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519 – A Natural Airhead’s Aggrieved Heart
🕑 Added 2025-09-14 15:26:54 +0000 UTC“If only our Michiru could be as obedient and studious as you, Ryouta-kun.”
Seated on the sofa, Mrs. Hyoudo clasped her nephew’s hand and sighed from the bottom of her heart.
Beside her, Mr. Hyoudo—whose face had improved considerably nodded in full agreement.
Meanwhile, Hyoudo Michiru sat slouched, fiddling with her toes.
Her eyes rolled up as if she hadn’t heard a word.
She tilted her head back toward the ceiling, rocking her chair so hard the back legs kept bumping against the floor.
She had heard this line too many times growing up to even count.
She couldn’t say she was used to it—more like she had learned to let it wash over her, leaving her heart completely still.
If it were any other cousin being praised, Michiru could have fought back with a line like, “Well, I may not be good at studying, but at least I’m great at sports.”
But this time, the “model child” being compared to her was Tsuchiya Ryouta.
To bring up sports against him… that would be too cruel.
Because honestly? Aside from the perpetually exasperating “our Michiru,” the “stone-headed boy from the Tsuchiya family” was just as hopeless in his own way…
“At this rate, if Ryouta-kun put the energy he wastes on baseball into studying, he’d probably have a Nobel Prize by now.”
That old family joke circulated often between the Hyoudos and the Tsuchiyas, usually trotted out as comic relief during family gatherings.
For that reason, Michiru actually got along pretty well with her equally ill-fated cousin.
After all, while her parents constantly used Ryouta as a stick to beat her with, all she had to do was flash her athletic achievements and Ryouta’s entire world would turn black-and-white.
In a way, whenever her parents praised him, she secretly felt a little smug herself.
That thought perked her up, and for once she took the initiative to join the conversation.
With a sudden shift forward, her basketball-trained legs slammed the chair’s front legs back onto the ground.
Leaning her small head out with curiosity, she asked brightly:
“By the way, Ryouta-nii, what brings you here today?”
Hearing this, Mr. Hyoudo—who had been about to scold his daughter for her wild movements—closed his mouth.
Instead, his eyes lit up with anticipation as he turned toward his nephew.
The same went for everyone else in the room, all gazes falling on Tsuchiya Ryouta.
Though Ryouta had already changed out of his school uniform into casual clothes.
It was obvious from the timing that he had gone home right after school, picked up some gifts, and then rushed straight over to the Hyoudos.
That kind of earnest family devotion was rare even for relatives who often spent New Year’s together. Truly touching.
But being suddenly stared at by all four Hyoudos—even with all his resolve and sense of responsibility prepared—Ryouta’s heart quivered with guilt.
‘I—I’m not here just to trick my cousin into joining the baseball team for Hojou’s sake!’
‘No, I’m here to help ease the tension between my aunt, uncle, and Michiru! That’s all!’
He repeated the justification twice in his head, reaffirming the righteousness of his mission.
Yes! This visit contained not a shred of personal interest. It was purely to preserve family harmony.
In this cold, modern age where even relatives drifted apart, Ryouta Tsuchiya refused to ignore the growing rift within his family.
To ignore it would be the greatest sin of all!
That was right.
His heart and his actions were as clear as polished glass—everything he did was justice.
‘Come on, Ryouta, show the same determination you used to convince the school board to build a bathhouse for the baseball team!’
After successfully hypnotizing himself with this pep talk, Ryouta smiled faintly.
Meeting the expectant gazes of his cousin and the other three Hyoudos, he cleared his throat and declared:
“Actually, I came here today because—”
‘Ding dong—'
The doorbell cut through his moment like a knife.
Ryouta frowned in irritation, mirrored by Mr. and Mrs. Hyoudo.
“Were we expecting anyone tonight?” Hyoudo Yukito asked, displeased.
He tried to recall but couldn’t think of anyone who had said they would visit—aside from Ryouta.
“Maybe the building manager?” Mrs. Hyoudo suggested as she headed toward the door.
“Impossible. A manager would never be so rude,” her husband shot back.
Their home was in a luxury high-rise; even in a normal apartment, managers would always make an appointment beforehand.
Even Ryouta had scheduled his visit half a day in advance.
“Ah, Tomoya-kun? Yes, yes, I see.”
Speaking into the intercom, Mrs. Hyoudo’s tone softened.
