Chapter 58: Everyone Meets!
The Shinkansen “Light” glided smoothly and swiftly across the land of Neon Country like a white steel serpent.
The scenery outside the train window stretched into blurred streaks of green and gray shadows, fleeting by like the irretrievable old times in some people’s hearts.
Yoshiharu Oyama combed his hair back, face stern, holding a steaming cup of green tea with the upright posture of a samurai, his stance impeccable. It was as if he were cradling not a paper cup, but a precious tea utensil passed down for centuries.
He sipped it in small mouthfuls, the scalding tea sliding down his throat, yet it failed to melt his face, which was as cold and hard as the winter rocks of Kumamoto Prefecture.
His gaze was calm, yet it carried an irrepressible spark of anger.
As if the next second, it would erupt from those not-so-large eyes, burning all the unruly noise in this carriage to ashes.
His twenty years as Dean of Students had accustomed him to maintaining order with silence and his gaze.
Unfortunately.
On this train bound for Tokyo, his authority clearly had no market.
Especially when thinking of his second daughter Misae Nohara, who made him both love and fume, his heart as a father couldn’t help but seethe with anger.
After all, according to Yoshiharu Oyama’s arrangement, his second daughter’s life at this time should be staying obediently at home in Kumamoto Prefecture for matchmaking, marrying the son of a local civil servant whose roots were well-known.
Instead of having her heart stolen by some boy who popped up out of nowhere.
So much so that thinking of these things made Yoshiharu Oyama feel his blood pressure rising faster than the Shinkansen’s speed!
Especially hearing the muttering complaints from the old lady nearby.
Yoshiharu Oyama’s face grew even darker.
“Oh dear, a bento box costs 1,500 yen, that’s way too expensive!”
His wife Takao Oyama, sitting beside him, sighed over the menu, her well-maintained face full of accusations against Tokyo prices: “Back in Kumamoto, this price could get our family a nice set meal.”
“Hmph.” Yoshiharu Oyama let out a cold snort from his nostrils, his response to his wife’s words.
He considered his status too dignified to reply to such talk.
Of course.
The family members didn’t expect this rigid and strict old man, who had been Dean of Students, to say any comforting words.
“Mom is right, it is a bit expensive.” Masae Oyama, the eldest daughter sitting beside her mother, gently chimed in at this moment.
She wore a proper beige suit, her temperament gentle and refined, just like her father Yoshiharu Oyama, exuding the conservatism and dignity inherent to traditional local elites.
As a middle school teacher, she was always meticulous in planning her finances.
After all, she had already entered society.
And knew the importance of money.
However, before her words settled, a crisp voice like wind chimes rang out with a teasing tone of nonchalance.
“Sister, Mom, aren’t you making a big fuss over nothing?”
Mogae Oyama, the youngest daughter sitting on the outermost side, engrossed in a fashion magazine, said without lifting her head: “This is the Shinkansen to Tokyo! What is Tokyo? It’s the capital of Neon Country, an international metropolis! Of course prices are high; it’s called keeping up with the world!”
By the end, her big sparkling eyes shone with unmasked longing for that legendary bustling city full of opportunities and handsome men.
Seeing his youngest daughter’s gaze, Yoshiharu Oyama’s brows furrowed deeper.
He set down his tea cup, fixing his sharp gaze—unique to a Dean of Students, as if it could pierce all disguises—on his youngest daughter, and said gravely:
“Mogae, once in Tokyo, don’t make a fuss, and don’t be dazzled by that false prosperity. People in Tokyo look down on us from small places deep in their bones. Remember, the Oyama family has face in Kumamoto; don’t go embarrassing us.”
Though these words were said to Mogae Oyama.
They were also for his wife Takao Oyama and eldest daughter Masae Oyama.
“Huh?”
But the youngest daughter Mogae rolled her eyes exaggeratedly upon hearing this, closed her magazine, and retorted: “Dad, we’re just an ordinary civil servant family; what fame do we have? Besides, what era is this? Who looks down on whom anymore?”
As she spoke, she leaned forward, her youthful face instantly lit up with gossip and excitement:
“Moreover, I heard from second sis on the phone that her boyfriend is super impressive! Not only a somewhat famous manga artist, but also working at Tokyo Television Station, already an assistant director at a young age, involved in planning the hottest horror animation right now! Deeply valued by their section chief!”
She paused, cupping her face with both hands, her big eyes bubbling with pink hearts: “Oh, I wonder… if he’s handsome?”
