Because the plan was to spend this period before finals holding a mutual study group with Takanashi Rokka, to boost their grades.
And at the same time, to help Minamoto Senya illustrate the accompanying artwork for his competition novel.
Thus, it was only natural that Eriri would be staying at the Minamoto household for a while.
Both Rokka and Senya nodded in agreement, and the rest of the family had no objections either.
Junko, their mother, was even delighted at the news, remarking happily that the house would finally feel lively again.
After dinner, Rokka accompanied Eriri back to her home to collect her schoolbag, a change of clothes, and other personal items.
At first, when Mrs. Sawamura heard her daughter say she would be staying at the Minamoto household for some time, she hesitated.
She wondered if her daughter's sudden declaration was nothing more than an excuse to go over and play.
But after some indirect probing, she understood the general reason and immediately agreed.
She even took the initiative to help her daughter pack her clothes, while reminding her again and again:
"Eriri, while you're staying over, behave yourself. Don't cause trouble for anyone, and lend a hand around the house. In the morning, fold your own blanket. When you come back from school, don't throw your socks on the floor and run around barefoot. At home, yes, your mother cleans up after you—but in someone else's house, you can't act the same way. That would be terribly rude…"
"Mom! I know! I'm not a little kid anymore!"
Eriri's face burned red, especially when she noticed Rokka stifling her laughter at the side. Thank goodness she had firmly refused Senya's earlier offer to come along and help her carry her luggage. If he had seen this embarrassing side of her, she would have wanted to disappear forever.
Mrs. Sawamura smiled at Rokka.
"Sorry to trouble you with Eriri for a while. You two take care of each other, alright? And if she does anything to upset you, just tell me—I'll make sure she gets disciplined."
"That won't happen, Auntie. Eriri's my best friend. We'll get along just fine," Rokka said, hugging Eriri tightly.
Annoyed by her mother's nagging, Eriri hoisted her luggage onto her shoulder.
"Alright, that's enough. We're all packed. Let's go."
"Wait—take along the white truffles and Iberian ham your grandfather sent from abroad."
"Eh? But I don't really like those. The truffles taste weird, and the ham is too salty." Eriri made a face.
Mrs. Sawamura flicked her daughter's forehead.
"That's because your father can't cook them properly. Who said anything about eating them yourself? They're a gift for Senya's family."
She came out of the kitchen carrying an elegantly wrapped gift box, pressed it into Eriri's hands, and then gently clasped Rokka's hand.
"Just some ordinary little things. Try them when you get home, Rokka. If you or your family enjoy the taste, I'll ask Eriri's grandfather to send more next time, and she can bring them over for you."
Ordinary little things?
Rokka nearly choked. Even someone with no cooking sense would know truffles and Iberian ham were anything but ordinary.
So this is how Eriri usually eats… She really is a rich girl, huh…
Still, she smiled sweetly. "Thank you, Auntie."
"Be careful on the way, and Eriri—message me when you arrive."
Standing at the door, Mrs. Sawamura watched her daughter disappear into the night, resting her cheek against her hand as her long hair slid over her shoulder. A gratified expression softened her face.
At last, this child has developed some sense of urgency. After realizing that Utaha has made her move, she's no longer willing to sit back. That's growth… though she still needs a lot of practice in handling relationships.
True, she was only a second-year middle schooler. Such clumsy moments were inevitable. Still, it was time for her to learn the art of social maneuvering—high school wasn't far away.
Mrs. Sawamura recalled her own youth: how she, the "childhood friend," had beaten her rival to win her husband's heart.
But it hadn't been enough to work on him alone. Winning over his parents and relatives had been just as crucial.
Later that evening, around nine o'clock, Mr. Sawamura returned from his fishing trip, humming cheerfully.
"You're back," his wife greeted.
"Yeah, and I had a great haul today!"
"Good work."
"Really—it was tough! This whole bucket of fish weighs at least twenty kilos!"
"Did you eat dinner?"
"Sure did. We had the black sea bream I caught—a full seven kilos! I even took pictures. Look, we had a restaurant near the pier prepare it, and the taste was amazing!"
"…Oh, by the way, Eriri's starting a study group with Rokka, so she'll be staying over at the Minamotos'. I sent along some of Father's gifts."
"Eh?! If I'd known, I wouldn't have eaten that sea bream. I should've had her take it with her—it was unbelievably delicious!"
Junko: "…"
Her fisherman husband really was insufferable sometimes.
