The next morning, Kyousuke realized he owed Otaru an apology for thinking it was a quiet, sparsely populated place.
He woke up at the crack of dawn—not because of the sun, but because his mom, Mikiko, knew full well how sensitive he was about sleeping.
She had thoughtfully prepared blackout curtains that worked like magic.
Unfortunately, she couldn't do anything about the noise.
Most detached houses in Japan were built with wood—great for insulation, cheap, and earthquake-resistant, but utterly useless when it came to soundproofing.
So when the street outside filled with cars early in the morning, it was enough to snap him awake in seconds.
'One day, when I buy a proper mansion, the first thing I'm doing is soundproofing it top to bottom,' Kyousuke swore to himself for the umpteenth time.
Pulling on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, he opened the curtains.
Downstairs was a big empty lot his family usually let visitors park in for free.
But since the house was so full these days, they'd locked the gate.
The dirt ground, hardened by years of foot traffic, was now a makeshift training field.
Kisaki Tetta and his three subordinates were already mid-sword practice, steam rising from their bodies meaning they'd probably already finished a morning run.
'Kyousuke, just because you've grown strong enough to be unstoppable, doesn't mean you can start slacking!' he scolded himself.
He reached for the custom bamboo sword in the corner of his room, ready to join them for a hot-blooded training session.
But halfway there, he froze.
'Kyousuke, you're already strong enough to be unstoppable, and you're still training this hard? Do you want to leave absolutely no room for anyone else to catch up?'
'How heartless can you be?!'
Putting the sword—engraved with "Hokushin Ittō-ryū"—gently back in the corner, he let out a deep sigh.
Then, with exaggerated ease, he strolled downstairs.
His room was on the second floor, at the very back, right next to the main road.
Living in a central neighborhood without soundproofing was basically like camping out in a fish market.
"Grandma, what's for breakfast?"
In the kitchen, Kyousuke gently rested his hands on his grandma's shoulders and asked affectionately.
He'd already noticed the night before, Grandma Asako's cooking could rival that of his beloved Okudera-senpai.
He was already planning to have her write down her recipes so he could turn them into a gift for her.
'Operation "Win Senpai's Heart Through Food" is a go!'
"It's cream stew today," Grandma replied, turning toward him with a smile that practically erased her eyes.
Earlier that morning, Grandpa had actually tried to wake Kyousuke up to take him to work on the ranch, but Grandma had shut that down hard.
Her grandson was a writer—even if he was just a manga artist now, one day he'd be on the level of Sōseki Natsume.
There was no way she'd let him shovel manure with the cattle.
She had already been mad enough when her lawyer son moved back home to herd cows—now they wanted to rope the grandson in too? Not a chance.
This was fine. If Kyousuke came home to visit every vacation, that was enough for her.
"Mmm, smells amazing," Kyousuke said dramatically, turning his expert-level "charm the elders" skill to full blast.
Then he leaned in conspiratorially, asking if she had any secret ingredients.
As for the whole ranch work thing—he was a country boy at heart.
There was no rush.
The ones who really needed that kind of experience were kids like Kisaki Tetta, who grew up in the city.
"Hehehe, it's just an everyday stew," Grandma said with a grin, stirring the pot. "But if I had to say, I added a little…"
And as she listed off her culinary secrets, a quiet, warm happiness filled the room.
In Japan, there's even a thing called a nisei-taku—a two-generation home where married kids live with their parents but have separate entrances, kitchens, etc.
Think of it as being "really close neighbors." It might sound weird, but it helps everyone live together without driving each other crazy.
To Grandma, having a son and daughter-in-law willing to leave behind their city jobs to come home and raise cattle, plus a grandson who still loved her like no time had passed—it was all she could ask for.
And at the next neighborhood gathering, she definitely planned to show off.
Maybe even bring copies of her grandson's manga.
Who knows—maybe some of their grandkids were fans!
Beaming, she even dug out her secret spice jars to show Kyousuke, explaining each one in detail.
