On the day Minamoto Sanada handed in his resignation, the owner of En Bar couldn't hide the sorrow in his eyes.
The departure of his handsome, talented star bartender struck him hard. His whole bar thrived on meticulous service for its female clientele—Sanada leaving meant business would surely take a devastating blow.
He had dreamed of father and son running the place together, a beautiful plan never even spoken aloud before it crumbled.
Well, fate ends where it must; there's no forcing it.
Still, with the very survival of En Bar on the line, the owner felt he had to try at least once.
"Sanada… you're not planning to open a bar anywhere nearby, are you?"
"Relax, boss. Besides, I couldn't afford the rent around here even if I wanted to."
Hearing that, the owner finally exhaled in relief.
He had read Sanada right—he really was a man of integrity.
After formally resigning, Sanada sold off every stock he'd been holding onto, pooled together what savings the family had left, and added in the thanks-money Minamoto Senya had received from Tōma Yōko.
Excluding the house as a fixed asset, it came to just over thirty million yen.
Not a small sum, but thinking like a cautious adult, Sanada knew opening a shop couldn't be approached with too much idealism. Confidence was good—but failure had to be accounted for, and his family needed a fallback.
So he set aside ten million yen that was never to be touched, reserved for household expenses and daily life.
That left a budget of twenty million at most for the bar.
Honestly, a bit tight. But Sanada had already settled on his concept:
He wanted to open a quiet, artsy bar—soft background music, a relaxed atmosphere, a place for small groups of friends to talk.
Running the shop himself would be plenty, with his wife occasionally helping out after work.
That meant no need to budget for staff wages—the real expenses would be rent and outfitting the bar with drinks and equipment.
Everything was ready… except for a storefront.
Sanada refused to use real estate agencies—their fees were far too high. With such limited starting funds, he couldn't afford extravagances.
It was only a matter of finding a storefront; he'd just have to grind it out himself.
So he searched online and on foot, combining both methods.
There were results, but after several days, nothing satisfactory.
A few places looked promising, but their leases were either too long—two or three years minimum—or their monthly rents far too steep.
A week passed, and though Sanada hid it well, anxiety was eating at him.
That's when Rokka's seemingly god-granted luck kicked in again, proving all the rice she ate at home wasn't wasted.
While out shopping for cute clothes with Eriri, she happened to spot a transfer notice posted on a bar door.
The bar wasn't open, but she pressed her face to the glass to peek inside.
The space wasn't large, and though the street was a bit off the beaten path, she could see a steady trickle of people. It seemed to match her father's expectations.
She snapped a photo of the transfer notice and sent it straight to Sanada.
At that moment, Senya was out walking the streets with his father, also hunting for places.
After receiving Rokka's message, the two of them hurried over.
Forty minutes after they called, the bar's owner came by to open the door.
The owner was a young American man, not very talkative.
As the Sanada father and son inspected the bar, he chatted idly with his family on his phone.
Senya's back was turned—but with his god's-eye view, he could see everything, right down to the guy's nose hairs, let alone his chat messages.
From those, he pieced together the story: the man had been used like a credit card by a bad woman in Japan, finally woke up to reality, and, heartbroken, had lost all will to keep running the bar. He was preparing to head home.
But with more than a year left on the lease, he didn't want to waste it. His plan was to transfer the bar—interior, equipment, everything—in one package.
A few people had asked about it, but when they heard his terms, they all declined. None of them wanted a bar, and the equipment would be wasted.
For Sanada, though, it was perfect. The bar was stylish, the décor tasteful, and the equipment all in place. With a few tweaks, once the licenses were approved—operating permit, liquor license, fire safety clearance—he could open immediately.
Of all the places he'd seen, this was the best fit.
But neither father nor son was naïve.
Senya caught the satisfaction in his father's eyes. They exchanged the faintest nod.
An unspoken understanding.
Led by Senya, they casually steered the conversation, hinting they wanted to take over the space for food service, not a bar—pretending they had little interest in the equipment.
They asked the price, haggled a while, and then shook their heads, walking away.
But they hadn't even gone far before the owner rushed out after them.
Eager to offload the place, desperate to escape this painful country, he blurted out his lowest acceptable price.
One year of lease plus all the equipment—refrigerators, mixing counters, ice maker, coffee machine, liquor cabinets, fryer, tables and chairs—everything bundled together, seventeen million yen.
It was a fair deal. Sanada hesitated, but Senya stopped him.
"How about sixteen million, boss? One price, and we'll sign right now."
The man agonized, but in the end, he gritted his teeth and agreed.
Senya's confidence, of course, came from his god's-eye advantage.
He knew the man's own apartment lease was nearly up—if he dragged things out, he'd have to either pay another three months' rent upfront or move into a hotel. Neither was a good option.
And in his family's messages, his father had been urging him to settle for about a hundred thousand US dollars. Sixteen million yen was just a bit over that—exactly the number he'd been aiming for.
With contracts signed and payment confirmed, the former owner finally breathed easy.
Yet on the way home, he couldn't shake the memory of that father and son, checking every piece of equipment with such practiced professionalism.
