novelraw Chapter 213: Arriving in Kumamoto! Masae's Boyfriend! Fujiwara Isshin from the Ministry of Finance!
Chapter 213: Arriving in Kumamoto! Masae's Boyfriend! Fujiwara Isshin from the Ministry of Finance!
The night sky hung over Kumamoto City like a deep blue velvet cloth washed countless times — quiet and still.
The clock had crept past eleven. For this city nestled in western-central Kyushu, most households had long since drifted into slumber. Only scattered lights persisted — like weary stars, stubbornly blinking in the mortal world.
Yet inside a typical Japanese wooden single-family home in Kumamoto City, every light in the Koyama household blazed as bright as noon, casting the old plum tree's shadow long across the garden.
"Hurry! Hurry! Wipe those tatami one more time! Use a dry cloth! Otherwise there'll be water stains tomorrow!"
Koyama Yoshiharu — master of this house — stood like a general inspecting his troops: hands on hips, center of the living room, voice booming as he commanded this sudden, large-scale "campaign" — an all-hands deep cleaning.
Fine beads of sweat dotted his forehead, but his eyes burned with an excited light.
The air carried the fresh scent of cleaning products mingled with the warm fragrance of old wood freshly wiped. The vacuum cleaner's low hum provided the main melody to this nocturnal symphony.
"We KNOW, Dad! You've said it three times already!"
A voice drifted from the corner — slightly lazy yet still crisp.
Koyama Musae, the youngest and most spoiled daughter of the family — also its most accomplished shirker — had uncharacteristically dropped to her knees, clutching a rag, meticulously cleaning every gap in the floorboards. Her movements weren't exactly practiced, but her focus was unprecedented.
Sweat dampened her bangs. A stray lock stuck impishly to her cheek — she just brushed it away with the back of her hand and kept going.
"Musae, stop complaining, or Dad might send you to scrub the toilet next."
Eldest sister Koyama Masae turned from organizing the cupboard, offering a gentle reminder.
Also teasing.
Her movements were always so orderly — composed and elegant, a sharp contrast to the household chaos.
"Exactly, Musae. This is the first time Misae has brought Hiroshi home. Not a single mistake will be tolerated." Mother Koyama Takasae smoothed a fresh tablecloth, speaking softly, her face radiant with anticipation and a barely perceptible nervousness.
"I KNOW that!" Musae stopped working, straightened up, and declared with theatrical emphasis: "This is NOHARA HIROSHI we're talking about! Who in all of Japan doesn't know his name right now? He's a famous acclaimed director! Our Misae-nee really hit the jackpot!"
At the mention of that name, the entire house's atmosphere seemed to shift.
Nohara Hiroshi.
A year ago, that name had meant nothing more to the Koyama family than "Misae's ordinary salaryman boyfriend in Tokyo."
Now, a dazzling string of honors trailed behind it — like a comet suddenly ripping across the night sky, too brilliant to look at directly.
They still hadn't fully processed it.
Koyama Yoshiharu's expression grew even more pleased. He cleared his throat: "Naturally! Look at whose daughter she is! Misae's eye for men — she gets that from ME!"
"Yes, yes, from you." Takasae laughed helplessly and continued arranging the vase flowers.
Musae pursed her lips, but privately had to admit: that future brother-in-law was truly beyond reproach.
Last time, when she and her sisters visited Tokyo with their father, Nohara Hiroshi's hospitality had been meticulous.
Fine-dining restaurants, Ginza department stores, gifts with jaw-dropping price tags — he'd acted as though money simply didn't exist, loading bags upon bags into their arms.
After returning, their father spent a solid week showing off the Tokyo souvenirs to every neighbor who'd listen.
"Come to think of it." Yoshiharu slapped his thigh as though remembering something critical. "Have we prepared all the Kumamoto specialties? Horse meat sashimi, karashi renkon, and 'Homare no Jindaiko' — they all need to be the freshest, highest quality!"
