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595 — Let’s Go Home, Yotsuba
🕑 Added 2025-10-17 16:44:14 +0000 UTCA radiant spring day.
Sunlight streamed down from the sky like honey made of glass, coating the quiet asphalt road in a soft, golden glaze.
Two figures rode along on a small scooter, the sunlight reflecting off them as if they were sugar-dusted confections displayed in a sweets shop window.
Though a gentle breeze blew against her face, Mitsuha could clearly smell something sweet—so sweet it seemed to seep right into her heart.
Holding onto the handlebars, she smiled and teased:
“Back at the dojo earlier—you sure looked happy being surrounded by all those girls, Kyousuke.”
“Huh? Wind’s too loud, can’t hear you,” he replied, pretending not to notice.
“Oh? So you’re going with the ‘I didn’t hear that’ act?” Mitsuha asked, her smile widening.
“How could I be happy about that? Those girls don’t even know the basics of kendo. Teaching them was a pain—nothing like you at all, Mitsuha. You and they are worlds apart.”
“Well, you got a pass for now.” The shrine maiden smirked triumphantly, then suddenly hit the brakes.
“Ah—sorry, didn’t notice the red light.”
Feeling an awkward pressure between them, Mitsuha’s cheeks flushed pink as she tried to act calm.
“It’s fine. Safety first.”
Kyousuke instinctively dropped both feet to the ground to balance the scooter, wrapping an arm around Mitsuha’s waist and sliding back a little—just in case she got pushed off by accident.
The road from the suburban dojo toward the city center grew increasingly congested, but since neither of them was in a hurry, they turned into a side alley instead.
Both had a good sense of direction, and while phone GPS was helpful, wandering leisurely through quiet backstreets together felt much more pleasant.
On the way, they passed a small oden shop that, according to the sign, had been running for over eighty years.
Now managed by the fourth-generation owner, a cheerful young woman named Nagai Imo.
After learning that despite its long history, the shop didn’t actually use “century-old broth,” Mitsuha stopped the scooter without hesitation.
“Let’s see… fish cakes, fried veggie rolls, meatballs, daikon radish, cod roe pouch, tomato—”
“Hey, wait. Oden tomato? Are you sure about that?” Kyousuke raised an eyebrow as she stared into the other customers’ bowls for inspiration.
“Oh, you’re right… I wonder what a tomato in oden even tastes like…” Mitsuha murmured, suddenly uncertain.
“It’s delicious, dear,” said a cheerful woman sitting beside them, probably in her forties. “I’ve been eating it for thirty years. A warm, slightly tangy tomato—it’s the taste of spring!”
“It’s a limited item,” added the shop owner, a friendly woman wearing a blue-and-white headscarf. “We grow the tomatoes ourselves in our garden. Only regulars usually get them.”
“Lucky!” Mitsuha grinned. “I’ll take one then!”
Apparently, this tomato dish was one of those “secret menu” items for regulars only.
Kyousuke chuckled softly—it reminded him of the giant beef bowl at Yanaka Ginza that only he and the old chef knew about.
While Mitsuha chatted happily with the woman next to her, asking for food recommendations like they were old friends.
The older lady—clearly charmed—had the owner bring out some of her own homemade fish cakes to share.
Little neighborhood shops like this were common in Japan—family-run for decades, thriving on loyalty and community warmth.
Secret menu dishes often began as a cook’s random experiment, something shared only with trusted customers.
Sometimes, when a dish turned out terribly, regulars would jokingly say, “Better keep this one just for me, or your shop won’t last long.”
And so, by embarrassment or pride, a “secret dish” was born.
The nice thing about oden was how fast it came out—everything simmered together in a warm broth, ready to serve.
That, along with the cozy atmosphere, was exactly why Mitsuha had chosen this shop—it felt like fate, and wouldn’t take too much time away from their day.
Steam rose from a beautiful crackle-glazed bowl as the owner added a dab of mustard on the rim and handed it over.
“Here you go.”
Kyousuke quickly took it before Mitsuha could.
“Careful, it’s hot,” he warned, frowning.
‘This airhead thinks her delicate hands can handle this?’ he thought.
He half-expected the owner herself could probably scoop tempura out of oil barehanded.
