Bonus Story: The Birth of Chihiro Hashima

Keisuke Hashima was born the third son of a wealthy man in Gifu Prefecture. Raised sternly by his parents, he received a top-shelf education and was accepted into a fancy combination middle-high school in the Kanto region. Even away from his parents and living in a dorm, he still devoted himself to his studies, eventually getting into a leading university after passing the entrance exam on the first try. After graduation, he got hired at a large firm listed in the Tokyo Stock Exchange—the elite career track all the way down the line.

At the age of twenty-four, he married a woman three years younger than him after they were matched up by their families. She was from a famed clan with multigenerational ties to the Hashimas; her name was Nodoka. She wasn’t a stunning beauty, but she had a charming smile and she wasn’t afraid to use it, laughing at even tiny little things. Like a woman from a “good family,” though, she was elegant in everything she did, and thanks to her advanced training, she handled all the domestic affairs with perfection. Keisuke loved her from the heart, and the feeling was mutual.

Itsuki, their son, was born about a year after the wedding. The couple also purchased their own house around that time, and they always spent the weekends together.

Itsuki was an intelligent child, if a bit standoffish, preferring to read at home rather than play outside. But when Nodoka packed some lunches and the three of them went out, he still laughed and played like any other kid. Keisuke’s parents back home nagged him to no end about how to handle Itsuki’s education, but otherwise, they were a happy family with a bright future ahead.

But right around when Itsuki began elementary school, Nodoka began to experience frequent bouts of illness. Eventually, she had to be hospitalized. Since Keisuke was a busy man and often couldn’t get home until late at night, he hired a housekeeper to take care of Itsuki while taking whatever time off work he had to visit Nodoka. But her condition grew gradually worse—and two years after that first hospitalization, she passed away.

After losing his wife, Keisuke devoted himself to his work like a man possessed. Concentrating on his job gave him at least a little distraction from the sadness. Once a year passed, he had grown accustomed to that sadness—not healed, but accustomed—while his workaholic ways had grown even worse.

Finally, a number of his coworkers, concerned about his aberrant work habits, all but forced him from his desk one evening to go out drinking.

“We know a pretty good place. Would you like to join us?”

“It’s so awkward whenever we leave the boss alone in the office while we relax.”

“Yeah! So just join us for a bit, okay? Help us out a little!”

Even before Nodoka’s death, Keisuke was seen as a man who, while never a social butterfly, would work harder than anyone in his department. When someone under him screwed up, he wouldn’t criticize them more than necessary; he’d always just say “That’s why the boss is around” and cover for it himself. That earned him tremendous popularity among his staff. He often enjoyed an evening drink back when his wife was alive, but since then, he had stopped drinking except when entertaining clients. If he turned to alcohol to forget his sadness, he felt, he’d probably fall out of control and drown in it. He still had Itsuki, the other part of his family, to take care of.

But:

“…Well, all right. For a little bit.”

He could tell his coworkers were sincerely concerned about him, so Keisuke decided to accept the offer.

…I really shouldn’t have come.

Keisuke was already regretting it. His staff had taken him not to a bar or izakaya, but to a hostess club, where each table had one or more women to serve as conversational partners. He had never been to one of these, either personally or as part of a business gathering, so he was new to all of this. With Japan’s laws related to such establishments tightening up in recent years, he knew there was nothing as indecent about these places as there used to be, but he still didn’t have the rosiest impression of them. Besides, he didn’t really want to have a casual chat with any woman at all—he only wanted his late wife.

Still, this was how Keisuke wound up meeting Natsume, the woman he would eventually marry.

Keisuke’s group was led to a table with three women: “Natsu,” “Ririka,” and “Megu.” Natsu was a calm, composed beauty with a gentle smile, apparently the most popular girl among this club’s staff. Ririka was more the kind of stereotypical hostess Keisuke pictured—a bit heavier on the makeup, a bit more revealing with her outfit. Megu was blessed with a beautifully well-formed face, but her smile was slightly awkward, and overall, she seemed harder to approach.

Keisuke’s coworkers had arranged for these ladies in advance, and Natsu was the girl he wound up sitting next to and having most of his conversation with. At first, he just sat there sourly, drinking some hot shochu and occasionally chiming in with his coworkers’ chats, but as Natsu actively brought him into the circle, he began to gradually loosen up.

Natsu, being the number-one lady in the club, was an excellent conversationalist. She never left Keisuke as an outsider to the table, but she carefully toed the line to keep from making him an irritated participant as well. Thus, between the alcohol and the way Natsu’s soft smile reminded him of Nodoka’s, Keisuke began to fully relax and enjoy chatting with her.