"Don't worry, Dad. I placed the orders this afternoon. They'll be delivered first thing tomorrow." Masae answered — forever reliable.
"Good, good." Yoshiharu nodded with satisfaction. He surveyed his spotless home and felt a surge of unprecedented pride.
He straightened his spine and announced with the gravity of a major policy declaration: "I've decided! Tomorrow, I'm inviting Sasaki, Otomo, Sanada, and all our relatives over! Let everyone meet the Koyama family's prized son-in-law! Let the whole neighborhood know — the great Director Nohara Hiroshi has come to our house!"
The moment the words left his mouth, Musae — diligently scrubbing the floor — froze mid-motion. She slowly raised her head, fixing her father with the helpless stare one might reserve for an alien.
"Dad, are you serious?"
"Of course!" Yoshiharu's chin jutted skyward.
"Excessive sharing only breeds resentment — let alone outright boasting." Musae punctured her father's bubble without mercy. "Won't your old colleagues, old friends, and our relatives feel awkward?" She pouted. "That kind of thing always ruins how people feel about us!"
"You—!" Yoshiharu's face flushed scarlet from his neck to his earlobes — like someone whose emperor's new clothes had been exposed in public. He was momentarily at a loss.
He opened his mouth to counter, only to find his daughter's words were too precise for rebuttal.
"Musae, is that how you talk to your father?" Mother Takasae gently scolded, though the laugh lines at her eyes betrayed her true feelings.
Yoshiharu squirmed for a moment but — a man who'd weathered his share of storms — his eyes rolled, instantly finding new ground. He puffed out his chest, switching to an expression of absolute righteousness, voice rising a full octave:
"How is this boasting? Nohara Hiroshi is about to become a member of the Koyama family! He's coming to visit us — shouldn't our family, and the relatives and friends who've always cared about us, get together and celebrate for Misae and Hiroshi? This is a moment of family glory! Unity! What would you know about that!"
He stood in the center of the living room, overhead light bathing him in a golden aura, looking for all the world like a man occupying the moral high ground — so smugly self-satisfied that Musae's jaw dropped. She couldn't find a single word.
She pressed her palm to her forehead in despair: "Good heavens. What happened to my humble, cautious father? How did he turn into THIS?"
"Pfft—"
A soft laugh shattered the standoff.
It was Mother Takasae and Masae — both covering their mouths, shoulders shaking, clearly struggling to suppress their laughter.
Watching the usually quick-witted, sharp-tongued youngest daughter get shut down by their father — this was a rare and particularly entertaining sight.
"MOM! NEE-SAN! You're LAUGHING?!" Musae flared up immediately, cheeks puffing like an aggrieved hamster.
She sprang to her feet, stomped her foot, pointed at her father, and declared indignantly: "Just you wait! When brother-in-law gets here, I'm DEFINITELY making him settle this! He'll take MY side!"
"Ha ha ha — sure, sure, we'll wait." Yoshiharu wasn't angry at all. If anything, his laughter grew, as though already picturing Nohara Hiroshi standing beside him, jointly "educating" this youngest daughter.
"You... you're ALL ganging up on me!" Musae was rendered speechless with outrage.
The house instantly filled with joyful air. The exhaustion of deep-cleaning vanished without a trace, replaced by the warm, genuine sound of family laughter.
After the laughter subsided, the atmosphere gradually settled.
The smile on Yoshiharu's face slowly dimmed. He walked to his eldest daughter Masae's side, his gaze turning soft and deep.
He pressed his lips together, seeming to choose his words carefully, then asked quietly: "Masae..."
"Mm? Dad." Masae paused her work and looked at her father.
"That... Fujiwara-kun, who works at the Prefectural Office... could you ask him to come tomorrow?"
The moment the question was voiced, the living room fell instantly silent.
Takasae, who was wiping a picture frame, and Musae, still nursing her grudge — both turned to look at Masae simultaneously.
Their gazes held concern, curiosity, and a trace of barely concealed hope.
Koyama Masae was the steadiest, most worry-free child in the family.
