Chapter 212: Everyday Arc! Heading Back To Kumamoto Prefecture For Vacation! The Excited Oyama Family!
That building of Tokyo Television Station, still brightly lit in the night, was like a silent steel giant beast, devouring the dreams and fatigue of countless people. Hiroshi Nohara’s figure emerged from that brilliantly lit doorway, carrying a faint aura of noise, yet as if he had shut all that glamour behind him.
The evening breeze brushed past, carrying the chill of early winter, dispersing a trace of weariness from his brow.
He softly instructed Yō Kitagawa beside him, his voice gentle and clear, like a stream thawing in spring, compelling involuntary trust.
“Yō-chan, I’m leaving the leave request to you. Handle the follow-up procedures and coordinate with the television station side.”
Yō Kitagawa nodded vigorously, her eyes sparkling with admiration and trust: “Yes! Sir, rest assured, everything will be handled properly.”
He turned to Ichiro Hashishita and the others, his gaze calm as water yet containing an undeniable force.
“Hashishita-kun, Yamamoto-kun, Tanaka-kun, the follow-up promotions for the awards, and the preparation for the 《Seven Samurai》 and 《Hachiko》 celebration banquets—these matters, I ask you to put in extra effort.”
“Minister Nohara, rest assured!” The three bowed in unison, their voices loud and full of vigor.
Hiroshi Nohara nodded slightly, said no more, and turned toward the parking lot.
That black Toyota Crown stood quietly under the lights, its body lines sleek and steady, like a silent knight.
He opened the car door, got in, and smoothly drove out of the television station, merging into Tokyo’s river of never-extinguishing lights.
The world outside the car window flowed with brilliant colors, neon lights outlining the illusory yet real contours of the city. Behind every lit window, perhaps a story was unfolding—sad or joyful, gathering or parting.
And he, Hiroshi Nohara, was driving through this web woven by countless stories, heading to the site of another of his stories.
The lights of Future Manga Company shone in a small building not far away, warm like a lighthouse.
Pushing open that familiar glass door, a warm current mixed with ink aroma, paper scent, and coffee aroma rushed toward him. In the office, Misae was smiling sweetly as she poured hot tea for two guests; her profile looked especially gentle under the soft lighting.
Those two guests: one appeared to be around forty, wearing black-framed glasses with sharp and shrewd eyes—he was the legendary Editor-in-Chief of Shueisha, known throughout the neon manga world, Kazuhiko Torishima.
The other was younger, his expression reserved yet unable to hide a trace of excitement—he was Hiroshi Nohara’s exclusive editor, Masato Tadokoro.
“Ding-ling—”
The wind chimes on the door let out a crisp ring, and the three looked over.
“Ah! Hiroshi!” Misae’s eyes lit up instantly, as if stars had fallen into them; she stood up in surprise.
Kazuhiko Torishima and Masato Tadokoro also shot to their feet, their expressions shifting rapidly from surprise to a mix of admiration and eager joy.
“Teacher Nohara! How did you get here?” Masato Tadokoro blurted out almost first, his voice trembling slightly.
Kazuhiko Torishima pushed up his glasses, his gaze scrutinizing Hiroshi Nohara from behind the lenses, then revealed a genuine smile: “Teacher Nohara, what a coincidence. We were just talking about you with Miss Misae, and here you are.”
“Editor-in-Chief Torishima, Editor Tadokoro, good evening.” Hiroshi Nohara smiled as he walked forward, naturally removing his jacket and hanging it on the rack: “I just came from the television station side and thought I’d stop by on the way.”
“Television station?” Kazuhiko Torishima’s smile deepened. “We just saw Teacher Nohara’s brilliance on TV. Congratulations on winning so many major awards at the Japan Drama Academy Awards with 《An Shizhi》, 《World of the Strange》, and 《Super Change Change Change》—well-deserved!”
“Yes, yes!” Masato Tadokoro nodded repeatedly, excitedly adding: “And the movies! 《Seven Samurai》’s box office has already broken eight billion! That’s a miracle for period dramas! And… and 《The Tale of Hachiko》, I hear it’s about to hit the ten billion mark! Teacher Nohara, you’re simply… a legend of this era!”
Facing the unreserved praise from these two major figures in the manga world, Hiroshi Nohara just smiled calmly and sat down beside Misae.
“It’s the result of everyone’s joint efforts.”
But Misae couldn’t contain her inner excitement; she grasped Hiroshi Nohara’s hand, her eyes sparkling as she looked at him, like a child eager to share a treasure.