She turned back with a smile, ready to explain—only for a purple-haired girl to leap to her feet, dash over, and press her face eagerly against the now-darkened screen.
“Is it Tomo?”
Michiru’s voice brimmed with excitement—far more enthusiasm than she had shown for Ryouta’s visit earlier.
That sharp contrast made Ryouta’s face, and her parents’ too, twist into something complicated.
Sure, it was normal for cousins to be closer or more distant, but showing it this blatantly was just plain awkward.
“Tomoya? You mean from Uncle’s sister’s side?” Ryouta asked.
He barely remembered the boy, but the name was familiar.
“I’m surprised you recall him, Ryouta-kun. Oh right, you two met back when you used to visit Nagano for New Year’s. That must’ve been when,” Yukito said warmly, relieved at his nephew’s thoughtfulness.
“Yes. Grandma’s red bean cakes were delicious. Even now, whenever I eat them cold, I remember the warmth of her sweet bean paste,” Ryouta said with a genuine smile.
His nostalgic tone was perfect, his expression sincere—exactly the kind of “model child” every parent dreamed of.
Sure enough, Yukito’s mood lifted further.
And soon, like clockwork, he launched into his favorite line again: “If only our Michiru could be as obedient and studious as Ryouta-kun.”
Hearing that, Michiru’s cheerful mood instantly deflated.
Ryouta only smiled humbly, the textbook picture of modesty.
He knew better—if he so much as smirked, his cousin would stamp her championship trophy straight onto his forehead.
Still, her expression didn’t escape her parents’ notice.
Frowning slightly, Mr. Hyoudo asked:
“Michiru, did you invite Tomoya here?”
His daughter had a habit of looking for shields whenever she got cornered, which was why he had already made sure to keep her aunt subdued.
But Tomoya? What made her think he could help?
“Of course! Even death-row inmates get the right to a defense lawyer. Like I’d just sit here and wait for my sentence!” Michiru shot back without hesitation.
If her parents hadn’t blocked her earlier, she’d already have bolted to Tomoya’s place.
As she said this, she shot her aunt a look—half pity, half frustration.
‘If only you had been a bit stronger, I wouldn’t need to go this far.’
Beside her, Hyoudo Tsunemi tipped back in her chair, rocking noisily back and forth in perfect imitation of Michiru earlier.
Watching this, Mr. and Mrs. Hyoudo felt their heads throb.
For the first time, they actually thought maybe sending Tsunemi off to Johannesburg had been the right call.
At least it was only her.
If Michiru kept hanging around her aunt, one day the two of them might just disappear together—straight to Venezuela.
Hyoudo Yukito shook his head and turned toward his nephew, Tsuchiya Ryouta, thinking how lucky he was to have such a considerate, dependable relative.
His heart even softened toward another nephew—Aki Tomoya—whose arrival he now looked forward to.
Sure, Tomoya was technically his daughter’s “reinforcement,” but he was still another one of those other people’s perfect children.
Not long after, the doorbell rang.
The door opened to reveal a boy in a black school uniform and black-rimmed glasses.
As usual, there was the polite small talk.
Though Tomoya was an otaku, he was surprisingly skilled at brushing off relatives to avoid hassle.
A few mumbled “mm-hm, yes, thank you” responses, and uncles, aunts, even grandma would lose interest.
Then he could happily bury himself in his phone again.
“Tomo!!”
Michiru squealed, leaping up with the intent to throw herself into her cousin’s arms—but before she could get two steps, her mother snagged her by the collar.
“Michiru! You’re in high school already—at least try to act like a young lady!” her mother snapped, her temple throbbing.
“What’s the big deal? We’re cousins!” Michiru pouted, sulking her way back into her chair.
Meanwhile, Tomoya changed into house slippers at the entryway.
But when he glanced into the living room, packed wall-to-wall with people, his scalp tingled.
His first instinct: run.
“Hey, hey—you didn’t tell me half the family would be here! You said you needed me for something. If it’s not urgent, I’ll just… come back tomorrow.” He leaned toward Michiru, whispering under his breath.
Of course, what he meant was he’d never come back tomorrow.
This was no battlefield for an otaku.
“Ehh? Come on, Tomo, I’m counting on you—my champion of family bonds!” Michiru clasped her hands together, whispering loud enough for the entire room to hear.
Tomoya winced.
‘Great. Nothing like airing my secrets in front of an audience.’