After graduating university, she'd smoothly joined a local school as a teacher — respectable, stable work.
And the Fujiwara-kun she mentioned was the man she was dating, an official at the Kumamoto Prefectural Office — a bright future ahead, the textbook "golden catch" in neighbors' eyes.
In a sense, Masae marrying into the Fujiwara family was actually the Koyama family marrying up.
Masae understood what her family was worried about.
She smiled gently — a smile like spring sunshine, warm and mild, instantly dispelling the uncertainty in her father's eyes.
"Don't worry, Dad." Her voice was calm and assured. "Fujiwara-kun and I are very stable. He's been wanting to find the right time to pay you and Mom a visit. I'll let him know — he'll definitely come. He might be happier about it than anyone."
Hearing this, Yoshiharu's tense shoulders visibly relaxed.
He and his wife Takasae exchanged a glance, finding in each other's eyes undisguised relief and joy.
It was the simplest wish of every parent — to see their children find good homes and live safe, happy lives.
"Good... good..." Yoshiharu murmured, a barely perceptible tremor in his voice.
He turned, surveying the home his family had polished to immaculate perfection, heart filled with emotion.
"This is truly... truly wonderful."
He exhaled a long breath, as though setting down a thousand-pound burden. "Misae found an outstanding young man like Hiroshi. Masae and Fujiwara-kun are going so smoothly... Our Koyama family has finally weathered the hard times and is moving — step by step — toward a brighter future!"
"Yes." Takasae joined him, gently patting his back, her eyes glistening. "The children are all grown up now, and they've all done well."
A warm, sentimental atmosphere flowed quietly through the air.
But the sentiment didn't last long.
Having finished his reflection, Yoshiharu's gaze slowly, deliberately drifted to Musae, still standing to the side.
That look carried a measure of appraisal, a measure of teasing, and a measure of the classic "why can't you be more like your sisters."
Musae had still been immersed in her eldest sister's happiness and the family's warm atmosphere when her father's meaningful stare locked onto her. Every hair on her body stood on end.
She immediately crossed her arms in a defensive posture.
"...Why are you looking at ME?"
Her voice was thick with wariness, like a small animal suddenly caught in a predator's sights.
Yoshiharu said nothing. He merely stroked his chin, eyeing her up and down, then released a loaded sigh and shook his head.
That wordless gesture spoke louder than a thousand words.
"Ahahahaha!"
"Pff—"
Instantly, Takasae and Masae could hold back no longer — peals of bright laughter burst forth.
Their father's theatrical expression of "Two daughters settled, one still giving me gray hairs," combined with Musae's look of mortal terror, was simply too delicious.
"DAD! What is THAT look?!" Musae's face flamed crimson — equal parts mortified and furious. "I'm only 17! I'm still in HIGH SCHOOL! What's the rush?!"
"No rush, no rush." Yoshiharu waved his hands, barely suppressing his grin — his mustache twitching with suppressed mirth. "Our Musae is still young. You can have fun for a few more years. We're not pushing, absolutely not."
He said "not pushing," but his eyes clearly telegraphed: "Just look at your two sisters. Now look at yourself."
"ARGH — I'm done talking to you people! I'm going to take a bath!"
Amid the chorus of laughter, Musae flung down her rag, bolted from the "scene of the crime" like a gust of wind, and barricaded herself in the bathroom.
In the living room, laughter continued.
Yoshiharu laughed and laughed — until the corners of his eyes grew damp.
He looked at his wife. At his eldest daughter. Heard his youngest daughter's indignant protests echoing from the bathroom. And his heart filled to the brim with an enormous happiness.
This home might not be wealthy. Might be ordinary. But at this moment — because of his daughters' happiness, because of the extraordinary young man soon to arrive — it brimmed with unprecedented hope and vitality.
He could already picture it: tomorrow, when Nohara Hiroshi stepped through this door — what a sight that would be.
It wasn't merely a daughter bringing her boyfriend home. It was the wind of an era... blowing into their small family in Kyushu.