“Hiroshi, you don’t know! Editor-in-Chief Torishima and Editor Tadokoro came today with huge good news!”
“Oh?” Hiroshi Nohara raised an eyebrow.
“It’s 《Yu Yu Hakusho》!” Misae’s voice was full of pride. “Editor-in-Chief Torishima said the cumulative sales of the volumes have already… already broken twenty million copies!”
This number, even for the prepared Hiroshi Nohara, couldn’t help but stir him slightly.
Twenty million copies—in this era, for a manga still in serialization, was undoubtedly an astronomical figure.
Kazuhiko Torishima took over, his tone steady and powerful, carrying an air of commanding the big picture: “Teacher Nohara, your work is making history. 《Yu Yu Hakusho》 has ignited the passion of the entire young demographic; they’re crazy for Yusuke Urameshi’s battles, captivated by Kurama and Hiei’s charm. It’s no longer just a manga—it’s a social phenomenon.”
Masato Tadokoro added: “And 《Doraemon》! Now almost every family with children is talking about that blue, cat-type robot that pulls all sorts of magical props from its pocket. It brings endless joy and dreams to kids. So we’re here to discuss formally launching separate volumes for 《Doraemon》!”
“Not only that.” Kazuhiko Torishima’s gaze fell on Hiroshi Nohara with a probing intent. “There’s also that uniquely styled 《Late-night Diner》. It’s resonated hugely with young office workers. Many reader mails say they see their fatigued selves after late-night work in the manga, finding solace in that little diner. For this work, we also plan to release independent volumes.”
“One ignites youth’s hot-blooded passion, one guards children’s dreams, one soothes urban souls.” Kazuhiko Torishima summarized at last, his tone full of emotion. “Teacher Nohara, you alone have captured the hearts of three whole generations in the neon world.”
Hiroshi Nohara picked up the hot tea Misae had poured for him, took a gentle sip; the warm liquid slid down his throat, dispelling the winter night’s chill.
“Of course I have no objections.” He set down the teacup, looking at the two editors. “Being recognized by Shueisha is my honor. For the specifics, discuss with Editor Tadokoro; I trust his professionalism.”
Hearing this, Masato Tadokoro’s face flushed with excitement; he bowed hastily: “Yes! I will do my utmost and not betray Minister Nohara’s trust!”
Kazuhiko Torishima nodded approvingly, but the purpose of his visit today clearly went beyond this. His gaze grew serious, the oppressive presence of the legendary editor unconsciously revealing itself.
“Teacher Nohara, we’re here today not just to share good news and discuss volumes—there’s another, most important matter.”
“Please go ahead.” Hiroshi Nohara responded calmly.
“It’s your time.” Kazuhiko Torishima said deliberately, his gaze locked on him. “We all know you’re now a top director in film and television, incredibly busy. TV dramas, movies, promotions, appearances… these consume massive energy. Manga creation, especially three high-quality weekly serializations simultaneously, requires total immersion and vast time.”
His words were filled with genuine concern, not feigned, from an editor who truly cherished the works.
“We’re worried your body won’t hold up, and more worried… that these three great works might suffer in quality due to time issues, or even be forced to hiatus.”
Masato Tadokoro nodded beside him, adding: “Yes, Teacher Nohara. Readers’ enthusiasm is sky-high; a sudden hiatus would cause a huge backlash. We… just hope you have enough time to complete the drawings.”
Kazuhiko Torishima looked at Hiroshi Nohara’s silent profile and continued, presenting his solution.
“So, we have a proposal. Of course, it’s just a proposal—the decision is entirely yours.”
“Go on.”
“If you lack time to draw personally, you can just provide the story script and storyboard drafts.” Kazuhiko Torishima’s voice was low, carrying temptation: “Shueisha can find a top manga artist team for the drawing. You’d just be credited as original work creator—this has precedents in the industry, a mature cooperation mode.”
“Exactly, Teacher Nohara.” Masato Tadokoro chimed in immediately: “It’s an industry unspoken rule and convention. Many famous manga artists, after fame, choose this to ensure stable updates. It won’t affect your reputation; it’ll free you from heavy drawing work.”
The air seemed to freeze in that moment.
Misae looked at Hiroshi Nohara with some worry; she knew how much he loved drawing, the process of depicting stories from his mind with his own hand was enjoyment for him.
But Hiroshi Nohara smiled.