That's when Mikiko walked in and found the picture-perfect family scene.
"Wait, Mom… don't tell me you went to help out on the ranch too?" Kyousuke asked, baffled.
He'd already noticed earlier that only his four dorky subordinates and Grandma were home.
When he asked, she'd said the others went to the ranch. But even so, imagining his mom doing farm work was a stretch.
"Why not? I help out sometimes too, you know!" Mikiko said with a pout.
If her husband forgot to turn on the automatic feed system, someone had to fix it.
"Okay, okay. But where are Dad and Grandpa then?"
"They're taking a bath. They were helping the vet deliver a calf this morning," she said as she walked into the kitchen and began unpacking a bundle of meat.
"A calf?" Kyousuke raised an eyebrow.
"Don't even think about eating it!" she warned sharply. "Not until it's grown up at least!"
"I wasn't thinking that!" Kyousuke protested. "I was just remembering how I saw an article online about how big ranches in Hokkaido use machines to feed their calves."
He described it: a sensor collar around the calf's neck triggered an automatic milking system when it approached, recording how much it drank.
If it had enough, no more milk. If not, a worker would step in.
"Haha, that's for the big operations," Grandma Asako chuckled. "Ours is mid-sized at best. We're not quite there yet."
"Your dad's in charge of feeding the calves once they can drink on their own," added Yusuke, walking into the living room with a towel around his neck.
"Not bad for a University of Tokyo law graduate, right?"
Hearing that, Hatake Gorou and the others who had just come in froze in disbelief.
A law genius from Todai… feeding baby cows? That's the Hojou household for you.
Kisaki Tetta, however, looked deeply inspired.
'Getting into Todai is just the first step in following Kyousuke-sama… I need to work harder!'
"What's that?" Kyousuke asked, glancing at the meat on the cutting board.
"It's Ezo venison," his mom replied proudly. "I went out and bought it this morning just for you."
"Deer!?" Kyousuke stared at the ribs, already imagining three different ways to cook them.
"You really liked it the other day in Kushiro, remember?" Mikiko said with a mischievous smile, pulling out a photo that Miyamizu Mitsuha had taken of him chowing down.
'Mitsuh—how could you?!You said deer are so cute… and then why are you looked so happy eating them?!'
As he sat at the dining table, gnawing on a rib with dramatic guilt, Kyousuke silently prayed for the soul of the deer, wishing it a peaceful reincarnation and a better life next time around.
That afternoon, local boy Kyousuke took his four loyal underlings on a stroll through Otaru.
Aside from seafood, Otaru didn't exactly have a lot going on food-wise.
The real charm lay in the town's preserved architecture from the last century.
Some areas were packed with public buildings that gave off serious European vibes.
In fact, just walking along the Otaru Canal the night before had made him think—if you brought in a bunch of white actors to shoot a movie here, no one would even question it wasn't filmed in London.
Some activities are great for a group of guys. Sightseeing? Not one of them.
Sitting in the cable car up Mount Tengu, all five exchanged silent, regretful looks and promptly decided to abandon this cringe sightseeing detour.
"Let's just go find something good to eat!" Hatagoro suggested, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Agreed. Once we actually have girlfriends, then we can come back and do the whole sightseeing thing," said Kuroda Kaito—the previously unnamed member of the kendo team's core five.
"You just had to flex your girlfriend again, didn't you?" Ryoma groaned, half-joking, half-jealous.
The reason Kuroda had been left nameless for so long? The jerk had a girlfriend. The audacity.
"Haha, just wait till we win nationals—you'll be drowning in fans," Kuroda chuckled.
"Next stop—Kumagorou Ramen!" Kyousuke declared with the tone of a general leading his troops.
"Awesome!" x4
Japan's obsession with ramen is truly something foreigners may never fully grasp.
Even people from regions famous for ramen can't resist trying new shops when they travel.
You could be in the most boring, remote town in Japan, and there will still be a ramen shop that's been in business for decades.