And that wind would carry them toward a brighter, more brilliant future.
...
Meanwhile — Tokyo.
The night wind whistled through the gaps between apartment buildings, moaning softly — as if narrating this sleepless city's exhaustion and clamor.
Nohara Hiroshi stood on his apartment balcony, a cigarette between his fingers, its crimson ember flickering in the darkness. He wasn't smoking — just letting the thin column of smoke curl upward and scatter in the wind.
At his feet: Tokyo's dazzling sea of lights. Countless points of brilliance wove into flowing rivers of silver — magnificent yet cold. This city overflowed with opportunity and pressure alike;
everyone running — chasing dreams, or merely survival.
And he, Nohara Hiroshi, had already lit his own lamp in this ocean of light — and it was shining... rather excessively.
Hachiko Monogatari's box office was still building momentum, its reputation bursting beyond art-film circles into a full-blown social phenomenon.
Nomination invitations from major film awards poured in like snowflakes. Interview requests from stations were booked through next month. He'd vaulted to become Japan's hottest new film director.
The feeling was extraordinary — yet tinged with a trace of unreality.
"What are you thinking about, Hiroshi?"
A warm coat settled gently over his shoulders, accompanied by Misae's tender voice. She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, pressing her cheek against his back.
"Nothing." He turned, drawing her into his arms, chin resting lightly atop her head. "Just looking at the night view. Tokyo at night — you never get tired of it."
"Really? I think Kumamoto's night sky is prettier." Misae nuzzled against him, her voice carrying a hint of playful wheedling. "It doesn't have all these lights, but you can see so, so many stars."
"That's true. We'll see them tomorrow." He smiled, tightening his arms.
Visiting Misae's parents in Kumamoto — he'd planned this trip long ago. For him, it wasn't merely meeting the family. It was honoring a promise.
He wanted Misae's family to see that their daughter was doing well in Tokyo, and that the man she'd chosen was worthy of their trust.
"Do you think Mom and Dad might do something embarrassing?" Misae asked, suddenly uneasy.
"How could they?" He chuckled. "Have you forgotten how I treated your father when he came to Tokyo?"
"That's exactly WHY I'm worried." Misae grumbled. "My dad cares so much about face. Now that you're this famous, he'll be thrilled — and probably brag to everyone. What if it gets awkward?"
Hiroshi couldn't help but laugh aloud.
He knew Misae's father Koyama Yoshiharu all too well — a quintessential Kyushu man: stubborn, competitive, but with a heart that loved his daughters beyond measure.
"Relax." He gently patted Misae's back. "Let him brag. It means he accepts me and is proud of his daughter. As for awkwardness — as long as we're sincere with them, there won't be any."
His voice was steady and powerful — possessing a strange magic that instantly smoothed away all of Misae's unease.
"Mm." Misae nodded, holding him tighter.
The balcony wind was turning cold. Hiroshi guided Misae back to the warm living room.
On the coffee table, gifts for the Koyama family lay piled.
Each one was carefully chosen.
This wasn't about money. It was about attitude.
He wanted every member of the Koyama family to feel his respect and sincerity.
"Oh." Misae pointed at one elegantly wrapped box, eyebrow raised curiously. "What's this? It doesn't look like it's for Mom and Dad."
"Ah, this." Hiroshi picked it up and handed it to her. "It's for Masae-nee's boyfriend — Fujiwara-kun."
"Eh? You even got a gift for Masae-nee's boyfriend?" Misae's eyes widened in surprise.
"Last time I was drinking with Father, I learned how highly he regards Masae-nee and that Fujiwara-kun. That told me — this is Father's anchor in Kumamoto." Hiroshi winked with a smile. "I heard he works at the Prefectural Office — a very capable man. Since we're visiting, we can't be lacking in courtesy."
Misae looked at Hiroshi — at the warm, considerate smile on his face — and felt a current of warmth rise inside her.