“Champion of family bonds? What does that even mean? Don’t make it sound like I’m some mythical creature! We barely see each other—we live an hour apart by train! We’re just… distant, ordinary cousins at best!”
Under Uncle Yukito’s stern gaze, Tomoya drew a hard line between himself and Michiru.
Then, as fast as he could, he scuttled to the person in the room who looked like the safest ally: Ryouta, the well-dressed boy sitting neatly on the sofa.
“Wow, Tomo. That’s cold. After all, I even washed your back when you were little,” Michiru said in a wounded tone, like a woman abandoned by her lover.
“Could you please not say stuff that makes it sound weird?! Grandma’s the one who washed me when I was a kid!” Tomoya shouted, red-faced.
He turned desperately to Ryouta.
“Heh… she’s just messing around. You get it, right?”
Ryouta nodded calmly. “I understand. After all, I probably bathed with you as a kid too.”
“…Huh?”
Tomoya’s otaku brain revved at full throttle.
After thirty seconds of mental scrambling, he finally croaked:
“Uh, excuse me… who are you again?”
“Tsuchiya Ryouta,” Ryouta said smoothly. “My mom is your aunt’s younger sister.”
“Oh, oh! Now I remember!” Tomoya exclaimed, wearing a look of false realization so unconvincing that everyone could tell he was faking it.
Still, he offered his own introduction: “My mom is Uncle Yukito’s younger sister—Aki Tomoya.”
“Yes, I know. You’re Tomoya,” Ryouta replied with the same unshakable smile.
With everyone gathered, Yukito steered the conversation back to where it had left off.
“Ryouta, earlier you said—”
Ryouta straightened, smiled with renewed determination, and continued: “Ah, yes. I heard from my mom about Michiru’s band, so I thought—”
“Band? Michiru, you still haven’t given up on that?”
The voice cut in unexpectedly.
It was Tomoya.
Instantly, the air in the room shifted.
Yukito, his wife, and Ryouta all froze, their expressions darkening.
“Wait. Tomoya, you knew about this already?” Yukito demanded.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Not that long ago. Around autumn of first year, right after Michiru quit basketball, I heard she’d joined a band.” Tomoya spoke casually.
Autumn of first year. And now it was spring of second year.
So—“not that long ago” was really half a year ago.
Half a year in which Michiru’s band had grown enough to perform at the school festival, earn praise as a “legendary stage,” and even get scouted by people from live houses.
Half a year… and her parents were only just now hearing about it.
The atmosphere turned heavy.
Michiru’s aunt, Tsunemi, ducked behind a flower vase like a child hiding behind a shield.
“W-wait a second! Why is the mood suddenly so suffocating?!” Tomoya yelped.
He wasn’t good at reading the room, but even he could smell the danger in the air.
“What’s going on?! I’m just a passerby here!”
Ryouta, piecing together what he’d heard from his mother with what Tomoya had just blurted out, let a sly smile creep across his face.
“Michiru,” her mother said in a low voice, “explain everything to your cousins. From the beginning.”
Michiru’s lips twisted into a pout.
She didn’t think there was anything shameful about it, but under this pressure it did feel like she was confessing a crime.
“…Last autumn, I joined a school band. I play guitar, and… I’m also the lead singer.”
“Wow. You make it sound so casual, but that’s kind of a big deal,” Tomoya muttered.
“Right? You became the lead vocalist just like that? Michiru, you’ve never even touched music before,” Ryouta added.
The two cousins exchanged a look of silent understanding.
A shared pain called mediocrity.
“And last week at the school festival, our band—Icy Tail—performed on stage. The atmosphere was insane! People said it was the stuff of legend!”
Her gloom instantly vanished, replaced by sparkling eyes and a radiant smile as she gushed about her passion.
“So you not only became the lead singer overnight, you also got the band named after you—and then you pulled off a show-stopping performance at the festival?” Ryouta was stunned.
He’d known she fought with her parents over music, but hearing the details now, even he had to admit her talent was impressive.
“This is what genius looks like,” Tomoya said, nodding solemnly.
At their words, Yukito and his wife couldn’t help but smile with pride—before hastily schooling their expressions back into stern lines.
“I even got the student council to send me a recording. We can watch it later. But live music is always best, you know!” Michiru chirped, practically glowing.
Her enthusiasm made her mother’s eye twitch.