This particular place had a neon sign featuring a cartoon bear in a hoodie outside.
Kyousuke was sure the shop wasn't named for serving bear meat—it had to be the founder's name, Kumagorou.
But when he got closer and read the explanation on the wall, he was defeated by the truth once again.
Turns out, the ramen broth was so delicious it even lured in a local bear—who then became something of a mascot.
The founder ended up naming the bear "Kumagorou."
The broth, simmered with dozens of kinds of dried fish, had a clear amber hue.
The ramen noodles were neatly laid beneath the surface, and the rich red char siu pork glistened with savory juices, promising a flavor explosion.
Scallions floated messily on top, their aroma impossible to ignore.
It was delicious—easily rivaling the famous ramen place in Ginza that Kyousuke had visited with Sakura and the others.
After downing two bowls each, the five of them left the shop, stomachs full and spirits high.
"What's next?" Kuroda asked, already hungry for round two.
"Obviously, Hokkaido's famous corn and potatoes!" Kisaki Tetta replied, adjusting his glasses with a glint that could slice steel.
...But didn't we literally just have those in the cream stew this morning? Kyousuke thought, arms full of take-home packs of Kumagorou instant ramen.
Not that he minded.
It wasn't about what you ate—it was about who you were with.
And these four idiots, as dumb as they were, made even a ramen burping contest weirdly wholesome.
They wandered, snacked, wandered some more.
Even Kisaki, who looked like the artsy type who might actually be into boutique galleries and cultural exhibits, scratched those off the itinerary.
From lunch straight into dinner, they ate their way through Otaru.
After dinner at home, they even went back out for a seafood second dinner at a local chain.
"Order whatever you want," Kyousuke said, waving like a king. "Even if you ate here for a month straight, my wallet wouldn't feel a thing."
At that, the others, who had been drooling at the live king crabs and snow crabs in the tank, rushed over to the counter shouting out orders.
"This is the life," Kisaki said, sitting beside Kyousuke while watching the others go nuts. His expression was pure joy.
Before following Kyousuke, he never imagined he'd have this kind of friendship—carefree, stupid, and amazing.
A trip to Japan's northern edge with real friends, feasting without worry.
"Still dreaming of becoming Japan's biggest delinquent?" Kyousuke teased.
Kisaki shot him a side glance. "That's your job, boss. I'm just the strategist behind the scenes."
"You little punk…" Kyousuke sighed, rubbing his forehead like an exasperated older brother.
Then they both broke into laughter.
The others, still catching up to the joke, joined in anyway. Luckily, the place was already rowdy enough with other diners—no one cared about their noise.
The bill? A solid 200,000 yen.
If Kyousuke hadn't already climbed out of poverty, that one meal alone could've wiped out his Tokyo apartment rent.
But now? No problem.
Feeling bold, Kuroda suggested they try Otaru's locally made sake from Tanaka Sake Brewery.
What shocked Kyousuke more than the suggestion was the fact that even Kisaki the guy who usually spent his free time buried in law books—was tempted.
So… what if the store refused to sell to minors?
Where there's a will, there's a workaround.
Kyousuke bought five cans of pomegranate soda from a vending machine, tossed one to each of them, and marched them off to the Otaru Canal.
The canal wasn't just for couples, it was also perfect for five idiot friends to sit on a stone bench and feel the sea breeze on their faces.
They sat quietly, watching the seawater pour in from Ishikari Bay. No one said anything for a while.
Kyousuke figured they were all just soaking in the feeling of youth.
"I kinda wanna jump in for a swim."
"Yeah, maybe catch a king crab."
"Or some smelt!"
You idiots… how are you drunk off soda?
The next week fell into a routine, mornings working at the family farm with Grandpa, afternoons and evenings exploring Otaru.
Then came the day of departure.
At Chitose Airport, Kuroda clung to his suitcase like a kid on the last day of summer camp.
"Boss, I swear I can still help on the farm!"
