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617 — My Treasure
🕑 Added 2025-10-27 18:01:46 +0000 UTC‘I was a fool!’
‘All I wanted was to cheer up my daughter by having our department buy a few of that Hojou brat’s novels as a staff perk. ‘
‘I never imagined that simple gesture would land me in this ridiculous situation.’
As a senior director in the Fire and Disaster Management Agency just two steps away from the Deputy Commissioner’s seat, getting a few books purchased through the office was the easiest thing in the world.
A couple of my colleagues even joined in to support the idea.
For context: the hierarchy in the agency goes from Minister, to Deputy Minister, then Division Chiefs, and finally Directors like me.
The Minister’s a political appointee—rotating in and out faster than a daily news cycle—so the Deputy Commissioner holds the real power.
In other words, I was already near the top.
Back then, no one gave it a second thought.
Compared to the evening banquets with equipment suppliers, buying a few novels was a trivial matter.
But then “The Dreams and Death of Author K” went viral online.
Hojou Kyousuke became a media sensation, and suddenly, my “random” book purchase drew everyone’s attention.
At first, it was just idle chatter among regular staff, but no one dared gossip to my face.
My reputation for being a strict, no-nonsense type had its perks.
Then, during a dinner with other department heads, one of them casually asked if I knew this literary prodigy. I brushed it off—said I’d met him once or twice.
Later, even our division’s top brass wanted to know. “If you really know him, Toshiki, you should introduce us sometime,” they said. “A genius like that is worth connecting with.”
I had no choice but to improvise. “He’s… my daughter’s friend,” I said, feigning modesty. “We’re not that close.”
That was my biggest mistake.
The moment I said it, everyone’s faces lit up with knowing smiles.
Soon, the teasing began. “Ohhh, so Hojou Kyousuke’s your future son-in-law, huh?”
I wanted to disappear.
You see, in the Fire Agency, everyone knows everyone’s family situation—especially someone like me, who got a rare promotion after a big case.
Both the Miyamizu family and my wife’s Moguchi family were relying on my daughters to carry on the family line.
Everyone assumed that our house would eventually adopt a son-in-law.
In Japan, that’s not unusual at all.
In fact, many powerful families prefer having a son-in-law inherit the name and business.
Sons, after all, tend to be rebellious—they have that instinctive defiance toward their fathers. Hardly ideal successors.
A son-in-law, on the other hand?
You can pick one like you’re choosing from a catalog.
Height, education, personality—everything! And unlike sons, they’re usually obedient and respectful, following their father-in-law’s plans to the letter.
From a practical standpoint, they’re the better investment.
And someone like Hojou Kyousuke? A bestselling author while still in high school?
Once he graduates and passes the civil service exam, with a bit of guidance from his "father-in-law," his rise would be unstoppable.
So now, even my superiors were curious about my so-called “literary genius son-in-law.”
The gossip was relentless. I wanted to strangle that kid and throw him to the wolves—if only to shut everyone up.
But I didn’t dare.
If I did, both my daughters would probably run away from home again.
And considering there are only three people in our household… if both girls left, that wouldn’t be a runaway—it’d be an exile!
I went through hell to apologize and beg my way back into this family.
I wasn’t about to get thrown out again.
So I swallowed my pride, forced a smile, and spun a few harmless lies about how close Hojou and my daughter were.
Even that wasn’t enough.
Everyone insisted that I bring “the future son-in-law” to the next agency banquet.
My blood pressure skyrocketed.
I didn’t want to do it, but for my daughter’s sake, I agreed—though I firmly clarified he wasn’t a son-in-law, just a “close friend.”
They nodded, pretending to understand. “Of course, of course. Until the engagement’s official, we’ll keep it quiet.”
If Mitsuha knew, she’d be thrilled.
If that brat knew, he’d be smug as hell.
Naturally, I had no intention of telling either of them.
My boss was far too busy to remember, and my coworkers would forget once the next round of drinks came.
Still… just imagining having to introduce Mitsuha and that kid together made my temples throb.
No way. As long as I can still move my arms and legs, I’ll make sure that never happens!
Recalling the day’s torment, I closed my eyes and sighed deeply before turning toward my two daughters.
And then, a small smile softened my face—those crow’s feet at the corners of my eyes curling gently.
Sitting on the couch, I listened quietly as the two of them bickered.
Mitsuha was scolding Yotsuba for dropping in her test rankings.
Yotsuba was firing back, accusing Mitsuha of sneaking off to hang out with “Hojou-nii” behind her back.
Then Mitsuha yelled about Yotsuba’s “brilliant” idea of sawing their desk in half to fake a repair job.
When we first reunited, I used to stop them from arguing.
I thought their constant fights meant I’d failed as a father—that my absence had turned them into quarrelsome, lonely kids.
But my mother—their grandmother told me to let them be. “Just watch quietly,” she said.
At first, I thought she was scolding me for running away all those years ago and trying to act like a father now.
But as I watched them longer, tears welled up in my eyes.
The Miyamizu Shrine had always felt too big for just the three of us.
When no one spoke, the silence was almost otherworldly—like stepping into another realm.
But when the girls talked, laughed, and argued, that stillness melted away.
Their voices filled the shrine like the sound of river stones in a flowing stream—clear, warm, and alive.
For the first time in years, the Miyamizu Shrine didn’t feel like a lonely place floating between worlds.
It felt… like home.
Miyamizu Toshiki sat quietly, just watching and listening.
In the midst of his daughters’ constant bickering, he began to notice something—something beautiful hidden in all that noise.
Through their chatter and teasing, Mitsuha was unknowingly sharing her whole day with her grandmother and younger sister.
When Yotsuba pushed her away in annoyance, she was also letting out all her childish frustrations.