It was the first time he had so thoroughly enjoyed himself since the day Nodoka checked in at the hospital.

Two weeks later, Keisuke was invited by his staff to the same club. Natsu was there at the table, drinking and having fun. Last time, they mostly talked about work problems and other events at the office, but tonight, the main topic was his school years and the rural area he grew up in. Natsu’s childhood home was just as out in the sticks as Keisuke’s, and they hit it off talking about the ups and downs of rural life.

Two weeks after that, Keisuke went to the club alone and requested Natsu. He did it again the following week, then the week after that. Rambling on with Natsu over some drinks made the exhaustion of his daily grind seem to melt away.

Natsu, as well, began to grow less guarded with Keisuke, talking more about herself. She’d married in her late teens, but lost her husband early on in a car accident. Their daughter was born after he died, but she, too, had been in the hospital for a number of years, so Natsu had daytime and evening jobs to cover her medical costs. Her parents had been against the marriage to start with, so she was de facto disinherited, unable to rely on her family for much of anything. Natsu was usually all smiles, but when the conversation took this turn, she looked somewhat pained in Keisuke’s eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry… This conversation isn’t very fun, is it?”

“No…”

Losing her beloved partner, working hard every day for the sake of her child—it was just the same as him.

Sensing a common bond with Natsu, Keisuke began to be more and more emotionally invested in the relationship—but he never invited her to spend time with him outside the club. He was just coming here to recharge after a long day; he had no ulterior motives. That’s how he brushed off the guilt as he continued visiting the club.

Then one night, Keisuke, who usually paced himself to keep from overindulging, began drinking at an unusually fast clip the moment he entered the club.

The previous night, he’d gotten into a spat with his son, Itsuki, currently in his last year of middle school. Itsuki needed to start applying himself so he’d be admitted into a decent high school, but he still just whiled away his time in his room, reading.

“You need to study,” Keisuke had warned him.

“Yeah, yeah,” came the reply.

This had led to a confrontation in which Keisuke asked his son what he wanted to do with high school and his future.

But the responses he received were all the same:

“I don’t care.”

“It doesn’t really matter which high school I go to.”

“It’s not like going to a nice school and joining a nice company would make me happy.”

And worst of all:

“I don’t… I don’t want to have your life, Dad.”

Keisuke didn’t fully understand what Itsuki meant by “your life,” but it made him so furious his vision seemed to be whiting out.

Who the hell did this kid think worked late into the night for him every single day? He never once complained, always holding back the sadness after losing his beloved wife, and this was the thanks he got?

Keisuke’s urges told him to scream and shout and whack the ungrateful child on the head, but he somehow resisted, simply saying “Just study for me, all right?” before he left the room.

His emotions were still frayed a day later, and unfortunately, he had a meeting with a client he didn’t particularly like that evening—an arrogant man, part of the top management at a partner firm. Keisuke acted with the appropriate modesty and humility, drinking stuff he didn’t even like, and when it was done, he went to his usual club to kick back.

Now Keisuke was trying to get his buzz on again. Another girl was at his table, since Natsu was busy with other clubgoers, but she wasn’t as good a talker. Whenever their conversation trailed off, she’d just suggest another drink for him. Normally, he’d just leave if Natsu was unavailable, but today, he took up every offer this girl gave him, continually drinking until closing time at one in the morning.

With a wobbling gait, he made his way home. He could’ve just picked up a taxi, but in his clouded mind, he thought a walk would sober him up a little—but he had lost all sense of direction, and after about twenty minutes of wandering around, he whacked his shoulder against a utility pole and wound up draping his body around it as he passed out.

While this was happening, Natsume was leaving the hostess club and heading home. Her place was a fair distance from both the rail station and the entertainment district she worked in, so it involved walking down dimly lit streets without many people. She brought along some self-defense tools with her, but taking that way alone as a woman still made her anxious. If possible, she wanted to take a taxi, but she wasn’t financially stable enough to do that.

So, walking as fast as she could, she arrived at a point just before her apartment building. There, from the corner of her eye, she suddenly saw a man in a business suit sitting against a utility pole. It made her gasp, then tense up.

Carefully, she examined him. He seemed to be unconscious—drunk, probably. A salaryman passed out and sleeping on the side of the road wasn’t too uncommon a sight. Usually, if they were on well-populated roads, she let them be, figuring a cop on patrol or some Good Samaritan would help them out. Here, though, she decided to speak up and call the police if there was no response.

