“This is Tohru, and this is Kanna.
They are both children of relatives that I’ve been looking after lately.
This young lady is Doma Umaru, a child of one of my colleagues.
And this is Hikigaya Hachiman.” Standing in the middle, Kobayashi introduced everyone to Hikigaya Hachiman one by one.
“Young Master, please.” The girl named Tohru, holding a tray in her left hand and handing over a cup of water with her right, looked the part quite well.
But, you know, just wearing a maid outfit doesn’t make one a real maid.
Faced with Hikigaya Hachiman’s critical gaze from start to finish, Tohru brushed a hand against her cheek, showing a slightly apologetic expression; however, her swaying, voluptuous figure made her look so smug.
In short, she was not an authentic maid.
“What ‘Young Master’?
Kobayashi-san, there’s no need to tease me like that anymore.
And Tohru-san, my name is Hikigaya Hachiman.
You could just say I’m a child who was looked after by Kobayashi-san in the past.”
Tohru didn’t reply, seemingly maintaining the maid persona; without Kobayashi’s signal, she wouldn’t engage in small talk with guests.
“Didn’t you used to love the works of Mr.
Natsume Sōseki the most?
My comment just now was just an expression of my feelings—truly, just an expression of my feelings!” Kobayashi, having thought of something, held her beer bottle and couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear.
(In his writing, Sōseki often depicted the “awakened” individual—someone who sees through the systemic delusions of the crowd.
This character archetype is an isolated figure who feels alienated from the masses precisely because they see the truth of their situation.
Kobayashi likely sees this same intellectual isolation in Hachiman.
Hachiman’s defensive, pessimistic outlook is his way of dealing with a world he finds shallow.
She is teasing him for being “pretentious” or overly cynical in a way that reminds her of an intellectual classicist, so she calls him a young master as he was the young Natsume Sōseki, master as someone intellectual)
Being teased like this, that long-lost, familiar feeling returned; Kobayashi-san was still Kobayashi-san.
“It’s thanks to you for remembering that,” Hikigaya Hachiman retorted while taking the tea from Tohru and walking around the group to sit on the sofa.
Seriously, what kind of maid serves tea before the guest has even sat down?
Hikigaya placed the cup on the coffee table and began to size up the young girl sitting to the side.
Setting aside Doma Umaru, the colleague’s child who had come to mooch a meal, if Tohru was cosplaying as a maid, what was the deal with this little girl named Kanna?
Knee-high white stockings paired with a pink and white lace skirt—it was quintessential Lolita style.
But what concerned him more was this:
She was at the most lively, mischievous age, yet she was like a middle-aged man who had spent years struggling in the bureaucracy—unmoving, with not a single hint of emotional fluctuation on her face.
However, even without speaking, she was the type of child that adults found very likable.
“Hachiman, your luck is very bad.”
Well, that’s great—even when she speaks, there’s not a single expression.
And it doesn’t end there; she’s the type who causes trouble for others by calling them directly by their first name.
‘Is today that miserable?
Even a small child can tell.’
“I suppose so.” Hikigaya Hachiman did recall the series of events from today; his luck had indeed been outrageously bad, but he wasn’t the type to complain about his troubles to a junior, so he gave an ambiguous, perfunctory response.
“Filthy and stupid human, if you kneel down and pray to me, Lady Kanna will help you eliminate this curse of bad luck.” Kanna jumped off the sofa, came to stand in front of Hikigaya Hachiman, spread her arms wide, and held her head high—looking exactly like a believer expecting followers to bow to their supreme master.
But her chubby little face remained expressionless, and her tone was flat, as if she were reading lines she had heard somewhere else.
‘Kobayashi, what on earth have you been showing this child?
Do characters in cartoons these days all talk like this?’
“Oh.” Hikigaya Hachiman interpreted Kanna’s behavior as her imitating a cartoon character, responded perfunctorily, and glanced elsewhere.
‘Kobayashi, oh Kobayashi, look at what you’ve taught them.’
Hikigaya Hachiman’s gaze rested on the orange-haired girl.
‘Are there any normal people here?’
She wore a red ribbon tied on her standard white shirt, paired with a red pleated skirt.
Judging by her attire, this person was not only a student at Sobu High but also in his grade.
Hikigaya Hachiman had long since corrected his “bad habit” of memorizing the names of all the students and faculty, so while she looked familiar, he couldn’t recall her name.
Meeting Hikigaya Hachiman’s scrutinizing gaze, Doma Umaru gave a generous smile.
“I’m Doma Umaru, and I also attend Sobu High.”
Her flowing long hair, her enthusiastic and gentle demeanor—which didn’t seem fake at all—her outstanding appearance, combined with a sweet smile…
‘Sure enough, there is a normal person in this house.’
“Oh, Hikigaya Hachiman, Class 2-F.”
“Nice to meet you.
Please take care of me” Doma Umaru responded with the same enthusiasm.
But Hikigaya Hachiman didn’t want to continue the conversation.
A chance acquaintance—it didn’t matter one way or the other.
If one just communicates for the sake of communicating, without a sufficient understanding, saying trivial things would be uncomfortable even for the parties involved.
Faced with such a response, Doma Umaru could only smile blankly.
Excellent, Hikigaya Hachiman successfully terminated the conversation.
Now the living room was once again filled with the atmosphere Hikigaya Hachiman enjoyed; that long-lost sense of solitude washed over everyone in the room.
Kobayashi finally couldn’t take it anymore, lifting her beer with one hand and waving the other.
“Drink up, drink up!
Umaru, don’t be a stranger, have some tea.” Naturally, Kobayashi wouldn’t give alcohol to an underage girl; she pushed a full cup of tea toward Doma Umaru, urging her on like a bossy, annoying superior at a drinking party.
“No, no, I can’t drink anymore.
Drinking too much tea on an empty stomach is bad for the stomach and intestines,” Doma Umaru declined.
‘Kobayashi, you’re really something else…
an empty stomach?
So this person hasn’t even cooked dinner.’
“Haven’t any of you eaten?”
“No,” the girls answered in unison.
Even Kanna moved to Hikigaya Hachiman’s side, gripping his pant leg tightly with her right hand.
Finally, a hint of sadness appeared on her face, and she pleaded: “Hachiman, hungry!”
‘Kobayashi, you deserve to die!’
Hikigaya Hachiman finally couldn’t hold it in any longer; he stood up, tossed his coat onto the sofa, and walked into the kitchen.
‘Kobayashi, that wretch, actually letting children she’s entrusted with go hungry.’
While opening the refrigerator to examine the ingredients, he said to the side: “No need, I can handle it alone.
Tohru, you go back out front and watch TV.”
“But, but I am…”
“A maid, right?
I know.
However, when a task that is simple and easy to complete becomes inefficient—or even impossible to carry out properly—due to an increase in personnel, it is inherently irrational.
Moreover, I am the guest.”
“That’s right, exactly—you are the guest.”
“Exactly, and not defying the reasonable requests of a guest is the supreme rule of any maid café, isn’t it?” Hikigaya Hachiman looked back and said with a straight face.