"Of course, I understand—it's a bit selfish of me to just ask Hojou-kun to be Michiru's manager like this."
Seeing that his nephew was on the verge of being persuaded, Mr. Hyoudo eased off the pressure and shifted his tone.
The mark of a skilled businessman showed through—push and pull, ebb and flow—he knew exactly how to press people to their limits.
Then reel them back at just the right moment.
Perfect. Flawless.
"Dad! Stop talking!" Michiru suddenly shouted.
Mr. Hyoudo blinked, startled, and turned his head—only to see his eldest nephew, Aki Tomoya, looking as pale as a corpse.
His daughter, meanwhile, was gazing at Aki with concern.
Right.
Because of Aki's earlier behavior, he had completely forgotten that the very same Hojou-kun he was praising to the heavens… was also the one who had beaten Aki badly enough to land him in the hospital.
Well, this was awkward.
Mr. Hyoudo felt innocent in all this.
It was Aki Tomoya's feverish attitude that had thrown him off—he'd just assumed Aki was as much of a Hojou fanboy as Ryouta was.
"I… I'm leaving."
Aki shot to his feet, his pale face twisted with panic and frustration.
"Wait, Tomoya-kun, take the strawberries with you!" Mrs. Hyoudo called after him.
Without even looking back, Aki shoved the strawberries into his bag and hurried to the door, not sparing a word for anyone else.
"Tomo! Wait for me!"
Michiru leapt up in a panic, chasing after him without a second thought.
Mrs. Hyoudo quickly grabbed a long coat and draped it over her daughter's shoulders as she ran out—Michiru might be bold and carefree at home, but she was still her precious girl.
"Eh? Ryouta, why are you getting up too?!"
Mr. Hyoudo nearly choked when he saw his nephew stand.
He could understand Aki storming off, Michiru chasing him… but Ryouta?
They'd just been having such a good talk!
"Heh… haha…"
Ryouta gave two awkward chuckles, sat back down, and forced a smile.
"I was just… worried about Michiru running after him like that."
What was he supposed to say? That he almost chased after Aki too, purely on reflex?
"Sigh…"
Mr. Hyoudo let out a weary sigh.
Watching his daughter's back as she left the house, even he felt a twinge of a headache.
Hyoudo Tsunemi, meanwhile, seized the opportunity to slip quietly back into her room.
She had only stayed this long as backup support for her niece—and hadn't been of any use at all.
But if she stuck around now, with Michiru gone, she'd probably be the next target.
And her brother still hadn't forgiven her for planning that business trip to Johannesburg.
Best to retreat while she could.
Mrs. Hyoudo, after giving Ryouta a quick smile, put on her own coat and went after her daughter.
In the blink of an eye, the spacious living room was reduced to just two people—Mr. Hyoudo and Tsuchiya Ryouta.
The silence that fell was almost suffocating.
"Ryouta, sorry about that. Michiru doesn't have anything against you. In fact, she's happy you care so much."
Mr. Hyoudo forced a smile.
"It's fine," Ryouta replied with a grin. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he asked,
"But… why is Michiru so close with Aki?"
To him, Aki Tomoya was like a double-edged sword—sometimes helping, sometimes causing problems.
The guy had become so absurd it defied reason.
Why did his normally level-headed cousin act like Aki had saved her life or something?
"Michiru used to be so independent. Why would she…"
He trailed off.
There were some things he couldn't exactly say out loud.
Michiru was the pride of the Hyoudo family, the very embodiment of five centuries of Hyoudo and Tsuchiya bloodline brilliance.
Her short hair wasn't just for basketball—it matched her straightforward, spirited personality.
Ryouta would never forget the sight of her at last year's regional finals.
Her team had been hopelessly behind on points.
Her teammates were discouraged, their morale shattered.
But Michiru—she was different.
As captain of the baseball team, Ryouta knew what it meant to shoulder the team alone.
And in that moment, he realized—if not for Michiru, her team's spirit would have collapsed completely.
She didn't scold her teammates.
She didn't try to comfort them with empty words.
She just kept running.
The silly grin she usually wore was gone, replaced with a face as cold as ice.
The scoreboard, the opponent's cheers, even her own cheering family—none of it reached her.
She was lost in the game.
Every step of her legs pounded like a drum, the muscles of her calves taut with effort.
Sweat drenched her short purple hair, plastering it to her head, only two strands swaying at her ears as she sprinted.
Even her chest—usually bouncing with playful energy—was locked tight in her sports bra, as cold and unyielding as her expression.
But underneath that icy mask burned a heart beating hot, desperate, hungry for victory.
Michiru, the undisputed S-rank ace of Tsubaki Girls' High School.
The school, the team, her family—they all placed their hopes on her shoulders.
And she carried them.
She asked for the ball again and again. She dribbled past half-court alone.
She broke through defenders alone.
She scored—alone.
The gap on the scoreboard didn't shrink.
But it didn't grow either.
With Michiru alone, they could hold back the enemy.