And when Mitsuha mocked Yotsuba with that familiar smug grin, she was really just offering advice—disguised as sarcasm.
When Yotsuba complained that her classmate Mami had a pretty new hair tie, Mitsuha scoffed, saying, “That mass-produced thing? Only kids in small towns would envy that.” Then she proudly pulled out one she had braided herself.
“If I sold this in Tokyo, I could get at least a thousand yen for it!” she bragged.
Yotsuba half believed her and later wore it to school to show Mami anyway.
When Yotsuba said her teacher had asked their grandmother to do a fortune reading for her “future husband,” Mitsuha said, “If your teacher ever learns that happiness is something you have to earn for yourself, maybe she’ll actually find a boyfriend.”
Yotsuba almost agreed—until she remembered that her big sister had never had a boyfriend either.
She stopped mid-thought and came to a profound realization: when it came to love advice, teachers and sisters were equally unreliable.
When Yotsuba sighed that both her classmates had invited her out on the same weekend and she didn’t know who to go with.
Mitsuha simply said, “Why not go with both? The more friends, the better! Just like me, Sayaka, and Teshigawara. The number of friends you have shows how capable you are!”
Yotsuba thought of her best friend Sayaka—and the not-so-handsome Teshigawara Katsuhiko and immediately got annoyed.
Out of spite, she invited everyone—Sho, Mami, and Sayaka on a group trip to the next city.
When Yotsuba drooled over a chocolate cake on TV, Mitsuha said, “I want some too.”
When Yotsuba found the last cup of jelly in the fridge, she smiled with delight, ready to enjoy it slowly under her sister’s envious stare.
But before she could even grab a spoon, Mitsuha snatched it, gulped it down, and said with a smirk, “If you want something, you have to act first and never let go. Trust me—listening to your elders won’t bring you bad karma.”
When Yotsuba told her sister to wash the dishes since she hadn’t cooked, Mitsuha tried to make excuses—but before she could finish, Yotsuba kicked her in the butt, forcing her into the kitchen, sulking.
When Yotsuba’s legs ached from practicing Kagura dance, Mitsuha grumbled, “Next time you’re giving me a massage,” but still sat beside her and gently kneaded the soreness away.
Yotsuba this, Yotsuba that—
All these tiny moments played out before Toshiki’s eyes, and he finally began to understand what life was like for his daughters when he wasn’t there.
He knew better than anyone how rebellious girls could be—Mitsuha had been a handful until middle school.
But Yotsuba… she was gentle, well-behaved, and full of healthy energy.
She didn’t seem like a girl raised without parents.
That realization stung so much he wanted to slap himself. But it was true.
He didn’t know if Mitsuha was intentionally teaching her sister through all that squabbling, or if it was just instinct.
Either way, in every argument, Mitsuha was quietly guiding Yotsuba—passing down her views of the world, one teasing remark at a time.
She didn’t act like a mother or a father figure. She was simply herself—Yotsuba’s sister.
A clumsy, hot-headed, sometimes irresponsible shrine maiden of the Miyamizu family.
And yet… she was the best kind of sister.
If she’d taken on a motherly role, Yotsuba would have grown up too fast—mature, cautious, and perhaps joyless.
There would be no more laughter, no playful fights, no moments like this.
If she’d tried to be the strict, fatherly type, Yotsuba would’ve turned into a smaller version of Mitsuha—disciplined, driven, and painfully serious.
She wouldn’t be the bright, quirky little girl she was now.
By listening to his mother’s advice to just watch quietly, Toshiki finally understood.
As he observed the two sisters squabbling, a tidal wave of guilt and gratitude hit him all at once.
He had already promised himself, the moment he came home, that he would cherish his daughters as the most precious treasures their late mother had left behind.
But now, with tears welling in his eyes, he silently vowed again—to spend the rest of his life making up for the years he’d missed. Especially to Mitsuha.
Of course, their fights were very real.
They shouted, argued, sometimes even threw hands—but their grandmother never had to intervene.
They always cooled down quickly, swore revenge for “next time,” and walked away with fiery grins.
From then on, every day after work, Toshiki would look forward to their squabbles.
He’d stock up on snacks for energy, drinks for hydration, and make sure to record any shows they liked.
So no argument would be cut short by “Wait! My program’s starting!” He handled all the logistics like a true support crew.
Over time, he started joining in too, sharing his “fatherly opinions” just like Mitsuha.
And surprisingly, it worked—their relationship got closer than ever.
Though every time he opened his mouth, both girls would roll their eyes and yell in perfect sync:
“Don’t butt in!”
Still, even happiness came with headaches.
After they moved to Tokyo, the balance between the sisters shifted.
The once-dominant little sister was now often losing arguments to her big sister—and it all came down to one name.
“…Apologize! Or I’m not taking you to the award ceremony next week!”
Mitsuha stood tall with her hands on her hips, brimming with smug confidence.
Yotsuba pouted, glaring up at her sister like it was the greatest injustice in the world.
Why would her sister use Hojou-nii as leverage against her?!
Didn’t she remember all those times—how Hojou-nii made her fruit parfaits, took her fishing at Itomori Lake, helped her with the garden, and even fixed her bike?
And now this ice-pop-stealing idiot thought she could threaten her with him?!
Ridiculous!
The more Yotsuba thought about it, the angrier she got.
Her tiny fists clenched tight, her face turning red with fury.
Watching from the sofa, Toshiki’s blood boiled in solidarity.
‘That’s my girl!’ he thought. ‘Forget the award show—Dad’ll take you himself!’
Yotsuba lifted her chin, eyes blazing, and shouted defiantly—
“I’m sorry!”
Mitsuha smirked, satisfied. “Good girl. I’ll take you with me then.”
And Toshiki… slowly hung his head in defeat.
