Tōhō Getsukai tilted his head back, the soft smack of his flip-flops padding a steady rhythm along the sunlit sidewalk.
A simple canvas bag hung from his shoulder.
From this angle on the street, he could just make out the delicate curve of Ran’s chin and neck leaning out of the second-floor window.
Her skin was fair and smooth, catching the morning light with a faint sheen of sweat from her early chores.
‘Hmm, pretty.’
“Ran, tie your hair up before you lean out like that.
If you tumble down, I won’t be in position to catch you.”
“I won’t fall!” Ran laughed, her eyes crinkling into warm crescents before she pulled her head back inside.
A sleek black Maybach slid silently to a halt at the curb.
Sonoko climbed out, waving off her driver before the luxury car glided away.
She stood on her tiptoes, peering up at the agency’s window.
“Eh?
Why isn’t her hair done yet?”
“Probably just woke up,” Tōhō replied smoothly.
The two of them headed upstairs.
The door to the Mouri Detective Agency stood half-open.
A heavy, conflicting wave of domestic cooking fumes and the rich aroma of miso soup spilled into the hallway.
The moment Tōhō stepped across the threshold, his gaze swept the room.
On the left, the kitchen.
Ran wore a neat plaid apron, expertly sliding a perfectly round, golden-edged fried egg from a sizzling pan onto a ceramic plate.
Her movements were crisp and efficient, her posture impeccably straight, the apron strings tied into a flawless bow at the small of her back.
‘So obedient.’
On the right, the living room.
Kogoro was slumped entirely sideways in his desk’s swivel chair, his dress shoes propped shamelessly on the polished surface.
He held a freshly popped can of beer.
Three empty cans already littered the desk, forming a depressing barricade around a half-eaten, congealed bowl of instant ramen and a scattered pile of client documents.
‘So useless.
One family, two entirely different species.’
Ran placed the freshly cooked egg on the dining table, then whirled around, planting her hands firmly on her hips.
“Dad, I won’t be back until tomorrow night.
You’ll have to manage your own meals for the next two days.
You are absolutely not allowed to go to the pachinko parlor, and you are definitely not allowed to keep drinking beer for breakfast!”
Kogoro rolled his eyes dramatically, lifting the aluminum can to his lips.
“Got it, got it.
Are you trying to annoy me to death?
Back when I lived alone—”
“Sister Tōhō, good morning!”
Ran completely filtered out the second half of her father’s grumbling.
She trotted over to the entryway, grabbed Tōhō’s arm, and happily pulled him inside.
Kogoro’s mouth hung open, the rest of his complaint dying in his throat.
Then, his bleary eyes focused on the figure standing at the door.
Long, cascading silver hair.
An elegant off-white sun-protective shirt draped over ice-silk wide-leg pants, finishing with milky-white flip-flops.
Tōhō stood beautifully in the entryway, carrying a faint, refreshing scent of citrus that cut right through the stale beer air.
Kogoro’s spine instantly snapped from a lazy slump to military straightness.
He yanked his feet off the desk, shoved the active beer can underneath his chair, and threw a thick stack of case files over the tragic instant ramen bowl.
The entire sequence of cover-up maneuvers was terrifyingly fluid.
“Oh!
It’s Tōhō!” Kogoro shot to his feet, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers as he plastered on a wide, overly friendly smile.
“Come in, come in!
It’s a bit smoky in here, don’t let it ruin your nice clothes!”
Tōhō slipped into the guest slippers and gave a polite nod.
He knew this exact routine by heart.
Kogoro wasn’t terrified of him; he was terrified of Eri Kisaki standing invisibly behind him.
In Kogoro’s mental hierarchy, Tōhō Getsukai was Eri’s absolute lifeline.
Touch him and you die.
Look at him wrong and you’re crippled.
If this silver-haired child suffered even a fraction of a grievance on his turf?
It wouldn’t just end in finalized divorce papers; it would end in a swift cremation.
So, this middle-aged detective, who was usually careless even with his own flesh and blood, automatically booted into extreme survival mode the second Tōhō crossed his threshold.
Every single time.
“Sister Tōhō, you sit down first!
