A crisp, mechanical chime echoed in his mind, causing Tōhō Getsukai’s eyelashes to flutter.
Hamon Breathing!
The legendary core combat system from the first two parts of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure.
Rumor in the manga industry had always dictated that the old thief Araki only managed to keep his youthful appearance for decades because he secretly practiced it in real life.
A man in his sixties who looked no different from a thirty-year-old—an absolute ageless monster.
‘Couldn’t you have given me Sun Breathing instead?
Even Total Concentration would’ve been fine,’ Tōhō mused inwardly, his thoughts briefly drifting to other famous techniques.
Still, he couldn’t complain.
Hamon Breathing was incredibly practical; it prolonged life, strengthened the body, and, most, it was an absolute cheat code for beauty and skincare.
Delighted by the prospect, he closed his eyes and adjusted his breathing rhythm, syncing his lungs with the cultivation knowledge pouring into his mind.
A deep, sun-like warmth ignited in his lower abdomen.
The energy surged outward, rushing through his veins and flooding every corner of his body.
Muscles, bones, and individual cells greedily absorbed the nourishment, reinforcing themselves from the inside out.
A few seconds later, he opened his eyes and rolled his wrists, then his ankles.
The heavy sluggishness of everyday life had vanished.
His body felt impossibly light, thrumming with newly awakened reaction speed and latent power.
He turned his attention back to reality.
Ran was currently clinging to his arm, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder like an affectionate kitten, while Sonoko stood a few steps away, furiously tapping her phone screen to snap a rapid-fire barrage of photos.
The two beautiful girls surrounded him, their laughter bright, crisp, and entirely unguarded.
In their eyes, ‘Sister Tōhō’ was the most stunning, gentle, and trustworthy best friend in the entire world.
And what about him?
He was a perfectly normal male with a standard orientation, possessing a deep appreciation for beautiful girls.
Currently, he was being pressed against by two of them in form-fitting swimsuits.
The words Life Winner might as well have been tattooed across his forehead in glowing neon letters.
“Sister Tōhō, you absolutely have to wear this one when we go to the beach this weekend!” Ran looked up, her large eyes sparkling with pure anticipation.
Tōhō lifted a hand, his fingertips gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead.
He offered a soft, flawless smile.
“Okay.”
A single word, delivered with bone-melting gentleness.
Ran let out a contented hum, snuggling even closer against his arm.
Then, remembering something, she lightly tugged at his hand.
“By the way, Sister Tōhō, do you want to come over to my place for dinner tonight?
Dad just took on a new case, and I’m going to be all alone…”
She dragged out the final syllable, her voice dipping into a practiced, utterly adorable pout.
A textbook display of acting spoiled.
Tōhō was just about to agree when a sudden vibration buzzed against his thigh.
He pulled out his phone.
A message from Eri Kisaki.
Tonight there’s a celebration banquet for a successful case.
I might be back late.
There’s leftover curry in the fridge, heat it up and eat it.
A second message popped up immediately after.
Actually, don’t wait up for me.
Go to sleep early.
He stared at the glowing screen, his thumb hovering over the glass.
Whenever Eri Kisaki used the phrases “celebration banquet” and “back late” in the same breath, it translated to one absolute certainty: she was going to get completely, hopelessly drunk.
“Ran.” He pocketed the phone and softly patted the top of her head.
“Sister has to go home tonight.”
“Ehh—”
Ran’s shoulders slumped, her disappointment visible to the naked eye, but she nodded obediently.
“Then…
can Sister Tōhō come over tomorrow?”
“Sister will try her best.”
Leaning down, Tōhō pressed a light, fleeting kiss against Ran’s forehead.
A gesture of pure, sisterly comfort.
Ran froze.
For half a second, she resembled a statue, before a furious blush exploded across her cheeks, burning all the way to the tips of her ears.
From the sidelines, Sonoko unleashed a high-pitched, dolphin-like screech that threatened to shatter the store’s display glass.