"The ones left in the bucket aren't impressive—none weigh more than five kilos. No point gifting them. I'll just hand them out to the neighbors tomorrow instead."
So that was your plan all along—just fishing for compliments about your skill.
Not wanting to hear more fish talk, Junko cut him off sharply.
"I heard from Eriri that Senya is preparing to enter a literary contest."
Mr. Sawamura had been about to brag again, but one look at his wife's eyes—cold, dangerous—shut him up fast.
He coughed, shifted gears, and tried to sound serious.
"Oh, the Tokyo middle school writing competition, right? A colleague's daughter won that once. He bragged endlessly about how tough it was, how many students competed, and how rare it was to win.
Senya's an amazing kid. He's already unbeatable in kendo among his peers, placed in piano competitions, and now he's taking on literature. Sports, arts, writing—he's excelling everywhere. Reminds me of my own youth, back when I was fearless, ambitious, burning with spirit."
"Mm-hm. Of course," Junko muttered flatly, unwilling to humor his self-praise disguised as praise for Senya.
She corrected him:
"He's not entering a middle school contest."
"…What?"
"He's going for the Edogawa Ranpo Prize."
"Which one?"
"The Edogawa Ranpo Prize. The mystery novel award."
Silence.
Then Mr. Sawamura burst out laughing.
"No way. Not that I doubt Senya, but come on—that's an adult battlefield. Veteran writers are all aiming for it. The youngest winner was twenty-three. Senya's what—thirteen, fourteen? Still a kid.
Kendo and piano, sure, with enough training and talent, a child prodigy can shine. But literature? Writing requires life experience, years of accumulation. No matter how smart he is, there's no shortcut there."
Junko, however, thought differently.
"That boy has always been mature for his age. Given everything he's achieved so far, I believe if he's set his mind to it, he must have his reasons. Don't you?"
Her words made her husband pause, recalling a certain stock tip Senya had once mentioned offhand that later proved uncannily accurate.
For the first time, he wavered.
Meanwhile, back at the Minamoto home—
Rokka had already prepared her room for Eriri's stay, laying out a futon on the floor.
Since it was late and others still needed the bath, she tugged Eriri along to the bathroom first.
The two of them soaked together in the tub, their young, tender bodies taking up opposite ends, leaving plenty of space.
"Stare…"
"Rokka…"
"What?"
"Could you not look at me with that creepy old-man stare?"
"I wasn't! I was just thinking—it's weird how small your chest is. You eat so well, your nutrition should be perfect."
"It's not small! It's just like in long-distance races—real growth comes at the final sprint. My time hasn't come yet! And you're not that much bigger anyway!"
Rokka puffed out her chest proudly. "Still bigger than yours."
"Oh yeah? Then let's compare!"
"Fine!"
"See? So small…"
"Stop saying that!"
"I don't mean the size—it's like an unopened flower bud…"
"Don't use poetic metaphors here!"
"But…"
"But what?"
"Your butt's kind of plump. Like a peach. Juicy."
"…N-no it's not! And don't touch!"
"Hey, you two, enough fooling around. It's late already. Eriri, if Rokka gets too cheeky, don't hesitate to knock her on the head."
That was Tohka's voice from outside the door.
"Yes, ma'am."
"…Fine."
The two immediately quieted down.
Outside, at the sink, Tohka nodded in satisfaction as she applied a face mask in the mirror, unaware that inside, their whispered conversation had shifted to her.
"By the way, my sister's figure is amazing…"
"Rokka, I don't think we should be gossiping about Tohka-san."
"Don't you want to know her secret?"
"…Kinda."
"Then it's simple. I've noticed milk plays a big role."
"Oh, I drink plenty of milk too."
"And she does yoga every morning."
"Yoga, huh…"
With Utaha already staying at the Minamoto home, Eriri's arrival made the household visibly livelier.
Their father was abroad with a TV crew filming a variety program, so he wasn't around to notice.
But Junko felt it deeply.
It was as if she suddenly had two extra daughters—obedient, considerate ones at that—helping with chores and even looking after little Chiyo.
It almost felt like they were truly part of the family.
Of course, Junko knew perfectly well why they were behaving this way. Both Utaha and Eriri had their eyes on Senya.
But she decided not to meddle. She had already discussed this with her husband.
Young people's affairs were best left for them to figure out.
Eriri, meanwhile, didn't forget her main task.
After hearing Senya explain the intricate trick behind his mystery novel's murder method, she had shivered on the spot, cold sweat running down her back.