This man wasn't merely staggeringly talented and bold in his career. In handling life's social graces and courtesies, he was thorough enough to put one completely at ease. He always thought ahead of her, arranging everything.
"Hiroshi, thank you." She said from the heart.
"Silly girl — between us, do we really need 'thank you'?" He tapped her nose.
Tomorrow, he would go to peaceful Kumamoto as Koyama Misae's boyfriend.
And in the future, he would go as Director Nohara Hiroshi — making the entire world go mad for his stories.
He turned and embraced Misae.
In that moment, the ten thousand lights beyond the window seemed to dim in comparison.
Nohara Hiroshi murmured: "Let's sleep. Tomorrow, we go witness a family's moment of glory."
...
When the Boeing touched down heavily on Kumamoto Airport's runway — its tires meeting asphalt with that reassuring roar — Nohara Hiroshi peered through the small porthole window at a sky utterly unlike Tokyo's.
The blue was so pure it seemed washed by the clearest spring water. The clouds lounged in lazy clusters, carrying the distinctive ease and serenity of the countryside.
Tokyo's clouds were always in a rush — as though pushed by invisible winds, hurrying to one endless meeting after another.
Two hours of flight felt like passing through an invisible door — leaving that clamorous, gilded, neon-and-desire-soaked kaleidoscope of a world far behind.
"Misae, over here!"
The instant they passed through the arrival gate, a crisp, familiar voice cut through the crowd's noise — carrying a flutter of excitement, a dash of urgency, like a lark returning to its nest.
Nohara Hiroshi followed the sound. At once he spotted her amid the throng — beaming brightly.
Koyama Masae wore an understated cream-colored dress, waving vigorously. Beside her stood a row of people wearing various expressions, composing a vivid family portrait.
Leading them: a man of modest stature but ramrod-straight posture, face severe, without a trace of idle chatter. This was the Koyama household's pillar — the retired Head Teacher, Koyama Yoshiharu.
He merely nodded slightly, his gaze carrying scrutiny yet concealing a hint of barely detectable satisfaction.
Beside him stood a woman of entirely contrasting warmth — years had left their marks, but also distilled a maternal radiance.
Koyama Takasae's smile was like Kumamoto's May sunshine — warm without scorching, instantly warming one's heart.
Next to her: the eldest sister Masae, sharing seven or eight tenths of Misae's features but with a more composed, gentle bearing. And the youngest — sporting a sassy short haircut, eyes brimming with curiosity and excitement, practically broadcasting "CELEBRITY BROTHER-IN-LAW" across her face — Musae.
"Father, Mother — it's been too long." Nohara Hiroshi strode forward, bowing slightly — his manner humble and courteous.
"Mm, welcome to Kumamoto, Nohara-kun. You must be tired from the journey." Yoshiharu's voice was deep and powerful, carrying the gravitas of an old-fashioned man.
"Not at all — it's my honor to visit you." Hiroshi smiled in response.
The women's reunion, meanwhile, was far more effusive.
"Mom! Nee-san! Musae!" Misae fluttered over like a little butterfly, throwing herself into her mother's and sisters' arms.
"You child — have you been eating properly in Tokyo? You look a bit thinner." Takasae caressed Misae's cheek, concern written everywhere.
"Nooo, Mom — Hiroshi takes great care of me." A happy blush bloomed on Misae's cheeks.
"Mom, Misae's a company president now. Being busy is only natural." Masae teased gently.
"Exactly!" Musae squeezed in, with her bright, large eyes locked unabashedly on Nohara Hiroshi — hero-worship fully on display. "Brother-in-law! I saw you on TV! The Kanji episode in Tales of the Unusual was AMAZING! Tons of girls at my school are crazy about you!"
"Musae, behave yourself." Yoshiharu coughed lightly from the side, but the faintest smile at his brows betrayed his inner pride.
Nohara Hiroshi smiled warmly. "Thank you for your support, Musae. But when we're home, no need to be so formal."
After brief greetings, the family prepared to leave.
"Let's go — the car is out front." Yoshiharu declared.