“Got it~,” Mitsuha replied cheerfully.
The faintly pink aura surrounding the two made the middle-aged woman nearby smile knowingly, that warm “auntie grin” only adults could manage.
“I’m digging in~”
Pressing her palms together, Mitsuha whispered the traditional phrase before picking up her chopsticks and splitting the daikon radish in half.
The round slice of simmered white radish glistened, soft and full of broth.
“Fuu fuu”
She puffed on it a few times, then impatiently popped one half straight into Kyousuke’s mouth.
“Well? Well? How is it?”
“Mm—not bad at all.”
He didn’t even chew—just pressed it against his tongue, letting it melt apart, the savory broth and the radish’s gentle sweetness sliding down his throat, warming him all over.
“Hehe, I knew it’d be good!” Mitsuha beamed, taking the other half for herself.
“Mmm! Delicious!”
Daikon, fish cakes, shrimp, tofu pouches—they shared one bowl between them, laughing as they ate.
Fortunately, both the owner and the neighboring lady found their couple-like behavior adorable instead of rude—otherwise.
They probably would’ve been kicked out for being too lovey-dovey.
“The tomato’s ready—here you go.”
The owner brought over a smaller bowl. Inside sat a single peeled tomato, glowing red like a sunrise, floating in clear oden broth.
Mitsuha’s eyes sparkled. She scooped up a spoonful and took a bite, only for her elegant brows to knit together instantly.
“Mmm—so good!” she managed between puffs of breath.
“Right? It’s perfect for spring—lots of vitamins!” the friendly customer laughed.
“Mhm!” Mitsuha nodded enthusiastically and slid the bowl toward Kyousuke.
“Here, Kyousuke! You’ve been training hard today—eat up and get some nutrients!”
Kyousuke met her bright black eyes and saw the silent message hidden there: ‘Eat it. Don’t make this awkward for me.’
“…Training? That’s—”
As the lady at the counter sipped her soup, curiosity got the better of her.
Mitsuha instantly seized the opportunity — and proudly began talking about her boyfriend’s latest feat.
How Kyousuke had completely crushed a sixth-dan police kendo instructor at the dojo earlier that day.
Out of politeness, she didn’t mention the man’s name or which precinct he was from.
Only that he’d once won the team championship at the National Police Tournament, taken third place individually, represented Japan in the World Team Championships, and even competed in the East-West All-Japan Invitational.
The woman’s eyes widened with every title — by the end, she looked as if she were staring at a modern-day warrior reborn.
When she heard that Miyamizu Mitsuha was a student at Ochanomizu Women’s University, she nodded in admiration.
“No wonder you found such an amazing boyfriend — smart girls make the best choices!”
The shop owner, the cheerful fourth-generation lady, joined in too, showering them with compliments about how perfect they looked together — a match made in heaven, she said.
She even offered to take their picture and promised to tell future customers their story, right alongside the list of celebrities who had once visited her humble little shop.
For Mitsuha, who never missed a chance to proudly show off her boyfriend, this was an opportunity straight from heaven.
She immediately agreed to the photo — and went one step further, boasting about how her boyfriend was actually a published author.
She even promised the two women his autograph, joking that it would “definitely go up in value someday.”
The two middle-aged women were stunned all over again, gushing about how lucky she was.
Mitsuha basked in the praise for a moment before humbly explaining that they were brought together by fate — or more specifically, by the gods.
That naturally led to her revealing her position as a shrine maiden…
And just like that, in a flurry of cheerful conversation and divine destiny, two unsuspecting women had become props for the shrine maiden’s love story.
When Mitsuha finally felt satisfied and took a sip of soup to rest her voice, she turned around—only to find that the unappetizing tomato had mysteriously disappeared.
“Good! Not being picky with food is a wonderful habit,” she said approvingly.
“Yes, if parents are picky eaters, that sets a bad example for their kids,” the lady added with a smile.
“Exactly! I totally agree!” Mitsuha said enthusiastically, while Kyousuke could only roll his eyes.
‘Oh, sure,’ he thought, ‘and that’s why you write your name on every single pudding cup in the fridge? If you ever have kids, you’ll probably fight them for snacks too.’