Then, once she recovered, excitement surged within her.
She didn't know much about detective fiction, but even as a casual reader she could tell: this was brilliant. A stroke of genius.
If she were a judge, she'd have been blown away.
Thanks to Yukino's earlier advice, she had resolved to pour her heart into illustrating Senya's manuscript.
But she deliberately slowed her pace, carefully engineering moments to "accidentally" interrupt Utaha's alone time with Senya.
Each time she caught that black-stockinged woman looking irked but helpless, Eriri felt utterly refreshed, as though every pore of her body had opened up.
In this mix of mischief and productivity, Senya's novel progressed steadily.
Meanwhile, in England, Yukinoshita Yukino's school had already let out earlier than Japan's.
On December 21st, she boarded a plane home.
Knowing Senya was busy, she refrained from contacting him right away. Instead, after adjusting to the time difference, she arranged to meet Eriri and Rokka at a restaurant.
As the days slipped by, the end of the month loomed closer.
On the morning of the 25th, Yukinoshita Haruno looked at her little sister, who was reading leisurely in the living room after breakfast, and asked curiously:
"Don't you have any plans today?"
Yukino raised her head from her book.
"Why do you ask?"
"Because you stayed home all through Christmas Eve yesterday. And today is Christmas Day. In past years, you always went out with Senya, or your other friends. It's practically tradition."
"There's no such tradition," Yukino replied, lowering her gaze again. "Besides, both Eriri and Senya are busy."
"Busy?"
Mrs. Yukinoshita, who had also sat down with them, looked puzzled.
"With Senya's grades, there's no need to worry about his finals, is there?"
Haruno smiled as she explained:
"I heard it from Tohka—Senya's actually preparing to submit a manuscript for the Edogawa Ranpo Prize."
Before Mrs. Yukinoshita could reply, Mr. Yukinoshita—briefcase in hand, just about to head out—let out a hearty laugh.
"Ah, of course. Every boy dreams of becoming a novelist at some point."
The line itself was a quote from a movie: about how most young men in their twenties, unemployed and drifting, would at some point imagine themselves as writers.
The implication was clear—such dreams were little more than naïve fantasies, a wayward joke of youth detached from reality.
Mrs. Yukinoshita's voice cut in, calm yet pointed.
"Dear, don't forget—when you were young, you were considered quite a disappointment yourself. And yet, here you are now, a member of parliament, seen as a successful man in other people's eyes. Fixed ways of thinking are dangerous. You shouldn't belittle others without reason. I'm fairly certain Father reminded you of this long ago."
At her words, and under the sharp gaze of his younger daughter—who for some reason looked at him as though he had just stepped on her tail—cold sweat instantly broke across Mr. Yukinoshita's forehead.
Inwardly, he resented his elder daughter, who was sitting there enjoying the drama with a sly smile, making no move to come to his aid.
Stammering, he tried to explain himself.
"I-I didn't mean to mock Senya at all! Compared to me back in those days—a total delinquent—he's far more impressive. I was just about to leave for work and happened to overhear your conversation, so I chimed in without thinking, that's all! Nothing more!"
As he spoke, he even set down his briefcase, walked over to the sofa, and crouched slightly before his beautiful wife.
The pecking order of the household was all too clear.
Haruno could barely contain herself, turning away, bending over, clutching her stomach as her shoulders shook with laughter.
Yukino said nothing, but after hearing her father's hasty explanation, the displeasure faded from her face. She lowered her gaze once more to the mystery novel in her hands.
"It's just… the way you phrase things can so easily be misunderstood."
"Y-yes, yes, you're absolutely right…"
"Alright, go on. The driver is still waiting outside."
"Fine, fine. I'll bring you all gifts when I get back tonight."
"That really isn't necessary…"
"What nonsense. You, Yukino, and Haruno—you're the greatest treasures in the world to me, my irreplaceable jewels…"
After exchanging a few more words and finally coaxing a faint smile back onto his wife's face, Mr. Yukinoshita let out a breath of relief. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he grabbed his briefcase again and hurried out the door.
Just then, Yukino's phone rang.
She glanced at the screen, immediately rose from her seat, and walked out into the courtyard to take the call.
Haruno leaned closer to her mother, whispering with a grin:
"Bet you anything, that's Senya calling."
"Ohh~" Mrs. Yukinoshita's expression softened into the very same knowing smile now mirrored on her elder daughter's face.
…