Today, the atmosphere in the Hyoudo household was different—heavy, suffocating, like being trapped inside a water balloon in the dark.
No one could see where the edge was, nor where escape might be.
Everyone knew the others were struggling just as hard to find a solution, but they couldn't even hear each other breathe.
The silence only deepened the darkness, pressing down until it felt impossible to draw air.
This was the deadlock between parents and their child.
On the sofa sat the father, face stormy, his unfocused eyes fixed on the television.
Arms crossed, his fingers tapped against his sleeves in a steady rhythm—lost in his own thoughts.
He was Hyoudo Yukito, and right now he was anything but yukito ("cool").
In the kitchen, the mother had already put away all the dishes into the sterilizer but still hadn't stepped out.
The silence there was eerie, almost as if no one was inside at all.
Only her thin back could be seen swaying slightly now and then.
She was Hyoudo Kinako, currently drowning in worry.
To the left of the living room, at the freshly cleared dining table, two others sat.
One was a girl with stylish short purple hair, sitting cross-legged on a chair, her upper body sprawled across the table.
Her overdeveloped secondary features pressed so heavily into the tabletop that even the wood seemed to cave.
Wide-eyed, she stared at the vase before her, poking her finger at the base as if trying to pop the bubbles rising from the daffodils.
She was Hyoudo Michiru, presently doing absolutely nothing useful.
Next to her sat a young woman with long brown wavy hair, also cross-legged.
One hand propped her chin, and her violet Hyoudo eyes drifted from her brother on the sofa, to her sister-in-law in the kitchen, then to her niece—where the two of them exchanged knowing glances now and then.
She was Hyoudo Tsunemi, wanting badly to escape but unable to.
Compared to the suffocating air in the room, these two were completely out of place.
It was as if everyone else was trapped in a submerged prison, while they were happily scuba-diving with oxygen tanks, pointing at fish.
The Hyoudo couple had tried to handle their conflict with their daughter as gently as possible.
In fact, they had gone so far as to drag Tsunemi back home to cut off Michiru's escape route.
The result.
An explosive argument just erupted—and now, instead of running away, Michiru was still here, waiting obediently for round two of the trial.
Michiru had been hoping for backup from her parents, but nearly wound up facing a two-on-two match instead.
Her plan to seek refuge at her aunt's house collapsed instantly when said aunt showed up at the door, meekly carrying sweets.
Every family with a teenager goes through this, the only differences being how long the "adolescent storm" lasts and how many times it flares up.
For the Hyoudos, however, their daughter's teenage phase had arrived early… and was dragging on endlessly.
Michiru was the textbook "she's smart, but her heart's not in her studies" type. And it wasn't an empty excuse—it was the truth.
From elementary through high school, Michiru had always been in all-girls' schools.
She had the talent to take the perennial first-round-dropout ballet team all the way to the regional finals, to win theater awards at the prefectural level, and to nearly push the basketball team into nationals.
Outside of academics, she shone brilliantly in everything she touched.
Every time they saw her on stage, radiant as she accepted trophies, Yukito and Kinako felt boundless pride.
But…
If a beautiful sentence ends with "but," you know trouble is coming. And Michiru's "but" was inevitable.
In normal circumstances, being athletic but poor at academics isn't a death sentence.
With well-structured competition systems and special admission programs, talented athletes often have clearer futures than top scholars.
And the Hyoudos weren't short on money either—this luxury high-rise in Minato Ward said it all.
Whatever path Michiru chose, whether continuing in sports or pursuing it professionally, her parents were ready to support her.
After all, she was their only daughter, their sweet, adorable girl.
But!
This child… could not stick with anything!
Ballet, theater, basketball—she'd win some recognition, then immediately toss it aside for the next shiny thing.
To call her a "three-minute passion" type was a compliment—her passions often didn't even last a single minute.
Pride had turned into worry.
If she were just a fool, that'd be one thing.
But a clever child with zero consistency? Terrifying.
They could support a daughter who only cared about food and fun.
But one who today played shogi, and tomorrow wanted to wingsuit fly off a cliff?
That they couldn't handle.
Why couldn't she be more like Ryouta?
Sure, he lacked talent, but even knowing effort wouldn't pay off, he still stuck to what he chose and worked tirelessly.
That's the safest kind of life.
Wasted effort isn't scary—speeding toward a cliff with the gas pedal floored is.
If she turned out like her aunt, that would be the real disaster.
The resemblance was already uncanny.
Yukito thought of his sister soon to leave for Johannesburg.
South Africa! Was she going there to mine?
Wouldn't it be better to stay quietly in Tokyo?
That worry only made him pin more hopes on his nephew, Tsuchiya Ryouta.
Maybe this talentless but rock-solidly stubborn boy could inspire his daughter, at least enough to stop her from flying off the rails.
Kinako shared that hope too—she'd even left some untouched sweets in the microwave, waiting for Ryouta's arrival.
The TV droned on with the most mind-numbing variety show imaginable.
So dull that even the hosts sometimes dozed off.
Still, thanks to its background noise, the living room wasn't oppressively silent… though no one was paying attention.
Then suddenly—
"Pfft—heheheheh…"
The sound of stifled laughter broke the air.
Yukito instinctively looked up at the TV, searching for the source.
His subconscious refused to believe anyone at home could possibly be laughing right now.
But on screen, one host had already nodded off, and the other looked far too kind to prank his partner.
Which meant—
Turning around, he caught her.
Sure enough, the rebellious daughter sprawled on the table was laughing so hard her shoulders shook, the chair legs squeaking beneath her.
"Michiru!!" Yukito barked, furious.
Caught, Michiru sat up straight, quickly wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes with one finger.
