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486 — Only the Married Can Get Divorced
🕑 Added 2025-08-31 15:00:19 +0000 UTC“Soft ramen will snap under a taut thread. You can’t weave a beautiful knot with it, and you’ll only end up tangling the silk into a mess.”
Kyousuke raised a hand and struck a thoroughly awful pose.
“So, sensei, if you want to get married, you need a man who can take your punch. If your blind date is the kind of guy who can deck a thief before you even swing.
How could that date fail? After knocking the thief flat, you two could happily chat about sparring and striking.
The problem isn’t you—it’s your choice of dates.”
He wrapped it up with such neat logic that it sounded almost convincing.
Hiratsuka Shizuka blinked at that.
In her mind, she saw again her date’s face—staring at her like she was a kaiju after she’d flattened a purse-snatcher and, in contrast, the excited, fired-up looks of her aikido dojo mates when they’d heard the story.
Right.
By all rights, she should be looking for someone who shares her interests.
So why had she never realized that?
She pondered for a moment, then arrived at a conclusion: obviously, this was the world’s fault.
At the dojo, the guys cheered her on when she handled things with her fists, sure—but every time gossip came up over dinner.
They dismissed the women who trained there and started rhapsodizing about wanting a “cute, gentle girl whose voice never rises above fifty decibels.”
And the women? Anyone who comes to a professional dojo to learn aikido has, let’s be honest, an unspeakable fondness for controlled violence.
Yet when it came to picking a partner, they were just like the men.
The logic went:
“I’m strong enough already—why would I find someone even stronger? Are we going to bash each other to a pulp at home every day?”
They admired the highly skilled seniors, but excluded that entire type from their dating criteria.
Every meetup, the job titles that came up were novelist, math teacher, doctor, lawyer—the kind that conjure a mild, bookish image the moment you hear them.
No good. Her thoughts were starting to snarl.
She didn’t want an all-out brawl at home, but she also needed someone who wouldn’t be scared off by her combat power.
Should she just marry the practice dummy instead?
Hiratsuka’s head felt fuzzy.
“Like you said before, sensei. As long as people live in this world, they’ll end up hurting others without meaning to. We can’t change that—but we can control it.”
“Control…?”
She echoed the word, not noticing in the least that the one who was supposed to be lecturing had become the one being lectured.
“Exactly. Since you said that treating someone as important means being ready to hurt them, then we can choose to treat people with high tolerance for pain as important. Think more—but don’t mix up what’s actually worth thinking about.”
Kyousuke’s tone was calm.
This time, Hiratsuka didn’t answer.
She just waved a hand to shoo him off.
Kyousuke smiled, very pleased with how his Talk-no-Jutsu had leveled up again.
He gave a small bow and headed for the door.
As he pushed it open, a voice came from behind him.
“Turn in a written reflection tomorrow. Reflect properly on how dangerous your antics were last night.”
“Okay.” He paused, then agreed without fuss.
Catching the brat slipping out in the corner of her eye, Hiratsuka turned toward the classroom door and stared, dazed.
‘Think—but don’t mix up what actually needs thinking about?’
‘You little punk, do I need you to teach me that? Start by learning how to close a door properly.’
Snark aside, her thoughts didn’t settle.
She kept glancing at the now-empty doorway.
‘Someone who can take my punch, but is also refined…’
‘Doesn’t that describe that brat Hojou perfectly? Was he… hinting at something?’
The idea startled even her the moment it surfaced.
“Right…”
“Yaa—!”
A sudden voice at the door nearly made her jump.
Seeing the upper half of the body leaning into the classroom—that broad chest, that handsome face.
She felt a completely inexplicable pang of guilt, like she’d been caught doing something shady.
“Were you trying to trick your teacher into treating you to ramen?” she seized the initiative.
“Huh? Nope. I just remembered I forgot to say something,” Kyousuke raised an eyebrow.
“If it’s about toilets again, I will punch you.”
“It’s not. I wanted to say thank you, Hiratsuka-san, thank you for running around for me last night, and for coaching me today.”
Kyousuke grinned, flashing a neat row of white teeth.
“You’re really the best teacher I’ve ever had!”
The smile was as contagious as a yawn.
