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520 – You Wear What You’re Told to Wear
🕑 Added 2025-09-14 15:27:31 +0000 UTCUnder the watchful eyes of the Hyoudo family, Tsuchiya Ryouta kept his usual poker face, desperately racking his brain for what to say.
This was his secret weapon as the “brain” of the baseball team—no matter what pitch was coming next, no one could ever read it from his face.
Whether it was a fastball, a breaking ball, or even an intentional walk, not a hint of their plan would leak out.
Just then, Mr. Hyoudo suddenly spoke up.
“I understand now, Ryouta. I know what you mean.”
‘Huh? You know what now?’
Ryouta froze, staring at his uncle in disbelief.
But Mr. Hyoudo only smiled warmly at him before continuing.
“Seeing Michiru so determined for the first time… Ryouta, you must be reminded of yourself, right?”
At those words, the three women of the Hyoudo family all wore expressions of realization—except for Aki Tomoya, who had no idea what was going on.
Tsuchiya Ryouta had loved baseball since elementary school.
Despite his lack of talent and unimpressive results, he relied on sheer, almost frightening perseverance to hold the captain’s position of the baseball club all through elementary, middle, and high school.
Unfortunately, that was as far as he ever got.
His schools never once achieved any noteworthy results in tournaments.
It wasn’t that he dragged his teammates down.
On the contrary, Ryouta was smart.
He didn’t chase after powerhouse baseball schools for the sake of his dream.
Instead, he prioritized academics and attended elite prep schools known for their high university acceptance rates.
He was the kind of person people called a “tragic hard worker”—a man who gave everything but was held back by talent.
So, when he saw his cousin Hyoudo Michiru achieve success so easily in the field she loved, the blow must have been tremendous.
And when he heard she was about to give up on her dream, the sorrow he felt was something only he could understand.
After all, if even someone as gifted as Michiru had to bow to reality, then what hope was there for someone like him?
“Michiru! This is exactly why your mother and I always told you to learn from Ryouta-kun.”
Mr. Hyoudo sighed.
In some ways, an “incompetent yet disciplined” type was exactly the kind of child ordinary families wished for.
“But I can’t do that,” Michiru protested. “Back in elementary school, after just one afternoon of learning baseball, I was already better than Ryouta-nii.”
“…”
The air went still for a moment.
Acting like nothing had happened, Mr. Hyoudo pressed on.
“What Ryouta means is that he doesn’t want to see you give up on your dream so easily.”
‘Yes, yes! Exactly that.’
Ryouta nodded furiously.
This was another hidden use of his poker face technique—just go along with whatever made sense.
“That’s right, Michiru. Don’t lose heart. Your uncle would never do something so cruel. Once you’ve found what you want to do, you have to hold on to that dream.”
Catching himself for being a little too forceful earlier, he softened his tone.
“Yeah! Even if it’s not in a live house, you could still perform on the street, or upload videos online,” Aki added, though his suggestions were veering completely off course.
Street performances? Uploading videos?
The veins on Mr. Hyoudo’s forehead twitched.
He definitely wasn’t ready to see videos of his daughter floating around the internet.
That would be far worse than a live house.
He glanced at his nephew, suddenly wondering why he used to say things like, “If only Michiru were as obedient and hardworking as Tomoya.”
Poor Michiru—on her mother’s side, she had cousins who excelled at studying.
On her father’s side, too.
If she weren’t so carefree by nature, she’d probably have fallen into depression long ago.
“I know, progress in basketball comes from playing real games, and a band only grows by performing on stage.
Endless practice behind closed doors won’t get you anywhere. A band is born to perform.
In basketball, winning might be enough. But for a band? Only the cheers of the crowd can cool that burning passion.”
Mr. Hyoudo spoke calmly, each point building upon the last, so organized it was obvious he’d prepared in advance.
Michiru’s gloomy expression brightened instantly.
Her pretty face regained its glow, her full cheeks lifted, and her violet eyes sparkled with renewed energy.
Watching her niece, Hyoudo Tsunemi—who had been pretending to be invisible this whole time—rolled her eyes.
Her brother had always been like this: first the stick, then the carrot.
Whether it was her, her sister-in-law, or even his employees at work, all ended up perfectly under his thumb.
Now it looked like even this niece wasn’t escaping.
The scariest thing was, you’d accept all his conditions—and somehow end up feeling grateful to him for it. Outrageous.
‘Forget it, forget it. I’ll be flying off to Johannesburg next week anyway. Time for Michiru to grow up on her own.’
While the Hyoudo siblings were lost in their own thoughts, Tsuchiya Ryouta was practically trembling with excitement.
‘Yes! Yes, exactly! That’s it!’
“Hyoudo-uncle, that’s exactly what I was thinking!”
His tone was so passionate that, despite only being a cousin, he seemed to care more than anyone else in the family.
“Just practicing at school isn’t enough. Without stage experience, a band can’t improve, and Michiru can’t grow. Performances are essential!
That’s why singers are judged by the size of their concerts. It’s not just about popularity—the bigger the stage, the greater the test.
