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538 – You Don’t Even Know How to Take Off Clothes?
🕑 Added 2025-09-22 15:00:21 +0000 UTCKyousuke thought it would take forever before his mother and the others returned, but to his surprise, barely two or three hours later the house was already filled with the girls’ cheerful chatter.
Each of them carried a beautifully wrapped bolt of fabric in her arms, faces glowing with excitement—clearly the trip had been a success.
It took him a second, but then Kyousuke realized: yes, kimono shops also sold ready-made pieces, but anyone with even a touch of refinement usually wouldn’t buy off the rack.
They would pick their own fabric, take their measurements, and have the kimono tailored.
Sewing a kimono wasn’t exactly difficult; in many traditional households, mothers and grandmothers did it themselves.
Kyousuke had even seen such scenes in TV dramas—where the mother, gravely ill and bedridden, still spent her last days sewing kimono for her daughter: from the Shichi-Go-San festival to the coming-of-age ceremony, even the wedding.
Inevitably, she would cough up blood, and somehow manage to stitch the crimson stains into dazzling patterns.
But…
Kyousuke glanced at his own mother, doubtful.
When he wore kimono to the shrine at ages five and seven, one was made by his grandmother, the other by his maternal grandmother.
Not a single one was his mother’s handiwork.
Honestly, this clumsy beauty could barely cook a meal—expecting her to sew clothes was asking too much.
As for his coming-of-age ceremony, he remembered overhearing Makoto-auntie once say she had sewn Sakura’s kimono herself.
His mother, unwilling to be outdone, had immediately sworn she too would make one for Kyousuke, no matter how long it took.
On that promise… Kyousuke remained skeptical.
Maybe, just maybe, after years in Hokkaido, his mom had picked up some skills under Grandma’s watchful eye?
Before he could sort out his thoughts, Eriri burst into the tatami room, shoving him aside with a hip-check.
Her small backside wasn’t as plush as Utaha-senpai’s, but it was full of bounce.
She immediately began wrestling with the packaging around the cloth.
But the wrapping was airtight—already tight by default, and then reinforced with an extra plastic layer thanks to the rain.
Layer upon layer, the seal was sturdier than any mystical binding from Japan’s history.
Honestly, Kyousuke thought, why even bother with priests and shrine maidens?
Just let the department store clerks handle the sealing rituals—no monster, not even Susanoo himself, could break free.
Wait, was Susanoo a god, not a monster?
Eh, same difference—neither were particularly likable.
Entertaining such heretical thoughts, Kyousuke smiled politely at Mitsuha and Miki.
It was their first proper meeting, but he felt no guilt.
Even if the Miyamizu Shrine still stood, he wouldn’t hesitate to curse its god to high heaven.
After all, Mitsuha herself used to rant against that deity in her diary, utterly irreverent.
She had practically cheered when the shrine was destroyed.
Mitsuha met his eyes and winked playfully, flashing a grin as she lifted her own fabric bundle.
Her mood was clearly high.
Of course—back then, it was Mrs. Futaba who had sewn Mitsuha’s kimono.
Kyousuke remembered her wearing that beautiful yukata with the yotsuba clover pattern. Gorgeous.
Looking at Mitsuha’s bright face now, his heart softened.
He knew how much she liked his mother.
Back in Kushiro, Mitsuha and Mom had even conspired to prank him with crossdressing.
If Mitsuha could find a little bit of missing maternal warmth in his mother, Kyousuke was glad to see it.
Meanwhile, the unbreakable packaging finally pushed Eriri to the brink.
“I just wanna slice this thing up with a knife!” she growled, glaring at the stubborn wrapping.
She regretted not telling the shop clerk earlier to skip the packaging.
What was she trying to act like a proper lady for?
She wanted to slash it open, but worried about damaging the fabric.
Utaha, of course, let out a smug little laugh.
‘Pathetic. No wonder the only way clothes come off in her doujins is by ripping or through corrosive acid.’
“Here, there’s a tab,” Sakura said cheerfully, taking the package from Eriri.
She found a little flap at the edge and tugged—instantly, the packaging unraveled.
That considerate gesture instantly made two others pull complicated expressions: Mitsuha, and Utaha.
The room suddenly felt lively.
Kyousuke’s low table was pushed back, clearing space for Eriri to spread the fabric across the tatami.
“Look! Isn’t it gorgeous?”
Kneeling, Eriri admired it for a few seconds, then lifted her face toward Kyousuke, eyes sparkling with excitement.
‘Great. If I say it’s not, she’ll throw me out in the rain on the spot,’ Kyousuke thought.
Though phrased like a question, her tone left no room for disagreement.
Meeting her expectant gaze, he stroked his chin and took a closer look.
Kimono patterns, or wagara, generally fell into two categories: komon—repeating small patterns, like Mitsuha’s clover yukata—and eba, where the fabric, when spread out, formed a complete, ornate picture.
Eriri’s fabric was clearly of the latter kind.
The base was linen-colored, with blooming peonies exploding across it.
Among the blossoms leapt a bright red lion.
Each peony petal seemed to brim with life, overflowing with grandeur.
The lion, though not remotely resembling a real one, exuded fierce majesty, perfectly matched with the “king of flowers” peony.
Even as raw fabric, it was easy to imagine just how commanding the finished kimono would look.
“Kara-shishi.”
“It’s beautiful,” he said at last. “Once it’s made, it’ll look really imposing.”
“Right?! I knew it!!” Eriri beamed.
…Though honestly, Kyousuke thought, this pattern would suit Mitsuha. Or Sakura. Even Utaha. But Eriri? Not a chance.
Kyousuke thought to himself that such a bold pattern was really the kind of thing only girls like Mitsuha or Sakura could pull off.