His smile was faint, yet like a stone dropped into a calm lake, rippling layers of waves.
“I appreciate your good intentions.” He spoke slowly, his voice not loud but clear to all: “But no need.”
“Teacher Nohara?” Masato Tadokoro was puzzled.
“My stories are only complete when drawn by my own hand.” Hiroshi Nohara’s gaze swept over the two editors, without a hint of hesitation, only a confidence rooted in his bones: “Don’t worry about time; I have no problem.”
No problem.
These simple three words, from his mouth, carried an indescribable persuasiveness.
Kazuhiko Torishima and Masato Tadokoro exchanged glances, seeing deep amazement in each other’s eyes.
They’d seen countless manga artists—geniuses, diligent ones, madmen—but in Hiroshi Nohara, they saw something entirely different. A composure beyond confidence, as if limits of time and energy didn’t exist before him.
A top genius spanning film/television and manga—his confidence seemed backed by ample capital.
“Since Teacher Nohara says so, we naturally trust you.” Kazuhiko Torishima took a deep breath, suppressing his shock: “Just please take care of your health.”
“I will.” Hiroshi Nohara nodded, then changed the subject, dropping an even more unexpected bombshell.
“Speaking of which, for the next half month, I’ll be going to Kumamoto Prefecture—a vacation for myself.”
“Eh? Vacation?” Masato Tadokoro was stunned, his heart rising again. “Then… the manuscripts…”
Hiroshi Nohara found his nervous look amusing.
“Rest assured, when I return from Kumamoto, I’ll hand over the manuscripts.”
“A half-month vacation… then upon return, won’t you have to rush drafts overnight? That’s too grueling!” Masato Tadokoro was full of concern.
“No.” Hiroshi Nohara shook his head, picked up his teacup, and said leisurely: “When I return, I’ll hand over enough manuscripts for half a year of serialization at once.”
“Bang!”
Masato Tadokoro’s teacup shook, tea spilling out, but he was oblivious.
Kazuhiko Torishima’s usually steady face lost all composure here, his glasses nearly sliding off his nose.
“Half… half a year?!” Kazuhiko Torishima’s voice pitched up: “Teacher Nohara, you mean… all three works have half a year’s serialization stockpile?”
“Yes.” Hiroshi Nohara replied nonchalantly.
“My god!” Masato Tadokoro didn’t know what to say; he counted on his fingers, muttering: “One chapter per week, half year is twenty-six chapters… three works… seventy-eight chapters of manuscripts… drawn in a half-month vacation?!”
This… this was no longer a human workload! Was this the Manga God descending?!
Kazuhiko Torishima adjusted his glasses, forcing calm; he thought he must have misunderstood.
“Teacher Nohara, you mean three mangas, each with two months’ stockpile, right? That’s already astonishing! We’d fully accept it! Half a year’s workload is really…”
He figured two months’ stockpile was the most optimistic Hiroshi Nohara could promise at his limit.
However, Hiroshi Nohara’s next words struck like thunder on the two battle-hardened editors.
He set down his teacup, looked at the dumbfounded pair, and smiling, corrected clearly, word by word:
“No, Editor-in-Chief Torishima, you misunderstood.”
“I mean, for the three mangas, I’ll prepare… enough stockpile for half a year of volume releases.”
The entire office plunged into dead silence.
Only the wall clock’s ticking and the editors’ bellows-like heavy breathing remained.
Half a year’s volume stockpile…
Kazuhiko Torishima and Masato Tadokoro’s brains crashed completely.
They rapidly calculated the implications in their minds.
One volume usually collects about ten chapters. Half a year, at one every two months, is three volumes.
Three volumes is thirty chapters.
Three works is… ninety chapters!
Ninety chapters of high-quality manga originals!
Completed in half a month?!
This wasn’t confidence—this was a miracle!
Kazuhiko Torishima opened his mouth but made no sound. He’d dominated the manga world for decades, discovered countless geniuses, witnessed miracles—but nothing had ever overturned his worldview and shaken his soul like this.
Masato Tadokoro seemed drained of all strength, slumping in his chair, staring blankly at the man before him.
He felt that what he faced perhaps wasn’t human at all.
But a monster from a higher dimension, cloaked in human skin.
Hiroshi Nohara looked at their dazed states and just smiled, offering no further explanation.
Some secrets were destined to be his alone.
After all, for other manga artists, it required laborious plotting, figuring how to draw, how to make images concise yet coherent.
But for him.
He just needed to endlessly imitate—or rather, plagiarize—from the memories in his mind.
