Minamoto Senya immediately noticed the strange look in his parents' eyes. Sitting nearby, Takanashi Toka also seemed to pick up on something, her gaze quietly shifting back and forth between them.
After thinking for a moment, she stood up.
"…I'll just head back to my room."
But Minamoto Sanada waved a hand. "No need, Toka. Stay here."
During the time he and his wife had been away due to that sudden accident, their eldest daughter had managed the household well. In his eyes, she was mature and dependable, so it didn't matter if she stayed to hear what came next.
The couple exchanged a glance, silently agreeing. In the end, it was their mother, Junko, who spoke first.
"Here's what happened. Just as I was about to leave work today, Mrs. Tōma Yōko came by the shop. While I was giving her a facial treatment like usual, she congratulated Senya on winning the national championship. Then she… she asked me if I'd ever considered expanding the salon. Moving to somewhere like Shibuya or Ginza."
Junko paused briefly, then continued in a careful tone.
"She said she admired both my technique and attitude toward service. Apparently, she also has money to spare. If I'm interested, she's willing to provide the funding to secure a storefront, buy equipment, hire staff—while leaving all the management entirely to me.
If the business succeeds, she'll simply remain in the background and take a share of the profits once a year. She promised she wouldn't interfere with day-to-day operations. And even if things went badly… she assured me I wouldn't need to worry about losses. If the business failed, she'd personally cover the deficit.
She told me to go home and think it over carefully."
When she finished, Junko turned to watch Senya's expression closely.
Senya already understood. He had told them before about Tōma Yōko, the world-renowned pianist whose life he had, in a way, saved. At the time, it had sounded unbelievable—his casual words had prompted her to get a check-up that revealed her condition early. In gratitude, she had given him a check for ten million yen.
But hearing it face-to-face from his mother was different.
Junko was no fool. She knew she wasn't some miraculous professional. Sure, she'd earned loyal clients through persistence and sincerity, but she was still just a self-taught beautician running a small salon in Tokyo.
For someone like Tōma Yōko to suddenly appear and offer to shoulder all risks while handing her the potential profits… there was no way it was just about "recognizing talent."
This wasn't an angel investor swooping down out of nowhere. It was repayment, pure and simple. Yōko had probably realized that the initial amount she gave had been far too little, and now she was trying, in her own way, to ease the Minamoto family's burdens without offending their pride.
Senya understood all of that the moment his mother finished.
Toka was surprised too. She remembered the day they cashed that enormous check. She had thought that alone was dreamlike enough, yet here was another wave of generosity.
Junko glanced at her husband, then asked cautiously, "Senya… what do you think?"
Senya let out a wry laugh, shaking his head. "What can I think? Mrs. Tōma must really be wealthy. A shop in Shibuya or Ginza? Those rents are outrageous. But it's obvious—she really does have money to spare."
Junko nodded. "I've heard bits from her during visits. I don't know much about her overseas assets, but in Japan, she runs a piano education institute. Even the most basic course costs over a hundred thousand yen for the full set.
If she teaches personally, it's a hundred thousand yen per lesson. One-on-one? Even higher.
And when she performs at luxury hotels or concert halls, she earns at least twenty million yen per performance."
The power of celebrity. Once a person gains fame and influence, the market itself raises their value.
Senya quietly mulled it over.
Toka nudged him lightly with her thigh, reminding him that Junko was still waiting for his reply.
"Ah—don't worry, Mom. If you feel comfortable accepting Mrs. Tōma's offer, then do it. If it feels awkward or too much to take on, just refuse. If you'd rather not turn her down yourself, I can go to her and explain."
He still had her contact information, after all. It wouldn't be hard to pay her a respectful visit.
Junko nodded softly, visibly relieved. "That's what I was thinking too. She's already expressed gratitude, and we can't seem greedy. Our life is good enough now. There's no need to change everything."
Senya smiled. "I understand. Leave it to me, Mom."
"Do you want me to go with you?"
"No need. If we make it too formal, it might just feel uncomfortable."
And with that, the matter was settled.
Toka slipped into the kitchen, returning with three glasses of drinks. She handed two to their parents, and the last one, with both hands, to Senya.
That was when Sanada finally spoke up.
"Mr. Busujima came to my shop. The moment he realized I was your father, he laughed heartily and said I'd raised an incredible son. He praised your physical ability, said your swordsmanship talent was once-in-a-century.
He even claimed that if you'd been born in the Sengoku or Edo period, you would have rivaled masters like Tachibana Muneshige or Okita Sōji, destined to have your name written into history textbooks."
Sanada relayed this mountain of compliments with a straight face, even smug pride.
But Senya felt restless. Embarrassed. After all, his rapid progress in swordsmanship wasn't thanks to innate genius—it was because Busujima Saeko was an extraordinary teacher.