Pressure, crowd control, live execution—those are things you can only build by performing. No classroom will ever teach you that!”
The more he spoke, the more worked up he became.
Finally, under Tomoya’s bewildered gaze, he shot to his feet.
“Take me, for example. At school practices, my pitching sometimes reaches 130 km/h. But once it’s the regional preliminaries, I can barely hit 125. That’s only in the first round! If I’m lucky enough to make it to the third, I can hardly throw 120.”
Hearing Ryouta bare his heart, the Hyoudo family looked on with sympathy—and no small amount of admiration.
To dig into his own pain just to make a point—what a cousin!
Even Michiru, usually so carefree, was deeply moved.
“That’s why, Michiru—you can’t just keep practicing. You have to keep stepping onto the stage!”
With his own failures as proof, Ryouta reached his conclusion.
“Ryouta, sit down. Calm yourself.”
Mr. Hyoudo wiped spit off his face with a handkerchief and gestured for him to relax.
Mrs. Hyoudo quickly handed her nephew a glass of ice water to soothe his throat.
‘Tomorrow afternoon, I’ll use those shopping vouchers and take my sister out for the day,’ she thought, feeling deeply grateful.
‘No, I refuse! How can I calm down?’
‘The very thought of Michiru, in cat ears and a short skirt, bouncing and strumming her guitar in the cheering section when Hojou-kun hits a home run—it’s impossible to calm down!’
Tsuchiya Ryouta gave an apologetic smile, accepted the glass of water, and sat back down.
“Sorry about that, I got carried away. I was just so happy to see Michiru finally find something she loves,” he said earnestly.
“It’s fine. In fact, I should be the one thanking you, Ryouta,” Mr. Hyoudo replied with genuine gratitude.
“Ryouta-nii…” Michiru’s lips moved as if to say something, but no words came out.
If she’d known things would turn out this way, maybe she should have gone easy on him back when they played baseball.
‘If… if there’s ever a chance, maybe I’ll ask Shiorin and the others to write a song for him.’
‘I’ll call it: “My Stubborn Cousin Who Never Gives Up.”’
Sitting beside him, Aki Tomoya felt he had to say something too, remembering that he was supposed to be the “savior” Michiru had brought along.
“In that case, wouldn’t it be even better to record videos and post them online? People on the internet won’t hold back when they comment. You’d get way more criticism that way—and improve faster.”
“…”
“…”
Mr. Hyoudo opened his mouth, then shut it again, barely choking back a curse.
Ryouta stared wide-eyed at his cousin, thinking every word out of this guy’s mouth was completely unexpected.
“Plenty of people suffer from online bullying, but someone actively seeking it out? That’s rare. Aki, you really know the internet inside and out, huh?”
After trying hard to blend into the background all this time, Hyoudo Tsunemi finally spoke up, her tone sharp.
‘You just said online comments aren’t kind—and now you want Michiru to post videos for strangers to attack her?’
‘We’ve been talking all this time about how to protect her, and this is your brilliant idea?’
Everyone here knew exactly how nasty Japanese keyboard warriors could get.
Insults like “die die die” were the mild ones—there were far worse.
And you wanted their precious daughter, who they couldn’t even bear to scold, to go get flamed on purpose?
“Ah, it’s not a big deal. I just like writing blogs and leaving comments, that’s all,” Aki said, scratching his head humbly.
“Oh, oh, I see, hahaha~”
Tsunemi let out a lilting laugh.
When she noticed her brother wasn’t glaring daggers at her, she laughed even louder.
Tomoya didn’t understand why, but he chuckled along anyway.
That laugh spread like a switch being flipped.
Even the usually stone-faced Mr. Hyoudo couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Why bother arguing with him? He’s just a clueless kid.’
The room filled with laughter—everyone except Michiru, whose expression was a little complicated.
“Tomo, let’s not do that. If our school found out, I’d get expelled.”
She went to an all-girls school.
It wasn’t as strict as a Catholic one, but there were plenty of rules.
Even being randomly interviewed on the street by a TV crew wasn’t allowed.
Anything like that had to be pre-approved by the school.
That was only part of the reason, though.
The truth was, Michiru simply liked music and playing with her friends.
She didn’t want to put herself online for strangers to judge.
No one enjoys being criticized.
On stage, the people who come are there because they like you—that makes performing joyful.
But if it’s people who don’t like you tearing you down? That just hurts.
That kills your passion.
‘But Tomoya probably doesn’t get that. Everyone says I live freely, but honestly… he’s the one who truly does.’
‘Completely ignoring how people see him. Never caring how others feel. Never weighing his own abilities. Just…’
‘Living life without restraint.’
“Muchi-kun (Clueless), you haven’t had dinner yet, right? Come here, I’ll fix you something,” Mrs. Hyoudo said gently.
“Eh? My name’s Tomoya,” he corrected automatically, but still found himself standing up.
“Since I came straight here after school, I really am starving.”