Outside the window, Tokyo’s night deepened; that ocean of countless lights continued shining tirelessly, as if witnessing in this room, in this era, a one-of-a-kind legend rising in an inconceivable way.
……
The office’s thick wooden door gently closed behind them as Editor-in-Chief Kazuhiko Torishima and Editor Masato Tadokoro bid farewell and left ‘Future Manga Company’.
But those gazes mixed with shock, worship, and a trace of human instinctual fear facing the supernatural lingered as if in Misae’s president’s office.
Hiroshi Nohara smiled faintly at the corners of his mouth, looking out at Tokyo’s lights just coming on, the multicolored neon like this massive city’s unburst desire bubble, flickering with a hazy, unreal glow.
In a great mood.
After all, that big flex just now had indeed thrilled his heart immensely.
Misae followed lightly at his side like a nimble fawn, her face brimming with irrepressible delight. She quickened her steps, tilting her head up to look at him, eyes sparkling.
“Hiroshi!” She couldn’t help tugging his sleeve, her voice crisp and joyful: “Did you see Torishima-san and Tadokoro-san’s faces earlier? Their mouths were open wide enough to stuff in a daikon radish from Oita specialties! ‘A workload impossible for humans’… those two, one the legendary Shueisha Editor-in-Chief, one an experienced exclusive editor, actually said it simultaneously!”
She mimicked Masato Tadokoro’s incredulous glasses-adjusting gesture and giggled first.
Hiroshi Nohara turned his head to look at her, his eyes indulgent. The night breeze carried a slight autumn chill, ruffling his neatly combed sideburns and Misae’s forehead bangs.
“I saw.” His voice was calm, like stating an objective fact: “They’re just used to ordinary people’s efficiency.” He paused, his tone without arrogance, only a natural certainty: “Those top colorists at the manga company, working overtime, can finish just a few pages of color a day? Even they would take a long time for ninety chapters’ originals and storyboard drafts.”
Misae nodded vigorously in agreement: “Yes, yes! Yamashita-san and them color so fast, yet they doubt life every time they see your submission speed. Nohara-kun, you’re like… um, like sent by the Manga God!” She was satisfied with her metaphor, smiling even brighter, her eighteen-year-old girl’s worship and love pure without impurity.
“Manga God?” Hiroshi Nohara repeated softly, his deep eyes gazing at the neon-dyed purplish-red night sky, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly with a subtle amusement only he understood: “Maybe.”
With the previous world as foundation, wasn’t he a deity-like impact on this world?
He turned to Misae, tone casual: “Enough of that. Tonight, no thinking about manuscripts or television hassles.” He gently patted the back of her hand: “With vacation tomorrow, let’s stroll Ginza, eat well, and pick gifts for your father and mother, Older Sister Masae, Mage, and them to bring back.”
“Really going to Kumamoto?!” Misae’s eyes widened round like two black grapes shining in the night: “Re… really? Yay yay!” The surprise hit too suddenly; she even stuttered a bit, her smile blooming brighter than any neon light.
“Mm, as promised.” Hiroshi Nohara led Misae to the parking lot, opened the car door, and gestured for her to get in: “Sit properly.”
The engine rumbled lowly, and the black Crown sedan merged into Tokyo’s traffic flow.
Inside the car, insulated from the city’s clamor, only the heater’s hum and Misae’s excited soft humming remained.
Hiroshi Nohara’s slender fingers steadily gripped the wheel, his gaze calmly fixed on the brilliant lights ahead.
The car window glass reflected his calm, profound profile and the girl’s joyful swaying figure in the passenger seat.
Ginza, Tokyo, this era’s totem of luxury and consumerism, bloomed with its signature golden splendor upon their arrival.
Huge display windows showcased luxury goods from around the world; elegantly dressed people moved with grace.
The air here seemed to exude a unique scent mixing expensive perfume, gourmet aromas, and money.
The two didn’t choose high-end restaurants needing reservations.
Hiroshi Nohara led Misae into a well-known teppanyaki shop “Flame”.
Not a top-tier private room, but lively atmosphere made up for it.
Plus, a simple meal would make it convenient to shop Ginza for Kumamoto Prefecture souvenirs and meeting gifts next.
“Sizzle—” Tender snow beef danced lively on the scorching iron plate, fats bursting into enticing aromas under flames, the master chef’s spatula flying like a dance.
Misae watched the sizzling delicacy, eyes gleaming.