"B-but it's just too funny! Look, Tamisan's completely asleep, right? But every time Migusan says something, he still answers automatically—it's hilarious! Pffft, hahahahaha!"
The short-haired girl kept laughing uncontrollably, her oversized pajamas swaying wildly with her every shake.
Hearing her words, both Hyoudo Kinako and Hyoudo Tsunemi instinctively glanced at the TV.
Sure enough, one host—Tamisan was already fast asleep and snoring, yet whenever Migusan spoke, he still muttered back, "Yes, yes, amazing," as if on autopilot.
"Hahahahaha! For real? So that's how you're supposed to watch this show?" Tsunemi burst into laughter, slapping the table.
She wasn't just similar to Michiru at that moment—she was practically her role model in action.
But that only earned her a death glare from Yukito.
His lethal gaze now swept over both niece and sister alike.
"In a situation like this, how can you two possibly be laughing?!"
"Ha… ha… ha…"
That long-honed older brother authority was enough to silence Tsunemi instantly.
She threw her niece a helpless look, then spun her chair around a full 180 degrees to face the wall like a child in timeout.
From her phone, though, faint music echoed—the very same background music as the TV.
Apparently, she really was invested in the show.
Michiru's grin didn't last long either.
With a sigh, she spread her little hands, flopped face-down on the table, and pretended to be dead again.
But then—something subtle drifted into her nose.
'Sniff sniff…'
Ah, the smell of baked scallops with salt—so fragrant, so rich.
She could practically taste it bursting across her tongue in one big bite.
How did Michiru know exactly what dish it was from such a faint aroma?
Not some miraculous sixth sense of a beautiful girl.
No—because she herself had dropped it earlier at dinner.
To welcome Tsunemi, the Hyoudos had gone all out for supper.
They'd ordered top-quality sushi from a fancy place downstairs, along with a selection of seasonal side dishes.
Even knowing this would be her "last meal before execution," Michiru had stuffed herself full.
After all, a figure like hers didn't maintain itself.
Ah, if only she could go back an hour! Being scolded one more time would've been worth it.
'Grrrrooowl—'
Oh no.
Just thinking about it had tricked her stupid stomach into believing she was hungry again.
Pressing her head even lower against the table, she knew her father's despairing, weary eyes were boring into her back right this second.
"Sigh—"
There it was! The legendary "Sigh of Sorrow" from Hyoudo Yukito himself.
Michiru practically cheered inside.
'Pfft—'
Another sudden laugh broke the tension.
Before her brother's death glare could land, Tsunemi quickly waved her phone, silently declaring: See? I'm laughing at the video, not at you, Big Brother.
'Ding-dong!'
The doorbell rang. Before Yukito could speak, Kinako hurried off to answer.
"…Mm, yes. Got it."
After a short exchange, she hung up the intercom and turned back to the family's questioning stares.
"It's Ryouta. He's here."
"Huh? Isn't Ryouta supposed to be at baseball practice right now? Skipping out? That's surprising." Michiru tilted her head, not the least bit upset about her father's earlier scolding—just listless from being trapped at home with nowhere to run.
With her aunt dragged back into the house, her last hideout was gone.
"What do you mean, 'skipping'? Ryouta trains all year round. If he weren't coming here, he wouldn't be resting at all!" Yukito snapped.
"Yes, yes, I get it~~ Ryouta is the manliest tokyo boy ever!" Michiru replied half-heartedly, then collapsed face-first on the table again.
At some point, Tsunemi had turned back around and was making exaggerated faces at her niece.
Michiru, drained of energy, only responded with a lazy eye-roll.
To Michiru, her aunt was her shining lighthouse—single, comfortably well-off, living in a high-class Tokyo apartment, free-spirited and bold.
Not only did Tsunemi offer her a five-star refuge whenever she needed to escape home, but she also actually understood the troubles of a teenage girl.
She was an Hyoudo by blood but without the family's stiff traditions.
A perfect sanctuary… except even that had been compromised by her father's iron grip.
'Ah, Tomoya, where are you?'
'Didn't I tell you to come straight after school?'
'Ugh, when I see you, I'm putting you in a cross armlock.'
Michiru groaned inwardly.
She'd nearly forgotten her backup escape plan.
With Tsunemi leaving soon for Johannesburg, she had been weighing her options.
Internet cafés were out—the comfort level was way too low for someone spoiled by luxury living.
The only fallback was her other aunt's place: the Aki family, way out in the remote suburbs of Toshima.
Meanwhile, Ryouta stepped into the elevator after clearing security downstairs.
Surrounded by marble and gold plating that screamed money, Ryouta felt his motivation soar.
If he could help his uncle and aunt resolve Michiru's problems, surely securing sponsorship for the baseball team wouldn't be a problem.
Back then, the team was always eliminated in the first round, so it hadn't mattered how they got to games.
But with Hojou on board, things were different.
First round led to second round, preliminaries led to finals, finals to invitationals.
At the very least, they needed a team bus.
If they did even better, maybe a luxury coach.
For longer trips, they could even afford premium transport.
Sure, his own family could pitch in money—but Ryouta had too much pride to let that happen.
Everything he wanted, he'd win through his own effort!
Heart blazing with determination, Ryouta jabbed the doorbell.
'Hyoudo Michiru belongs to our Soubu High baseball team!'
And to her bandmates too!
"Auntie, good afternoon, sorry to intrude."
The moment the door opened, Ryouta offered his gift with both hands.
As expected, the two exchanged polite words.
Ryouta explained that the expensive vintage sake his father had been saving for New Year's had just been gathering dust, so they'd decided to bring it.
Kinako, glowing with pride, praised her nephew as the shining representative of Japan's new generation.
If Michiru hadn't barged in, the two might've started a full tea party right there in the entryway.