Romantic Troubles of Duanmu-kun

The taxi glided smoothly along the forest road. Through the window, leaden-gray clouds hung low in the sky, their heavy forms threatening an imminent storm.

“Is Fujishima-san’s home really this far from school?” the Novelist asked, hugging the cardboard box while checking his phone. Almost half an hour had passed.

“Misao lives with her mother. Though the house isn’t exactly in the suburbs, it’s quite far from Yuihara High School in the educational district. She usually takes an early train to school, and sometimes stays overnight at my place before classes.”

“That’s unexpected.”

The Novelist puzzled over this. Given Fujishima-san’s involvement in training and sports clubs with their early schedules, wouldn’t living so far away be difficult?

“I asked Misao about it before. Her family is well-off—they could easily rent a place closer to school. But her mother dislikes crowded areas and prefers living further out. Misao stays there to keep her company… Ah, we’re almost there.”

The Class Rep directed the driver to stop. They had reached a private residential area where outside vehicles were prohibited. After leaving the taxi, they walked along a tree-lined path toward their destination.

Western-style houses of two and three stories lined both sides of the path, their similar architectural designs partially hidden by trees. Most featured small gardens enclosed by railings before their doors.

“Huh…?”

A figure caught the Novelist’s attention.

A woman tended to flowers in one of the gardens, her golden hair cascading like silk tassels. She wore an ornate western dress that would have seemed excessive on anyone else, but it suited her perfectly—she carried herself with the natural grace of a sheltered young lady.

Despite the dim daylight—neither sunny nor raining—she held an open western umbrella that obscured her expression. Everything about her seemed to embody beautiful contradictions, captivating him from the moment she appeared.

“That’s Misao’s mother,” the Class Rep whispered in his ear.

What…?!

Really?

Though it was difficult to pinpoint the woman’s exact age, she appeared far too young to be the mother of a high school student!

“Oh my, Maho-chan! Are you here to see Misao?” The woman noticed their approach, her face brightening with a warm smile.

“Ugh…”

A light punch landed in the soft part of his waist.

The Class Rep had pulled her punch, so it didn’t hurt much.

“Try to control your reaction, Liang-kun. I had the same response when I first met Kaori-san, and I’m a girl… But if you overreact, you’ll make Misao angry.”

“Ah… right, understood.”

His cheeks warmed. Was he imagining it?

“Is she a foreigner?” he asked quietly.

“I believe she’s mixed-race.”

After answering the Novelist’s question in hushed tones, Itou turned to address the woman naturally.

“Yes, I’m here for Misao. She asked me to bring some equipment from the shopping mall. Is she available?”

The Class Rep bowed politely to Kaori-san while explaining their visit.

“Ah… I see. That child is so willful, troubling her friends like this. Thank you for your help. Would you like to come in and rest for a bit?”

The woman closed her umbrella and opened the door, beckoning them inside.

The Class Rep and Novelist exchanged glances.

“I’ll go wake Misao. Please make yourselves comfortable on the sofa. Would you like something to drink? There’s tea and juice in the refrigerator.”

“Please don’t trouble yourself. We’ll leave after dropping these things off…” The Novelist finally found his voice, but the woman had already drifted toward the kitchen, as if she hadn’t heard him.

“W-wait!” The Class Rep’s anxiety seemed to exceed his own.

“Thud… clang!”

The dull sound of something rolling echoed from the kitchen.

“Bang! Crash!”

Then came the sound of shattering glass.

“Oh my!”

The woman’s exclamation rose above the chaos.

…

“Um… what’s happening?”

The Class Rep’s expression carried an “I knew this would happen” kind of resignation.

“I’ll help Kaori-san. Liang-kun, just wait here.”

Itou Maho headed for the kitchen, her familiarity with the house suggesting this wasn’t her first such intervention.

“Huh… what?”

Could this elegant, mature woman really need assistance just to serve drinks to guests?

Left in this ambiguous situation, the Novelist followed the Class Rep’s instruction, perching carefully on the edge of the sofa.

He observed the room, taking in its decorations and furnishings, silently assessing the household’s circumstances. Given the price of a detached house in this area, the Class Rep’s assessment seemed accurate—though a single-parent family, they lived quite comfortably.

The arrangement of decorative items—vases, stands, and paintings—showed subtle disorder, but this lent the space a lived-in warmth.

“…”

He allowed himself to relax slightly.

The Novelist’s body sank into the plush sofa.

Then came the sound of footsteps from above—the casual “slap-slap” of someone dragging their feet, approaching the stairs.

“Haaah~ So noisy, Mom. I told you not to make dinner for me… Or is that Maho-chan?”

A sleepy-eyed girl descended the stairs, yawning as she gripped the railing. Her black hair was tied in a playful ponytail that bounced with each unsteady step. She held a crutch, and her right foot wore a bandaged cast.

This must be the Class Rep’s “good friend” Fujishima Misao, who was “recuperating at home due to injury.”

Living at home with her mother had clearly left her completely unguarded—her attire was casual to the point of being “revealing.” Fresh from sleep, she projected a disheveled sensuality.

She wore thin shorts that exposed most of her long legs, with a toe-revealing slipper on her left foot. Her upper body was covered only by a thin camisole that barely concealed her healthy skin tone. The short hem revealed her navel, and the left shoulder strap had slipped down, presenting an expansive view.

Then her gaze met that of the boy sitting rigid on the sofa, cold sweat running down his back.

After a moment of silence.

“Kyaaaah—!”