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372 – So Soft
🕑 Added 2025-07-11 15:00:15 +0000 UTCJust as it looked like the whole gang was about to use Ishida Hidenori as a human welcome mat, Kyousuke chuckled softly and changed direction, leading everyone away.
The group of reporters, who had missed their chance to snap a photo earlier, swarmed around him.
Their faces were already flushed red—even though they hadn’t had a single drink yet.
Well, it made sense—digging up a big scoop like this was more intoxicating than the finest Junmai Daiginjo sake.
“Hojou-sensei, your friends are certainly… spirited,” a reporter from Weekly Asahi approached with a beaming smile.
Of course, what he really wanted to ask was, ‘who the hell are these scary guys who keep calling you ‘boss’?’
But he was too savvy to ask it outright.
“Yes, yes! I nearly jumped out of my skin—thought they were some kind of professional bodyguards,” added Hirota Yoshitoki from Weekly Bunshun, an old acquaintance.
Naturally, he knew those guys weren’t bodyguards in the slightest, but saying it out loud wouldn’t have helped.
The rest of the journalists edged closer too, unleashing a barrage of carefully worded questions and subtle fishing.
Hojou Ichirou, Kyousuke’s father, started to worry.
What if his son got carried away and actually spilled the truth about those so-called “subordinates”?
Anyone else could say it, sure—but Kyousuke himself absolutely could not.
Being labeled a bunch of harmless, rowdy biker punks was one thing… but if someone decided they were part of a real criminal organization, that would be a nightmare.
Just as Ichirou stepped forward to intervene, Kyousuke spoke up first.
He let out a hearty laugh and casually threw an arm around Gorou’s shoulder.
“This guy here? He’s always dreamed of becoming a police officer—serving and protecting the public.”
‘Police?’
This guy, who can’t go ten seconds without throwing a “damn punk” into every sentence, wants to be a cop!?
For a moment, the reporters were stunned by the sheer shamelessness.
Even Hojou Ichirou stared in disbelief.
‘Who is this person, and how is he my son!?’
Kyousuke, unfazed, kept going.
“Yeah, Gorou’s goal is to join the Osaka Prefectural Police. He’s a big fan of their aggressive, no-nonsense approach to law enforcement.”
This wasn’t even technically a lie—Gorou did admire Osaka cops.
He also loved their rough-and-tumble kendo tournaments.
As long as he could win, it didn’t matter if it was with a sword or a fist.
“Heh… gotta keep working hard!” Gorou grinned, scratching his buzz-cut head.
‘Ah, Osaka Prefectural Police… that tracks,’ Hirota thought.
Those were the guys you had to keep in uniform at all times—otherwise you couldn’t tell them apart from gangsters.
Hojou Ichirou gave a proud nod.
‘Now that’s more like it. That’s my boy.’
“And this guy,” Kyousuke said, pulling Onizuka Eikichi forward, “has been chasing his dream of becoming a teacher.”
“Ohhsssu~ Nice to meet ya. Looking forward to teaching your daughters someday!”
Onizuka offered his usual ambiguous, borderline-dangerous greeting.
It was his way of bonding with the youth, breaking down barriers with students.
This time, Kyousuke didn’t even need to explain—Hirota had already filled in the blanks himself.
The reporters wisely didn’t press further, afraid Kyousuke might drop another “You can follow up with my guys later, they’ll explain the details.”
The whole group walked off, joking and laughing as if they’d completely forgotten the fact that Ishida Hidenori was still unconscious on the floor.
But had they really forgotten? Of course not.
Just as a staffer from the Japan Booksellers’ Award event stepped up to check on Ishida, the reporters swarmed again like sharks that smelled blood.
Unfortunately for them, Ishida couldn’t say a word.
With his jaw dislocated, he was utterly speechless.
“Excuse us, sorry! Coming through.”
Two well-dressed men squeezed through the crowd with polite smiles.