Eriri, on the other hand, would be better suited to something like a bunny nibbling grass or a chick pecking at rice—cute and brainlessly innocent.
Toss her in with a group of seven-year-old girls, and she could probably pass for their boss.
“…I get the feeling you’re thinking something really rude right now.”
Suspicion flickered across Eriri’s eyes.
“Nope! Not at all! I think it suits you perfectly!” Kyousuke blurted out, scrambling to cover himself.
Looking at Eriri’s sharp little canine teeth peeking out as she glared, he couldn’t help but feel it actually did fit her—wasn’t this exactly like a little lion?
After sharing her excitement, Eriri sensibly folded the fabric back up.
It was only fair to let the others have their turn.
As Kyousuke expected, the rest of the girls’ cloths all featured Eba patterns.
Clearly, his mother intended to gift them with furisode kimono—much more ornate than yukata, with longer sleeves, traditionally worn by unmarried women for formal occasions like coming-of-age ceremonies.
Mitsuha’s fabric was a soft pinkish-red base decorated with clusters of flowers.
Some blossoms resembled red dianthus, others peonies, and others camellias.
Each floral ball trailed long, intertwining silk threads.
At first glance they seemed tangled randomly, but a closer look revealed a subtle, elegant order.
And they weren’t simply dyed on—the delicate threads had been meticulously embroidered.
The pale pink gave off a distinct Yamato Nadeshiko aura.
The red dianthus, fittingly called the “Yamato Nadeshiko flower,” symbolized elegance, beauty, and joy—said to bless the wearer with a happy romance.
“It really suits you,” Kyousuke said sincerely.
The familiar shade stirred a memory: the first time they had swapped bodies, Mitsuha had been wearing a kimono in the exact same color, sitting with her grandmother and Yotsuba, weaving cords together.
“Mhm~ I thought you might like it too,” Mitsuha replied with a sweet smile.
Their hearts aligned effortlessly; no words were needed to feel each other’s thoughts.
She had fallen in love with the bolt of fabric at first sight in the shop—the intricate threads reminded her of life at the dorm.
Everyone’s lives intertwined, seemingly messy but ultimately connecting into something beautiful, like the flower clusters.
She earnestly hoped that her own bonds with everyone would someday bloom into a radiant bouquet as well.
Next came Sakura.
She had chosen a white base patterned with bamboo—simple at first glance, but made irresistibly cute by a chubby panda climbing the stalks.
The lush green bamboo and the panda’s round, goofy figure drew the eye immediately; no one would focus on the understated bamboo when a cuddly panda was stealing the spotlight.
“I actually wanted a pattern full of pandas, but the shop owner said this was the only one,” Sakura said, a little disappointed.
There had been another bolt with penguins instead—an ice field dotted with round penguins waddling in neat rows.
She had been tempted, but knowing Kyousuke liked pandas more, she’d chosen this one in the end.
“Hahaha, too many pandas would actually be dangerous,” Kyousuke chuckled.
“Dangerous? You mean they’d fight each other? Like, over bamboo or something?” Eriri asked, curious.
The other girls perked up too—after all, who didn’t love pandas?
“No, no,” Kyousuke laughed. “The dangerous part wouldn’t be the pandas. It’d be the person wearing that outfit.”
He grinned mischievously. “If Yukinoshita saw you in that, she’d probably cling to you like her life depended on it.”
He teased without hesitation.
Even if Yukinoshita heard him, she’d probably just retort, “I’m not broke. I could always buy one myself,” all while stroking the panda on Sakura’s back like some creepy old man.
“Ehh?! That cold-faced girl actually likes pandas that much?” Eriri exclaimed.
To her, Yukinoshita was just as ill-tempered as Kasumigaoka.
Worse, since Eriri secretly suspected the ice queen harbored feelings for Kyousuke, she was even more wary of her.
She constantly reminded herself: Do not pick a fight with Yukinoshita.
Kasumigaoka could handle her barbs with thick skin, but a refined lady like herself? Better to steer clear.
“I can’t say for sure. But next time, try disguising Momotarou as a kitten and see what happens,” Kyousuke said with a wicked smile.
“Momotarou?” Eriri lowered her head and spotted the fluffy little dog, penned behind the living room railing to keep him from causing trouble.
“No matter how you disguise him, a dog’s still a dog! Yukinoshita’s too smart to mistake him for a cat,” Eriri protested.
That was exactly why she knew she couldn’t afford to quarrel with Yukinoshita—her brain churned out schemes faster than a vending machine spits out drinks.
“Who knows? She’s got a huge soft spot for anything feline. Might work,” Kyousuke replied, amused.
The truth was Yukinoshita loved pandas, but her affection had extended by association to cats… and even to tigers.
If she ever saw a pair of cat ears—well, that’d be dangerous indeed.
“I see…” Eriri muttered, lost in thought.
Then came Kasumigaoka Utaha’s turn, and Kyousuke realized he’d underestimated her.
He thought Eriri’s design had been bold enough, but Utaha’s fabric put it to shame.
Whereas the others’ patterns left large blank spaces, Utaha’s was saturated from edge to edge.
Two massive folding fans unfurled across the cloth—from the left shoulder down to the left hem—covering nearly the entire fabric.
The bright crimson fans were painted with blossoms and arabesques, while bamboo leaves and floral clusters adorned the spaces around them.
The fans’ ornaments twined together, completing the dramatic design.
The colors were dazzlingly vivid, creating a flamboyant, dynamic visual impact.
“Well? What do you think?” Utaha asked with a self-assured smile tugging at her lips.
Kyousuke opened his mouth to reply—but a sultry voice purred in his ear before he could speak:
“Wouldn’t it feel… incredibly satisfying to peel this off?”