With that body bouncing around so much, she grabbed a shawl and draped it over her daughter.
“And after our performance, people from a live house approached us. They asked if we’d like to try playing there.”
Ryouta’s jaw dropped.
Bands usually paid for stage time.
But his cousin had been invited.
This was no ordinary whim.
And in that moment, Ryouta was more convinced than ever: he’d made the right choice coming here.
Michiru shouldn’t be wasting her talent on some dingy underground stage.
She should be taking it to the Soubu High baseball team—playing the triumphant anthem right after Hojou smashes a home run!
“…So yeah, I figured if I’m really going to commit myself to this, it’s bound to come with some expenses. That’s why I tried asking my parents for a little support…”
Hyoudo Michiru continued her explanation.
“Mhm, makes sense,” Aki Tomoya nodded along. “If you’re serious about playing live houses, the costs pile up fast.
Forget just travel and food—stage outfits, makeup, renting instruments, middleman fees—none of that is something a normal high schooler can cover.”
Even for him, juggling three part-time jobs, he could only afford one trip to a live house a month.
And that was just to cheer for his idols, pure and simple spending.
Hearing her supposed savior back her up, Michiru’s eyes lit up.
She knew asking Tomoya for help had been the right call!
“Exactly! But when I told Dad, he just exploded, yelling something like, ‘I’ve never heard of this before!’ And… well, it was the first time I’d brought it up, so…”
She actually tattled on her own parents.
Tomoya, who had been nodding emphatically, suddenly felt a sharp sting on his face.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it—Uncle and Aunt Hyoudo glaring daggers at him.
Panicked, he raised his voice:
“You should’ve told them sooner! Back when you first started the band!”
“Pffft—ahahaha!”
A poorly timed laugh broke the heavy mood, drawing everyone’s eyes to the corner of the dining table.
“Don’t mind me, I just thought of something funny.” Hyoudo Tsunemi waved it off quickly and turned to face the wall again.
But the amused glance she threw at Tomoya on her way left everyone staring straight at him.
Right. Out of everyone here, he’d known the earliest. And he dared to say that?
Gulp. Tomoya swallowed hard.
Uncle Hyoudo’s glare had upgraded from unfriendly to I’ll-kill-you.
“Uh, well…”
Before he could even explain, Hyoudo Yukito sighed and turned toward his other nephew.
“So that’s the situation. A live house… is that really the kind of place a decent girl should be going?” His voice carried both worry and helplessness.
He didn’t mind if his daughter was a poor student, or the type to drop hobbies after three minutes.
As long as she was safe, smiling, and adorable, every day felt warm, like the world was beautiful.
But now… now she was stepping onto the wrong path.
That wasn’t just being a failure—it was becoming fodder.
“Well, he’s not wrong. No parent would be comfortable with their daughter hanging out at live houses alone.” Tsuchiya Ryouta nodded knowingly.
Ah, a reliable nephew indeed. Yukito gave him a satisfied nod.
“Yeah, exactly. Rock music is basically drugs and sex.”
Tomoya pushed up his glasses.
He had to clear this up.
The live houses he went to weren’t like that at all—they were for cute 2D-themed underground idols, wholesome and pure to the core.
No drugs, no sex.
At most, handshake tickets, hug tickets, or maybe a date coupon as fan service.
The kind of idols who genuinely gave their all for their fans, the purest of the pure.
Sure, Tomoya’s earlier behavior was a little questionable, but still—a good nephew!
Yukito nodded approvingly again.
“Hey, hey, Tomo, that’s a total double standard! Why aren’t you saying anything about otakus?” Michiru protested.
“Uh, well…”
“Michiru!”
Mr. Hyoudo’s deep voice cut her off.
The long-cultivated authority of a father thundered through the room.
Michiru instantly straightened up, pulling her feet off the chair and tucking her dainty toes neatly into her slippers.
“You’ve heard your cousins’ opinions. It’s not that your mother and I want to chain you down or crush your dreams. But this time, you’ve gone too far. You—”
“But—!” Michiru blurted, panic rising.
“Michiru! I don’t recall teaching you to interrupt your elders when they’re speaking!” he snapped.
“…Yes. I’m sorry.”
Her small lips pouted, and the two longer strands of purple hair framing her face drooped meekly.