Natsume approached the man, then realized she knew his face. “Mr. Hashima?”

This customer had become a regular in the few months he’d been coming to the club. He worked for a large firm that everyone would know the name of, apparently. Ririka had been taking care of him tonight, and Natsume had been a little nervous about the drinking pace her coworker been encouraging…and, as she’d feared, here was the result.

“Mr. Hashima? …Mr. Hashima?”

She tried shaking him a little as she called to him. He showed no signs of waking up.

So what should I do?

If he stayed here and the police hauled him in and charged him with public intoxication, it could damage his career. She couldn’t call a taxi for him if he wouldn’t wake up. It was December, so if he stayed here all night, he could catch a cold—or even worse, freeze to death. She knew he wasn’t a bad man, either, even if he wasn’t the most socially adept…

“Hmm…”

Natsume sighed. She had little choice, so she decided to take Mr. Hashima to her apartment. It was on the first floor, luckily, and Mr. Hashima was small and scrawny, so carrying him along wasn’t all that difficult.

Keisuke woke up to the sound of birds singing.

“Um…?”

As he sat up, his head began to spin, his back and arm joints aching.

Where am I…?

It certainly wasn’t home, at least. He winced at the pain and the cold as he looked around. It was a tiny Japanese-style room with tatami mats on the floor and a small window in the wall. A plastic cabinet with some clothing was on one side, along with a few pots of pea shoots.

Keisuke had been sleeping on a rather thin futon with two slightly dirty blankets placed on top of him. His coat, suit, and briefcase were by his pillow. Checking his wristwatch, he saw that it was past seven in the morning.

Suddenly, his nostrils picked up an appetizing aroma, and he stood up and opened the sliding screen door. There, cooking in the cramped kitchen, was a small figure—a child, actually. Her medium-length hair had one ponytail on each side, and she was wearing a skirt. She couldn’t have been more than ten, but here she was, using a ladle to slowly stir a pot over a gas burner. Steam, and the smell of miso soup, wafted up from the pot.

Keisuke watched the child’s back for a moment, confused. Then the girl turned off the gas and turned around. She was a cute child with big eyes. When they met Keisuke’s, she looked a little fearful. He tried to say something, but didn’t know what.

“Ah… Ummm…”

Then the girl bowed. “Good morning,” she said, looking up at him.

“Ah, yeah… Good morning. Um… What’s your name…?”

“Chihiro Kanou. I’m eleven years old.”

“Oh. So…can you tell me where I am?”

The girl, Chihiro, gave him the address. It was on the other side of the hostess club from his house; he had gone the complete opposite direction.

“Mom found you lying on the road last night, so she brought you inside.”

Keisuke went back through his dim memories of the previous night. He’d drunk enough to get thoroughly hammered, then passed out on a public street—a disgrace, as he saw it. The shame and self-loathing made his face feel hot.

“So…where is your mother?”

“Mom’s changing clothes right now.” Chihiro pointed toward a door—probably the bathroom or something.

“Oh…”

He couldn’t open that door, so Keisuke just stood there awkwardly for a moment.

“Would you like some miso soup?” Chihiro timidly asked.

“…Ah, sure… Thank you.” He had zero appetite, but he nodded anyway.

“All right. Sit right there one moment, okay?”

Following her instructions, Keisuke sat on the floor by a low table. Chihiro took out a bowl from the dish drainer by the sink and ladled some miso soup into it.

“Here you go,” Chihiro said as she placed the bowl and a pair of chopsticks in front of Keisuke.

“Th-thank you.”

The soup was full of pea shoots and freshwater mussels in the shell. Picking it up, he had a taste—and reflexively opened his eyes wide. The savory flavor of the mussels melted into the soup to the most delicious effect. Despite not being hungry, he wolfed it down and felt it warm him from the core. He even noticed some finely chopped ginger mixed in with the shoots.

It was nothing like the instant miso soup Keisuke ate at times. This permeated his body, gently warming it up as it did. The nutrients in mussels are supposed to be good for your liver. Maybe this was made just for him? The thought was a little moving as he kept enjoying the soup. Then another plate was put down next to his bowl. It was a curry dish with chopped-up meat and more pea shoots and spices he could smell.

“That’s leftovers from yesterday,” Chihiro said, “but have some if you like.”

Keisuke looked at the curry, then at Chihiro.

“…I appreciate it, but I’m not that hungry right now…”

Then his stomach audibly growled, and Chihiro let out a cute snicker. “Mom always says that curry is the best thing for a hangover.”

