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564 – A Son-in-law of the Katou Family Must Watch XX News
🕑 Added 2025-10-03 15:41:22 +0000 UTC“Come play again when you have time, Rinko.”
Katou’s mother, who had appeared out of nowhere, interrupted the girls’ conversation.
With her warmth and persistence, she left Ohashi Rinko no choice but to end the topic with a forced laugh.
Before running off in a hurry, Rinko only managed to give Megumi a little hand signal—'I’ll call you later.’
“Alright, Mom, let’s head back inside.” Megumi pushed open the gate and walked in.
“Rinko really is a good girl. Every time, she makes sure you get home before she leaves.” Katou’s mother leaned on the fence, gazing admiringly at Rinko’s retreating figure.
“Every time? Wasn’t it just this once?”
Megumi blinked in surprise.
Their houses were on parallel streets, so they usually parted ways at the corner.
Today was different only because Rinko kept pestering her with questions and tagged along all the way to her door.
Since when did Rinko always walk her home?
“Not true? Didn’t she come with you not long ago? I remember seeing her father drive you back in a black car. And before that, she even delivered manga to you late at night.”
Katou’s mother followed her daughter into the house, chatting as she went.
“...Oh, right, right, you’re absolutely right. Rinko really is such a thoughtful person.”
Facing away from her mother, Megumi’s expression stiffened slightly, but her strong self-control let her keep up her cheerful tone.
“You know, Megumi, you should return the favor sometimes. Walk her home once in a while. Otherwise I’ll feel guilty when I see Mrs. Ohashi.” Her mother went on nagging.
“I’ve given Rinko plenty of the things she wanted though~~” Megumi muttered softly.
She could already picture exactly what Rinko would be doing once she got home.
First, brushing off Mrs. Ohashi by claiming she had already eaten.
Then, dashing upstairs—thump thump thump—and slamming the door shut.
Not even changing out of her uniform, she’d throw herself onto the bed, kick off her shoes, and impatiently pull out her phone.
The next step: dive into her chaotic social groups and leak tidbits of gossip she had picked up from her “friend who’s close to Hojou-sensei—sharing meals, sleeping under the same roof, even using the same bathroom and towels.”
Of course, she’d release it bit by bit, savoring the admiration and envy of her circle, basking in the thrill of being the “insider.”
Naturally, Megumi had given her permission for that much.
She knew what her friend was like.
Rinko wouldn’t outright betray her confidence, but she might slip up if she got too excited.
That was exactly why Megumi had kept quiet about Hojou Kyousuke’s latest project and some of the finer details of life at the Ruyi Dormitory.
All of these thoughts swirled in her mind, but she couldn’t explain them to her mother. So she just brushed things off with vague answers—thankfully, her father soon rescued her.
“Megumi, why aren’t you answering Kei’s calls again? He couldn’t reach you, so he called me instead.”
In the living room, Mr. Katou spoke without even looking up, his eyes split between the TV and his newspaper.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll call Kei-nii back later.” Megumi answered casually.
She couldn’t admit that she’d already fielded countless calls from him today.
If she explained, she’d have to start from the beginning and reveal her situation with Hojou-kun.
Her parents would flip out and interrogate her all night.
The Katou family was unusually close for a Japanese household.
With regular reunions and annual family trips, their bonds felt more like a TV broadcast of the Imperial family—always together, always “perfect.”
Feeling a little sulky, Megumi decided “later” could be pushed back again and again.
At least until Kei lost his patience and called her parents directly.
She knew he didn’t have anything important to say; he just wanted to dig up news about Hojou-kun—when she was meeting him, whether they were on another date, things like that.
With that thought, Megumi sat on the sofa and started eating the apple slices her mother had prepared for her father.
He never remembered to eat while reading the paper, but out of habit, her mother always cut fruit for him anyway.
When he eventually finished reading, he’d wolf it all down. And if Megumi snuck a few pieces? Her mother would simply prepare more.
The family chatted idly, with her mother sharing the latest “top-secret intel” from the neighborhood association.
The neighbor’s trash hadn’t been collected because a stray plastic bottle got mixed in, and two doors down, their son would probably fail his university exams again and was now looking into cram schools.
Megumi replied with polite hums, dodging her father’s occasional questions about schoolwork.
It was only in moments like these—when the whole family sat together—that her parents seemed to remember her existence.
Otherwise, they only noticed during the monthly bills, surprised to realize they still had an unmarried younger daughter at home.
And then they’d sigh together: “Megumi really is such a considerate child, never causes any trouble.”
She was practically invisible—no longer someone who just “read the air,” but the air itself.
As she nibbled on fruit, Megumi couldn’t help remembering the old days when her sister still lived at home.
Back then, her sister would often eat all but one piece of fruit while Megumi was in the bath, then shriek when Megumi reached for the last slice, accusing her of being a greedy pig.
In the end, Megumi would have to peel more to make up for it.
Now things were simpler.
With her sister gone, her mother just refilled the plate.
‘Oh, right… I almost forgot I even had a sister. After changing her surname, it’s like she barely exists anymore…’
When her mother mentioned a cram school branch near Mejirodai, Megumi instantly shot it down—not because it was too close to the Ruyi Dormitory, but because she knew the school mostly catered to international students, not repeat-exam candidates.
“Wow, I didn’t realize you knew so much about that school.” Her mother looked impressed.
“Just happened to read about it.”
“Well, you are in your second year now. Exams are right around the corner. Of course you’d have your own thoughts.”
Mr. Katou flipped his newspaper, the rustle drawing Megumi’s attention.