Ignoring the chaos, Tōhō smoothly turned around, slipped back behind the fitting room curtain, and changed into his school uniform skirt.
A tiny, trembling voice drifted through the fabric.
“Sonoko…
did Sister Tōhō just kiss my forehead?”
“It’s not ‘did she’!
She did!
And I got it on video!!”
Sonoko’s ecstatic shrieks were still echoing through the boutique as Tōhō strolled out of the shopping mall, a paper bag swinging lightly from his hand.
The commute from Beika Town to his apartment was a twenty-minute train ride with one transfer—a route he could handle blindfolded.
The train car was relatively empty, allowing him to claim a quiet seat in the corner.
Silver hair cascaded over his shoulders.
He crossed his slender legs, the tips of his little leather shoes tapping a slow, bored rhythm against the floor.
Across the aisle, three high school boys were failing miserably at being subtle, having already snapped six covert photos of him.
He noticed every single flash, but couldn’t be bothered to react.
Go ahead and take your pictures, he thought, a dry amusement curling in his chest.
You’ll never guess that I stand up to pee just like you do.
The moment the key turned in the lock and the door cracked open, a heavy wave of alcohol assaulted his senses.
This wasn’t the elegant, faint aroma of a single glass of red wine.
This was a chemical-weapon-grade miasma—a fermented, chaotic blend of sake, wine, and whatever colorful cocktails had been pushed across the bar.
He pushed the door wide.
A pair of expensive black high heels lay abandoned in the entryway, the left one flipped completely upside down.
A sleek leather briefcase had been unceremoniously lobbed against the baseboard, its zipper half-open, threatening to spill confidential legal documents across the floorboards.
The living room lights were off, leaving the space bathed in the flickering, pale blue glow of the television, which was currently broadcasting a late-night shopping channel on mute.
A dark lump was sprawled across the sofa.
It was Eri Kisaki.
The undisputed, top-tier Queen of the Legal World was currently positioned like a cat demanding belly rubs, lying flat on her back with her face buried deep into a throw cushion.
Her tailored suit jacket hung precariously off one shoulder, and the crisp hem of her dress shirt had been completely yanked out of her pencil skirt.
Her usually immaculate hair was a tangled bird’s nest, obscuring half of her face.
The visible portion of her cheek burned a deep, feverish crimson.
“…You’re back.”
The voice that drifted from the cushions was heavily slurred and muffled by the fabric.
“Yeah.
I’m back.”
Tōhō kicked off his shoes, slid into his slippers, and crouched down to right the overturned heels.
He gathered the spilling documents, zipped the briefcase shut, and set it neatly beside the shoe cabinet.
Walking over to the sofa, he crouched down so he was eye-level with the messy lawyer.
“Auntie Eri, exactly how much did you drink?”
“Not much.” Eri kept her face firmly planted in the cushion, refusing to look at him.
Her words dragged lazily.
“Just…
four glasses of red wine.
Two cups of sake.
And…
I think I had one more glass of some fruity thing at the very end…”
Seven glasses.
From a high-class celebration banquet to a total vehicular drinking accident.
Ms.
Eri Kisaki’s rate of degradation truly defied the laws of physics.
Tōhō didn’t scold her.
He simply reached out, tugged the suit jacket off her shoulders, folded it neatly, and draped it over the armrest.
Then, he stood up and headed for the kitchen.
Opening the fridge, he quickly located a knob of ginger, a jar of honey, and a fresh lemon.
He pulled out a cutting board and a chef’s knife.
Channeling his newly acquired Hamon Breathing, he focused his energy into his fingertips.
The knife became a blur.
He sliced the ginger with terrifying, millimeter-perfect precision, every single translucent piece identical in thickness.
He halved the lemon with a single, fluid stroke.
He set a pot of water to boil, tossed in the ginger, let it steep for exactly three minutes, then fished the slices out.
A generous spoonful of honey and a hard squeeze of lemon followed.
He stirred the concoction until it blended perfectly.