Still, Sanada quickly moved to the real point.
"…In short, he thinks you're a perfect candidate for swordsmanship. So he asked me—if he could take you as his disciple. And also… if he could recognize you as his godson."
At that, Sanada's face twisted strangely.
Senya nearly spat out his drink, coughing violently. Toka rushed to hand him tissues, helping him dab his mouth while quickly wiping the spilled liquid off his leg.
He couldn't help it. He had expected Busujima Dairyu to approach his father for something, maybe even about Saeko. But adoption? Becoming his godson? That was a leap far beyond his guesses.
Or… maybe not a leap at all. Maybe this had been his plan from the very beginning.
Sanada chuckled, sipping his drink slowly. "Honestly, I reacted the same way. Didn't spit out a drink, but I spilled a whole cocktail I was mixing."
Senya hurriedly asked, "Dad, you didn't actually agree, did you?"
Sanada slammed his hand down. "Of course not! I only have one son! If I let you become someone else's godson, who's supposed to take care of me when I'm old?!"
Toka raised an eyebrow at that, shooting him a look.
Sanada froze, realizing his slip, and sheepishly forced a grin.
Junko turned away, shoulders trembling with suppressed laughter.
Senya relaxed, gently squeezing Toka's finger to signal her not to mind, then pressed, "So what happened after?"
"I refused, politely. Busujima-san didn't push. He just talked more about their family—how respected their name is, the land and connections they hold, even their overseas dojos. He said if you trained seriously under them, gained full transmission of their style, you'd never have to worry about money again."
"Full transmission…" Senya murmured. He knew the term well—menkyo kaiden, proof that a student had mastered every secret of a style, qualified to teach others or even open their own school.
"So basically," he summarized, "he was offering you visions of a prosperous future to convince you."
"Pretty much. But I didn't agree. By the way, since you've been going to Saeko's house to train lately—hasn't he said anything like this to you?"
"He hasn't asked me to be his godson. But he has asked me to formally enter their school. I told him I'm still a student, that my studies come first, and that kendo is just for discipline and health. I said I wasn't ready to think that far ahead."
He remembered how Saeko's face had dimmed for just a moment when he said that.
Sanada, however, looked proud, nodding firmly.
And with that, the heavy topics were done for the evening.
Later that night, Junko leaned against Sanada. "Even though we were away for so long, something good came out of it. Look—Toka and Senya are getting along better and better."
Sanada gave a slow nod. "…Yeah. That's true."
"What is it? You sound… troubled."
"…Maybe."
"Because of what happened today?"
"…Yeah."
Men and women think differently. Unlike Junko, who had said earlier, 'Our life is already good enough; no need to change anything', Sanada couldn't shake off his conversation with Busujima Dairyu.
He realized with painful clarity how extraordinary his son was becoming—and how little support he himself had provided.
Holding his wife close, he said quietly, "Have you noticed? All the girls around Senya are brilliant. And from wealthy families. Saeko, Sawamura Eriri, Yukinoshita Yukino, even Kasumigaoka Utaha. Their homes are all far better off than ours."
Junko softened, sensing his feelings. "You're overthinking. Senya's still just a middle schooler."
"He's not that young anymore. In two years, he'll be in high school. Lying in that hospital bed, I thought about it over and over. I realized—I've done nothing to guide him. I only fed him, gave him a roof. Everything else, he achieved on his own."
Junko stroked his chest gently, trying to soothe him.
"But it's not too late. Parents should be the ones supporting their children, not depending on them. If it's for Senya, for Toka and Rokka too, then I have to stand up and do better."
Sanada's eyes hardened with resolve. "Junko, I've had an idea for a long time now…"
Later, when Toka stepped out of Senya's room, the living room lights were still on, though their parents were nowhere in sight.
She approached the master bedroom door, intending to ask what her mother wanted for breakfast. But after only two steps, muffled sighs and breathy sounds reached her ears. Her face turned crimson as she quickly turned back, practically dragging her younger sister away from the hall.
"Eh? Sis, why are you pushing me back? I need the bathroom!"
"Shut it. Senya's using it. Wait."
"How long's he gonna take?"
"T-Twenty minutes!"
"Twenty?! I can't hold it that long!"
"You'll hold it!"
The next morning, Sunday.
Senya contacted Tōma Yōko. She wasn't surprised by his call at all, even cheerfully telling him she was free all day and he could drop by whenever he liked. She even offered to pick him up herself.
After hanging up, Senya found himself thinking of an old phrase: "Endure, and riches will come."
Except in Yōko's case… riches seemed to come without any need for endurance.
Before visiting, he stopped at a high-end patisserie to buy handmade cakes.
By ten in the morning, he was at the Tōma residence.