"Ah, one moment, Father." Nohara Hiroshi pointed toward the nearby baggage carousel. "I have some things over there — might need everyone's help."
Puzzled, they followed him over. As the carousel turned and one after another of beautifully wrapped boxes and gift packages appeared, the Koyama family's expressions became wonderfully animated.
"Hiroshi, these are... all from you?" Masae gasped, hand flying to her mouth.
"Mm. First time formally visiting — I couldn't very well come empty-handed." Hiroshi spoke as casually as commenting on the weather.
He reached for a weighty box first, handing it to Yoshiharu. "Father, I had a friend source this from Scotland — a set of thirty-year aged single malt whisky, and a set of handcrafted cigars. I hope you'll enjoy them."
Yoshiharu's eyes noticeably brightened — he was a drinking man — though his mouth maintained its solemn register: "You've spent too much, Nohara-kun." But his hands accepted the box with absolute steadiness, not an ounce of refusal in them.
Next, Hiroshi produced an elegant jewelry case for Takasae. "Mother, I picked this out specially for you — a gold necklace and matching earrings. A small token of respect."
In bubble-era Japan, gold jewelry was a symbol of wealth and dignity — the most prized of precious gifts.
Takasae opened the case. Seeing the pure gold gleaming under the light, her eyes filled with delighted surprise.
"Oh my — this is... too generous!" she said, even as her smile blazed brilliantly.
"Nee-san, this is for you — a set of Shiseido's finest skincare."
"Thank you, Hiroshi." Masae accepted the gift with a polite bow, her own eyes sparkling.
Finally, like a magician, Hiroshi produced a fashionably wrapped box and presented it to the eagerly waiting Musae.
"Musae, here — the latest portable Walkman and a few signed CDs from Tokyo's hottest idol singers."
"WAAAH—!" Musae let out an ecstatic shriek, snatched the gift, and clutched it to her chest. She stared at Nohara Hiroshi as though gazing upon a radiant deity: "BROTHER-IN-LAW! You are literally the BEST brother-in-law in the WORLD! I LOVE you!"
Beyond these headline items, there were the clothes, sunglasses, and mountains of assorted Tokyo specialty sweets and premium teas Nohara Hiroshi had selected.
The Koyama family surveyed the haul and found themselves momentarily speechless.
The sheer weight of these gifts far transcended a casual visit. They represented an attitude, formidable financial power, and respect and regard for every single member of the Koyama family.
"All right, all right — let's not stand here like statues." Yoshiharu recovered himself, waving grandly — the glacier on his severe face already melted by half. "Load everything into the cars."
Only then did they notice: two cars waited in the lot.
One was the Koyama family's everyday Toyota Crown. The other, a newer Corolla.
"Too much luggage — I had Masae bring her friend's car as well." Yoshiharu explained.
With everyone pitching in, the gifts were loaded. The two-car caravan pulled smoothly from the airport, heading toward home in central Kumamoto.
They drove through suburban fields, entered tidy streets, and finally stopped before an elegant two-story single-family home.
This was the Koyama residence. The garden's pines and cypresses were meticulously trimmed — just like the house's master.
"Come in, sit down, rest a while." Yoshiharu opened the front door. A clean fragrance of tatami and wood rushed to greet them. "I've already booked a hotel restaurant for dinner tonight — we'll head there directly."
Everyone entered the living room and settled around the low table.
Yoshiharu regarded Hiroshi with a mysterious smile: "By the way, Hiroshi. Tonight, Masae's boyfriend will be joining us. His name is Fujiwara — they're getting engaged soon, actually. Perfect timing to introduce you. You're all young people — plenty to talk about in the future."
"Is that so? Wonderful." Nohara Hiroshi nodded.
Just then, Takasae emerged from the kitchen carrying an exquisite lacquerware tray — arranged with what were clearly expensive wagashi confections and an elegant tea set.
"Here, Hiroshi, Misae — try these. They're Toraya yōkan — I specially had someone bring them back from Kyoto."
