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472 – Why Are You Sitting at the Hojou Family’s Dinner Table?
🕑 Added 2025-08-25 15:00:18 +0000 UTCThe reason the girl began to like bitter melon was because of a single phrase.
Or rather… because of a single person.
It was one autumn afternoon, back when she was still in sixth grade.
She had just gained three friends and was still trying her best to learn how to enjoy the simple happiness of being a guest at a friend’s house.
By then, she had already eaten at Kyousuke’s house several times.
Aunt Mikiko was always so warm and kind.
And somehow, even though it was the Hojou family’s dining table, Sakura never once missed a meal there.
Still, whenever Shouko sat at that table, she couldn’t help but feel stiff and unnatural.
Forget about sneaking bites before dinner like Sakura and Aunt Mikiko did—she couldn’t even relax while watching TV.
She’d often feel the urge to run into the kitchen and help, only to be shoved back onto the sofa again and again, her mouth stuffed with appetizers to keep her still.
“Shou-chan, did you know? Bitter melon is actually an amazing food.”
At that moment, Nishimiya Shouko froze, her chopsticks halfway toward the plate of stir-fried shredded potatoes.
Golden and crispy, just looking at them made her imagine the crunch.
She hesitated, then pulled her chopsticks back, puzzled, and turned to Yamauchi Sakura.
Why had she heard the crunch before even grabbing a piece?
Embarrassingly enough, that was because two-thirds of the plate was already in her stomach.
She really was trying to be reserved!
But Kyousuke’s cooking was just too delicious—too unique.
She couldn’t control her hands or her mouth.
Even when she pressed her hand over her lips, her eyes would betray her, wandering toward the dishes, and the next thing she knew, her bowl would be magically filled again.
It was so embarrassing.
But still… this was food Kyousuke had personally cooked! For her! For Shou-chan!
That said, Shouko had tasted almost every dish on the table—except for the bitter melon that Sakura was praising so highly.
Bitter melon? Even dogs would sniff it and run away.
This wasn’t home, so even if she didn’t eat it, Yuzuru wouldn’t get scolded by their mother for “setting a bad example.”
So, Shouko decided—bravely—to say NO!
Besides, since Sakura seemed to love it so much, she could have it all.
Shouko was perfectly happy with her potatoes.
They were so good!
A little spicy from the chili powder, but crispy and fragrant, impossible to stop at just one bite.
She made up her mind to ask Kyousuke for the recipe later—then she could learn to make it herself and cook it for him one day.
As far as Shouko was concerned, bitter melon was neither “amazing” nor “delicious.”
Absolutely incomprehensible!
Staring at the bitter melon slices cut into fun shapes—stegosaurus, triceratops, ankylosaurus.
Maybe it was because of her hearing impairment since childhood, or maybe it was thanks to Kyousuke’s patient teaching, but Shouko was incredibly good at mimicking speech now.
English or Japanese, if she heard it once, she could repeat it perfectly.
And Sakura’s pronunciation was surprisingly accurate.
The girl who had just sung praises for bitter melon picked up a “stegosaurus spine” slice with her chopsticks and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly.
Shouko expected her to look blissful after such a statement.
But instead, Sakura’s delicate brows twisted, knotting into a whirlpool above her nose.
Her lips stretched in opposite directions, forming the most hilariously pained grimace.
Really? This was the “great” bitter melon?
Was its greatness just that it could make someone as foolishly cheerful as Sakura pull such a face?
Well… looking at it that way, bitter melon had achieved something no one else could.
After all, Shouko had once witnessed Aunt Yamauchi literally dragging Sakura by the ankles out of the Kyousuke house when she refused to leave.
Even then, Sakura hadn’t cried.
Instead, as she was being hauled out the door, she’d been bargaining with Kyousuke over what they’d have for breakfast the next morning.
“No one can make Yamauchi Sakura cry.” That was a well-known saying at Suimon Elementary.
And right after it came: “But if you even think about testing that legend, Kyousuke’s fist will find your face.”
In short, Shouko reaffirmed her belief: bitter melon was a wretched food.
Sure, it could make Sakura grimace in pain—that was impressive—but it was still disgusting!