“Hiroshi, this smells so good!” She exclaimed softly, watching the chef precisely place a piece of perfectly grilled top wagyu onto her plate.
Hiroshi Nohara took a sip of his drink, watching Misae nibble the wagyu and squint in satisfaction; the faint curve at his mouth deepened slightly: “Eat more if you like; the Hokkaido scallops here are very fresh too.”
He ordered just the right portions—not stingy, nor extravagantly eye-catching.
Misae felt every bite was happiness; occasionally glancing at the steady Hiroshi across, her heart filled to the brim.
The shop’s soft lighting fell on his distinctly contoured face, his beyond-his-years poise making him blend naturally in this luxurious place, as if born to it yet able to withdraw anytime.
After a satisfying meal, the shopping spree began.
Tall windows displayed models in the latest French design brand ready-to-wear.
Hiroshi Nohara’s eye was precise and efficient.
For future father-in-law Yoshiharu Oyama, he chose a steady black cashmere cardigan and matching trousers from a British old brand; for mother-in-law Takao Oyama, a thick, elegantly soft-colored mulberry silk kimono jacket, paired with a Kyoto yuzen-dyed true silk scarf.
His actions were crisp, without the hesitation typical of men shopping.
“Won’t these be too expensive for Dad and Mom?” Misae touched the silky scarf, worried they might not accept.
“Your father and mother deserve it.” Hiroshi Nohara had the clerk pack them immediately. These were gifts for his father-in-law and mother-in-law!
Next, gifts for the sisters.
Hiroshi Nohara seemed to know Misae’s two sisters’ interests clearly.
For gentle big sister Masae Oyama, a full set of classic Shiseido skincare gift box; for the youngest, lively and cute little sister Mogae Nohara, a dainty Casio women’s digital watch and a trendy cat-eye sunglasses popular with young people.
“Wow! Hiroshi, how did you know Mage wanted sunglasses?” Misae asked in surprise.
“Last time on the phone, didn’t she and Masae fight over a pair of plastic sunglasses?” Hiroshi Nohara calmly countered, taking the packaging bag from the clerk.
Misae stuck out her tongue, recalling that chaotic, fun phone scene.
Leaving Mitsukoshi, Hiroshi Nohara entered an old-established gold shop “Kincho”.
Without much browsing, he had them bring out simple, elegant gold pieces: thin clavicle chains for mother-in-law and Masae Oyama, with good meaning; a dainty small gold coin pendant for Mogae Nohara.
For himself, a pair of solid gold cufflinks, matte and understated.
Then the souvenir session.
Ginza old-brand food shop “Kinshicho”‘s expensive premium fruit basket—Shizuoka mesh melons, Fukuoka strawberries, packaged like artwork.
Next, upscale Japanese sweets shop “Toraya”‘s limited yokan and chestnut yokan in gift boxes with exquisite ukiyo-e patterns.
Finally, he entered a liquor specialty shop, picking two bottles of top 25-year aged whiskey from Yamazaki Distillery and two bottles of Latour second label red wine from Bordeaux, France—though not first label, absolute luxury in Kumamoto Prefecture.
Seeing several large shopping bags nearly filling the Crown’s spacious trunk, Misae finally tugged Hiroshi Nohara’s windbreaker sleeve, whispering: “Hiroshi… isn’t this too much? These… are expensive.”
Looking at the exquisite bags, thinking of their prices, her heart felt a bit uneasy. Together, they could cover a year-plus living expenses for an ordinary farmer family.
Hiroshi Nohara had just placed the last box of sweets, his mouth corner lifting slightly.
“Silly girl,” he reached out, naturally scraping the back of his finger on Misae’s perky nose tip—this intimate gesture made her cheeks flush: “With Minister Nohara’s current worth, this expense is nothing.”
His tone was so matter-of-fact it wasn’t boasting, more like stating a simple truth.
It was the powerful backing from 《An Shizhi》 and 《World of the Strange》’s ongoing high-ratings revenue shares, 《Super Change Change Change》’s massive influence licensing fees, 《Seven Samurai》’s hefty box office, and huge royalties from 《Yu Yu Hakusho》, 《Doraemon》, 《Late-night Diner》 mangas.
More importantly, the treasure trove in his mind was the true inexhaustible wealth source.
“Filthy rich” fit him perfectly, without exaggeration.
The black Crown started again, carrying a car full of sentiments away from dazzling Ginza.
Back at the high-end apartment in central Tokyo Metropolis, the warm yellow lights dispelled the autumn night’s slight chill.