"Get lost. The cows actually want to live, you know." Kyousuke kicked him in the butt.
They'd eaten one of their highest-grade cows—worth millions—within just one week.
Unbelievable.
"See you in Tokyo, boss," Kisaki said, smiling.
"Yeah. Try to relax over the break, okay? We're already second in the whole year. No need to overdo it."
Kyousuke patted his top underling's shoulder, wondering if maybe he should deliberately slack off a bit on the next exam.
———————————————————————
He watched their white airplane soar across the sky before turning back toward Otaru.
Did he know for sure that was their flight?
Who cared?
What kind of boss waits around watching his underlings ascend like it's some emotional sendoff?
Kyousuke didn't have much time left in his hometown either.
The summer break was only about a month long, and in another week—by mid-August—he'd need to be back in Tokyo to help Eriri at Summer Comiket.
Not to mention, he had to get back to working on One Punch Man.
When he left Tokyo, they'd only finished two chapters.
By now, they were almost out of material.
After returning to Otaru, Kyousuke paid a visit to his aunt's house, bringing gifts he'd picked up in Tokyo.
It was the same house where his relatives ran the Italian restaurant Garden of Words.
Considering how much he'd freeloaded off them in the past, it only felt right to drop by and show some gratitude.
The gifts he brought were luxury-brand cosmetics from Ginza and a few volumes of his own manga.
If it were up to him, he would've left out the latter, but some things just can't be hidden.
"Hehehe, Kyousuke, you're incredible. Still in middle school and already making this kind of money," his Aunt said with a smile after the usual pleasantries.
"It's mostly luck and thanks to a lot of help from my friends," he replied modestly, as always.
"Honey," Shuko turned to her husband, "do you think Garden of Words should try doing a One Punch Man theme night?"
"No way. Our customer base and that manga's fans don't overlap at all," said his cousin Miyagi Toyoko, bluntly shooting the idea down without a hint of hesitation.
"Don't mind her, Kyousuke. That's just how Toyoko is," his uncle Miyagi Takayuki said, trying to smooth things over.
"No worries," Kyousuke laughed. "I've dealt with her before. Honestly, I kind of admire her strict personality."
Even when she once bargained down the price of a recipe from Okudera-senpai, Kyousuke didn't complain.
Business was business, after all.
And despite all the free meals he'd had, his cousin had never once held it against him.
After chatting for a bit longer, Kyousuke took his leave, lugging home a big bag full of cheese products.
Compared to the Hojou family's farm, the Miyagi ranch was way bigger.
He even got to see the fully automated milking machine—an incredible piece of tech.
Back home, Kyousuke settled into a fulfilling daily routine.
In the mornings, he helped his father and grandfather at the ranch. In the afternoons, he apprenticed at a small glass workshop.
Evenings were spent watching TV and chatting with family, all while jotting down his grandmother's recipes.
If Otaru was known for one thing besides dairy, it was glassblowing.
Nearly every workshop could proudly call itself a "half-century-old establishment."
The one Kyousuke was learning at—Yagi Shouko-kan—was run by an old friend of his grandfather.
Kyousuke initially wanted to pay for tuition or at least cover the cost of materials, but the old man, Yagi Kazumasa, flat-out refused.
"This workshop doesn't really turn a profit anyway," the old man said. "Your grandpa's grandson wants to learn from me? I couldn't be happier!"
It made sense, honestly.
Anyone who could be best friends with his bandit-looking grandpa had to be a bit wild themselves.
Kazumasa had long, unkempt hair he only tied back when working in the studio; otherwise, it was always down in a messy mane.
Kazumasa's sons and grandsons had all moved to Sapporo, and his wife had passed away years ago.
These days, his routine consisted of making little glass trinkets and strolling along the Otaru Canal.
Kyousuke's arrival probably meant more to him than anyone realized—after all, for the first time, he had someone to talk to besides emotionless glass and a roaring furnace.
And this someone just happened to be a hardworking, good-looking young man with a pleasant voice.