The three of them took a commemorative photo together in front of the counter — the owner inside, Mitsuha and Kyousuke standing side by side beneath the shop sign.
The tiny shop didn’t even have chairs, just a counter where everyone stood to eat.
Efficient, space-saving, and great for digestion — the founder had truly turned every limitation into an advantage.
“Remember to send me a poster of your book, okay? I’ll hang it up here to help promote you, Hojou-kun!” the owner called out as they left.
“I’ll buy your book at the bookstore too! Stay happy together, Miyamizu-san!” the other woman added warmly.
“Thank you both!” Mitsuha said with a radiant smile, flashing eight perfect white teeth.
As they stepped outside, the smile never left her face.
In her hand was a small paper bag — a gift from the owner.
The woman had wanted to give them a discount, but since the total was only around 3,200 yen, Mitsuha refused.
Instead, the owner insisted on giving them two of her homegrown tomatoes as a parting gift.
Back on the scooter, Mitsuha was full, warm, and so comfortable she didn’t even want to move.
She just hugged Kyousuke from behind, resting her cheek against his back, happily basking in that post-meal bliss.
For Hojou Kyousuke, who usually rode a heavy motorcycle, piloting a tiny scooter felt easier than walking.
Even with the twists and turns of the alleyways, his steady control kept Mitsuha from feeling even the slightest bump.
After a while, Mitsuha lazily opened her eyes.
“Hey, Kyousuke…”
Before she could finish, her small nose twitched as she sniffed twice.
“Whoa, my mouth still smells like oden!” she said in delight, puffing out a laugh before blowing two playful breaths toward Kyousuke’s helmet.
“Smell that?” she asked eagerly.
“Idiot, the wind blew it away,” he replied dryly. ‘Guess all that sugar from lunch is messing with her brain again.’
“Aww…” Mitsuha pouted, disappointed—until she heard two exaggerated puffs of air from in front.
“I can smell it now,” he said.
She blinked. “Huh?”
“Because our mouths smell the same,” Kyousuke replied casually.
“Hehehe, you’re right!” she giggled, suddenly overjoyed again. She blew another breath, sniffed, then wrinkled her nose.
“Ew, Kyousuke! Your breath smells like radish!”
Kyousuke rolled his eyes. “And yours smells like boiled tomato!”
“It does not! You’re the one who ate the tomato!” she yelped like a startled cat.
“Oh, so you remember I ate it, huh? I told you not to order it in the first place!”
“I was just curious, okay?! And the lady and the owner both said it was good! Ever heard the phrase ‘good medicine tastes bitter’?!” Mitsuha argued stubbornly, then blinked. “Wait, then… how did you end up eating it?”
She knew him well — if he hated it too, there had to be a trick.
“I mashed it up into the broth. Made tomato soup out of it,” Kyousuke said proudly.
Mitsuha gasped dramatically. “Sugoi! That’s so like you!”
The two continued their playful banter until they reached Ueno Park.
Parking the scooter, they sat together on a riverside bench overlooking the Sumida River.
A gentle spring breeze blew across the water — cool but not cold, just enough to remind them that spring hadn’t fully ended.
It was the most comfortable season of the year.
Mitsuha pulled out one of the gifted tomatoes.
It was still slightly damp from being washed. As she took a bite, Kyousuke watched her quietly.
Holding his own tomato, he suddenly felt like he was back at the Miyamizu Shrine — back when the days were filled with homegrown fruits and vegetables.
Around noon, Yotsuba would always appear with a basket of freshly washed tomatoes and cucumbers.
And the three generations would sit together around a low table, listening to Toshiki Miyamizu’s campaign speeches on the radio while watching the sunlight dance across the courtyard garden.
Kyousuke turned to look at Mitsuha. After her first bite, she’d fallen silent, her eyes lowered.
‘She’s thinking of her grandmother too,’ he thought.
And softly, he said:
“When we have time, let’s take Yotsuba and go visit Grandma.”
“The owner was right—this tomato’s amazing!” Mitsuha said at the exact same time, her eyes sparkling in delight.
She froze mid-bite, realizing she might’ve missed something, then looked up and asked hesitantly,
“Kyousuke… did you just say something?”