With her sharp eyesight, she instantly spotted a small article, the size of a block of tofu.
“Dad, can I see that? You’ve probably finished with it, right?” she asked, pointing.
“My, my, Megumi wanting to read the newspaper? That’s rare.” Surprised, her father didn’t hand it over immediately.
Instead, he flipped it around, curious to see what had caught her eye.
“Well, sometimes I just feel like it, you know.”
Megumi reached out to take it, lowering her gaze as she spoke in a quiet voice.
“I was honestly worried that after I die, no one in the Katou family would keep subscribing to Yomiuri Shimbun. But it looks like you do have potential as a newspaper reader after all, Megumi,” her father said with a pleased grin.
“Well… if it’s just for the news, the internet is way faster,” Megumi replied casually, her eyes fixed on the paper.
“The internet is full of messy, unreliable stuff. Newspapers are different—written by real editors and commentators with a name to protect. They wouldn’t dare publish fake stories…”
“There have been cases though…” she murmured, splitting her attention.
Years of honing her “invisibility” skill let Megumi multitask with ease—half her mind on the article, half on giving just the right replies to keep her father from noticing how distracted she was.
If someone talks and gets no response, they notice you’re there.
But if they always get just the right reaction, they forget you exist.
Don’t just read the atmosphere—become part of it.
“Didn’t I call the paper and yell at them last time? They even sent an apology gift,” her father shot back, before going right back to his sermon on the virtues of newspapers.
He sounded like a true news addict.
Sure, Kisaki Tetta might have turned “fan economy” into an art form, but if you really thought about it, Japan’s newspaper giants were the original masters.
For generations, newspapers had been more than media—they were family tradition.
Kids nagged their grandfathers to read the paper aloud before they could read themselves.
As teens, they earned allowance money by delivering papers.
As adults, they kept the cycle going by subscribing themselves.
Grandfather subscribed to Yomiuri. The father followed suit.
And the grandson? God forbid he betray the family by subscribing to Mainichi.
At that point, they wouldn’t even sit at the same dinner table.
After all, different papers meant different worldviews.
Over 90% of circulation came from subscriptions, not retail.
In other words, the surest way to declare independence—or rebellion—was to subscribe to another paper.
“If you stop reading the paper, Yomiuri will go under, and then your son won’t be able to earn pocket money as a paperboy anymore,” her father said, his tone suddenly heavy with sentiment.
That was the legacy of this generational fan economy: as a kid, he’d earned his first date money delivering papers, so as an adult, he supported the same paper without fail.
It was the exact kind of loyalty Kisaki dreamed of inspiring—fans so devoted they’d put their idol’s work on a family altar and pray to it daily.
“That’s why I’m reading it now, aren’t I.” Megumi replied lightly.
As she scanned the column, she had to admit—her father wasn’t entirely wrong.
This was news she hadn’t even seen online.
And come to think of it, Hojou’s family also subscribed to newspapers—not just Yomiuri, but nearly every influential one.
She’d wondered why so many.
Was it because Hojou needed to follow current events as a writer?
Or was it a declaration of independence?
Then it hit her—Ruyi Dormitory had a lot of people living under one roof.
Different tastes, different subscriptions.
Perfectly normal.
The paperboys must be thrilled whenever they deliver there.
Her father leaned closer, curious.
His daughter absorbed in a newspaper was a rare sight.
It didn’t take long to see what had caught her attention.
The column was a gossip section about the literary world—mostly fluff about which serials were popular, upcoming projects, sales numbers, and prize rumors.
Nothing truly serious; big news like a literary giant’s suicide would make front page, not this tucked-away corner.
“Oh, it’s about Hojou Kyousuke. Looks like his second mystery novel’s about to drop. Wonder what kind of story it’ll be.
Yomiuri even teased about him doing a serial here once, but that went nowhere. Now his new book’s coming out, and our paper’s already behind. Pathetic,” her father muttered, irritated.
As an old-school Showa man, he always carried a novel in his briefcase along with his paper.
And if you read novels, you couldn’t escape mysteries.
Of course he knew Hojou Kyousuke.
At her father’s words, Megumi’s clear ears twitched almost imperceptibly, a faint blush rising.
‘Hojou Kyousuke-sensei…’
Hearing her father call him “sensei” made her heart flutter in a strange way she couldn’t explain.
Maybe next time he tutors me, I should try calling him that.
“Sensei.”
“Hojou-sensei?”
Or… “Hojou-sensei?”
Heh.
If she told her parents now that the novels and manga she’d been bringing home were hand-delivered by “Hojou-sensei” himself… they’d probably fall out of their chairs.
No, scratch that.
They wouldn’t believe her at all.
She bit back a laugh and kept reading.
Her father was right about one thing—the paper’s info was a lot more reliable than the nonsense Rinko spread.
The article clearly stated that Hojou’s new work was a mystery, even hinting that it was being rushed to release before the Mystery Writers Association’s awards.
That bit of intrigue gave the novel an extra layer of mystery even before it hit shelves.
She guessed Hojou must have leaked details to help the paper promote it.
“I’m taking this paper with me, okay.” Megumi chirped, scooping it up before bounding up the stairs.
‘Thump, thump, thump—'door slam, shoes kicked off, school uniform still on, she flopped onto her bed and snatched up her phone, ready to fire open her chat box—
“Megumi, bath time! Hurry up and come down!” her mother’s voice shouted from below.
She wrinkled her nose.
She’d already bathed at Ruyi Dormitory, but their house only had one bathroom on the first floor.
She sighed, suddenly longing for the dorm again, where every room had its own bath.