I’ll dish out the miso soup right away!” Ran tugged him toward the kitchen.
Tōhō glanced at the aggressively bubbling pot on the stove and smoothly reached past her to dial down the flame.
“The heat is too high.
The miso will turn bitter if you boil it like that.”
He set his canvas bag on the counter, stepped to the sink to wash his hands, and took the wooden ladle from Ran’s grip.
He stirred the broth with slow, deliberate circles, then pinched a precise dusting of chopped green onions from the spice rack, letting them fall over the surface.
His movements were entirely casual, yet every step carried an effortless, practiced precision.
Ran stood quietly by his side, watching his profile.
After two seconds of silence, she leaned her head gently against his shoulder.
“Sister is so amazing.
You can do everything.”
“Your fried egg looks good, too,” Tōhō replied, his tone mild but warm.
“Really?”
“The shape is perfectly round, and the edges are cooked just right.”
The bow on Ran’s apron bobbed as she shifted her weight, a visible wave of happiness washing over her.
A few feet away, Sonoko had already made herself completely at home.
She lounged on the sofa, legs crossed, scrolling rapidly through her phone.
She glanced up, caught the domestic shoulder-to-shoulder scene in the kitchen, and let out a sly, teasing giggle.
“Sister Tōhō, I want some miso soup too!”
“Wait a moment,” Tōhō called back.
Behind the desk, Kogoro stretched his neck, peeking into the kitchen with a face twisted in deep conflict.
He desperately wanted to shout that he wanted some too.
Before he could force the words out, Tōhō walked out of the kitchen balancing a wooden tray.
It held a steaming bowl of miso soup, the golden fried egg, and a crisp dish of pickled radish.
But beside them sat an extra bowl.
Its broth was significantly darker than the miso, with several thick slices of ginger floating near the rim.
Tōhō set the tray down directly in front of Kogoro’s desk.
“Uncle Mouri.”
“Hm?
Hm-hm?” Kogoro’s back went rigid, sitting up straight by pure reflex.
Tōhō pushed the dark ginger soup toward him.
“You drank too much again last night, didn’t you?
This will help sober you up and soothe your stomach.
Ran won’t be here this weekend, so try to drink a little less.”
While washing his hands, Tōhō had subtly channeled Hamon Breathing into the raw ingredients.
Once this soup hit Kogoro’s system, the metabolic breakdown of the hangover’s acetaldehyde residue would accelerate twofold, and the micro-damage lining his alcohol-abused stomach would be rapidly repaired.
Kogoro picked up the ceramic bowl and took a cautious sip.
The hot, spiced broth slid down his throat.
Instantly, a deep wave of soothing warmth bloomed from the bottom of his stomach, radiating outward.
The dull, persistent throbbing in his temples vanished like smoke.
He took another greedy sip, then tilted his head back, draining the entire bowl in seconds.
As he set the empty bowl down with a clatter, Kogoro felt a sudden, sharp sting in his nose.
This soup…
it has real power.
“Delicious…” Kogoro’s voice came out a beat muffled, thick with unexpected emotion.
“Tōhō, with your skills, whoever marries you—”
He slammed on the verbal brakes.
Hard.
He absolutely could not say ‘whoever marries you.’ Even though Tōhō was technically a boy, if those specific words ever drifted into Eri Kisaki’s ears, that terrifying woman would one hundred percent twist it into a claim that Kogoro was coveting the child she raised.
“…You’ll definitely be able to open a fantastic restaurant in the future.”
Safe landing.
Tōhō didn’t bother calling out the awkward mid-sentence pivot.
He simply turned around, his flip-flops padding softly against the floorboards as he returned to the kitchen to help Ran clean up.
Ran scrubbed the frying pan under the tap.
She threw a glance over her shoulder at her dad, who was still sitting in the living room, staring blankly at his empty bowl.
She leaned in, whispering near Tōhō’s ear.
“Sister, Dad seems touched.”
“Probably just his stomach warming up,” Tōhō replied dryly.
“No, his eyes are literally red.”
“That’s a standard hangover side effect.”
Ran pursed her lips, fighting back a knowing smile.