Yet Sakura, despite the painful expression, kept chewing.
She didn’t pinch her nose and swallow it like bitter medicine; she faced it head-on.
Shouko, happily munching on her crunchy potatoes, felt a simple joy filling her whole chest.
Watching Sakura’s strength and stubbornness only made it better.
“The phrase means, ‘Bitter melon does not pass its bitterness on to other things,’” Sakura finally explained after swallowing.
“But bitter melon is still really gross,” Shouko said earnestly.
“Yes, the bitterness is enough to make you cry,” Sakura admitted. “But whether it’s bitter melon stewed with fish or stir-fried with eggs.
It never passes its bitterness on to the other ingredients. Isn’t that amazing? Whether boiled or fried, it seals the bitterness tightly inside itself.”
Shouko slowed her chewing.
“It never lets its own bitterness taint the food around it. Instead, it wraps itself in the flavors of whatever it’s cooked with.”
Sakura’s words went on, but Shouko’s mouth had stopped moving.
She felt like Sakura wasn’t really talking about bitter melon anymore.
She thought of her mother. Of herself. Of her grandmother.
Her gaze drifted back to Sakura, to those bright amber eyes that seemed to glow like sunlight trapped in crystal.
She searched them for an answer.
Sakura wasn’t describing herself—that much Shouko knew. If Sakura ever fell down, she’d immediately scream:
“Kyousuke! Ambulance! Call an ambulance! Gather every doctor in the country in the operating room!”
Even if she tried to act tough, Kyousuke would never let her.
With the way those two understood each other as childhood friends, it was impossible for her to hide her pain.
And it couldn’t be Kyousuke either. Kyousuke…
Shouko’s mind short-circuited, her thoughts cutting off with a sharp beep—.
She had meant to say that Kyousuke wasn’t the type to bottle up pain or worries.
If something bothered him, he’d solve it on the spot, vent it immediately.
He’d never carry it into the next day, because that would only ruin his sleep.
Based on what she understood of him, Kyousuke was the kind of man who didn’t compromise. Ever.
Forcing him to back down was simply impossible.
On her very first day at her new school, Nishimiya Shouko had already learned one thing about Kyousuke.
“Sensei, I think Ishida Shouya might have a mental problem. Shouldn’t we send him to the hospital for a checkup?”
“Takeuchi-san! You need to take this seriously—this is bullying!”
“No, we need to deal with this now. Ishida Shouya, apologize to Nishimiya immediately!”
“Is that your idea of an apology? Look at her properly when you say it! Didn’t your mother teach you how to apologize? Look her in the eye and bow!”
That firm voice still echoed in Shouko’s memory, filling her with comfort.
Memory really was a strange and beautiful thing.
At the time, she hadn’t been able to clearly hear Kyousuke’s words—but afterward, every detail of that moment had become crystal clear.
To her, Kyousuke was seared into her subconscious as someone strong and reliable.
He wasn’t like her, weak and timid, burying pain deep inside.
He was the kind of person who would fight tooth and nail to overcome hardship.
But when she heard Sakura’s words earlier, and saw the way Sakura looked at Kyousuke with such unwavering eyes, she hesitated.
Was Kyousuke really born strong? Or had her memory painted him in too perfect a light?
Surely he must have moments of sadness too.
No one could be reliable all the time.
Everyone got hurt.
So what about him? What did he do when he was sad? Who did he talk to then?
The thought made Shouko’s chest tighten painfully, as if she couldn’t breathe.
Was that side of him—the vulnerable side—something only his childhood friend was allowed to see?
“Hey, Shou-chan, do you think… bitter melon ever feels its own bitterness?”
Sakura’s sudden voice pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts.
Shouko looked at Kyousuke, who was eating quietly, then at Sakura, who was once again making a face while chewing bitter melon.
So… Sakura hadn’t seen Kyousuke sad either.
Relief washed through Shouko, her breath coming easier again.
But when she realized how shamefully glad that made her, she hated herself for it.
“What a stupid question. Do you think the sand in the Sahara complains that the air is too dry? You’re eating every last bite of that bitter melon.”