So then, her teammates must have wondered: 'If Michiru can fight alone, then what's the point of us?'
Or maybe: 'If Michiru alone can keep us from losing, why can't we win even with all of us together?'
"Don't let Michiru fight alone!" Ryouta had shouted then, unable to stop himself.
He knew the feeling all too well.
In baseball, the dream of a perfect game, of a pitcher carrying the team on his back—that was the ultimate romance.
But basketball wasn't like that. And Michiru—she was surrounded by five opponents.
Her solitary battle moved everyone—not just Ryouta, but the cheering families, the school's cheer squad, every single spectator.
Tears in their eyes, they cried out support.
And finally, her teammates responded.
Michiru's burning will, her relentless hunger for victory, had set their hearts ablaze.
A team that had never made it far in regionals before, whose cheer had always been "Making top four would already be a success"—they were moved to fight.
It was a fierce, exhilarating battle.
And when Michiru ended it with a long-range three-pointer that sank through the hoop, the crowd erupted.
Every spectator rose to their feet, cheering and applauding with all their might.
Tsubaki Girls' High's hero was surrounded by her teammates, her face flushed bright red with joy.
She laughed, bouncing up and down with them, clutching their hands and repeating the same phrase over and over:
"Yay! We did it! Yay!"
Her not-so-brilliant brain had already forgotten the grueling struggle of fighting alone earlier.
All she could think was how wonderful it felt to win together with her teammates.
But just because she forgot didn't mean everyone else would.
The team that had been dragged into despair single-handedly by Hyoudo Michiru—all those girls had tears in their eyes.
Their captain, dressed in a blue jersey, comforted her teammates, then walked straight over to Michiru.
The captain bowed a full ninety degrees, her face calm and resolute, before taking off her own jersey and asking to exchange uniforms with Michiru.
That's my cousin, Hyoudo Michiru.
The genius girl born from five centuries of the Hyoudo and Tsuchiya bloodline's finest traits—a person even her rivals couldn't help but admire.
Ballet, theater, basketball, and now the band Icy Tail… no matter where she went, Michiru was the one her partners relied on, trusted, and looked up to.
Not just for her natural talent, but because of her straightforward, refreshing, no-nonsense personality.
And yet—why does she turn into that person when it comes to Aki Tomoya?
This wasn't the Hyoudo Michiru Tsuchiya Ryouta knew at all.
Indecisive, confused about right and wrong—that was not the genius girl who could instantly become the center of attention wherever she went.
That kind of person could never earn her teammates' trust. No leader of any team could afford to be like that.
So Ryouta was left truly baffled.
"What the hell happened to Michiru?"
"Ah…" Michiru's father let out a heavy sigh.
"That was… something from when she was a child."
Ryouta leaned forward, eager to listen.
Since he couldn't exactly chase after Aki now, he might as well learn the truth.
Her father's face twisted with an expression like he'd just swallowed something foul. He sighed again, looking utterly helpless.
"One summer vacation, just like every year, Michiru went back to her grandmother's place in Nagano. You know this, Ryouta—Aki used to spend his vacations there too. You went a fair number of times yourself."
"Yeah." Ryouta nodded.
For kids growing up in the city, going to the countryside was pure joy—sometimes even better than a trip abroad.
Clear, cold streams.
The chorus of insects and birds.
Shiny black rhinoceros beetles.
The admiring stares of the local kids.
Grandma's delicious cooking… All of it was paradise for children.
Of course, he loved going too—though not as often as Aki Tomoya.
"And you probably remember—Aki was always glued to Michiru back then."
"Oh, that I remember very clearly." Ryouta nodded again.
It was impossible to forget.
Back then, boys and girls didn't draw such strict lines, but even so, boys were taught to be "manly." No boy wanted to play "house" as the mom.
In games like baseball, girls were often refused outright. And honestly, most girls didn't even want to join.
Except for Michiru.
To her, both boys and girls were the same—just "ordinary mortals."
But then there was Aki Tomoya.
Always timid, always clinging to Michiru.
Wherever she went, he'd be behind her, whining, "Mi-chan, wait for me! Mi-chan, wait for me!"
It was embarrassing to watch.
The other kids, whether from the city or the countryside, disliked him for it.
Which only made him cling to Michiru even harder.
Now, if a guy in high school had the guts to act like that, he'd probably earn envious respect from his peers.
"Michiru was a girl. Even if she was young, having a boy cling to her like that—even a relative—was humiliating." Her father sounded exasperated.
Adults loved the idea of childhood sweethearts, but the way Aki stuck to her was so excessive it even annoyed her.
"Michiru complained to me and her grandmother, but as family, we couldn't really do anything. We just told her to put up with it." His face was etched with regret—clearly he thought they'd handled it all wrong.
Ryouta stayed silent.
Back then, when he visited the countryside, he sometimes played with Michiru too, but more often he hung out with the local kids—showing off "advanced baseball theory" he'd learned in the city.
Sure, he couldn't beat Michiru, but the country kids still adored him. Their worshipful stares were… very satisfying. Ahem.
