Saturday Evening at the Bar
It was just past five on Saturday evening when Minamoto Senya left home with the Takanashi sisters.Tonight, they planned to eat out.
They didn't have much choice. Even though Takanashi Touka had recently vowed to live frugally, her younger sister's latest exam results had unexpectedly soared up by more than thirty ranks in her grade.
Their mother had promised Rikka earlier: if she could rise by more than twenty spots, she'd be treated to dinner at a restaurant.
Now that she'd exceeded expectations, Touka, as the responsible elder sister, had to fulfill that promise on their mother's behalf.
She couldn't go back on her word just to save on one meal. Not only would that rob Rikka of the motivation to keep working hard, it could even hurt her sense of integrity as she grew up.
Of course, it would have been nicer if Rikka herself hadn't been the one to say all of that out loud.
Since when had her airheaded little sister gotten so good at making persuasive arguments?
The way she had rattled off one irrefutable line after another the moment Touka showed the slightest hesitation—it was honestly shocking.
Could it be that spending so much time around Senya had sharpened her mind at last?
Either way, Touka decided it was a good thing.
Before heading to the restaurant, though, the three of them had to make a short stop at the bar where Touka and Rikka's father worked.
Minamoto Sanada had suddenly fallen ill and couldn't work for a while. Though it wasn't his fault, his absence had still caused trouble for his colleagues.
So he had asked Senya to bring along a small gift for everyone at the bar, as an apology on his behalf.
In Japan, these gestures in social relationships—seemingly small and casual—were carried out with remarkable thoughtfulness and attention to detail.
On the surface, it was admirable: everyone respecting one another, looking out for each other's feelings.
But to Senya, it always felt stifling.
That constant carefulness robbed people of the ease of just being themselves. In society, this kind of restraint was everywhere. And if someone lived too long watching every word and every gesture, the weight of it would eventually wear them down.
Still, Senya wasn't about to lecture his father about cultural norms. This was Japan's deep-rooted way of doing things—something one person alone could never change.
He would just do his part.
With Google Maps guiding them, the three arrived at the entrance of the bar.
Senya turned to the sisters."Stay here and don't wander off. I'll be quick."
Touka really meant it when she talked about saving money.
The small cake Senya carried wasn't store-bought—it had been baked in their own oven.
Even the decorative gift box was handmade, wrapped in affordable paper they had bought in bulk.
Altogether, it cost less than half of what a store-bought equivalent would have.
Rikka puffed her cheeks in dissatisfaction, curiosity bubbling over."Let me come in too. I've never seen where Dad works."
But Touka held her firmly by the shoulder."There's nothing to see in a place where people just drink. Be good and wait with me."
She wasn't saying it out of disdain. Touka knew the people at the bar would also know the details of their father's recent troubles. She didn't want Rikka overhearing something by accident.
So Senya left the sisters at the entrance and walked into the bar alone.
Rikka kicked at loose pebbles on the sidewalk, sulking under Touka's watchful gaze.
Inside, the manager of "Enishi" Bar stood behind the counter, glancing at the scattered tables of customers with a weary sigh.
Sanada's sudden absence had cut the bar's usual crowd in half.
He had expected some impact, but not this much.
From the very beginning, he had designed the bar to cater to a very specific clientele: overworked office ladies seeking to unwind, single women yearning for companionship, lonely housewives craving warmth…
The bar's interior had been crafted to appeal to them—warm, refreshing décor, walls lined with hanging ivy, booths decorated with plush toys, a strict no-smoking policy, and even a free shuttle home after a certain bill amount.
It was all aimed at winning over mature women by making them feel truly cared for.
Naturally, when he hired his staff—bartenders, waiters, even himself as manager with experience in a hostess club—he had one rule above all:
They had to be handsome.
Sanada had been perfect for the role. Unlike most men who, after marriage, fell into balding, weight gain, and general oiliness, he had only grown more refined with age—like a vintage wine.
Even though he wasn't very talkative, his very presence behind the bar, quietly listening and offering the occasional kind word, had made him the living centerpiece of the establishment.
Women came just to see him, their wallets open without hesitation.
But now that he was gone, his regulars were disappointed.
The other three bartenders were decent-looking, but compared to Sanada, they came across as forced, oily, and artificial.
The bar's prospects were dimming fast.
To make things worse, across the street a place called Little Song had drawn attention by hiring a junior high school girl as a bartender.
Her skills were surprisingly impressive, and word-of-mouth was spreading. Many curious customers had started flocking there to try it out.
The manager sighed. Maybe his whole business strategy had been wrong from the start.
Could he even pivot now?
It wasn't like he could just go hire some junior high schooler to mix drinks, right?
His gloomy thoughts were interrupted when the front door opened and Minamoto Senya stepped inside.
The three female patrons present immediately froze, their eyes magnetized to him as if by some invisible force. They couldn't look away.
Senya walked up to the counter and spoke politely:"Good evening. I'm Minamoto Sanada's son. I know my father's sudden absence has caused trouble for everyone here. This is a small gift we made at home. Please accept it."
The manager automatically took the box of cake, murmuring thanks while staring at the boy's refined looks."You're Sanada's son?"
"Yes," Senya answered simply.
The manager fell silent, staring at him as though deep in thought.
"Then I won't disturb you further," Senya said with a polite bow. He had fulfilled his father's request, but that strange, lingering gaze unsettled him.
"Wait a moment!"
The manager suddenly darted around from behind the bar, his voice brimming with excitement.
It was as though he had just discovered the missing piece to save his business.
Outside, the Takanashi sisters had been waiting for five minutes.
Rikka pouted."What's taking him so long? He's just dropping something off. How could it take this long?"
Touka felt the same. Just as she was about to go in herself, Senya emerged—followed by a man she didn't recognize.
Before she could ask what was happening, Senya walked up to them, his expression complicated.
"Um… the manager wants to invite us inside for dinner."
The sisters blinked in unison, bewildered.
Senya only sighed and spread his hands."I'll explain later. For now, let's just go in."
The manager stepped forward, smiling warmly as he extended the invitation.
Rikka was a little overwhelmed by such courtesy, secretly impressed by how well her father seemed to get along with his colleagues.
Senya, hanging back by half a step, leaned toward Touka's ear and whispered reassuringly:"I already told the manager about Rikka's situation. He promised to keep it a secret."