Had he… been played?
Well, whatever. Better to lose a little money and go home. Japanese women were nothing like the cute ones in anime—they might look sweet and lovely, but inside, they were neither kind nor gentle.
He'd never return to this country again!
While the ex-owner exhaled relief, the Sanada father and son were in high spirits.
By the time the locks were changed, it was already late, so they went home.
At dinner, Sanada naturally praised Senya for his role in negotiating down the price.
Senya felt no guilt—it was just business. And the ex-owner wasn't cheated badly; going home sooner was worth more.
As for Rokka, the one who had discovered the place in the first place, she was hailed as the chief contributor and rewarded with two crisp ten-thousand-yen notes from Sanada.
Junko, her mother, thought that was too much and took one back, to Rokka's dismay—but even so, she was delighted.
Ten thousand yen was still plenty! She could buy all sorts of neat little treasures.
Lately she had gotten into the Pirates of the Caribbean films with Johnny Depp. Now she dreamed of buying pirate gear: hooks, captain's hats, eyepatches. With those, she'd look cool as anything!
With the location settled, the next step was a mountain of paperwork.
They had to fill out endless forms, running from office to office for approval.
It was tedious, and Japan's bureaucracy moved at a crawl, but there was no choice but to wait.
In the meantime, Sanada wasn't idle.
A natural handyman, he'd always fixed the house's floors and pipes himself.
So he made small adjustments to the bar, even crafting the sign with his own hands.
On it, just three simple characters: "March 7th."
At first, the Takanashi sisters and Senya didn't understand why he'd chosen that name. Nobody in the family had a birthday then.
But when Junko came home, saw it, paused, then shyly laughed and hugged her husband…
Senya and Tōka instantly understood.
Rokka took longer, but once Senya whispered it, she caught on too.
It was a date that only the couple shared—perhaps when they first met, or when they became a couple…
Really, to engrave romance into the bar's name for all to see.
Who knew Dad had such a flair? Was this the unique romantic instinct of a bartender?
Senya wasn't sure—but he definitely learned something.
October 17th.
Congratulations—on that day, March 7th Bar officially opened its doors!
———
After school, Eriri bolted straight home.
She dumped her bag, grabbed fresh clothes, and dashed into the shower.
Then, ready to head out—
"Mom, I'm going out! Don't wait for me for dinner!"
She was already at the entrance, crouched to change shoes, when Mrs. Sawamura caught her by the collar and dragged her back into the living room, looking grim.
Seeing her mother's expression, Eriri's excitement turned to dread.
Sure enough, Mrs. Sawamura planted her hands on her hips, voice dangerous:
"Eriri. This afternoon your homeroom teacher called me. Do you want to guess what he said?"
Gulp.
Eriri's throat twitched, her smile stiff. She knew, but played dumb. "W-What… what did he say?"
"Your grades. This time, several subjects dropped badly—especially English!" Her mother almost laughed from the absurdity. "A hundred-point test, and you scored twenty-one! If I scattered rice on the sheet and let chickens peck at it, they'd probably score the same!"
Eriri hugged her head, looking pitiful. "I can't help it! English and I just aren't compatible!"
"No excuses. Other kids maybe, but your father is from England. You have English blood! Isn't it ridiculous for you to fail English? If people found out, don't you think they'd laugh their heads off?"
"B-but nobody knows except you and the teacher. How can they laugh if they don't know?"
She wasn't wrong. At Kawaran Middle School, the system protected underperformers.
Each test, the top fifty students' scores were posted to spur competition, but the rest were kept private—only teachers, parents, and the student themselves knew.
That way, poor performers weren't humiliated and could enjoy school life without pressure.
Of course, if you blabbed your own score, that was your problem.
But Eriri's cheeky defense only made her mother's blood pressure rise.
Deep breaths. Don't hit her. I am a refined, modern mother…
Finally, Mrs. Sawamura calmed herself. "Fine. The scores are out. What's done is done."
Relieved, Eriri's face brightened—
Only for her mother to add: "But school is about grades. From today, no more outings after class. Cut back on your drawing too. You'll stay home and study until your next test proves you've improved. Then we'll talk about lifting your restrictions."
The sky collapsed on Eriri's head.
She clung to her mother's skirt, begging pitifully: "Please, just tonight! I already promised Senya and Rokka I'd go support Uncle Sanada's opening!"
Her mother's tone was cold. "Absolutely not. Your grades dropped because you've been playing too much. English never used to fall below thirty. And why would a child go to a bar's opening?"
She did know Senya's father was a bartender.
Eriri grew more desperate. "But Senya said his dad's bar won't have many customers today, and he wants me there to help make it look busy. I already promised!"
"Even so, you—wait. What?"
Her mother froze. "You said… Senya's father opened a bar?"
"Yeah."
"He opened one himself?"
"Mm-hm."
"You foolish girl, why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"D-didn't I?"
"…."
Mrs. Sawamura pressed a hand to her forehead, sighing, then turned and picked up her phone, dialing someone without another word.
…