"And then?" he prompted.
"And then… the next day, it happened." Her father sighed heavily.
"Fed up with Aki clinging to her, Michiru went climbing in the mountains alone. You know the one—behind the food factory, the mountain covered in cedar trees."
"What? But Grandma always said never to go there!" Ryouta was shocked.
To a child, that mountain was vast and deep.
According to Grandma, thirteen men, six women, and one hundred thirty-two children had died there—some eaten by bears, some blinded by foxes, some kidnapped by tanuki, some taken away by mountain witches…
"Exactly. That's what makes you a good kid, Ryouta. Not the brightest, but at least you listen. If only Michiru had been more like you…" Her father sighed again.
Ryouta: "…"
"Going into the mountain wasn't the real problem. With Michiru's abilities, she could've gotten back safely. But she was unlucky that day—she twisted her ankle up there and couldn't walk."
"Bad things always pile up. That's why you should never make reckless decisions when you're already upset," Ryouta muttered.
"Yeah… if only I'd asked my sister to take Aki away, or just brought Michiru back to Tokyo myself." Her father's voice was thick with regret.
She'd been so young, climbing the mountain just to escape annoying little Aki… only to hurt herself. He could only imagine how miserable she must have felt.
"And then?" Ryouta pressed. He had no memory of this incident—by then, he'd already stopped visiting often.
"As it got dark, we started searching for her." Her father's tone grew even more complicated.
"And the one who found her… was Aki Tomoya. He knew Michiru was avoiding him. He also knew where he'd normally be too scared to go. So, naturally, he figured she'd be on that mountain. Or maybe… he'd actually been searching all day…"
"Anyway, Aki carried her down the mountain on his back. So now you understand, don't you? Why Michiru treats him differently. In a sense… he's her savior."
Her father's voice was dry, his expression twisted with bitterness.
Coincidentally, Tsuchiya Ryouta's face was just as twisted—like a pitcher who'd accidentally beaned his own catcher.
As for why Uncle's expression turned so twisted and conflicted when he mentioned his "savior," Tsuchiya Ryouta completely understood.
What a mess.
Seriously, what the hell was this?
All because Aki Tomoya had been so annoyingly persistent that Michiru ran off into the mountains to avoid him, only to sprain her ankle and end up being rescued by—of all people—Aki Tomoya.
Anyone would be left dumbfounded by that.
"Michiru, she…"
Ryouta swallowed hard, not sure how to phrase it.
Finally, he forced the words out:
"She's just too innocent…"
He could understand how deeply it must've moved her.
Aki Tomoya, terrified as he was, had still gone up that mountain alone to find her, then carried her back down by himself.
For a frightened little girl stuck up there, exhausted and scared, that act of courage was bound to leave a lasting impression.
But still! Cause and effect mattered.
If Aki Tomoya hadn't been clinging to her so relentlessly in the first place, Michiru wouldn't have run into the mountains and gotten into danger at all.
At best, this was just making up for his own mess!
If Ryouta didn't know how dim Aki's brain really was, he would've suspected this was some kind of scheme—set Michiru up to be in danger, then swoop in as the hero to save her.
But the scary part was that it hadn't even been intentional.
If it had been Ryouta in Michiru's shoes, forget "looking at Aki in a new light"—he would've cut ties completely.
Not out of pettiness, but because once people started gossiping, the story wouldn't be "Aki bravely rescued her."
It would be "Michiru got into danger only because she was trying to escape from Aki Tomoya."
Anyone could see how simple that cause-and-effect was.
But if the one involved was Hyoudo Michiru, then of course things turned out like this.
That was just the kind of person she was—someone who could only ever remember the good in people.
Like during that basketball game: in her mind, there was no memory of the grueling effort of fighting alone, only the joy of winning alongside her teammates.
Bright, pure, utterly genuine—that was Hyoudo Michiru.
That's why everyone loved her. That's why Ryouta had gone out of his way to pull her in as the cheer squad for Hojou-kun.
Weren't the two of them so alike? Both geniuses who could, by sheer force of will, drag their teams to victory.
Only when those two prodigies stood together at Koshien, lifting the championship flag, would it truly embody the meaning of youth.
"Yeah. I'm at a loss too."
Uncle frowned deeply, his tone weighed down with emotion.
"But I can't exactly tell Michiru, 'The only reason you were in danger was because of Aki, so don't be so grateful.' That's not something a father should say. And honestly… seeing her gratefulness makes me proud in its own way."
That was the heart of it. Michiru wasn't wrong.
Her father knew it all perfectly well, yet as a parent he couldn't say it aloud.
Still, if he had known things would snowball into this, he definitely would've explained everything to her from the start.
Ryouta gave his uncle a look full of sympathy.
"Now it all depends on what Aki tells Michiru. If he…"
Uncle didn't finish his sentence. He only looked at Ryouta with pity in his eyes.
"…"
'What the hell?!'
Ryouta's eyes widened in disbelief.
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