“Ahh, Ishida-san! Still here, huh? Must’ve had a little too much to drink!”
“Really now, your wife’s gonna be worried sick!”
“Best get home before it gets too late.”
“Yep, time to head back!”
With their little comedy routine, the two men smoothly lifted Ishida Hidenori off the ground and began guiding him out, brushing past the stunned reporters like it was just another Tuesday.
By the time anyone tried to follow, all they saw was a black car disappearing into the distance.
No, they weren’t taking Ishida to Tokyo Bay.
No, they weren’t sailing him off to Myanmar.
They were just… taking him home.
Because everyone knows—those loudmouth punks?
Deep down, they’re all good guys.
They love nothing more than making sure a man gets safely back to his wife and kids.
One guy drove.
The other two sat in the back, sandwiching Ishida between them.
Watching him babble incomprehensibly, face full of terror, the janitor from Tansan Animation leaned in with a kind smile.
“Ishida-san, don’t worry. It won’t hurt much longer.”
Kisaki had given them clear instructions—once they got him home, a quick click would pop his jaw right back in place.
They were just waiting to do it somewhere quieter.
Hojou was too kind.
Not only did he have the guy taken home—he even made sure his jaw would be fixed.
“Ugh! Uuuhhnnn! Aaarrgh?!”
Hearing that only made Ishida’s eyes bulge with horror. He started thrashing around violently.
“Don’t move,” said the driver flatly.
The cold, emotionless voice made Ishida freeze.
From the rearview mirror, he could clearly see the man’s dark sunglasses—behind which was a gaze so filled with murderous intent, it made his blood run cold.
Anger. Terror. Regret…
“Sanada, seriously now—you just got your license! Why are you even driving!?”
The janitor burst out laughing.
……
On the other side of town, Kyousuke and his group had arrived at the izakaya that Utaha had reserved for the evening.
It was a classic Showa-era building—boxy and sturdy, with white, rectangular tiles lining the walls, giving off a nostalgic vibe.
The entrance led underground, and above it hung a glowing white sign that read: "Akasaka Yakitori – Ootori."
Kyousuke glanced at his mother and sister, then turned to the group of girls trailing behind.
Just as he opened his mouth to say something to Utaha, she spoke first.
“It’s already booked out.”
Utaha smiled, instantly putting his concerns to rest.
Many izakayas in Japan have age restrictions—some don't allow minors, others ban young children.
It all depends on the type of establishment.
Booking the entire place was a safe and considerate choice.
“It’s that so, thanks for the effort,” Kyousuke said with a smile and a nod.
If the place hadn’t been reserved, he would've had to ditch his colleagues and take his mother and the rest of the women back home for a more private celebration.
“The sign makes it look like the food’s gonna be amazing,” Osaka Gou laughed, slinging an arm around Kyousuke’s shoulder as they headed down the stairs.
The staircase leading to the basement matched the overall vibe—an old-fashioned black metal spiral staircase.
As Kyousuke looked at the chipped black paint on the railing, he couldn’t help but wonder if that red-tinged color came from years of spilled blood rather than wear and tear.
Honestly, expecting drunk people to climb stairs like this was kind of a hazard.
Before he could overthink it, the group behind him started getting rowdy, urging him to move faster.
Were they all just excited to christen the stairs with someone’s spilled beer—or worse?
As soon as they reached the bottom, a noren (traditional Japanese curtain) came into view, marking the entrance.
Whether this izakaya was open 24 hours or if money had simply persuaded the owner and staff to come greet them at this late hour, Kyousuke couldn’t say.
He took a quick glance—the white curtain displayed the characters for “yakitori” and “Ootori,” simple and to the point.
“Welcome!”
The staff’s enthusiastic chorus momentarily gave Kyousuke the illusion that he was leading his men into some yakuza headquarters for a condolence call.
But no, this much energy definitely ruled out the old-timer mob bosses.
