Just drank the water that the chicken bathed in.

Curry udon noodles, served with quail eggs, mountain yam, and fatty beef rolls.
A pot of chicken soup, a vegetable salad, and a portion of vegetarian grilled eel made up the Matsudaira family's dinner tonight.

“Wow, it smells amazing!” Maki Matsudaira inhaled the aroma of the chicken soup, gazing at her outstanding son and daughter with eyes full of pride. “Thank you both for your hard work. Let me serve you some soup first.”

With those words, she picked up the bowl and ladle. The motions of ladling and holding the bowls intertwined, as if an invisible thread connected them, the natural rhythm of daily life flowing between mother and children.

“This chicken soup looks delicious tonight. Did Yukino make it?” Maki asked as she ladled out the soup, steam curling delicately around her beautiful face.

“It was made by big brother,” Yukino replied obediently.

Maki gave each of them a bowl of chicken soup, then smiled at her daughter. “Just call him ‘brother,’ dear. You don’t need to add the honorific. Otherwise, people will laugh at him.”

“Yes, Mom.” Yukino nodded dutifully.

Yet in the next moment, she turned to Kiyomizu, her lips parting: “Dearest brother, please have some soup.”

Their mother pressed a hand to her forehead, looking pained. “My little girl is such a hopeless brother complex… What’s a mother to do?”

You’re one to talk, thought Kiyomizu, shooting her a sidelong glance, his expression a little disdainful, as if to say, “Just eat, and stop making a scene.”

“Always favoring your sister, hmph!” Maki stuck out her tongue at him, pulling a face before taking a spoonful of soup herself.

For some reason, after sipping the soup, she let out a soft “ah.”

“Did you burn yourself?” Kiyomizu asked, puzzled.

“It’s fine, the taste is all right.” Maki smiled breezily, took another small spoonful, and looked out at the garden, bathed in the light of the setting sun.

“Elegant” was hardly an exaggeration to describe her in that moment.

Her posture was straight, her hand deftly scooping up the soup with a spoon. She brought it to her lips as lightly as a swallow, not a drop spilled, not a sound made by bowl or spoon. Such grace was cultivated from childhood, an air refined over centuries by an illustrious family—something that could not be acquired at will.

Some people are simply born with it. For those who are not, no amount of sudden wealth can ever buy such poise.

Maki sipped her chicken soup absentmindedly.

Kiyomizu glanced at her, then took a sip of his own. He, too, let out a soft “ah.”

“Did you burn yourself?” Yukino looked at her brother.

“…No,” he replied, licking the oil from his lips.

Maki raised her eyebrows and glanced teasingly at her son. “How’s the chicken’s bathwater?”

“So you went silent and acted all elegant just to make that joke at my expense?” Kiyomizu was speechless.

Having a mother like this was exhausting.

“Haha, watching my cool, aloof son get embarrassed over something silly is just too cute and entertaining…” Maki laughed with delight.

She was hardly the image of a typical mother.

Listening to her brother and mother’s banter, Yukino took a sip of her soup, wearing the same weary expression as her brother.

…To call unsalted chicken soup “chicken’s bathwater”—her mother was certainly one of a kind.

Outside, darkness gradually fell.

Night descended, and the family finished their dinner.

In the kitchen, their mother washed the dishes while the sister dried them with a towel and put them in the sterilizer.

Kiyomizu took out the trash and wiped the table.

“Ding~”

A message popped up on his phone.

He glanced at it—Suzu Sakuragawa had sent him a text.

[Suzu: I just finished dinner and am about to take a bath. What about you, Kiyomizu?]

[Kiyomizu: I just drank chicken’s bathwater.]

[Suzu: ?]

[Suzu: Is that some new meme?]

She sent a few more messages, but Kiyomizu read them without replying.

They were only classmates, barely acquainted. After school, he had no intention of sharing his private time with her.

Besides, he was about to take a bath himself.

He filled the tub, undressed, and sank into the hot water, a contented sigh escaping his lips.

“Ring ring—”

His phone suddenly rang.

He picked it up—another call from Suzu Sakuragawa.

Kiyomizu frowned, tapped the answer icon, and put the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Kiyomizu, can you guess what I’m doing right now?”

From the other end came the sound of something slowly sinking into water.

“If you guess right, I’ll video call you right now,” Suzu’s voice was sultry yet playful, full of flirtation.

She was confident she could have him eating out of her hand.

After all, boys at this age were all full of dirty thoughts. No matter how aloof they acted, just the slightest tease from her and their brains would short-circuit.

“I’m busy right now. Let’s talk tomorrow,” Kiyomizu declined politely.

“…”

Suzu was left speechless.

Was this guy really that dense? Did he not pick up on her hints?

Determined to be more direct, she said plainly, “No man has ever seen my body, you know…”

“My mom’s here. Talk later,” Kiyomizu said, and promptly hung up.

“…”

Suzu’s face darkened.

Using his mom as an excuse? What a turn-off!

*

Suzu was certainly nice.

But compared to his mother, they weren’t even in the same league.

So…

Kiyomizu frowned slightly as Maki, her hair wrapped in a towel and a bath sheet around her, walked in. “Didn’t you say you weren’t coming?”

“And you believed a woman’s word? How naïve!” Maki shot him a look of mock exasperation, squatted by the tub, and set a wooden basin on the floor.

“Turn around, I’ll wash your back,” she commanded.

“…I can do it myself!” Kiyomizu curled up defensively.

“You always say you can, but in reality? All talk…” Maki ignored his protests, squeezed some body wash onto a scrubbing towel, and began working it across his back, her voice gentle. “Just like when I tell you to make some real friends—you always say, ‘no problem,’ but after all these years, is there anyone besides Ming Yue?”

“I just don’t want to…” Kiyomizu mumbled.

Her carefully manicured nails peeked through the scrubbing cloth, grazing his back and making him shudder.

“Hmm?” Maki leaned in to look at his face.

Seeing his eyes squeezed shut, his lips and nose scrunched together, she couldn’t help but ask, “Did I hurt you?”

“No…” he replied, eyes still closed.

Maki found his embarrassment amusing and said, trying not to laugh, “Why are you shy in front of me, silly boy…”

“Oh, come on, I’m not a kid anymore!”

“So what? Growing up means you’re not Mama’s little darling?”

Kiyomizu was at a loss for words.

He knew if he said anything more, his mother would bring out the old “it’s a Japanese tradition” argument.

And it was true—in many Japanese families, communal bathing was a custom, seen as a way to foster intimacy between parent and child, helping children develop a healthy gender identity and a sense of family belonging.

This peculiar tradition… really—

Was impossible to refuse!