Kyousuke suddenly spoke up, rescuing Shouko from her moral dilemma.
Of course—Kyousuke wasn’t bitter melon at all!
But… if he were, then she would work hard to learn to love it.
Feeling secretly relieved, Shouko turned to look at Sakura.
Surprisingly, Sakura didn’t argue back.
Instead, she instantly swiveled her head toward Aunt Mikiko for support.
“This isn’t a food show, you know. Don’t play with your food—eat it properly. Bitter melon’s good for your health. It fights cancer, and even wrinkles,” Mikiko said gently.
But this time, Sakura’s ally refused to save her.
Just as Shouko, guilty over her own shameful relief, thought of helping, Mikiko suddenly clapped her hands in excitement.
“Wait! If bitter melon has anti-wrinkle effects, wouldn’t it work better on the face than cucumber slices?”
“Of course,” Kyousuke replied without missing a beat.
His certainty left the woman and both girls staring wide-eyed.
“If you put cucumber slices on your face, you’d eat them before they had any effect. But bitter melon? That problem would never happen.”
Kyousuke mercilessly shattered his mother’s fantasy.
“Ah—Kyousuke, you’re so mean! How could you say that about your own mother, and in front of Sakura and Shouko too? Do you enjoy embarrassing me?”
Mikiko scolded while pressing her finger against her son’s cheek, pushing his face side to side.
Watching Kyousuke’s pitiful state, Shouko’s heart ached.
She wanted to reassure Aunt Mikiko that she would never think less of her over something like this.
Not “think less of”—no, not even “see differently.”
Just… she wouldn’t ever consider Mikiko an immature, greedy, food-obsessed—
Ugh…
Anyway, stop poking Kyousuke’s face! Let him eat in peace!
Before Shouko could string her words together, Sakura had already spoken up.
Perfect.
Since Sakura was so close with Mikiko, she’d smooth things over instantly.
“Kyousuke, how can you say that? Aunt Mikiko only eats the cucumber slices off her face because you never prepare cucumbers for her to eat separately! If I were already stuffed, there’s no way I’d sneak one!”
Shouko’s eyes went wide, her lips forming a small “O.” Wait—so the cucumber thief wasn’t just Aunt Mikiko?
“Exactly! Sakura makes sense.” Mikiko beamed, patting Sakura on the head affectionately while cooing, “Yoshi, yoshi.”
Sense? Whose sense?
The “laws of the Kingdom of Sakura,” maybe?
Shouko couldn’t follow the logic, but at last she understood why Sakura never missed a meal at the Hojou household.
Watching the three of them bicker, she suddenly thought of her own family.
Her mother and Aunt Mikiko were completely different kinds of women—but as mothers, they were exactly the same.
Both were the best kind of mother.
No matter how exhausting or painful her job was, Shouko’s mother never complained at home.
The only “cosmetic” she ever bought was hand cream.
Strict, yes—but she never forced her misfortune onto Shouko.
She only wanted her daughter to learn how to survive in this world.
And Mikiko… she might groan an hour before dinner, “Kyousuke, I’m starving! If I don’t eat soon I’ll die!”—but Shouko knew how hard it was to raise a child alone.
At least in her family, her grandmother had helped.
Mikiko had done it all by herself.
Her mom was bitter melon.
Aunt Mikiko was bitter melon.
Shouko turned her eyes to the boy with the helpless expression.
Kyousuke… he was bitter melon too.
Right now, all she could taste from him was honey-sweetness, happiness so pure it almost hurt.
She knew that was because she herself couldn’t be like bitter melon, she couldn’t seal her bitterness away and only share sweetness.
If she ever saw Kyousuke sad, she scared she’d do nothing but grow even sadder herself.
No. Nishimiya Shouko wouldn’t cry!
She wasn’t clinging to him just for the honeyed sweetness he gave her.
She wanted that warmth, yes—but she wanted to share his bitterness too, if he ever had it.
Shou-chan would grow stronger.
Strong enough that Kyousuke could look at her and think she was reliable.
Strong enough that he could entrust even his sadness to her.
Shou-chan would learn to love bitter melon.