“Is that how it works…? I guess there’s turmeric in it, yeah…”

He had a spoonful as he muttered to himself. It was on the spicy side, with a deep, rich taste that spread across his mouth. The meat and crunchy pea shoots worked well with the spices and stimulated his appetite.

“…It’s good. Very…very good.”

“Hee-hee! Thank you,” came the bashful reply.

“…Did you make this?”

“Oh, um, yes.”

“It must have taken a lot of work.”

“If you mix peach nectar into a regular box of curry, that adds a lot of body really easily. I like to experiment with my spice mixes and stuff, too.”

“Ahh… What meat is this, by the way? I don’t think it’s beef or pork…”

“It’s tofu. If you freeze tofu, it dries it out and feels like meat.”

“Tofu? This…?”

Keisuke took a couple more bites, surprised. With every swallow, he could feel the energy return to his weakened body. Looking back, it had been a while since he’d had a truly decent meal like this. Convenience-store food and frozen dinners were about as good as his diet got; more commonly, it was energy bars and the like. He always stuck to alcohol and basic snacky things at the club.

As he was indulging in his curry:

“Oh, you’re awake?”

A beautiful voice entered his ears. He put down his spoon, then froze.

“…! You’re…”

A familiar woman had just come out of the bathroom.

She was from the hostess club he went to all the time. When he first went there with his coworkers, she had been seated at their table—one of the two other girls there with Natsu.

This was the cute one with the awkward smile. She had shared a table with him a few times when Natsu wasn’t available, but they never hit it off, and he usually excused himself in short order. Now, she wasn’t even trying to smile. In fact, her expression suggested she was kind of peeved at him.

“…Um, ‘Megu’?”

“Megu” winced a bit. “Please don’t use my stage name in front of my daughter. My real name’s Natsume Kanou.”

Natsume sat down across the table from Keisuke.

“I’ll heat up your curry, Mom.”

“Hold on, Chihiro. Would you mind leaving us alone for a little bit?”

“Okay!”

Chihiro opened the door and left the kitchen. Keisuke and Natsume then proceeded to stare silently at each other a few moments.

“…I’m really sorry for this,” he said with a bow.

Natsume sighed. “You really need to be more careful, all right? Because if worse came to worst, you could’ve died out there.”

“…I apologize. I promise I’ll pay you back for this later.”

“No, no, you don’t have to.” Natsume sighed a bit again. “…But—I’m sorry if this offends you, but I think you should really stop going to hostess clubs. I don’t think you’re really cut out for them.”

Keisuke looked daunted by this extremely blunt appraisal. “…I never thought I’d have a hostess say that to me,” he said, wincing.

“Well, I’m not on the clock,” she flatly replied.

“…I mean…I know it’s not exactly natural for me. I’ll admit to that. But I don’t really know how else to relax.”

“Why don’t you take up a sport? That’d be healthier.”

“That… That’s true, but…” Keisuke sputtered for a response.

“I don’t think you need to worry about Natsu, either. Okay, Mr. Hashima? She’s got a lot more regulars than just you, and I doubt she’s hurting for money too much.”

This made Keisuke mentally flinch. She had read his mind. “B-but she has a sick daughter…”

“She made that up.”

“Whuh?”

Natsume looked a little sheepish at the pain in Keisuke’s yelp. “It’s not exactly good manners to divulge this…but I guess we both played a part in it.”

“Um…?”

“The life story Natsu gave you, Mr. Hashima, was pretty much copied directly from mine. She heard in advance that you’re a widower, so she borrowed it to build a rapport with you… Oh, but my daughter’s never been hospitalized for months at a time or anything. That part’s all Natsu.”

After dropping that bombshell, Natsume lowered her voice, looking a tad annoyed.

“…Listen. Our job is to give our customers something to dream about. If it helps with that, I don’t necessary see falsifying your past as a bad thing…but I do think stealing my own private life for a story like that is going a bit too far.”

Keisuke silently listened on, although he could barely make out her voice toward the end.

“Oh…” He paused for a while before coming to. “Really?”

On his face was a smile of relief.

It puzzled Natsume. “Mr. Hashima?”

“…Wow… So there’s no daughter in the hospital? …That’s great.”

Keisuke knew exactly how painful, how anxiety-inducing, how scary it could be to have someone dear to you suffering in the hospital. He knew how hard it was to keep supporting them. So when he learned that Natsu didn’t have a sick daughter, the first thing he felt was honest, heartfelt relief. Oddly, there was nothing else—no resentment over being lied to. He was about to break at one point, and Natsu had saved him. That much remained as true as ever.