He smiled and nodded in response before following a uniformed server, who led them deeper into the restaurant.
When they arrived at the private room, Kyousuke turned to Utaha with a pained expression.
“Tatami seating... really?”
Technically, it was a private room that could seat up to forty, but in practice, it was just one long space separated by sliding paper doors.
They could be opened up to combine the smaller booths into one big room if needed.
Each table could seat about six people.
The whole setup felt like one long banquet down a narrow street—very fitting for a school reunion-style party in Japan.
Oh well.
Everyone would be spraying deodorizer by the end anyway.
Kyousuke had intended to help people find seats, but clearly, that wasn’t necessary.
Within seconds, everyone had settled in like they’d rehearsed it.
All the women had gathered on the left side, while the men—especially Osaka Gou, who clearly planned to drink heavily—took the far right with the reporters.
His mother, Mikiko Hojou, took the innermost seat on the far left.
Naturally, Sakura sat beside her, and Kasuko squeezed herself in between them.
Across from them was Mitsuha Miyamizu.
Before Kyousuke could even decide where to sit, he overheard Mitsuha chatting with his mother about the best way to grill venison ribs.
Oh, right. Nara…
The same Mitsuha who once happily posed with a rack of deer ribs while in Hokkaido had now found herself in deer-infested Nara.
Of course she’d be brushing up her knowledge.
He wondered if Yotsuba had finally discovered what it meant to connect with your food.
Feeding deer senbei crackers in the morning, stroking their sharp ears, having a deer burger made from one of their “cousins” for lunch, and then enjoying grilled venison ribs at night.
Throw in some yakitori at midnight, and maybe she’d finally understand her grandmother’s wisdom.
Speaking of which—how could he forget about Yotsuba? Or Yuzuru?
If they were coming, then Kato shouldn’t miss out either… and Yukinoshita should probably get an invite too.
Just as Kyousuke was thinking about who to send to pick them up, he suddenly noticed Onizuka and the others raising enormous beer mugs in his direction.
Even more concerning—he himself was holding a large mug of golden beer without realizing it.
Both seats beside him were already occupied by Makki and Kisaki.
What the hell? Not a single one of these guys can hold their liquor!
Kyousuke quickly glanced at the nearby reporters, then hurriedly put down his drink.
“Buckwheat tea! I meant buckwheat tea—death!”
Onizuka, seated across from him, immediately lifted a giant mug and shoved it at him again.
You bastard… So brown means oolong tea, yellow means buckwheat tea, and clear is just water, right? You think I can’t tell the difference?
Didn’t he see those reporters’ eyes light up like searchlights just now?
If he took one sip of this, his old man would be holding a tearful press conference tomorrow, apologizing for his son’s public misconduct.
At that exact moment, Hojou Ichirou, deep in his phone and furiously typing, felt a cold chill down his spine.
He looked up and met his son’s concerned gaze.
He was seated between two editors, getting treated like royalty.
These two were the ones most desperate to stay in Kyousuke’s good graces—to make sure he didn’t get poached.
Ichirou nodded to assure his son everything was fine, then lowered his head again and messaged his old friends from the Tokyo days, telling them to drop everything and come drink with him.
Of course, he humbly introduced his “troublesome” son to them as well.
He couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face. He looked up again and beamed proudly at his “good-for-nothing” son.
Look at him! Just look at that pure, beaming smile of Hojou Ichirou.
Do these people not realize? If he drinks tonight, his son will be the one responsible for handling the fallout!
Could they really live with themselves, knowing this loving father would go from joyfully watching his son accept an award one night to apologizing to the nation the next?
At this point, not even the appetizers had arrived, but everyone already had a drink in front of them.
Jeez… even if the alcohol content isn’t high, this is way too much for a “warm-up.”
Kyousuke curled his lips into a wry smile.
He hadn’t been to many izakayas, but even he knew by now—these people didn’t need food to drink.
They could knock back two whole pints of beer before the appetizers even arrived.