Musae eyed the desserts, exquisite as works of art, practically drooling. Normally, these treasures only came out for the family's most important guests.
Today, they were set before Nohara Hiroshi as a matter of course.
"Thank you, Mother."
Hiroshi took a piece of yōkan and placed it in his mouth — sweet but not cloying, the texture silky smooth. Paired with freshly brewed premium Uji matcha, the tea's gentle bitterness merged with the yōkan's sweetness in perfect harmony.
The whole family gathered around, eating sweets, drinking tea — the atmosphere warm and harmonious.
Tokyo's tension and fatigue seemed to wash away completely in the curling fragrance of tea.
Just then, a soft chime sounded.
Masae pulled a small pager from her handbag, glanced at it, then rose and walked to the corner phone. She dialed a number and spoke quietly for a moment.
Hanging up, she returned: "Dad, Mom — Fujiwara-kun is at the door."
"Oh?" Yoshiharu's face immediately broke into a broad smile — genuine, unconcealed admiration and satisfaction. "Quick — show him in."
"Of course."
Masae turned toward the entryway.
Moments later, she returned leading a young man.
He was around twenty-six or twenty-seven — wearing a well-tailored dark suit, hair combed with not a strand out of place, face wearing a faint, precisely calibrated smile.
That smile was very proper. Very polished. As if measured with a ruler — carrying a politician's approachability, yet somehow conveying no real warmth.
His name was Fujiwara Isshin.
"Good evening, Uncle, Auntie." Fujiwara Isshin bowed respectfully to Yoshiharu and Takasae — voice steady, manners impeccable.
"Isshin! Come, come — sit down." Yoshiharu greeted him enthusiastically.
Fujiwara Isshin's gaze then turned to Nohara Hiroshi. He nodded slightly, that standard smile still in place.
"This must be Nohara Hiroshi-kun."
"Hello. I'm Nohara Hiroshi." Hiroshi rose, returning the nod.
"Your reputation precedes you." A trace of appraisal flickered in Fujiwara's eyes. "Not only does Masae mention you frequently, but the newspapers and news have been full of coverage about you lately. To achieve so much in the entertainment world at such a young age — truly admirable."
His words sounded like praise, but every syllable carried a formulaic courtesy — like a pre-prepared speech being delivered.
"You flatter me, Fujiwara-kun. Just some empty fame — nothing worth taking seriously." Nohara Hiroshi responded with modest warmth, his smile carrying a neither-humble-nor-haughty quality.
Perhaps this was the subtle undercurrent of competition between two young prospective sons-in-law.
"Ha ha — you two can stop complimenting each other now." Yoshiharu beamed at the two equally impressive young men before him, heart swelling with satisfaction.
One was the rising political star about to become his eldest son-in-law. The other was the famous director about to become his second. As a father, his face couldn't have been more radiant.
Fujiwara Isshin sat down beside Masae, naturally accepting the tea Takasae offered, thanking her again — every gesture exuding the composure and breeding of the elite class.
"I hear Fujiwara-kun works in the Finance Ministry?" Nohara Hiroshi initiated, breaking a brief silence.
Fujiwara's hand holding the teacup paused almost imperceptibly. A flash of surprise crossed his eyes — he hadn't expected such specific knowledge.
His smile gained a fraction more authenticity: "That's right — I hold a minor position in the Budget Bureau. Does Nohara-kun have an interest in such matters?"
"A passing awareness." Hiroshi said casually. "After all, Japan's economy rests in the hands of people like you."
That sounded like flattery, but Fujiwara Isshin's sharp ears detected a different undertone.
He set down his cup, leaned slightly forward, and looked at Nohara Hiroshi: "You're too kind, Nohara-kun. We're merely cogs in a vast national machine. The people truly driving this country forward are artists like yourself — creating value in the cultural sphere. After all, spiritual richness sometimes matters more than material wealth, doesn't it?"
A watertight response — elevating the other party while showcasing his own breadth of vision.
