My Youth Romantic Comedy Is Wrong As Expected

Page 659

I didn't make a sound, just left that murmur in my aching chest. I took a deep breath to hide the urge to sniffle, the rich, sweet aroma of peach pie filling my chest.

On an ordinary night, in the living room where we spend our days, on the fabric sofa where the whole family sits side by side.

It would be a waste to shed tears in such a natural part of daily life, so I gazed at the ceiling bathed in the soft, indirect light. I'll save the tears for the distant future, when my daughter walks down the aisle.

I let out a slow, melancholy sigh, trying not to let anyone else see, when I felt a slight weight beside me. Without turning my head, the warmth of her arm told me it was my wife leaning against me.

"No need to rush, just take your time. When you're making desserts, think about the person you want to eat them, the person you hope will be happy, and it will naturally become your own flavor. Making the perfect product step by step like this is also part of the fun of making desserts."

The wife spoke calmly to her daughter. It wasn't her usual gentle, indulgent tone; you could tell she was serious, as if she were about to impart an important secret magic to her.

"Hmm... but that's the difficulty..."

Yui stroked her bun with a wry smile. Her gentle smile contained not only adorable emotions like joy, shyness, and bashfulness, but also a heart-wrenching sadness and resentment.

His wife probably sensed his melancholy. She sighed softly, gave a gentle smile, and resumed her usual soft voice.

"Well, Dad doesn't like sweets, but he loves our apple party, right?"

"Ah, um. Now that you mention it, it seems so. Mom's apple pie is so sweet."

"Huh?"

Wait a minute? I don't really like sweets, so the rum-infused apple pie, a specialty of the Yui family, was a flavor my wife and I developed together, right? It shouldn't be as sweet as Yui, who loves sweets, said...

I was puzzled. My wife rested her head on my shoulder and laughed happily, like a child who had successfully pulled off a prank.

"So, the important thing is to take it slow—to gradually increase the sweetness without the other person noticing."

"I see……"

Yui expressed her understanding.

"...That's a method for training poison resistance, isn't it? Is it ninja training?"

I smiled wryly and took a bite of the biscuit along with the shortbread.

Perhaps one day the taste of this cookie or that peach pie will change.

One day, it will become the flavor that belongs to Yui.

Thinking of someone who loves sweets, I take my time, and little by little, create her flavor together with her.

It would definitely be sickeningly sweet. But for me, it's a little too bitter...

—Right now, I still can't bring myself to like that sweetness.

I quickly finished my work and left the company.

I'll leave the rest of the work and chatting with my subordinates for tomorrow. I walked briskly through the vast hall of Tokyo Station.

Perhaps because I finished get off work earlier than usual, the Keiyo Line wasn't too crowded. I stood by the train door, watching the night view of Tesco Disneyland flash by outside the window.

We used to go together as a group of three...

Before buying our current house, we lived in a small apartment building, cramped together as a family of three. My wife diligently managed our finances, and when we reached our savings target, we decided to celebrate by going to Disneyland together.

After that, I had a stable income, so I moved to a new house and got the dog I'd always wanted. We'd occasionally go on family trips, but I don't know when we stopped going to Tesco together. I think it was when the child moved up to the upper grades of elementary school and started going out with friends.

The time I spend with my daughter is gradually decreasing, and when I find out, I'll probably be shocked by how unfamiliar she looks.

I caught colds less often, learned to dye my hair and care about looking pretty, started baking desserts, fell in love, and then...

I let out a sigh tinged with sorrow and took out my phone.

I texted my family to say I would be back late today and would get off at the first two stops.

I love my wife's cooking and my daughter's homemade desserts, and I always look forward to them, but after what happened yesterday, I really don't want to go straight home.

Let's have a drink before we go back.

However, I'm not in the mood to go to bars or izakayas where you drink standing up.

I wandered aimlessly along the street, looking for any shops that looked nice, and came to an area lined with upscale restaurants.

If you want to have a quiet drink alone, the hotel bar might be a good choice. On a whim, I rushed into the nearest hotel and pressed the elevator button.

The elevator reached the top floor. A soft, candlelight-like glow illuminated the tranquil bar. Other guests were scattered throughout, all exuding style and enjoying a peaceful time.

I casually listened to some soft jazz music and chose to sit down at the small bar seat in the corner.

There were several other guests besides me.