“You’ve worked so hard for Michiru’s sake,” Mrs. Hyoudo smiled kindly, hiding whatever feelings lay beneath.
‘Yes, even if his brain’s a little off… even if he hasn’t actually helped much… he still exhausted himself running around for Michiru’s sake.’
Watching his nephew head to the kitchen, Mr. Hyoudo let out a sigh, his expression easing.
“Ah, no, not really. I actually got to Roppongi about an hour ago. I just stopped by Mishima Bookstore first,” Tomoya explained.
“A bookstore? To buy study guides?”
“No, it’s because a game I’ve been waiting for finally went up for preorder. They weren’t taking online reservations, so I had to queue up in person. It took forever, and I didn’t even have time to eat before rushing here.”
“Oh… oh, I see. H-ha ha ha…” Mrs. Hyoudo forced a smile.
Her nephew was as bluntly honest as ever.
Mr. Hyoudo turned his gaze away, back toward Ryouta sitting on the sofa to his right.
He took in the boy’s neat outfit, the unopened bottle of fine liquor still sitting on the table, and remembered his nephew’s passionate defense of Michiru earlier.
His heart swelled with mixed feelings.
‘I should send Ryouta home with one of my treasured bottles later. If I don’t, Tsuchiya-san will never forgive me for neglecting her good son.’
“Michiru.”
“Yes!”
At her father’s voice, Michiru instantly sat up straight.
She swore she hadn’t sat this properly since kindergarten.
No doubt about it—she really was a girl who had trained in ballet and even won a prefectural competition.
Even just sitting normally, her posture carried a grace that stood out.
The faint outline of her slender waist beneath her T-shirt, the swell of her large chest, and the curves of her soft, round hips barely contained by her hotpants—together they painted a picture of flawless beauty.
“I’m against you going to a live house because it’s dangerous,” Mr. Hyoudo said.
“Yes, I understand.”
“But if we can ensure it’s safe, I don’t actually mind you performing on stage.”
“Yay!! I knew you were the best, Dad!” Hyoudo Michiru cheered, her chest bouncing wildly as though sending shockwaves through the room.
“I object!”
Tsuchiya Ryouta shouted, his eyes flashing with blame toward his uncle.
What the heck, old man? Weren’t we supposed to agree she wouldn’t perform at live houses and instead go support Hojou?
Why are you suddenly changing your mind?!
“Huh?”
“Huh?”
Father and daughter looked at him in equal confusion.
“Even if you can guarantee safety, going to live houses will mean endless rehearsals and commuting. That takes a lot of time. Michiru’s grades are already terrible—at this rate, she might have to repeat a year!”
Ryouta’s expression was deadly serious.
He showed no mercy as he struck his cousin’s weak spot.
Michiru’s face fell.
Her victory tune was cut short, and she suddenly wanted to smash her idiot cousin’s skull with a pair of drumsticks.
“Well… he does have a point.”
Mr. Hyoudo hesitated.
He had lived through the craziest era of Japanese rock, had seen countless kids ruin their futures after falling into music—dropping out of school, doing drugs, wasting away.
One by one they had become society’s trash: nuisances, addicts, sex-obsessed degenerates.
And the first step toward that downfall was always the same—giving up on their studies.
“I promise I’ll keep up with school! If I fail and have to repeat, I’ll quit the band!”
Michiru shot her cousin a vicious glare before raising her right hand in a solemn vow.
“Want to seal it with a pinky swear?” Mr. Hyoudo smiled, the atmosphere in the living room instantly warming.
“Mm! And if I lie, I’ll swallow a thousand needles!”
The short-haired beauty scrunched her little nose as she declared it with utter seriousness.
“No need for that—Dad believes you.” Mr. Hyoudo quickly waved it off.
Even if his daughter really did end up repeating a year, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.
The thought of her swallowing a thousand needles—even just as a joke—was unbearable.
Ryouta, however, remained grim.
He felt things were slipping out of control.
“But how are we supposed to guarantee Michiru’s safety at a live house?” he asked in a low voice.
Seeing his nephew’s serious concern moved Mr. Hyoudo.
“Well, normally that’s exactly what a good manager is for. Whether it’s selecting venues, arranging stages, preparing costumes, selling tickets, or dealing with business partners, the manager handles everything.”
At some point, Aki Tomoya had wandered in from the kitchen.
Seeing everyone’s eyes on him, he gave a modest smile.
As an otaku, wolfing down food was just second nature—eating could be rushed, but in-game characters wouldn’t patiently wait for him.
“Actually, hearing Aki-kun say that makes me think live houses are even more dangerous.” Ryouta cut in sharply.
“A manager controls nearly every aspect of a band’s life. If he wants to do something shady, it’d be child’s play.
Forget the big stuff—imagine right before a show, he hands Michiru a revealing outfit. With no time to prepare anything else, she’d have no choice but to wear it.”
He turned to face Mr. Hyoudo directly.
“Uncle, don’t you find that terrifying? Michiru could end up prancing around on stage with cat ears and a micro-miniskirt, singing and dancing for a bunch of perverts!”
