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505 – Mr. and Mrs. Hojou
🕑 Added 2025-09-08 15:11:05 +0000 UTCHearing Yukari’s words, Kyousuke instinctively reached for his phone to check the time.
“Nine thirty-five,” Shouko said softly beside him.
At first, Yukino Yukari was the only one in Ruyi Dorm who wore a watch.
Later, for reasons unknown, Yamauchi Sakura suddenly started wearing one too—and Shouko quietly followed suit.
Still, even with a watch, Sakura had zero sense of time.
‘It’s this late already, and Mrs. Takemura and the others are still hanging out at my place?’ Kyousuke frowned in puzzlement.
Normally, visits like this only happened in the morning or around noon.
That’s when housewives had the most free time—husbands at work, kids at school, and an entire afternoon to kill after chores.
Watching TV or having tea with the neighbor ladies was the standard routine.
But evenings were different.
Husbands came home, kids returned from school, dinner needed cooking, and families needed attention.
Dropping by another house at that time wasn’t just inconvenient—it could even hurt your reputation in the neighborhood.
Only carefree middle and high schoolers would boldly crash at a friend’s place overnight.
Then it hit him.
‘This has Mom written all over it.’
Back when they lived in Suimon City, she would often chat with Sakura and Aunt Makoto until late.
Aunt Makoto was traditional, always mindful of etiquette, and would insist on going home no matter what—well, “home” was only a meter away, at the Yamauchi residence.
Sakura, on the other hand, was different.
She never once refused when his mother wanted to stay over.
She’d even share her plush toys and kept an extra set of pajamas ready at the Hojou household just for her.
‘Yeah… Mom really does love chatting.’
Kyousuke smiled wryly.
He understood.
Living alone in Tokyo, his mother was bound to worry—whether he was eating properly, how school was going, whether he was getting along with the neighbors.
In her eyes, he wasn’t the dazzling record-breaker on the podium, or the brilliant talent admired by his writer friends, or the dependable “Hojou-san” praised by publishing colleagues.
No, to her he was still just her child—one she would worry about for a hundred years and never let go.
She probably wanted to hear about all of it from other people.
“Come on, don’t eat too much or your teeth will all fall out,” he teased, scooping up his little sister.
“Ah!”
Kasuko gasped in mock horror, but her chubby round face was lit with delight.
“If all my teeth fall out, does that mean I can eat even more cake?”
Shouko and Yukari blinked, both thrown off by her strange logic.
“You wouldn’t be able to chew beef anymore,” Kyousuke said in his best Shizuka impression.
“Oh, then that won’t do!”
The young heiress of the Hojou ranch was nothing if not responsible.
She immediately decided her teeth deserved a pardon.
Once inside, Yukari casually took Shouko’s bag and, with practiced ease, hung Kyousuke’s school uniform jacket on the rack.
Before they even reached the living room, a wave of noise and warmth rolled over them.
The sofas, the kitchen counter, even the tatami in the washitsu were packed with people.
The TV was playing some random evening drama, but no one was watching—it was just there to add to the atmosphere.
On the sofa facing the garden sat Hojou Mikiko.
Sakura was on one side, Kasumigaoka on the other.
The opposite sofa was occupied by Mrs. Takemura, who ran a clothing factory, Mrs. Oda, wife of a dentist, and the minor celebrity Yui Tanida.
Clearly, even if Mikiko was eager to learn about her son’s neighborhood relations, daughters-in-law ranked higher in her heart.
Otherwise, she’d be sitting between Mrs. Takemura and Mrs. Oda instead.
In the kitchen, Okudera Miki was preparing snacks.
Kyousuke instantly pieced together why she was there.
This morning, his mother had said Miki invited her to try some new dishes, while Mitsuha had asked her to visit their school.
She had been torn about whose invitation to accept.
Judging by the scene now, she had managed to do it all—check in on her son’s social circle, honor Miki’s invitation, and show off her potential daughter-in-law’s cooking skills to the neighbors.
‘Classic Mrs. Hojou. The kind of model wife daughters-in-law could spend a lifetime learning from.’
Meanwhile, in the washitsu, two figures sat rigidly across from each other.
One had long black hair trailing across the floor, the other wore a yellow cat-eared helmet.