Hiratsuka’s lips curled up before she knew it, and even as warmth reached her eyes she grumbled,
“At school, call me sensei, you impolite brat.”
“‘But calling you with sensei making you look old—”
Almost before the words finished, a chalkboard eraser was already flying at him.
Unfortunately for her, the new-age swordmaster with the terrifying sense for kendo timing had foreseen that this line would enrage the woman in the room.
He was gone in a blur before the sentence ended.
Listening to his carefree laughter fading down the hall, Hiratsuka still had a smile tugging at her mouth.
To be praised as the best teacher by a student as unruly as Hojou Kyousuke—well, that moment of satisfaction was almost enough to forgive his constant “let’s talk about marriage” crimes.
Marriage… a tournament for a bride? A scholar-warrior? A forbidden student–teacher romance?
‘No, pull it together. I still have to save Yukari from the pit of fire.’
Mulling it over, Hiratsuka headed to the restroom and splashed cold water on her face to clear her head.
“If we’re being honest… compared to a toilet, a mirror might be an even better marriage partner. Trim nose hairs, make faces, strike narcissistic poses, show off the figure, pop pimples… way more multi-functional.”
She muttered to the woman in the mirror—who, regrettably, was very clear-headed.
———————————————————————
At the restroom doorway, a black-haired girl stood with her arms folded, pale-blue eyes brimming with sorrowful pity.
‘Hiratsuka-sensei… has the pressure finally broken you?’
Watching a woman of “xx” years seriously weighing the pros and cons of marrying either a toilet or a mirror, Yukinoshita Yukino’s heart ached.
Yes, Hiratsuka meddled too much, loved quoting anime to preach, and was chunibyo like an elementary schooler—but none of that stopped her from being a good teacher.
A diligent, responsible teacher who, in Yukino’s ideal world, could absolutely qualify for permanent residency—but driven mad over marriage?
Yukinoshita would never allow such a thing to happen!
The black-haired girl quietly stepped forward, her cool, slender figure now reflected in the mirror as well.
What made her heart ache even more was that Hiratsuka didn’t even notice her and still muttering nonsense like.
“If I punch the mirror, it’ll shatter, and my hand will be hurt too… wouldn’t that count as double domestic violence?”
Yukinoshita’s gaze softened with sorrow.
She gently placed a hand on Hiratsuka’s shoulder and spoke in a voice far gentler than her usual sharp tongue:
“It’s okay, Sensei. Marriage isn’t something worth longing for. You need to think carefully—every divorced person was once married.
As long as you don’t get married, you’ll never suffer through a failed marriage. So, not being able to get married is actually a blessing.”
Perhaps it was out of respect for this teacher, or maybe out of pity for someone who seemed on the verge of breaking down.
But Yukinoshita’s usually cold, biting tone came out surprisingly tender.
In the mirror, Hiratsuka’s dazed eyes slowly cleared.
Her elegant head turned mechanically, like a machine powering back on.
Seeing her expression finally come alive again, Yukinoshita nodded in relief and even offered a rare, beautiful smile before continuing, pushing her encouragement further:
“Please cheer up, sensei. Compared to those teachers who get married and turn into useless salary thieves just coasting through life.
You’re someone who devotes yourself to school events and your students every single day. That’s the kind of teacher both society and the students truly need.”
To Yukinoshita’s delight, her teacher finally cracked a smile.
“…Yukinoshita, if you really can’t find the words, you don’t have to force yourself.” Hiratsuka groaned, clutching her heart as if it physically hurt.
“Hm?” Yukinoshita tilted her head, puzzled.
“…Forget it. Just forget it…” Hiratsuka waved a hand weakly and shuffled out of the restroom like a zombie.
‘No, the mirror won’t work either. Totally unsuited for marriage.’
‘Just like the toilet, it’s fickle—always fogging up with steam from hot water.’
‘And it’s a coward, too.’
‘When someone pokes at your wounds with words, it just sits there laughing at you without lifting a finger to help. No responsibility at all.’
Still, one thing was clear: Hojou Kyousuke really did spark a violent chemical reaction with Yukinoshita. One’s words cut deeper than the other’s.
“Sensei, where are you going?” Yukinoshita followed after her.