“Every time you wanted to try something—ballet, theater, basketball—your mother and I gave our all to support you. We found professional coaches, signed you up for competitions, drove you back and forth, encouraged you…”
‘Damn it!’ Tomoya clenched his teeth in envy.
The last time he asked his dad for a ride to a signing event, he’d been told to walk.
“Every time we saw you sweating in practice, your mom and I were overjoyed, thinking: ‘This time, Michiru’s really found what she wants to do.’
Every time we saw you smiling on stage or celebrating with teammates, we were even happier than you, thinking: ‘This time, she’ll really stick with it.’”
His voice carried a tinge of weariness now.
Mrs. Hyoudo’s face was expressionless.
Ryouta stared at the floor, and even Michiru’s usual brightness dimmed.
A lively girl couldn’t come from a suffocating, repressive home.
No—Michiru had grown up showered in love, the shining product of two great family lines.
Of course she knew how much her parents cared.
That’s why, whenever she “ran away from home,” she only ever went to her aunt’s house.
And this time, with her aunt already caught ahead of time, she just stayed home and took the scolding.
But still—!
‘Damn it! Why is it that when I fought tooth and nail with the school director just to hold an anime screening at the festival, my parents chewed me out?!’
Tomoya seethed with envy.
“But every time, you’d quit so suddenly. Before your mom and I could even come down from the joy of seeing you succeed, our precious daughter had already gone back to being a delinquent with no direction.”
Yukito let out a helpless chuckle.
If his daughter wasn’t lively, he worried.
If she was too lively, he still worried.
That’s what becoming a parent looks like.
“Your mother always tells me, ‘It’s fine, Michiru just hasn’t found what she really wants yet.’ And I thought, yes, that must be it. Michiru will find it, someday—that one thing she truly wants to do.”
His voice rose with a quiet conviction.
Even if his daughter turned eighty without marrying, even if she never found her path, it didn’t matter.
With the Hyoudo family’s fortune, they could afford to support her forever. As long as Michiru was happy, that was enough.
The words left Ryouta deeply moved.
He knew he’d never hear something like that from his father.
That proud man would never say anything so embarrassingly tender to his son.
At most, on New Year’s Day, when Ryouta “accidentally” gifted away one of his prized bottles of sake, he’d get a gruff: “Ryouta, you know I don’t usually get angry at you, but…”
So yeah… fathers raising daughters and fathers raising sons are practically two different species altogether.
That thought made Tsuchiya Ryouta’s once rock-solid resolve waver.
If things really went the way he imagined—if his cousin Michiru actually became Hojou’s exclusive guitarist—ahem, exclusive bandmate—if she really fell for Hojou…
Not that Hojou was bad.
As far as men go, he was basically the perfect specimen.
Ryouta firmly believed no woman alive could resist Hojou’s charm.
And “womanizing”? Please.
Could that even be called womanizing? Weak men were womanizers.
Strong men—strong men were simply broad-hearted.
But if that day really came… and his uncle realized Ryouta had been the one pushing things along…
It’s not like Ryouta was afraid of trouble.
On the baseball field, he was always the first to step up!
But the weight of his uncle’s fatherly love, just from those words earlier, was crushing.
He was terrified. Even his own father probably wouldn’t come to save him.
Damn it!! In a new anime, getting another wife is totally normal!
It’s a sign the story is doing well!
Then why is it that, according to Mom, it means I can’t even stay loyal to one anime girl?!
Aki Tomoya grumbled with deep envy.
Even Ryouta, who usually wasn’t so easily moved, was shaken.
So how could Michiru, her father’s precious “little cotton-padded jacket,” stay calm?
The moment she heard her father’s softened tone, she quickly jumped in:
“But! This time I really found something I want to do. The moment I hear music, it’s like I’m hypnotized.
I couldn’t help but wander into the classroom where they practiced when we were kids, and I begged them to play for me again. I mean it, this time I really found what I love doing!”
In her rush, Michiru’s words came out all tangled, which only made her more anxious.
Her long bangs swung messily by her cheeks.
If she’d had her guitar with her, she probably would’ve broken into a song right then to prove her determination.
“Right! I’ve already stuck with this band thing for a whole year! Longer than anything I’ve ever done before!” she added, as if she’d finally found solid proof.
‘A year… just because it crossed New Year’s doesn’t automatically make it a year,’ her father thought silently, though he didn’t say it out loud.