Ueno Naoka and Celty.
Neither had spoken a word.
They just stared blankly at a pot of tea.
When Kyousuke walked in, Celty whipped her head around.
Though her face was hidden, the black smoke puffing nervously from her neck made her emotions plain.
“Help me! I’m dying here!”
Those words might as well have been scrawled across her helmet’s visor.
Apparently, not even a long journey could cure Celty of her social anxiety.
Then again, if she weren’t socially anxious, it would probably be humans who should be afraid.
Naoka wasn’t doing much better—her fidgeting on the tatami practically defined the phrase “can’t sit still.”
“Mom! Onii’s home!”
Kasuko’s shout finally drew the attention of Mrs. Takemura and the others, who had been deep in conversation.
The three women scrambled to their feet.
“Hojou-san—ah, wait…”
Mrs. Takemura stumbled over her words, suddenly unsure how to address him.
Normally, Kyousuke was the man of the house, and “Mr. Hojou” was fine.
But now that his parents were present, “Mr. Hojou” really meant Hojou Ichirou.
“Kyousuke-kun, would you like something to drink?” Yukari cut in smoothly, her voice as gentle as ever.
“Oh—good evening, Kyousuke-kun!”
Mrs. Takemura exhaled in relief, and the other two quickly followed her lead with greetings.
“Good evening,” Kyousuke said, setting his sister down and bowing politely.
But when he noticed a hint of stiffness in their smiles, he added with a warm grin:
“I really appreciate you all coming over. My mom doesn’t have many friends in Tokyo, and I was worried she’d be bored while I was at school.”
“Haha, not at all! Thanks to Mikiko’s invitation, I got to see these beautiful cherry blossoms,” Mrs. Takemura replied, her smile relaxing.
“Yes, and the snacks are delicious too. Miss Okudera even promised to share her secret recipe with me,” Mrs. Oda added, holding up a cookie as proof.
With such smooth talkers, Yui Tanida, a professional celebrity, couldn’t possibly lag behind.
Talking was her strongest suit!
“If anything, I should be the one saying thanks. Mikiko taught me so much about running a ranch, it makes me want to visit Hokkaido myself and—”
“—and kill a cow with my own hands!” Kasuko suddenly shouted.
Yui’s smile froze for half a second, then she forced a cheerful laugh.
“Ahaha, that’s one job big sis could never handle. Let’s leave that to you, Kasuko. I’ll just try my hand at milking a cow, how about that?”
“That works!”
Kasuko nodded solemnly, then declared with the gravest of tones:
“But Kasuko’s still too small to hold the knife. So… Onii will kill the cow, Kasuko will cut up the meat, and Yui-neesan will do the milking!”
The little girl’s “perfect solution” left Yui Yanada’s smile completely frozen.
And as if that weren’t bad enough, she suddenly noticed that Kasumigaoka, who had been smiling radiantly just moments ago, was now glaring at her with a decidedly unfriendly look.
Crap! That one’s important!
A bestselling novelist with a family furniture empire—connections that could easily open doors for TV adaptations or endorsements.
But before she could even finish panicking, she caught sight of Okudera in the kitchen.
That woman’s expression had also soured.
Okudera—the one who held Kyousuke’s stomach hostage and had ties to a whole circle of famous authors.
And the daggers weren’t done yet.
From the corner of her eye, Yui spotted Ueno Naoka’s glare—sharp enough to smash her chest flat.
Oh hell no!
This girl was a first-year in high school and already a fashion magazine model.
Forget the future, she was already a rising star right now.
Hadn’t she just promised to invite me for a photoshoot?
And then there was the bizarre helmeted woman.
Yui couldn’t see her expression, but surely she wanted to kill her too.
Wait—wait! What if the only reason she never took off the helmet was so she could… do that?!
In a flash, Yui remembered why she had been so determined to get close to Hojou Kyousuke.
Of course, it wasn’t just because he was ridiculously handsome—well, okay, that was part of it, who wouldn’t want a guy like that?
But more importantly, he was a mystery novelist.
The easiest genre to adapt into film or drama.
A little bit of sales and bam—instant adaptations, sometimes three times a year.