A slender man two seats away from me held a paperback book in one hand and slowly sipped his whiskey from a glass in the other. His unhurried demeanor exuded an air of management. However, strands of bangs would occasionally fall from his slicked-back hair like curtains, and the way he brushed them aside was a bit rough, vaguely revealing that he had once been a mischievous person.

On the other side, a seat away from me sat a man wearing sunglasses. He hadn't shaved, and his long, slightly curly black hair was sticking up in a messy, unruly manner, which seemed suspicious. He downed his golf ball in one gulp and ordered a Macallan drink with ice. While waiting for his next drink, he ate peanuts and hummed a tune while skating on his tablet.

I can't tell their ages, but they're probably around my age.

There was no noise, just time for adults.

At times like these, you should drink wine that isn't sweet.

I ordered a quarter jug ​​of Laphroaig neat and sipped it slowly. I exhaled with satisfaction at the unique, pungent bitterness, and a refreshing vanilla aroma suddenly wafted from my nostrils.

"Delicious..." I murmured with emotion, feeling the emotions that had been weighing on my chest slowly melting away.

Perhaps that's why I reflexively struck up a conversation with a female bartender I didn't know.

"My daughter might have a boyfriend..."

I muttered something under my breath, and the bartender, who was wiping the glasses, stopped. I could sense her confusion in the soft sigh. She seemed unsure whether I was talking to myself or to her.

"What should a father do in a situation like this...? What do you think?"

"Oh, oh... no, I don't know... I... I think it's best to just watch from the sidelines..."

The female bartender, with her dark blue hair, awkwardly managed to squeeze out an answer. At first glance, she seemed a little older than my daughter. She must have been around twenty.

It's something an older man shouldn't do to confuse a young girl. I gave a silly laugh and brushed it off.

"That's true. Sorry for asking such a strange question."

"Won't……"

The female bartender gave a faint, wry smile, bowed slightly, and began wiping the glasses again. I felt really bad for her… To cover up the awkward atmosphere, I took another small sip of my drink.

Just as I was looking at my empty glass and preparing to order another, a coaster was suddenly placed in front of me.

"This glass is from the Godfather"Please use it.

Looking up, I saw the bartender placing a whiskey glass on a coaster. Square ice cubes floated on the amber liquid. "I didn't order this drink," I wondered. The bartender silently pointed to my right.

"That...that guest...invited us..."

Her face was so red you could see it even in the shadows. Yeah, you could tell. It's a little embarrassing to actually deliver those affected lines, isn't it? But she still said them properly, and I picked up my glass to show my respect for her professionalism.

Then he looked at the guest next door.

The slick-haired man two seats away from me gently brushed aside his bangs and nodded to me.

"Excuse me. I overheard your conversation. Please, if you don't mind, have a drink. I'd like to buy you one."

His rational expression gave a cold impression, but the sudden bitter smile made him look younger than he had imagined.

Although I had never encountered anything like this before, it was polite to accept the drink offered with gratitude. I moved to the side and held the glass slightly higher.

"Thank you. You're welcome."

The slick-haired man smiled and nodded in response, moving a seat closer to me. However, he suddenly looked melancholy.

"My daughter also told me... she wants to introduce someone to me later..."

"...It's a bit overwhelming."

Actually, if my daughter said something like that to me, I really wouldn't know how to react. Because I'm even too afraid to confirm whether my daughter has a boyfriend or not.

It seems that as a father, Mr. Slicked-Back Hair is a level above me. I should also pay my respects to this great predecessor.

"Give this gentleman the same cup."

Not long after, a whiskey glass was brought to Mr. Slicked-back Hair. We smiled wryly, picked up the glass, and gently clinked glasses.

Taking a sip, the aroma of almonds filled my nostrils, followed by a sweet, almond tofu-like flavor that spread throughout my mouth. This cocktail is very simple to make; it's just a matter of mixing whiskey and amaretto together, yet it creates a rich and complex flavor.

"Rather than saying I couldn't bear it... how should I put it? It's a bit different from loneliness. Although I'm genuinely happy for my daughter's growth and her happiness..."

"Ah... I really don't know how to describe it. It feels like... a bittersweet feeling."

"Yeah, that's the feeling."

Mr. Slicked-back hair smiled wryly and slowly took a sip of his drink.

"...Just like the bartender said, all our father can do is silently watch from the sidelines."