Yoshiharu listened from the side, nodding approvingly — clearly impressed by Fujiwara's eloquence.
To him, this was what a true elite should sound like.
"Fujiwara-kun is too modest." Nohara Hiroshi smiled, declining to follow that thread. Instead, he redirected: "I'm just a performer — a storyteller. Taking other people's joys and sorrows and presenting them to a wider audience. At the end of the day, it's merely a craft. It can't compare to someone like Fujiwara-kun — someone whose work shapes the nation's future."
He positioned himself low, yet a certain quiet pride ran through his words.
"Brother-in-law is NOT a craftsman!" Musae couldn't help interjecting from the side, casting a slightly displeased look at Fujiwara. "He's an ARTIST! A STAR! Fujiwara-san, your job sounds SO boring by comparison."
"Musae!" Masae immediately hissed. "Don't be rude!"
"I'm not being rude..." Musae muttered, aggrieved.
"Ha ha — Musae-san speaks her mind. Very entertaining." Far from offended, Fujiwara laughed — the smile seeming to shed some of its formulaic quality. "Honestly, sometimes I find my own work rather dull too. Nothing but dry numbers and paperwork all day — nothing as colorful as Nohara-kun's world."
He turned to Hiroshi: "Come to think of it, I recently watched Seven Samurai and Hachiko Monogatari — as well as several episodes of Tales of the Unusual. All excellent. Particularly the segment about the choice on the last train — truly heartbreaking. I'm curious: if Nohara-kun himself faced such a situation in real life, what would you choose?"
The question appeared to be about plot — but carried unmistakable probing intent, steering the conversation toward personal emotions and values.
The living room atmosphere grew subtly charged.
Every eye converged on Nohara Hiroshi.
Misae nervously clutched her hem. She sensed that this Fujiwara Isshin — polished and gentlemanly on the surface — possessed a formidable presence, with hidden edges woven through his words.
Nohara Hiroshi, however, remained as serene as a calm sky. He lifted his teacup, took a quiet sip, then spoke at his own pace.
"Television dramas are, ultimately, dramas — fabricated stories. Stories need dramatic conflict. They need regret — to be memorable for audiences." His voice was unhurried, carrying a distinctive magnetism. "But life isn't a story. Life is choices. And every choice means bearing the consequences."
He set down his cup. His clear gaze found Fujiwara Isshin — and then Misae beside him. The smile at his lips was tender and resolute.
"If it were me — I would never let the person I love ride the last train alone. Because I know: once you miss it... it could be forever."
Silence filled the room.
Misae's eyes reddened instantly. She stared at Hiroshi's profile in a daze, her heart flooding with enormous happiness and security.
Takasae's face broke into a gratified smile. As a mother, nothing mattered more than seeing her daughter find a man who knew how to cherish her.
Even the perpetually stern Yoshiharu's expression softened considerably.
Fujiwara Isshin's smile froze for just an instant before smoothly returning. He applauded lightly: "Well said. Nohara-kun truly is a man of deep feeling. Masae is fortunate to have Misae as a sister — and Misae is fortunate to have you as a partner."
He deftly redirected the topic to sisterly bonds, diffusing the slightly pointed atmosphere.
"All right, all right — it's about time." Yoshiharu rose, breaking the brief standoff. "Let's head to the hotel for dinner. I've already booked a table. Today, we're definitely having a proper toast!"
"Yes — let's eat and chat." Takasae chimed in with a smile.
Everyone stood, preparing to head out.
Fujiwara Isshin drew close to Hiroshi and said in a low voice: "Nohara-kun, what you said just now truly moved me. It seems I have much to learn from you about being a good man."
"You're too kind, Fujiwara-kun." Hiroshi responded with a smile.
The two men's eyes met. In each other's gaze: a glimmer of scrutiny — and understanding.
They both knew: this was only the beginning.
Two different lives. Two different paths to success. In this small living room, they'd completed a silent clash and collision.
And between peers who stood at the pinnacle of their generation... a mutual respect.
The road ahead was still long.