“Cough! Cough cough!”
Yoshiharu Oyama choked on a mouthful of tea and coughed violently, his stern face turning pig-liver red.
He gripped the paper cup tightly; the poor cup groaned under the strain of his anger-trembling hand.
Hiroshi Nohara!
This name stabbed into his heart like a poisoned awl.
Not only had he stolen his most beloved second daughter, now even this worrisome youngest daughter was about to be corrupted by that boy’s sweet-talking tactics!
And there weren’t even sweet-talking tactics yet!
“Once we get to Tokyo.”
Yoshiharu Oyama gritted his teeth, speaking word by word, his voice squeezed through clenched teeth with Kumamoto Prefecture’s signature stubbornness: “I must make that boy know that the Oyama family’s daughters aren’t so easy to win over! I’ll see just how much he’s really worth!”
He would give him a show of strength, an unforgettable one for life!
Beside him, Takao Oyama watched her husband’s furious state, a helpless yet indulgent smile tugging at her lips.
She knew her outwardly cold but inwardly warm husband was just a paper tiger.
Still, when her gaze turned to the scenery flashing by outside the window, a deep worry for her second daughter far away in Tokyo welled up unbidden in the depths of her gentle eyes.
……
Tokyo, Isetan Department Store.
This was the temple of materialism, the trendsetter’s compass, the air filled with a dazzling aroma of high-end perfumes, leather goods, and money.
“Hiroshi-kun, this… this is way too expensive, right?”
Misae watched Hiroshi Nohara unhesitatingly place a beautifully packaged bottle of Juyondai sake into the shopping basket, her delicate face full of heartache.
She knew this legendary “phantom famous sake” cost enough to cover all her living expenses for the past month.
“To deal with a stubborn tank-type BOSS, you need a super-effective weapon.” Hiroshi Nohara pushed the cart, a strategic smile on his face.
His posture wasn’t like shopping, but like preparing the ultimate weapon for an impending decisive battle.
He then led Misae to the basement sweets area, at the ever-long-lined “Wako” counter, and said to the exquisitely made-up clerk in an unquestionable tone: “The seasonal limited-edition white strawberry cake you have out today, please give me one.”
“Hiroshi-kun!” Misae stomped her feet in urgency.
Even knowing these were gifts for her family, this cost-no-object shopping made even her feel the pinch!
But Hiroshi Nohara gave Misae Nohara a reassuring smile.
Takeshi Kaneshiro’s brilliant smile.
Thinking of Misae Nohara’s perfect service experience for him in the car, Hiroshi Nohara would never let down this loyal, fated wife who followed him devotedly.
“To deal with a gentle support-and-intel officer, you need limited-edition items, one-shot kill.”
So Hiroshi Nohara didn’t look back, simply pulling a gleaming gold credit card from his wallet.
Instantly making the clerks’ eyes light up.
Who doesn’t love the golden legend!?
Next, in an almost sweeping manner, he picked out a top-tier Shiseido skincare set for the strong-willed elder sister-in-law Masae; for the vain younger sister-in-law Mogae, the latest Chanel lipstick and cosmetics.
When the two emerged from Isetan’s revolving doors laden with bags big and small, Misae still felt like she was walking on clouds, a bit dizzy.
Looking at the man beside her carrying twice as many shopping bags yet utterly composed, her watery big eyes sparkled with near-intoxicated light.
She had never imagined that one day she could be like the heroines in fashion magazines, pampered and splurged on lavishly.
“Let’s go, my princess.”
Hiroshi Nohara switched the shopping bags to one hand, then naturally took her small hand, his tone carrying a teasing note only they understood: “Our castle is still waiting in the parking lot.”
……
Tokyo Station, Shinkansen exit.
The surging crowd poured out like a river constrained by invisible dams, instantly filling the small plaza.
Misae nervously clutched Hiroshi Nohara’s coat corner, her usually energetic face now full of the anxiety of an ugly bride meeting her in-laws.
Of course, she was meeting her birth parents now, but she felt guilty instead.
After all, coming to Tokyo had been a spur-of-the-moment decision.
And once here, she found a boyfriend.
And moved in together.
Neon Country was still quite traditional now, and her parents were very traditional too, so Misae Nohara naturally felt guilty.
“Hiroshi-kun… I… I’m a bit scared…” Her teeth gently bit her pink lips, her voice trembling.
“Scared of what?”
