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483 — The Mother of Ultra
🕑 Added 2025-08-29 15:00:21 +0000 UTCThe once lively room finally quieted down again.
Hiratsuka Shizuka lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.
It was then that Hojou Kyousuke noticed—she wasn’t smoking a slim ladies’ cigarette.
Normally, when a beautiful woman smokes, it gives off a certain sense of regret.
Like the older woman sitting alone at the corner of a small bar in a back alley on the outskirts of town, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a cigarette in the other.
With smoke swirling around her painted lips and shadowy eyes, people couldn’t help but imagine she was hiding some sorrowful past.
That dreamy, intoxicating image was like poison—beautiful and dangerous, like a poppy flower.
Even the most alluring bar hostess in the world couldn’t compare.
But Hiratsuka Shizuka wasn’t like that.
She was beautiful, yes, but the way her slender fingers held an ordinary cigarette somehow looked cool rather than elegant.
Her long legs crossed casually, the way she inhaled and exhaled smoke—it was alluring in its own rough way.
If that “story-filled older sister” type was the kind who drowned herself in melancholy every day.
Then Hiratsuka Shizuka was more like the office worker who rushes into a random izakaya after work, scarfing down fried snack with a bottled beer.
Lletting nicotine and alcohol chase away the boredom and fatigue of her job, all while yelling at the baseball game on TV, “Get that crappy pitcher off the mound already!”
Words like elegant or seductive had nothing to do with her.
If anything, she was the very image of a middle-aged uncle.
And yet—that was her charm.
No matter how many glamorous city women surrounded her, Hiratsuka never changed.
She was stubborn, like a fire hydrant on the side of the road.
“Hiratsuka-sensei. If you’re really that tired, you should just go home and sleep. Don’t force yourself with cigarettes.”
Kyousuke spoke up, watching the fatigue written all over her face.
He was honestly moved—this woman really was a good teacher.
Across both his lives, after decades of schooling, she was probably the best teacher he had ever met.
Of course, Yukari was in a category of her own.
“Me? What about you?”
Hiratsuka crushed the cigarette in the ashtray after only one puff, as usual.
Lifting her sharp gaze toward the boy in front of her, her eyes seemed almost piercing.
“So you only ever take one puff before putting it out… is that for your health?” Kyousuke’s mind wandered to strange places.
“You’re telling me to rest when I’m tired, but what about you? You’re exhausted too, aren’t you?
Dealing with your friends’ messy love problems, street racing and gang fights in Gunma, the random sakura incident, fighting yakuza groups… aren’t you worn out? And I don’t mean physically—I mean your heart.”
Her voice carried a weight that pressed down on him.
“Why did you do something like that? Ever since middle school, when you became the head of the Rampaging Angels, you’ve never gone that far. You’re not the type who enjoys showing off. So what happened?”
Kyousuke fell silent, leaning back in his chair as his eyes drifted away from hers.
“It’s not something worth telling others. I’m already dealing with it,” he said quietly.
That was the reason Kisaki had even shown up at school.
“This is why being a good teacher is so damn hard—because brats like you are too stubborn!” Hiratsuka snapped in frustration.
“I can see right away that you’re troubled. I want to help, to guide you. But kids like you always think you can handle everything alone.
You think the world is small, that you’re standing at its center. You think what’s right in front of you is all there is, that you can see the whole future at a glance.
You convince yourself no one understands you, no one can help you. So you push away adults’ kindness with indifference, rejection—even disdain.
And when you can’t solve things anymore, you don’t ask for help. Instead, you go from arrogance straight into self-destruction.”
The more she spoke, the more irritated she became.
Her hand automatically reached for another cigarette, but the pack was empty.
That only made her more impatient.
She stared at Kyousuke’s silent figure across from her, flames of anger burning in her dark eyes.
“You’re already a high schooler, yet your chuunibyou hasn’t gone away—it’s evolved into second-year syndrome!
Do you really think acting like some brooding outcast abandoned by the world is cool?
Putting on that fake tough, worldly-wise front whenever you face trouble—it’s infuriating!”
“Hojou Kyousuke!”
Her sudden shout snapped him out of his thoughts, making him flinch.
“Even Ultraman Taro goes to the Mother of Ultra when he’s in trouble! So why can’t you rely on the people around you a little more?!”
Her voice was thick with both frustration and desperation.
To her, he wasn’t just a troubled student—he was also a friend. She wanted to help him.
“You say I’m chuunibyou, but Sensei… you’re still using tokusatsu shows as examples. Shouldn’t a language teacher be quoting something a little more…”
“Shut up! Quit dodging and be a man—tell me what’s bothering you! I’ll solve it all for you in one go!”
She cut him off. And she had every right to say that—because Hiratsuka Shizuka was manlier than most men.
Sitting there with one leg crossed, lighting up a Six Star cigarette, she looked less like a teacher and more like a Showa-era tough guy.
Kyousuke just gave her a tired smile.
He never thought he’d see the day he’d be lectured like this.
“Hiratsuka-sensei… you’ll definitely make a great mother someday,” he said sincerely.
“Of course I’ll get married!” she declared proudly.
“That’s not quite what I—”
“Then tell me how it is! All I know is last night, you nearly got yourself killed. Can you honestly guarantee you’ll come out on top every single time?”
“Believe it or not, as long as no one’s thirty meters away spraying a semi-automatic rifle at me, I’m basically invincible.”
“…You brat, I’m not asking about your fighting ability! I’m trying to give you counseling, so take this seriously!”
She glared at him, then muttered under her breath:
“…Wait, what kind of rifle? Are you serious? And at twenty meters, you can dodge? Wouldn’t that be harder?”
“No, if it’s that close, I’d just throw my knife and kill them first,” Kyousuke replied honestly. He had never actually trained to dodge live bullets.
Hiratsuka fought the urge to drag him to a shooting range and test it, forcibly dragging the conversation back on track.
“I can tell, you know. When you were beating up those guys … deep down, you were hurting, weren’t you?”
“…No.”
“To keep from hurting the people around you, you take all that darkness inside and release it in hidden places.
You throw your fists hoping to let out the frustration, hoping to find an answer—yet you keep denying yourself at the same time.”