"Yes... all we can do is cheer our daughter on..."

Love doesn't follow logic. Dreams probably do too. No matter how much we try to persuade her, our daughter's heart belongs to her alone, and we can't easily change it.

No, it's that I won't allow anyone to change my mind. If someone tries to ruin my daughter's feelings, I would almost certainly not forgive them.

Therefore, we can only watch over her silently, cheer her on, and be a safe haven for her to return to at any time.

What came out of his mouth was a murmur that was almost like talking to himself.

But I received a response.

"No, that's not right... what you're doing is wrong."

The voice that suddenly answered me was a little hoarse. Unlike the calm tone of the slick-haired man, it was lazy and lacked any imposing presence.

I reflexively looked toward the source of the sound, and there was Mr. Beard, who had just crushed a peanut in his mouth.

"...What a father should do is not to silently watch over his daughter, nor to cheer her on. A father should act as an obstacle. He should devise various strategies for this purpose."

After he finished speaking, he raised one corner of his mouth, revealing a mocking smile. After Mr. Beard finished expressing his opinion, the bar area fell silent again.

Was he talking to me...? I glanced nervously to the side, and the slick-haired man shrugged, indicating he didn't know. I then looked at the bartender, who was intently wiping glasses.

...I see. Was it me? It could only be me. It seems I'll have to be the one to ask.

"Um, what you mean by devising a plan, specifically..."

I asked him nervously, and Mr. Beard, with an attitude of "good question," cleared his throat. Then, stroking his beard, he spoke smugly.

"First, prepare an eldest son."

"I've hit a roadblock right from the first step... I only have one daughter..."

"Ah, I see... Entrusting the eldest son with surveillance and defense is the safest option... Well, there's no other way. Let's try another approach."

Mr. Beard fell into deep thought and clapped his hands.

"In short, I'll just stick to 'I absolutely will not agree!' for the rest of my life, right? I don't know if it will even work."

"It can't even be called a strategy..."

The slick-haired man listening nearby was speechless. I was stunned too, but I snapped back to reality and tried to talk to the bearded man. Although his idea was incredibly casual and absurd, emotionally speaking, I could understand it, which was the most frustrating thing.

"No, well, while that's true, we also need to consider our daughter's feelings..."

"Shouldn't we consider Father's feelings?"

"Uh, this person is spouting nonsense with such a serious expression... Yes, yes, the father's feelings are indeed very important..."

Your reaction was just like when Kunie Tanaka saw the child's ramen being taken away by the shop assistant in "From the North Country," which almost convinced me... Mr. Beard probably saw that I was intimidated and judged that this was a good opportunity to continue his offensive.

"If I give up just because I object, it means their love is only at that level. It's impossible for things to go smoothly no matter what. Since that's the case, I'll just deny it outright and oppose it vehemently. That's what you call parental love, isn't it?"

"That would be considered workplace harassment in my company!"

"Don't worry, don't worry. In my case, it's not only barely within the safe range, but it's even part of the new employee training."

Mr. Beard laughed frivolously. Is this guy alright? He doesn't seem to be doing anything respectable. Doing this kind of thing would be a direct violation of the rules in our company, and someone would send an anonymous complaint letter to the HR department's consultation room... Oh no, he's not normal... I shrank back, trying to create some distance between myself and him, when Mr. Slicked-Back Hair peeked out from behind me.

"...I see, that makes sense."

Hmm, why is this guy so interested? He wasn't listening to what Mr. Beard was saying earlier, but now he's nodding repeatedly with his arms crossed. I know, this guy isn't a normal employee, right? No wonder he has this inexplicable intellectual gangster vibe.

I felt a chill, and then Mr. Beard stopped smiling and looked into the distance. Oh no, he was wearing sunglasses so I couldn't tell at all.

"For the sake of his daughter's happiness, he doesn't care how much he's disliked. Isn't that what a father is like? And the greater the obstacles, the more intensely the love between them will burn, right? The more they struggle, worry, and suffer, the more earnestly they'll invest themselves..."

He swirled his whiskey glass, gazing at the amber liquid, his tone gentler than before.

"...Aren't we the same? I'm not sure either."

He raised one corner of his mouth in a mocking smile, but his words carried no sarcasm; in fact, they felt friendly. It was our first meeting, yet it felt like we were sharing memories.