn, patriarchal authority — radiating a frantic nervousness and genuine, deeply felt importance.
Then the background grew even more animated — clearly the commotion had woken Koyama Masae and Koyama Musae in the next room.
"Misae and brother-in-law are coming home?! Wow! Really?!" That was Musae's excited near-shriek.
"Hiroshi and Misae are coming back?" Eldest sister Masae's voice carried a warm note of happiness.
The phone became the Koyama family's impromptu conference call.
Misae listened to her family's eruption of excitement on the other end — her father's seemingly panicked yet intensely caring arrangements, her mother's thrilled responses, her sisters' delighted questions — and a warmth too thick to dissolve filled her chest. Her face bloomed with the most radiant, happiest smile.
Nohara Hiroshi leaned against the sofa nearby, holding a glass of water, quietly watching Misae's back as she talked on the phone.
The living room's gentle light traced the girl's graceful silhouette and illuminated the naturally surfacing expression of love and longing for her family.
Hearing Yoshiharu's voice through the receiver — straining to preserve dignity yet betraying nervous excitement at every turn — even someone with Nohara Hiroshi's mountain-like composure couldn't help but feel a warm smile touch the depths of his eyes.
Misae chattered on a while longer, then told the receiver — voice tinged with small pride and infinite anticipation: "Hiroshi also said we'll stay in Kumamoto for two whole weeks! A proper break! Mom, Dad, Sis, Musae — see you tomorrow at Kumamoto Airport!"
The other end erupted in joyous cheers.
"Click." Misae hung up, spun around, and bounded toward Nohara Hiroshi like a happy little bird, eyes brimming with stardust. "Hiroshi! Mom and Dad are SO happy! Sis and Musae too! I wish I could fly home right now!"
Nohara Hiroshi caught the girl launching herself at him steadily, one arm gently circling her waist, looking down at her flushed, excited face.
"Mm." A low hum — his voice softer than he ever let it be.
He lifted his gaze toward the deep Tokyo night outside the window, then lowered it to the girl nestled against him.
The autumn night's temperature and the flutter of the person in his arms stirred — even in the granite-hard depths of his heart — a quiet ripple of anticipation for Kumamoto.
Yet by now, the hour had grown late.
Looking at Misae, still chattering about Kumamoto fun facts in his arms, Nohara Hiroshi let a faint, enigmatic smile cross his lips.
"Misae." Nohara Hiroshi interrupted her.
"Hm?" Misae blinked.
"How... are you going to thank your destined husband, Nohara Hiroshi?" His lips curved, and he looked at the girl in his arms as her cheeks turned crimson — then gently laid her down upon the tatami.