Natsume stared at him for a while, mouth agape. Then:

“…Hee-hee!”

She let out a soft snicker. It was the first time she had naturally smiled in front of Keisuke. He found it charming.

“Ha-ha-ha! I can’t believe people actually say stuff like that. She totally tricked you, and that’s how you react? Like, who even is that nice?”

“…Aww, what do you want from me? I meant it, so…”

Keisuke blushed as Natsume continued to laugh at him.

The next day, Keisuke went to the club as usual—but asked for Megu this time, not Natsu.

Once at the table, Natsume flashed him the kind of ugly look no hostess would show a customer.

“…Didn’t I advise you to stop coming?”

“You did,” Keisuke replied in his usual emotionless tone, “but I don’t remember promising that I wouldn’t.”

“…Do you feel sorry for me with my home situation or something?”

“No. I just wanted to talk with you a little more.”

“…People say a lot that I’m the least sociable girl at this club. That it’s no fun to drink with me.”

“Well, what a coincidence. People around my office say I’m hard to talk to.”

“…”

Natsume glared at Keisuke for a while, then gave up and sighed. They began leisurely drinking. They didn’t try to make conversation, simply exchanging a few words every now and then. As the other tables around them erupted in laughter and shouting, things were markedly different with them. But it didn’t seem awkward to Keisuke at all. In fact, the time he spent that evening was extremely comfortable to him.

About a month had passed since Keisuke began having Megu join him. He’d go to the club and just spend an hour or two drinking—never too much—and go home. They never conversed much, and Natsume, next to him, never attempted any insincere smiles.

If anyone was puzzled and annoyed by this, it was Natsu. A regular of hers had suddenly shifted to another girl without warning, so that reaction could’ve been expected. She confronted Natsume about it after closing one night, and Natsume frankly admitted the truth—she’d told Keisuke that the story Natsu concocted for herself was actually her own.

“Are you kidding?! Why did you do that?!”

“I just kinda said it,” Natsume flatly told her fuming coworker. “It flowed with the conversation. That’s okay, riiiight?”

It was the exact same excuse Natsu had given Natsume after she found out her coworker lied about her past to Keisuke.

“…!”

Natsu seethed at Natsume. “…Don’t expect me to take this lying down, okay?”

The harassment started the following day. Natsu would attempt to trip her up; she’d bad-mouth her to other clients; she’d hide her shoes or stain her dresses. The other ladies either did Natsu’s bidding or pretended not to notice, lest they become her next target. Natsume did bring it up to the manager, but he sided with Natsu, the club’s number-one earner, and warned Natsume not to rock the boat.

She put up with this for about a month before deciding to quit. She hated to, since it felt so much like admitting defeat, but fighting wouldn’t earn her a single yen of profit. It wasn’t like she was particularly popular there, and she had always at least suspected that this career wasn’t for her anyway.

The only people she felt sorry for were her daughter for having to live frugally again…and that one poker-faced regular she had.

Keisuke found out that Natsume left a week later. Only when he asked for Megu did the manager give him the news.

“Sorry, sir, but she actually quit the other day.”

The moment he heard that, Keisuke walked out the door and started running. After a little over ten minutes at full speed, sweaty and panting for breath, he rang the doorbell to Natsume’s apartment. With his unkempt hair, an eyewitness wouldn’t be blamed for thinking he was a criminal.

The door opened, revealing Natsume.

“…Good evening.”

“Haah, haah, haah… Good… Good evening… Hrrk! Kafffgghh!”

“Wh-whoa! Are you okay?!”

Helping the hacking Keisuke inside, Natsume promptly filled a cup with tap water. She gave him a few moments to drink it and calm down.

“…What’s up with you? Why’re you here this time of night?”

Keisuke thought for a bit, then averted his eyes. “Well…I heard you quit your job at the club, and the next thing I knew, I started running.”

Natsume chuckled at that. “What a piece of work you are… Always making me laugh out of nowhere.”

“I didn’t come here to make you laugh,” he groaned, a bit upset. “Can I ask why you quit without warning?”

“Because I realized I’m not suited for that line of work.”

“It took you this long to realize?!”

The unexpected rejoinder made Natsume feel embarrassed. “Well…okay, I lied. I just had problems with the rest of the staff.”

“Problems?”

“Yeah. Trouble between hostesses is pretty common in the biz.”

“…Um, was it because you told me about Natsu’s lie?”

“You’re pretty sharp,” a surprised Natsume exclaimed.