But a mystery novelist and a leather-clad biker in a helmet? That combo screamed trouble!
Her thoughts spiraled out of control, and just as she was about to embarrass herself, salvation came.
“Kasuko, you forgot, didn’t you? We don’t raise dairy cows at home,” said Hojou Mikiko with perfect timing.
“Oh, right! Totally forgot!” the little girl laughed, instantly dropping the subject and instead pestering Sakura for cake—the spoils her brother had brought home.
‘Phew—'
Feeling the tense atmosphere finally lift, Yui exhaled deeply.
She didn’t dare use any of the conversation openers she had prepared.
Better wait until she found a boyfriend or got married before trying to get close to Hojou again.
Lucky for her, Kasumigaoka Utaha hadn’t yet trained herself to read minds.
If the girls of Ruyi Dorm ever found out she was plotting something so shameless, they’d bash her brains in.
‘What, you think you can use “wife material” to seduce Hojou?’
‘Face not pretty enough so you’re banking on “married woman” flavor?’
‘You planning to leave this world behind already?!’
“Welcome home~” Sakura and the others finally chimed in.
“Yeah, I’m home.”
Ahh, the essential step to returning home—the soul finally settling back into place, the simple happiness of feeling whole.
Surrounded by a group of adorable, lively girls, Kyousuke inwardly let out a sigh of pure satisfaction.
Completely oblivious to the silent battlefield that had just taken place, he accepted the barley tea Yukari handed him, took a sip, and headed straight for the tatami room—where the “most urgent case” sat.
But before he could even say a word, Celty yanked on his sleeve, pulling him off balance.
The helmeted head leaned in—nearly face-to-face with him.
Well, not face-to-face. Face-to-glass.
“What do I do now? I’m so scared! Tell me, is your house surrounded by traffic cops already?! Are they here to arrest me?!”
Her terrified whisper came out as a scream.
Yes, a scream-whisper.
Normally impossible for humans, but she was Celty, a Dullahan with mastery over vibrations.
She simply directed her black mist straight into Kyousuke’s ear, vibrating his eardrum like an earbud blasting the tiniest volume of a scream.
Across from them, Naoka heard nothing—only saw Celty’s visor fogging up with Hojou’s breath. Her scowl deepened.
‘Seriously?! That close to Hojou?!’
Her heart seethed.
‘Damn it! That’s basically an indirect kiss!’
She squirmed restlessly, no longer just wiggling her little backside—her pale feet curled tightly too, like she was itching to stomp the busty helmet woman across from her.
“Huh? Why would traffic police surround my house?” Kyousuke blinked, baffled.
Traffic police? Naoka’s eyes widened.
Wait, is this woman some kind of speeding criminal?!
“Yes! Japan’s most terrifying security force!” Celty shuddered dramatically at the mere mention of them.
“Well… let’s set aside the ‘most terrifying’ part for now. Why would they surround my house, and why would they come after you? You don’t even have a license—they’d never find you,” Kyousuke said casually.
“Shhh! Shhh! SHHH—!!”
Celty panicked instantly, clapping one hand over Hojou’s mouth and making a “silence” gesture with the other.
“Are you an idiot?! Don’t just blurt out that I don’t have a license! They’ll find out!”
This woman who had driven without a license for decades… still had a stricter sense of morals and law than most normal people.
She was, in some ways, more normal than normal.
“My voice was tiny, and nobody else is listening,” Kyousuke chuckled.
“They are! They are!”
“Who?”
“Those two housewives over there! They’re housewives! You can’t hide anything from housewives! In less than a day the whole world will know I’m a Dullahan!”
Her panic grew, only a shade less intense than her fear of the traffic police.
Yes—for this adorable woman, cops represented the fear of unlicensed driving.
Housewives represented the fear of her secret being exposed.
“Pfft—hahaha!”
Kyousuke finally understood. Celty was terrified of their gossip superpowers.
“Don’t laugh! Be serious! If I’d known housewives were here, I never would’ve come! Ugh, what was I thinking?!” Celty groaned in despair.
‘I never should’ve given in to Sakura’s invitation.’
‘Just because she said there was a gathering, I rushed right over. Stupid, stupid!’
‘Hundreds of years of being alive, and yet my brain is still this soft!’