“Home. Just listening to those two sentences of yours already drained all the courage I had for today. If I hear anything more, I’m afraid I won’t be able to resist jumping off the roof.” Hiratsuka didn’t even look back.
Yukinoshita frowned.
‘It takes courage to listen to me? But… I was just trying to comfort her.’
“Um, please wait. I have something I want to ask.” Seeing her teacher’s unsteady figure ahead, Yukinoshita quickly called out.
“What?”
“Yamauchi-san said Hojou Kyousuke came for extra counseling with you. I wanted to ask if that session is over now. The club has some matters to confirm with him.” She explained.
Since school had ended some time ago, tutoring should’ve been long finished.
And yet, Hojou Kyousuke still hadn’t shown up at the Service Club.
Chatting with Sakura and Shouko was fun enough, but Yukinoshita’s sense of duty urged her to sort out yesterday’s request as soon as possible.
“Hm?”
Hiratsuka stopped and turned around.
Usually, her white coat would swish dramatically, but this time it just drooped, lifeless like its owner.
“Hojou just left. You didn’t run into him?” she asked, puzzled.
Yukinoshita frowned.
Just my luck.
“Perhaps he used a different staircase. I’ll go look for him. Thank you, sensei.” She bowed politely and started to leave.
“Wait. Where exactly are you going to look? You’ll probably miss him again. Don’t you have his contact info? Just send a message or call him.” Hiratsuka looked genuinely confused.
“……”
Yukinoshita subtly turned her face away to avoid those probing eyes.
In her usual cool tone, she replied, “Of course I have Hojou’s number. But I came here not only to find him—I also had something to tell you, sensei.”
“You… actually have Hojou’s number? Did you ask for it, or did he give it to you first?” Hiratsuka asked in shock.
A phone number wasn’t something people handed out lightly.
Strangers usually exchanged SNS accounts first, then maybe LINE or email after some trust, and only finally phone numbers when things were closer.
If a girl gave her number without hesitation, it was practically a confession of goodwill.
Hiratsuka never expected the two of them to already be at that stage.
“I refuse to answer that question. It’s not something a teacher and student should even be discussing.”
The girl, who had been averting her gaze, turned back to meet the older woman head-on, her face deadly serious.
“Tch, don’t be such a tightwad. Aside from being your teacher, I’m also technically your elder, you know.” Hiratsuka bounced back to life, gleefully elbowing the aloof girl at her side.
Yukinoshita shoved the overly childish woman away with visible disdain.
‘Any elder connected to my sister isn’t someone I want to acknowledge.’
Hiratsuka’s lips jutted higher in a pout, her face written all over with dissatisfaction.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about? Hurry up, I want to go home and sleep.”
“Yesterday, the club received its very first official request. Today is the day to report our results, and I thought it necessary to inform you.” Yukinoshita’s words came out in a rush.
Inside, she was already regretting not simply calling Hojou Kyousuke directly.
Even if that would make it seem like she was eager to see him, it would’ve been far better than facing this immature, nosy teacher.
“Club? Request? What’s that? Why are you telling me this?”
Hiratsuka frowned, utterly lost.
Yukinoshita clenched her jaw.
A dark vein pulsed on her temple and her fists tightened.
She took a deep breath, reminding herself:
‘No, this is fine. A completely absent advisor is better than one who meddles every day with bizarre demands.’
“It’s nothing. I have other matters, so I’ll be going.”
Her beautiful, icy face showed no trace of a smile.
She gave a brief bow, then turned swiftly toward the stairwell.
Hiratsuka stayed where she was, frowning, turning the word “request” over in her mind.
Why had Yukinoshita bothered to inform her of it?
“Wait—oh, that’s right! The Service Club. I’m your advisor!” Hiratsuka suddenly shouted, chasing after the flutter of black hair disappearing down the stairs.
“No, wait—I didn’t forget. I even wanted to send in a request myself!”
Seeing that Yukinoshita had no intention of slowing down, Hiratsuka quickly continued yelling:
“Really, I’ve thought of tons of things that could benefit the club. Hey, wait up, Yukinoshita! Don’t you want more members?”
It was as if she were being chased by a demon. Yukinoshita Yukino’s fair face drained of color, and her steps only grew faster.