Instead, he just smiled at her and replied in a strangely calm voice:
“Whether this time you’ve really found what you want to stick with forever, or it’s just another illusion before you give up again—that’s not important. Michiru, you’re still young. There’s no need to rush.”
He had said this before, he was saying it now, and he would surely say it again the next time she quit something.
Michiru pressed her lips together without replying.
She knew all too well that her words lacked weight—after all, she had a reputation in the family as the “three-minute girl.”
Even she wasn’t sure if she could really stick with it this time.
Ballet, basketball… in the beginning they had all been so much fun, no worse than the band.
So why did she always quit? She couldn’t even explain it herself.
In truth, what she was saying now was more like her way of pleading with her father.
And it was working—his attitude had clearly softened.
Surely the next step was to let her perform at the live house.
But her father’s expression didn’t change. He only continued in that same flat tone:
“The only thing I can do as your father is make sure you’re safe and that you’ll have the freedom to make choices in the future. That’s why I don’t agree. I won’t allow you to go to a live house alone.”
His smile was gentle, but his words left no room for negotiation.
“But I wouldn’t be alone! Toki, Ranko, Echika—they’re all good people, they’ll be with me.”
Michiru muttered softly, then realized it wasn’t his attitude softening… it was her resolve that was weakening.
No—that wasn’t acceptable.
This wasn’t just her dream.
Standing on that kind of stage was everyone’s dream. In fact, her own dream was something she had borrowed from Ranko and Toki.
They had accepted her into the band without hesitation, even though she’d barged in.
Together, they had worked so hard and finally started to see results.
How could she be the reason everything fell apart? How could she drag the band into a crisis of breaking up?
No way. Absolutely not.
“I promise, I’ll take care of myself. You know Tomo could never beat me since we were kids. Someone like him? I could take down two of him at once!”
Michiru flexed her arm in a Popeye pose, her biceps bulging nicely.
With her toned legs and lively energy, she was the picture of a healthy, athletic teenage girl.
“Protect yourself, huh…”
Her father gave a wry smile and shook his head before turning to his two nephews.
“What do you two think?”
“Well,” said Aki Tomoya, “as long as you carefully check which organizers are running the live house events, the risks can be greatly reduced. And if you’re cautious with the rest, it shouldn’t be a big problem.”
What he wanted to say was that Japan’s underground idol scene was already a mature industry, completely different from those reckless rock circles.
As long as you wore a cute cat-ear maid costume, there was no way you’d run into creeps.
“Mm-hmm, mm-hmm, mm-hmm!”
Michiru nodded furiously, feeling like bringing Tomoya today had been her best decision ever.
“Screening, huh…”
Her father shook his head again and looked to the other side.
While Tomoya was talking, Tsuchiya Ryouta had been staring, dumbfounded.
Looking at his cousin’s innocent smile, the way her loose T-shirt couldn’t hide her curves, and those long, toned legs peeking out from her shorts, he finally spoke after careful thought:
“Michiru… all your bandmates are girls, right?”
“Of course! I go to an all-girls school, so obviously they’re all girls.” Michiru replied matter-of-factly, puzzled why her cousin would even ask something so obvious.
That was when Ryouta finally understood why his uncle and aunt were so worried.
Growing up in an all-girls school, Michiru had no real understanding of the terrifying species known as “men.”
“The difference between you going to a live house alone and you going with three other girls,” he explained, “is like the difference between a pizza with just shrimp and a pizza with shrimp, ham, and salted egg yolk.”
“Wait, what? Ham and salted egg yolk don’t go together at all. What kind of pizza shop makes that kind of weird combo?” Tomoya immediately retorted.
With salted egg yolk, the ham’s flavor would be completely overshadowed.
Both were meant to be the main taste, so of course they could never coexist.
Anyone who’d ever worked at a pizza place would know that.
And as someone who had worked at three different pizza chains for over three months each, Tomoya knew it in his bones.
The room froze.
Not just Tsuchiya Ryouta, who had been talking, but even Hyoudo Tsunemi—who had been facing the wall in penance—turned back to stare at Aki Tomoya in disbelief.
As for the three “Hyoudos,” no explanation was even needed; all eyes were on him.
“Um, Aki,” Michiru said hesitantly, “I don’t think that’s the point Ryouta-nii was making.”
“What do you mean, not the point? Anyone who hears that would focus on it, right? Salted egg yolk with ham—what kind of combination is that…”
Aki’s voice trailed off as Yukito’s death stare locked onto him again.