“…I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, Mr. Hashima. I was just angry that my profile got stolen.”

“…So what’re you gonna do now?”

“I have some money saved up, so I think I can get along well enough with just a day job for a while.”

“But you’ll have to go back to night work sometime?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll work as a hostess again. Anything else will probably involve a lot more physical labor, but…”

“…That sounds hard.”

“…Don’t have much of a choice. Life’s hard.” Natsume gave him a fleeting smile.

“Yeah,” Keisuke said, smiling back. “Will you marry me?”

It came out so naturally, like he was just chatting as normal. It was ridiculously sudden, but Natsume was equally unsurprised about it as she gave an answer that came out just as naturally.

“Sure, okay.”

So they were now engaged, but since each of them had a child, they couldn’t immediately arrange things with their families and live together. They decided to date as a couple, on the assumption that marriage would come along soon, and see how things went.

Given that Keisuke had already met Natsume’s daughter, Chihiro, it wasn’t long before he began to be a regular visitor to her apartment. Chihiro was a well-adjusted kid, surprisingly so for a sixth-grader. She was a great cook, she was kindhearted, and she never acted scared of the sometimes daunting Keisuke. He didn’t need long to conclude that they’d get along just fine as family.

The problem was Keisuke’s son, Itsuki. He no longer sequestered himself from the world like he had when his mother passed away. There was more aspiration to his attitude now, Keisuke thought. But even in high school, he was still insular, not taking any extracurriculars. Instead, on days off, he just holed up in his room, messing around with his laptop and hardly communicating with anyone—not even his father.

It certainly wasn’t a good time to introduce new family members, so Keisuke tried as he could to get closer to Itsuki. He’d ask him about his tests at school, or if he’d made any friends, or whether he was doing his homework—nothing heavy, but asked on frequent occasions. But Itsuki would just look irritated and give a reply like “nothing” or “just…whatever” all the time, and he never took the initiative to communicate. He couldn’t have been less courteous, really—wonder where he got that from?

So time marched on with no progress, until a certain weekend day in September. Keisuke and Itsuki were silently eating dinner when out of the blue, Itsuki said, “I’m gonna be a professional novelist.” This sudden declaration startled Keisuke—but it was rare for Itsuki to talk to him at all, and this wasn’t just about regular school events. It was his future dream, something positive for a change, and it gladdened Keisuke.

“A professional novelist…? …Well, that’s a great thing to aspire to.”

A professional novelist wasn’t something just anyone could become, he thought, but he didn’t think writing was such a bad hobby to have, at least. If it could add some drive to Itsuki’s day, then all the better.

But Itsuki seemed puzzled by the positive reinforcement. “Oh,” he stammered, “no, um, not like that…”

“Hmm?”

“I’m not gonna try to be one,” he said, sheepish but with a bit of pride, too. “I’ve already become one.”

Now it was Keisuke’s turn to be puzzled. “Huh? What do you mean?”

As he explained to the thoroughly confused Keisuke, Itsuki had written a novel that placed in a publishing company’s new writer competition, and they were going to publish it. He’d received word a few days ago. They were having an award ceremony a couple months from now, and apparently, he’d earned a prize of half a million yen for placing. Normally, underage people like himself would need their guardian’s permission to submit a novel. Itsuki didn’t bother to get that, of course, until the editor had told him, “Well, you can’t work unless your parents agree to it.” Hence why he was forced to tell Keisuke.

“So…yeah… Oh, right, he also said I’m gonna need to open a bank account to keep my prize money and my royalties. You made an account to store my New Year’s gift money in, right? I’ll just use that, so lemme have the card and checkbook.”

Keisuke was dumbfounded by this one-sided barrage, but once he got his thoughts together, he began to grow angry. What was Itsuki doing, not telling his father about something so important? Which publishing company was it? Were they really trustworthy? What kind of novel did he write? Since when was he writing novels at all?

After a few minutes’ worth of these sternly worded questions, Itsuki rolled his eyes and said, “Ugh… What’s it matter to you?”

“What’s it matter to—?! It matters a lot to me! This is your father you’re talking to!”

“Whatever. Once I turn pro, I’ll live off my own money anyway.”

“Are you serious? You’re gonna support yourself your whole life writing novels?!”

“Yeah?”

“Only a small handful of people can do that, you know. People with special talent.”

That elicited a sharp glare from Itsuki. “…Well, that’s what I’m gonna be. A part of that special handful… My… My own protagonist…!”

Itsuki digested each word as he said it—and when he was done, he stood up and went to his room.