When the door opened, Yōko appeared in a silk robe, leaning casually on the frame with a welcoming smile.
"Sorry to intrude on you so suddenly," Senya greeted politely in the living room.
"Don't mind the formalities," she waved off. "Your mother may be my beautician, but I consider her a sister. That makes you like a godson to me. Treat this place as your own home."
…Why did everyone keep trying to claim him as their godson?
Senya resisted the urge to retort, focusing instead on delivering his carefully worded refusal regarding her business proposal.
Yōko listened, smiling faintly, then nodded. "I see. Business these days is tough. If you've all decided, I won't press. Still… the more I see how grounded and considerate you and your family are, the more I like you, Senya."
They shared the cakes as faint piano notes drifted through the villa. Yōko tapped her slippered foot. "Looks like my daughter's awake."
Senya listened closely. "…Scriabin? Nocturne in D-flat?"
Yōko's eyes lit up. "Oh? You know piano?"
"Not really. I just listen to classical pieces sometimes."
"Do you play?"
"I practiced a few times at the school piano room. Only simple songs."
Her expression brightened mischievously. "Come with me."
She led him downstairs to the soundproofed piano room. Inside, a girl with ink-black hair was seated at a Steinway grand, finishing her piece.
"This is my daughter, Tōma Kazusa. Kazusa, this is Minamoto Senya, the one I told you about."
Kazusa's cold expression softened at once. She stood, walked over, and gave him a small bow. "…Thank you, for helping my mother."
Senya shook his head gently, signaling it was nothing.
Yōko, however, handed her daughter a slice of cake, then eagerly pushed Senya toward the piano. "Play something for us."
Under the combined gaze of mother and daughter, Senya awkwardly began. He played Pachelbel's Canon in D—the one piece he remembered.
By the third note, Kazusa was already giving her mother a flat, unimpressed look. Yōko chuckled, realizing she'd been hoping for too much.
Still, when he finished, she praised him warmly. "For someone who's only practiced a handful of times, that was wonderful. You're still young, Senya. It's not too late to learn properly. Ever think about it?"
Senya glanced at Kazusa, then nodded politely. "I'll think about it."
By lunchtime, Yōko insisted he stay. Instead of cooking, she pulled out a tablet and began ordering delivery.
Senya stared at the enormous, spotless kitchen behind her. "…You don't cook?"
She smiled. "Our housekeeper's on leave. And it's too hot to go out. Delivery is easier."
Kazusa added matter-of-factly, "Mom and I each have our hands insured for over seventy million yen."
Senya fell silent.
Then Yōko turned suddenly, eyes sparkling. "I heard from Junko—you're good at cooking, aren't you?"
…And so ten minutes later, Minamoto Senya stood in their kitchen, apron on, knife in hand, wondering how his life had come to this.
Kazusa leaned on the counter, watching curiously as he deftly deveined shrimp. Yōko clapped when he flambéed over a fiery wok, her enthusiasm contagious.
Nearly an hour later, he served three dishes and a soup—all sweetened to suit their tastes.
The lunch was a hit. And in the afternoon, he even baked cookies in their oven, reluctantly filling the role of "family cook" for the day.
By the end of September, the Minamoto family gathered for a long-overdue family meeting.
This had become a tradition ever since Junko had introduced the idea, claiming it would deepen bonds. Usually, it ended with Senya being showered in praise as the exemplary son, while his younger sister Rokka suffered gentle scolding for her grades.
But this time was different.
Sanada, usually laid-back, suddenly grew serious.
"I've decided. I'm going to quit my job and open my own bar."
The children froze.
"Dad… why all of a sudden?" Senya asked.
Sanada clenched his fists. "Because I can't keep being passive. You kids share cramped rooms, and Senya even worked part-time at a bar before. I've been an incompetent father. I want to change that. I'll work hard so we can move into a bigger place, where each of you has your own room."
For once, his voice burned with conviction.
Rokka's eyes lit up with pure excitement. Toka hesitated, then instinctively turned to Senya—as she often did without realizing.
Senya smiled. "If that's what you've decided, Dad, then of course we'll support you."
Toka nodded as well.
Rokka clapped her hands happily, already dreaming of a private room she could lock against her sister's teasing.
Junko smiled warmly, adding, "If we're doing this, then we all have to work together."
"Right!" Rokka threw her hands up, rallying herself.
Junko continued gently, "It'll mean cutting expenses for now. I won't buy cosmetics, and Dad won't drink. And…"
Senya sensed what was coming.
"…Your allowances will also be reduced by half."
Rokka's jaw dropped.
Her smile froze. "…H-half?!"
Junko only stuck out her tongue playfully. "Just for now."
For Rokka, it was nothing short of a thunderbolt.
That night marked the beginning of a new chapter for the Minamoto family.
..
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