For a moment, Aki honestly feared that if he said one word more, his dad would be calling the Hyoudo household tonight asking if he’d made it home—only to be told, “Yes, he went home a while ago.”
“…Look, a normal person, when they hear ‘pizza,’ will just think of eating.
But the difference between one high school girl going to a live venue and four high school girls going together?
It’s like the difference between a pizza with shrimp, and a pizza with shrimp, ham, and salted egg yolk. More toppings—more tempting.
The urge to commit a crime only gets stronger.”
Ryouta decided to just say it outright.
After all, that was the whole reason he came here.
Uncle Yukito gave a solemn nod.
He thought the same.
A few extra companions wouldn’t stop trouble from happening—at most, it just meant a few more families crying afterward.
Michiru turned to her aunt, hoping for backup, but found none.
“When I was living in Johannesburg,” Tsunemi said calmly, “I stayed in company dorms. I scouted out the slums and danger zones in advance, and I never went into a shady bar without trustworthy coworkers. And of course, I never got drunk.”
“You were going to bars?!” Yukito’s eyebrows shot up.
“Brother! I’m nearly thirty!”
“You still didn’t have a husband yet, so you’re still a kid!”
“……”
Michiru fell silent.
Even her aunt—who had always been the most understanding—saw live houses as dangerous.
And Michiru understood why.
Her father’s concerns weren’t baseless.
Even she was starting to worry about her bandmates’ safety.
Ranko, Toki, and Echika—they were all so cute that even the girls at school adored them.
As for the boys… well. When they performed at school festivals, the crowds were already wild.
If they went to an actual live house? Between shady organizers and creepy fans…
She wasn’t stupid, just maybe a little too optimistic—thinking that if she was careful enough, she could avoid trouble.
But if even Ryouta-nii and her aunt were saying it was dangerous…
“…Is it really that bad? Then how come I’ve been to so many lives and never had any trouble?”
Aki blurted it out before he could stop himself.
He wanted to defend his idols.
Chaos belonged to rock bands, not the pure and wholesome world of 2D idols!
Everyone else in the living room ignored him—they’d already figured out what kind of guy Aki was.
Instead, they kept their eyes on Michiru, waiting to hear her answer.
Only Michiru turned to Aki with a grateful look.
Tomo… he hasn’t given up on me. He’s still trying to defend me.
All she could give him back was an apologetic glance.
“…I understand. I’ll talk it over with Toki and the others. At least… at least let us keep performing at school, okay?”
The short-haired girl made one last plea.
At least don’t make me dissolve the band.
Even her usually bouncy chest seemed subdued now, her energy fading into the quiet elegance of a demure beauty.
She was terrified.
If Dad insisted she quit the band entirely just to stop her from sneaking off to live houses…
“No way!”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Two voices overlapped—one urgent, one calm.
Ryouta had shouted; Yukito had spoken evenly.
The former was in a panic.
Sure, this outcome was neat—family conflict resolved, everyone happy.
But that wasn’t why Ryouta was here. He wasn’t here to mediate.
He was here to recruit—no, to steal Michiru away, to bring her talent to the Soubu High baseball team!
Forget live houses.
Soubu High’s baseball team had dozens of sturdy guys ready to act as bodyguards.
Forget just a drum set—they could carry an entire symphony orchestra’s worth of equipment if needed.
And if that wasn’t enough, there was the kendo club.
And Hojou himself!
Hojou—the Devil of Tokyo.
With him around, Michiru would be safe from a hundred times more creeps than any live house could throw at her.
No, forget live houses altogether.
With Hojou, she’d be headed to Koshien Stadium. To the Tokyo Dome.
To venues where only national-level stars got to perform!
“…Ryouta?”
“Ryouta-nii?”
Both Yukito and Michiru stared at him in confusion.
First he tells them live houses are too dangerous, now he says “no problem”?
What was he even here for—mediator, or spectator?
Under their suspicious gazes, Ryouta almost blurted the truth—that he was here to expand Hojou’s harem.
But thank goodness, he was a well-trained ninja, used to communicating through hand seals.
His mouth lagged just a fraction behind his thoughts.
Anyone who knew the Soubu High baseball team’s secret codes would have understood the frantic signs Ryouta’s fingers made on his knees, twitching like a chicken’s claws:
Hojou. Home runs. All of them.
