Let's rewind the time a bit…
The moment Masao returned from walking Yukinoshita home, his parents descended upon him, giving him no time to rest.
Their curiosity had gotten the better of them.
The instant their son had left to escort the girl home, they had cornered Jahy, grilling her with questions about their guest.
From her, they learned that Masao and Yukinoshita were both members of a school club called the "Service Club."
The name gave them pause.
'A Service Club?' It sounded unfamiliar, and frankly, a little dubious to their adult ears. 'What exactly did "service" entail?'
Their concerns were only laid to rest when Jahy explained the club's true purpose: under Yukinoshita's strict supervision, Masao was dedicating himself to losing weight. Relief quickly gave way to excitement.
This was promising. It meant their son was on good terms with the girl and saw her daily. And her visit today? Officially, it was to tutor Masao and Jahy. The pieces were falling into place.
Their son had a genuine opportunity here.
Yet, for all their delight, they remained grounded. They were painfully aware that while the opportunity existed, their son's current… assets were decidedly lacking.
So, the second Masao stepped back through the door, he was whisked away for a family meeting.
—
Masao stared at his unusually solemn parents, bewildered.
"Dad? Mom? What's this all about?"
His mother, Kazumi, took the lead. "Masao, honey… what do you think of Yukinoshita-san?"
"Yukinoshita? She's fine," he said with a noncommittal shrug.
"She seems like a wonderful young woman," Kazumi pressed, her tone softening.
Hearing her tone and the subtext. Masao immediately went on the defensive.
"Hold on, don't get the wrong idea. We're just friends."
He could already see it: a prolonged inquisition, misplaced expectations, and the potential for unbearable awkwardness the next time he saw Yukinoshita.
His parents exchanged a glance, a flicker of amusement passing between them. Kazumi cleared her throat, mastering her expression.
"Of course, we're not misunderstanding anything," she said, her voice a little too light. "And as your parents, it hurts us to say this, but Masao… you have to admit, you're somewhat out of her league."
It was a critical hit, a devastating blow of unvarnished truth from the two people whose job it was to think he was perfect.
"What can I say…" Masao muttered, his spirit visibly crumbling.
Seeing his devastation, Kazumi quickly backpedaled.
"Now, don't be like that! Think of it this way: starting from a lower point just means you have more potential for growth!"
Kenji nodded vigorously.
"Exactly. Your mother and I have a plan. We're going to invest in you. We'll help you become a more refined and accomplished young man."
A sense of foreboding crept over him. "Invest in me? What does that mean?"
They straightened up, launching into their meticulously prepared—and absurd—proposal.
"First," Kenji began, "the weight loss. You're already on the right path, but we need more intensity. You could stand to skip a few meals. And ten hours of daily exercise should whip you into shape quickly."
"Second," Kazumi continued, "your academic standing. Being dead last in your year is unacceptable. We're not asking for the moon—just a simple reversal. First place in the next exam will do."
"Finally," Kenji concluded, "you need a talent. Something to round you out. Painting, a musical instrument—your choice. Just name what you need, and we'll provide the funds and the finest tutors."
Masao listened, his jaw gradually unhinging in sheer disbelief.
Skip meals? Ten hours of exercise? They wanted him to catapult from the academic basement to the penthouse in a single bound? It was less a plan and more a suicide note.
Only the final point—cultivating a talent—sounded remotely within the realm of human possibility.
He physically pushed his jaw closed.
"I know I probably shouldn't say this to my own parents, but… are you trying to kill me? If you want me dead, there are faster ways. The first two items on your list are literally impossible."
Well, not entirely. They would work if he were dead. A corpse doesn't eat and loses weight fast. And he'd certainly be first in his class—the first to die that is.
His parents remained unfazed.
"Very well," Kazumi said smoothly, as if they had expected this. "We can be flexible."
Kenji placed a thick envelope on the table with a definitive thud.
"Here is 100,000 yen (650 USD). Use it to cultivate a hobby or a skill. We will be checking on your progress. If this money is not spent on its intended purpose… the original plan will be reinstated."
Without another word, they turned and exited the living room, leaving him alone with the cash.
Masao stared at the stack of bills. A slow realization dawned: he had been expertly manipulated.
The outrageous demands were nothing but a feint, a classic negotiation tactic. Their true goal had always been the third point.
He shook his head with a wry smile.
"Seriously, if you just wanted me to pick up a hobby, was all that theater really necessary?"
For him, with his… unique circumstances… acquiring a skill was theoretically simple. He just needed a bit of luck.
Actually putting in the sweat and time to learn it himself was out of the question; his days were already packed to the brim.
Scooping up the money, Masao finally retreated to the sanctuary of his own room.
—
Just as he had guessed, his parents' "master plan" was a complete sham.
Once they learned Yukinoshita was personally overseeing his transformation, they had decided to take a hands-off approach.
The ridiculous ultimatums were a performance designed to make the final, reasonable request seem like a compromise.
Their genuine wish was for him to develop a skill.
But even if he completely ignored that part, it didn't matter. The envelope of cash was, in truth, a "relationship development fund."
They would be absolutely thrilled if he used it to buy Yukinoshita a gift or ask her out for coffee. That was the outcome they were truly, wholeheartedly, banking on.
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