He glanced toward the end of the table, where his mother, Sakura, and the others were all staring at him.
Influenced by their focus, even Kasuko, not fully understanding why, was looking straight at him.
Oh… right. This was a celebration for his award.
That meant he was supposed to say something.
If he didn’t, one of the others—some idiot—might just stand up and start saying something like:
“Today is a very special day. I’m sure you all know just how important it is. If it weren’t, we wouldn’t have all gathered here. So, since this is such a meaningful occasion, I have a few words I’d like to share with everyone...”
That kind of long-winded nonsense. And knowing his luck, they’d probably push it onto his senior, Osaka Gou.
So Kyousuke stood up, raising his glass of oolong tea.
Instantly, all eyes were on him. A few of the reporters even pulled out notepads, pens poised, ready to jot down every word.
“To everyone—cheers!”
With those four crisp words, he downed the entire glass in one go and promptly sat back down.
His short but spirited toast caught everyone off guard for a moment—then the entire room erupted as everyone lifted their glasses and shouted:
“Cheers—!”
None louder than Hata Gorou, who practically shouted the walls down, as if trying to tell Eikichi Onizuka and the others, I’m the boss’s right-hand man now.
As Kyousuke accepted a fresh glass of oolong tea from the server, feeling the cool condensation in his palm, a sudden realization struck him:
Every single person here who can both represent the group and drive… has already been drinking.
If any of these drunken fools heard the sound of an engine now, it wouldn’t just turn their brains to mush—they’d probably turn into kettles and try to ride motorcycles up Tokyo Tower.
But then he remembered—he wasn’t that guy anymore.
He wasn’t the scrappy kid who had to ride a bike everywhere.
He was the president now. 社長 (Shachou).
Sure, he had walked here earlier, but there were still plenty of company cars parked back at the Meiji Memorial Hall.
Now the question was: who should he send to pick people up?
His eyes scanned the room again and landed on Mitsuha and Shouko.
Sliding into the seat beside Shouko, he leaned in and said quietly, “I was thinking… I’d like Yuzuru to come celebrate with us too.”
“Huh? But Yuzuru already saw you on TV earlier. She even asked me to pass along a ‘congratulations’ to you.”
Shouko blinked in surprise, then hurriedly responded.
Yuzuru had come to Tokyo multiple times before, and Kyousuke-kun had always had to go all the way back to Suimon City to pick her up.
She felt bad troubling him again.
Watching him on TV was enough.
She’d just bring Yuzuru some extra souvenirs when she visited next week.
But Kyousuke understood exactly what she was thinking, and after a moment’s pause, he lowered his voice even further.
“I was also planning to ask Yotsuba to come. It’ll be more fun with the kids playing together.”
“Mmm~~ I see~~”
Shouko blinked slowly, and the resistance on her soft, round face melted away.
Her tone became light and floaty, almost like she was already tipsy—even though she hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol.
“Then… I’ll tell Yuzuru to come to Tokyo by train, and I’ll go pick her up at the station?”
“That works. You and Mitsuha can take one of my company’s cars. I need to stay here,” Kyousuke said, giving her a small nod.
“No problem~~”
Shouko’s voice remained sweet and fluffy. Though she was stone-cold sober, she looked completely lovestruck.
As she watched him crouch down beside Sakura and start speaking softly again, Shouko’s round cheeks lit up with a dopey smile.
‘Mitsuha’s little sister is coming… so of course my little sister should be here too~~~’
‘Ah geez, Kyousuke-kun... I really don’t mind stuff like this, you know? I really don’t…’
Nishimiya Shouko had always thought she understood Kyousuke well enough.
But she never expected this gentleness of his to stretch so far… all the way into the future, even past a hundred years from now—when she’d be lying in a hospital bed, and Kyousuke-kun would be telling the doctor with quiet concern:
“My wife doesn’t seem to have much of an appetite today.”