It wasn’t too late yet.
Misae couldn’t contain her excitement and pre-trip thrill; she trotted to pick up the exquisite desk phone, dialing the Oyama family home in Kumamoto Prefecture skillfully.
“Beep… beep… click.” The call connected quickly, Takao Oyama’s voice with sleepiness and Kumamoto accent: “Hello? Moshi moshi?”
“Mom! It’s me, Misae!” Misae’s voice was crisp and joyful.
“Misae? Calling so late, something wrong?” Takao Oyama’s drowsiness faded with her daughter’s voice, tone turning concerned.
“Mom! Listen!” Misae took a deep breath, tone brimming with uncontainable joy: “Hiroshi and I… are coming back to see you tomorrow!”
“Tom… tomorrow?!” On the other end, Takao Oyama’s volume spiked, stammering with incredulous surprise: “Huh?! What? Hiroshi and you… back tomorrow?!”
“Mm! Tomorrow!” Misae nodded vigorously, though unseen.
Then a deliberately stern but excitement-tinged nervous male voice came through, with chaotic background noise like someone roused: “Whose call? What’s tomorrow? Misae coming back?” It was Yoshiharu Oyama.
“It’s Misae! She says… Hiroshi and her arriving home tomorrow!” Takao Oyama’s voice was shocked and joyful, relaying the bombshell.
“What?! So soon! Hiroshi coming too?!” Yoshiharu Oyama’s voice cracked, his stern patriarch facade crumbling.
The handset clearly transmitted his hurried breathing and pacing footsteps. “Quick… quick! Takao! That… tomorrow! Book a hotel! And first thing tomorrow, market! Best wagyu! No no, Kumamoto’s famous black-haired wagyu! And, any matsutake from Ito-san last time? Get it out! Rice—new rice! Right! House, clean thoroughly again! This is Hiroshi’s first official visit! No sloppiness!”
His voice boomed, commands rapid and urgent, utterly unlike his usual taciturn, authoritative self—revealing flustered tension and heartfelt importance.
Then the background grew livelier, clearly rousing Masae Oyama and Mogae Nohara from next door.
“Misae and brother-in-law coming back?! Wow! Real?!” Mogae Nohara’s excited near-scream.
“Hiroshi and Misae coming back?” Big sister Masae Oyama’s voice carried delight.
The phone became the Oyama family’s impromptu family conference line.
Misae listened to her family’s merriment voices over their homecoming—father’s seemingly chaotic but deeply serious arrangements, mother’s excited responses, sisters’ surprised queries—a thick, melting warmth filled her chest, her face blooming with radiant happiness.
Hiroshi Nohara leaned by the sofa nearby, holding a glass of water, quietly watching Misae’s calling back.
The living room’s soft lights outlined the girl’s graceful figure, illuminating her naturally loving, happy expression toward family during the call.
Hearing Yoshiharu Oyama’s efforts to maintain dignity yet leaking nervous joy, even his imperturbable nature flickered with a gentle smile in his eyes.
Misae chattered a few more sentences, then into the mouthpiece, voice with a hint of pride and endless anticipation: “Hiroshi said we’ll stay in Kumamoto two weeks, relax properly! Mom, Dad, Sis, Mage, see you at Kumamoto Airport tomorrow!”
The other end naturally erupted in joyful affirmations.
“Click.” Misae hung up, turned, and pounced on Hiroshi Nohara like a happy little bird, eyes full of star-like sparkles: “Hiroshi! Mom and Dad are so happy! Sis and Mage too! I want to fly back now!”
Hiroshi Nohara steadily caught the rushing girl, gently holding her waist, looking down at her excitedly flushed little face.
“Mm.” He responded lowly, his voice rarely so soft.
He looked out at the deep Tokyo night, then down at the girl nestled in his arms.
This autumn night’s temperature and her joy stirred a slight ripple in his rock-solid heart’s depths toward Kumamoto Prefecture.
But now, night was deep.
Watching Misae still chattering in his arms about Kumamoto hometown fun, Hiroshi Nohara’s mouth curved in a faint, subtle smile.
“Misae.” Hiroshi Nohara interrupted her.
“Huh?” Misae blinked.
“How will you thank your destined husband, Hiroshi Nohara?” Hiroshi Nohara’s mouth corner lifted, then looking at the blushing Misae in his arms, he placed her on the tatami.
PS: Please some recommendation tickets, daily life begins!