Hiroshi Nohara gently squeezed her small hand, the warm touch like a stream soothing her heart’s unease instantly: “Just remember, from today on, you’re not alone. Behind you stands me, stands our castle.”
His voice wasn’t loud, yet it carried a steadiness that could withstand thousands of troops.
Misae felt at ease.
Hiroshi Nohara comforted Misae a few more times, and seeing her cute face relax, he smiled too, gripping her small hand tighter.
At that moment, Misae’s eyes lit up.
“Dad! Mom! Over here!”
She stood on tiptoe, waving her arm vigorously.
In the crowd, the family carried luggage, looking around somewhat lost. Leading them was Yoshiharu Oyama, face stern as if the whole world owed him money.
The instant his gaze met the young man holding his daughter’s hand, those not-so-large eyes burst with two searchlight-sharp beams.
Here he comes.
Hiroshi Nohara chuckled inwardly, but put on the most humble and mild smile on his face. He led Misae forward to greet them.
“Uncle, Aunt, Sister, and you’re Mogae, right? You’ve had a long journey.”
He gave a perfect ninety-degree bow, posture impeccable, voice warm as jade: “I’m Hiroshi Nohara, Misae’s… boyfriend.”
Yoshiharu Oyama let out an ambiguous cold snort.
His sharp eyes scanned Hiroshi Nohara from head to toe like X-rays.
Looks presentable enough, but doesn’t seem like someone who can endure hardship.
“Mm.” He just gave a faint acknowledgment, then turned to his daughter: “Misae, take the luggage. We’ll head to the subway station first, to your place.”
He emphasized “subway station” heavily, the implication clear.
Yet Hiroshi Nohara seemed oblivious to the show of strength, still smiling: “Uncle, no need to trouble yourself. I’ve arranged a car; it’s in the parking lot.”
“A car?” Yoshiharu Oyama was stunned, then a mocking smile appeared: “Rented?”
In his view, a young man hustling in Tokyo at this age renting a small Corolla would already be impressive.
Hiroshi Nohara didn’t answer, just made a polite “after you” gesture.
“Yoshiharu!” Beside him, mother Takao Oyama tugged his arm, pouting slightly, clearly annoyed at the old man’s severity.
She even took the initiative: “You’re Nohara-kun, right? Misae has told me about you; such a young and promising good kid.”
Easing the atmosphere.
“Thank you.” Hiroshi Nohara smiled lightly.
Leading everyone onward.
The group passed through the noisy station hall to the underground parking lot.
Then, when Yoshiharu Oyama saw that jet-black, sleek-lined Toyota Crown Majesta emanating a steady, understated kingly aura even under dim lights, his perpetually stern face cracked for the first time.
“This… this is…” He could hardly believe his eyes.
“Wow! It’s a Crown! A Majesta!” Beside him, Mogae let out an unmasked exclamation, her big eyes shining brighter than when spotting any handsome man.
Young people know cars.
Especially since Toyota is Neon Country’s national brand; how could this fashionable young girl not know?
Hiroshi Nohara pressed the car key.
Two soft “beeps,” and the luxury car like a black stallion lit up its bright headlights, as if greeting its master most respectfully.
He opened the rear door; the interior exuding high-grade wood and genuine leather aroma, the spacious space ample for an adult to cross legs—like a grinning mouth revealing Hiroshi Nohara’s slight smugness.
“Uncle, Aunt, please get in.”
Hiroshi Nohara’s voice remained mild and humble.
This was the Toyota Crown.
Majesta!
Father-in-law Yoshiharu Oyama in the front passenger seat, the huge rear space for mother-in-law, elder sister-in-law, younger sister-in-law, plus Misae—plenty of room even if squeezed.
The space in a super-large luxury car really is huge!
“Ah… then let’s get in.” Yoshiharu Oyama swallowed, his expression toward Hiroshi Nohara now a bit off.
The car was so brand new.
Just like newly bought… definitely not a rented used car.
He recalled what he’d heard on the phone: his daughter Misae Nohara saying Hiroshi Nohara was highly valued by Tokyo Television Station leadership—not just the section chief, but even the deputy director admired this young man.
So Yoshiharu Oyama drew in a sharp breath: “Could the Tokyo Television Station deputy director value Hiroshi Nohara so much as to lend him such a great luxury car?”
In Neon Country, where people dislike troubling others, lending one’s luxury car to a subordinate meant trusted confidant level!
PS: Brothers, monthly tickets and recommendation tickets please~