She knew Tōhō far too well.
He always spoke so lightly, maintaining that cool exterior, but every single time he visited the agency, he casually whipped up something to soothe her father’s ruined stomach.
Even though he addressed him as ‘Uncle Mouri’ with total indifference, he never once failed to take care of him.
On the sofa, Sonoko swiped past a push notification and suddenly shouted, waving her phone in the air.
“Ran—!
Tomorrow’s weather forecast just dropped!
Sunny all day!
The UV index is going to be extremely high!”
“Ah, then we need to pack an extra layer of sunscreen!” Ran quickly dried her hands on a towel.
“Is that physical sunscreen Sister Tōhō bought yesterday going to be enough?
Should we run out and grab another bottle?”
“It’s enough.
I bought the largest size,” Tōhō said.
He put the last washed dish into the drying rack, then reached around Ran to untie the apron from her waist.
He folded the plaid fabric neatly and hung it back on its hook.
Ran and Sonoko immediately shifted to the living room floor, diving into their scattered luggage.
Bags, packages, and clothes were spread out like a colorful minefield.
Swimsuits, sunscreen, spare outfits, snacks, and heavy power banks.
Tōhō leaned casually against the kitchen doorframe, his ten toes wiggling slightly against the cool soles of his flip-flops as he watched the chaos.
Kogoro suddenly poked his head up from his desk, still gripping the empty ceramic bowl.
“Um…
Tōhō…”
“Hm?”
“In the bowl…
is it possible to get another serving?”
Tōhō looked at the older man and gave a slight nod.
“There’s still plenty in the pot.
Serve yourself.”
Kogoro practically sprinted to the kitchen.
After downing his second bowl of the miraculous hangover soup, the sluggishness completely left his bones.
He felt genuinely energetic.
Leaning back in his swivel chair, Kogoro quietly watched the three teenagers bustling around his living room.
To be precise, his eyes tracked that elegant silver-haired figure moving effortlessly between the two girls.
One moment Tōhō was helping Ran fold a stubborn beach towel, the next he was carefully checking the expiration date printed on the bottom of Sonoko’s sunscreen bottle.
His movements were completely natural, devoid of any forced affectation.
That deep, inherent sense of domesticity and quiet thoughtfulness that seemed to seep from his very bones was simply—
Simply like Eri Kisaki in her younger days.
Wait, no, that’s completely wrong.
Kogoro frowned.
Eri Kisaki was absolutely never this gentle when she was young.
Eri used to tie his neckties into literal dead knots and aggressively call it an expression of her love.
Kogoro shook his head vigorously, rattling the dangerous, nostalgic thought right out of his skull.
“Um…
Tōhō.”
“Hm?” Tōhō looked up from a pile of beach snacks.
“You kids…
be safe when you head out to the beach tomorrow,” Kogoro said.
His tone was unusually gravelly and serious.
He quickly cleared his throat and added, “If anything happens, call me anytime.
Even though I won’t be there with you, but…
um…
calling me is fine too.”
Tōhō stopped folding and looked quietly at him.
This middle-aged man.
Usually sloppy, perpetually lazy, and hopelessly obsessed with cheap alcohol.
Yet at this exact moment, sitting behind a desk barricaded by empty beer cans, he was clumsily squeezing out a genuine look of fatherly concern for the younger generation.
It was funny, but somehow, not annoying in the slightest.
“Got it, Uncle Mouri,” Tōhō said softly.
“By the way, I put two prepared bento boxes in the fridge.
Just heat them in the microwave for three minutes and they’ll be ready to eat.”
Kogoro froze, utterly stunned.
“When did you—”
“I put them together while the soup was boiling just now.”
Kogoro opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
He slowly closed it.
He spun his swivel chair around to face the glass window, pretending to be deeply fascinated by the street traffic below.
But from his angle by the kitchen door, Tōhō could clearly see the older man reach up and awkwardly wipe at his nose.
‘Fine,’Tōhō thought, a faint, dry amusement coloring his inner voice.’A sleeping Kogoro waking up occasionally is also quite easy to take care of.’
[Akarin’s Note:
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