Keisuke, left in the dining room, stayed there for a while. There were so many emotions mixing within him—anger and irritation at his selfish, egotistical son; concern for him as a parent; shock at this sudden unexpected event—that he couldn’t move.

Before that point, Keisuke and Itsuki had a relationship that, while distant, wasn’t unusual to see at their respective ages. Afterward, the obvious discord began. When he brought it up with Natsume, she said, “…Maybe he’s having a rebellious phase.”

“…Implying that Itsuki will be more up-front with me sometime in the future…? Because it feels like he’s been in his ‘rebellious phase’ since middle school, and now it’s getting worse.”

After some research, Keisuke found out that Itsuki had written a book in the “light novel” category—those books with manga-like covers he spent a lot of time reading in his room. The contest he entered was held by an outfit called Gift Publishing, an established mid-tier publisher that produced job magazines, general literature, manga periodicals, and so on. He had been awarded honorable mention, the least prestigious prize on offer.

Keisuke didn’t know much about entertainment in general, much less light novels, but he did know that Japan’s publishing industry had faced a slump in recent years. If he won the least valuable prize in a contest, it was no indication at all that Itsuki could hack it as a professional writer. Maybe he thought he was hot stuff right now, but chances were he’d face reality soon, and then he’d be forced back into finding a more decent path for himself…

“Um, so when am I gonna meet my new brother?”

As Keisuke and Natsume talked, Chihiro walked in with some tea and that aspirational question. She was already aware that the two of them planned to marry, and she was happy for them. Having never had a father in her life, she had a strong desire to live in a more traditional family setup. Plus, hearing that Keisuke had a son in high school excited her. “Wow, I’m gonna have a big brother!” she’d said. All her life, her mom had worked pretty much all day, so she never really had anyone to spoil her. A big brother would fit the bill perfectly.

“…Just a little bit longer, okay, Chihiro?”

Keisuke squinted a bit as he gave the kindly reply. Itsuki just wasn’t in the right mindset to have a calm conversation right now. Keisuke had already decided with Natsume that they’d save the news for after his novel’s publication, reasoning that he’d have cooled off by then.

It took a great deal more time than Keisuke expected for the novel to see the light of day. He didn’t know at first, but novels didn’t immediately get published after winning a prize; instead, Itsuki would be assigned an editor and go through several rounds of drafts. Light novels also required illustrations, which took time.

The editing and illustrating process for Itsuki’s book was apparently slower going than for the other prizewinners that year; he was notified of the prize in September, but Sister of the Apocalypse, Itsuki’s debut work, didn’t hit bookstores until next June, nearly nine months later.

“…So you really got the book published.”

Keisuke watched Itsuki as he held a copy of Sister of the Apocalypse in his hands and grinned. The moment he spoke, Itsuki frowned and gave him a deadpan “yeah.”

“Can I read it to see what it’s like?”

“…No way. You wouldn’t understand it.”

The flat refusal annoyed Keisuke, but he meekly stepped back.

Not long later, he stopped by a bookstore that stayed open late. Confirming that his son’s book really was for sale on the shelf, he picked up Sister of the Apocalypse and took it to the register, feeling a little proud of himself. Then, back at home, he settled down on a chair in his living room and began to read.

“Phew…”

Somehow managing to slog his way to the end, Keisuke turned over the final page with a strained expression. A cold sweat erupted across his body. His hands were trembling slightly.

…Did Itsuki really write…whatever this is…?

Just then, Itsuki came down the stairs and into the living room. He took a glance at Keisuke, then at the book he was reading.

“Ah… Why do you have that?”

“…I just purchased it,” Keisuke said woodenly.

“…Oh.” Itsuki looked somewhere between uncomfortable and embarrassed as Keisuke kept choking out words.

“You… You wrote this thing?”

Picking up on the negative nuances of the question, Itsuki’s face hardened. “…I told you you wouldn’t understand it.”

“Of course I wouldn’t…! Who would understand this kind of thing?!” Keisuke raised his voice, making Itsuki reel back a bit.

“Well, I don’t need you to understand it! This… This is me! My novel! I put all of myself into it!”

This boggled Keisuke’s mind. “…Are you being serious…? This… This disgusting piece of…”

“…!”

Itsuki’s face turned red with rage. “…Just forget it! Goddammit!”

He stormed back upstairs. Keisuke heard the door slam loud up above, and then he threw his copy of Sister of the Apocalypse on the floor.

A few days later, Keisuke went to visit Natsume, a grave look on his face.