The entire process took less than five minutes.
Was using a legendary martial arts breathing technique to slice ginger a gross misuse of power?
Probably.
Did he care?
Not in the slightest.
Carrying the steaming bowl back into the living room, he found that Eri had shifted.
She was now lying flat on her back, one arm thrown dramatically across her forehead.
The tossing and turning had popped the top button of her shirt loose, exposing her delicate collarbone and a stretch of pale, flawless skin to the cool air of the apartment.
For a woman pushing forty to maintain a physique this perfect was nothing short of a violent display of self-discipline.
Tōhō set the bowl down on the glass coffee table and took a seat on the edge of the sofa.
“Auntie Eri.
Get up and drink the soup.”
“Don’t want to move…” she grumbled, her arm still covering her eyes.
“If you don’t get up, I’ll pry your mouth open and force-feed you.”
“…You wouldn’t dare.”
“Three.”
“…”
Eri shot up like a startled cat, her tangled hair frizzing out like a lion’s mane.
She squinted at him, trying to summon the terrifying, razor-sharp aura that made prosecutors tremble in court.
It failed miserably.
Fractured by the hangover, the intensity of her glare was barely three percent of its usual lethal capacity.
Combined with her flushed cheeks and the slight, stubborn pout of her lips, the effect was entirely ruined.
She just looked incredibly cute.
Tōhō picked up the bowl and pressed it into her hands.
“Drink.”
Eri grumbled under her breath, bringing the rim to her lips.
She took a tentative sip.
The sharp bite of the ginger was perfectly mellowed by the sweet honey and the tart lemon.
It was warm and soothing, the heat sliding down her throat and immediately settling the chaotic storm in her stomach.
She took another, longer sip.
“…It’s good.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s always you taking care of me.” Eri lowered the bowl, her voice dropping to a soft, vulnerable whisper.
She stared down at the amber liquid.
“When it should be me taking care of you.”
“Auntie is already working hard enough in court, earning my tuition and living expenses.”
“I mean…” Eri trailed off, finally lifting her head to look at him.
The heavy veil of intoxication had completely stripped away her usual sharp, calculating gaze, replacing it with a hazy mist.
The strict scrutiny was gone, leaving only a quiet, heavy reliance.
“I mean as a…
guardian.
I’ve done a terrible job.”
Tōhō blinked, surprised by the sudden confession.
She only ever said things like this when she was completely plastered.
Usually, Eri Kisaki’s method of expressing guilt was entirely indirect.
If she felt she had wronged him, she would maintain a stoic face and say something trivial like, “The miso soup today has too much salt.” Then, the very next morning, a massive, unprompted deposit of pocket money would quietly appear in his bank account.
Warm words were hard for her; throwing money at the problem was a skill she had mastered flawlessly.
“Auntie is doing very well.”
Tōhō reached out, his fingers gently brushing the tangled hair away from the side of her face, tucking it neatly behind her ear.
He lowered his voice, taking that gentle ‘older sister’ tone and grounding it with genuine, quiet sincerity.
“Taking in a child with no blood relation.
Making sure he eats well, dresses well, and attends a top-tier school.
Making sure he never has to suffer any grievances from the outside world.” He smiled softly.
“You’re already doing much better than most people.”
Eri’s fingers tightened convulsively around the ceramic bowl.
“You’re always like this,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
“Your words are incredibly sweet.”
“Because it’s the truth.”
Eri stared at him for a long moment.
Then, she slowly placed the empty bowl back onto the coffee table.
The very next second, her posture crumbled.
She pitched forward, her head landing squarely in Tōhō’s lap.
Her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, burying her flushed face deep into the pleated fabric of his uniform skirt.
A textbook, flawless lap pillow hug.
Tōhō froze, staring down at the woman clinging to him.
He let out a slow, silent breath.
The sheer, destructive gap-moe of a thirty-seven-year-old Legal Queen acting spoiled completely eclipsed the charm of any seventeen-year-old girl.