"We call this kind of glass Shouko," the old man explained slowly as the furnace roared to life. "It's actually a word we borrowed from a neighboring country."
"'Imitation crystal made by firing chemicals; its color is a dark greenish blue, often with bubbles."
"Some are yellow-green, some white. The pure white, sparkling kind is called Shouko,'" Kyousuke silently recited in his head.
Once he'd learned the name, of course he had to look it up.
He didn't say anything aloud, though.
Instead, he helped Kazumasa lift the furnace lid and simply smiled as the old man recited the old Chinese phrase in his thick Hokkaido accent.
"I see."
"Otaru used to make practical things like glass lampshades and fishing floats. Once the fishing industry declined, we started focusing on crafts and art pieces instead."
Kazumasa scooped a generous helping of silica sand from a container and began explaining the science of glassmaking.
Kyousuke, who happened to be a top student in chemistry, listened intently.
He was determined—after all, he planned to make gifts for Sakura, Shouko, and the others.
He couldn't afford to mess up.
"But I've got nothing against craftwork," Kazumasa added as they waited for the silica and nickel oxide to melt.
"There's something magical about creating something so beautiful with your own hands."
He led Kyousuke over to a display shelf in the corner to show off his work.
Kyousuke, who had already done his homework by visiting famous glass shops like Kitaichi Shouko and Taisho Shouko, was genuinely impressed.
This old man clearly loved making glass.
From colorful lamps to pens and figurines—if a store sold it, Kazumasa had probably made it.
With his wiry arms, Kazumasa picked up a bluish-green glass cup and handed it to Kyousuke, nodding toward the overhead light.
White light danced within the crystal-clear glass, refracting through the uneven blue-green hues and making the whole thing shimmer like a jewel.
"Beautiful, right? That's a Mt. Fuji Cup. One of Edo-style glassware's signature pieces."
Kyousuke stared into the dazzling depths of the cup, his eyes wide with wonder.
Kazumasa grinned, clearly pleased with the reaction.
"Mt. Fuji? Is that because it looks like an upside-down mountain?" Kyousuke asked, still trying to make sense of Japanese naming logic.
"Hahaha, not quite," Kazumasa chuckled. He walked over to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of plum wine, gave the cup a quick wipe, and poured it full.
"Look now. Doesn't a mountain appear at the bottom?"
Sure enough, at the base of the thick glass, a little Mt. Fuji had emerged—its blue hue matching the wine.
The peak was frosted to look like snow. It was stunning. The kind of cup that made you want to drink just for the view.
Kyousuke smiled and clapped, genuinely amazed. Kazumasa beamed and downed the whole cup of wine in one gulp.
"So, want to make a cup like this?" he asked.
"Not really," Kyousuke replied immediately.
He was making gifts for girls.
This obviously alcoholic-looking cup was a total no-go. Plus, it was way too small.
It didn't match his heartfelt wish of "drink lots of hot water and stay healthy."
Maybe he'd consider buying a set for Makki or Onizuka later, but that could just be from a store.
"What about this one?" Kazumasa held up another cup, this one carved with a Mt. Fuji motif.
It still looked like a sake glass, and those etched designs didn't seem ideal for hot water either.
Kyousuke shook his head again.
"Yagi-san, I'd really like to make a big cup that can hold hot water. Something with a round shape, maybe. It should be heat-resistant, hard to break—and ideally, not too painful if it falls on your foot."
"…You sure you don't want to just use a paper cup?" Kazumasa paused mid-presentation and looked over at his eccentric young apprentice.
"It's for a girl, right?" the old man asked, catching on quickly.
"Yeah."
"Your girlfriend?"
Kyousuke scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Haha, not quite. At least, not yet."
That little "yet" gave Kazumasa pause.
Thankfully, the silica in the furnace had melted, bringing the conversation to a close.
With a small smile, he picked up a metal pipe and began earnestly teaching Kyousuke the art of glassmaking.