“I… I want to call off the marriage.”

Natsume, understandably shocked, asked why. It turned out, as Keisuke put it, that his son Itsuki was a deviant with an abnormal obsession over the concept of “little sisters.”

So she read the copy of Sister of the Apocalypse he’d brought along. Working at a hostess club, she had dealt with anime and manga fans before, giving her more insight into the culture than Keisuke—but the love for the little-sister trope etched into this novel was, even by her standards, way off the mainstream.

“…But it’s still just a novel,” she countered. “Itsuki may not actually think the way the guy in this novel does.”

“…But Itsuki told me himself. He said he put everything he had within himself into this novel. ‘This is me,’ he told me.”

“Oh… He did?” It stunned Natsume into silence.

“If I marry you,” Keisuke solemnly stated, “and Chihiro becomes his little sister, he may very well do something we’ll never be able to undo for all time. So… I’m sorry for this, but…”

“No!!”

The shout from Chihiro in the other room interrupted Keisuke mid-sentence.

“Ch-Chihiro…”

“You heard that, Chihiro…?”

The girl went up to the panicking pair, tears in her eyes. “Mom, you need Mr. Hashima! And I want him to be my dad! I want us to be a family!”

“And I want that for us, too…but I can’t expose you to danger, either.”

“If I can have a big brother, I don’t care what he does!”

“No, um, Chihiro, I’m not sure you’re understanding the potential issue here…!”

Chihiro’s self-sacrificing ways gave Keisuke serious pause.

“I hate to say this as his father, but I… I’m scared of Itsuki. I honestly have no idea what’s going on in that head of his. But one thing I do know: There’s no way in hell I can let him have a little sister.”

“Then I’ll be a boy!”

“Huh?!”

“What are you talking about, Chihiro?”

Keisuke and Natsume stared blankly at the girl.

“…I’ll pretend to be a boy when I’m around Itsuki. I think he’ll act perfectly normal around a little brother.”

“N-no, but… Pretending to be a boy? That’s just crazy…”

“I’m serious! Please…! Please don’t say you’ll call off the wedding!”

“Ugh…”

Keisuke faltered under Chihiro’s earnest pleas. He wanted to form a family with Natsume and Chihiro, too. The idea of his future stepdaughter posing as a boy around Itsuki was so ridiculous, so beyond the realm of common sense…but maybe it was at least worth considering.

“…Let’s think about it, Keisuke.”

With Natsume voicing her agreement, Keisuke decided to honestly consider how realistic Chihiro’s idea was.

Her body shape would be the main issue…but even considering the fact that she was in her first year of middle school, she was uncommonly small for her age. It was a trait she apparently shared with Natsume’s mother, so chances were it was in the genes. As long as her breasts didn’t start to rapidly grow, she ought to be able to fool him.

Next up was her voice. That voice was in the midst of changing at the moment, so it wasn’t a big problem, but if it remained high-pitched in the long term, it’d seem pretty weird after a while. But some people’s voices never changed, and some men naturally had high voices.

What about the name, though? It was pure luck, but Chihiro happened to be a name applicable to both boys and girls. Clothing? The middle school that Chihiro would be going to once she lived at Keisuke’s residence actually had no uniform dress code.

Thus, after all their debate and discussion, they came to a conclusion. If all three of them worked together, it wouldn’t be impossible for them to fake Chihiro’s gender in front of Itsuki at home.

They couldn’t do that their whole lives, of course. Maybe he’d find out sooner than later. But they’d just have to believe Itsuki would get over whatever was going on in his mind before then. And looking at the reviews of Sister of the Apocalypse online, Keisuke found that the majority of readers were just as repulsed as he was. He couldn’t say what kind of mistake led to it winning a prize, but at this rate, there was no way Itsuki could go on as a professional novelist. He’d face reality, become a normal high school student, graduate into a normal college student, and once he experienced some normal love, that twisted desire for “sister-love” would simmer down. It was hopeful thinking on Keisuke’s part, but it was all he had.

“…Are you sure about this, Chihiro?” Keisuke asked.

Chihiro resolutely nodded. “Yes. I’m a girl…or a boy…who wants a family.”

Thus was born the secret that altered the life of not only Itsuki, but many others around him. Keisuke and Natsume were intelligent people, not the sort to dip their hands into such a harebrained idea from a child like this…but maybe the experience of reading Sister of the Apocalypse had loosened a screw or two in their minds as well.

It was about a month later when Chihiro, the “son” of his father’s new marriage partner, met face-to-face with Itsuki.