Saori Funamoto was called the disgrace of the Funamoto family, but as long as the Izumi family nodded their approval, she would unquestionably beco the next head of the Funamoto family.
No matter how reputable or capable Mari Funamoto was, as long as the Izumi family said nothing, she would never beco the head of the Funamoto family.
The Izumi family did not need a capable person to serve as head of the Funamoto family. As for who would take the position? That depended entirely on their mood. Perhaps, when the ti ca, Kotomi Izumi would casually say a single sentence in front of her grandfather:
"I think Saori Funamoto is quite suitable. She’s very amusing when she talks."
And just like that, Saori Funamoto would beco the head of the Funamoto family.
Saori understood this logic very clearly. That was why, when she saw the cold smile Kotomi Izumi revealed because of Mari Funamoto, she felt delighted inside.
It proved that she truly had hope of becoming the next head of the Funamoto family!
"Hehe, Aunt Saaki really made too big a fuss. It’s just such a small matter—it’s not that serious~ A child just started elentary school, and she’s carrying another little life in her belly. Not to ntion whether she has the ti, even if she does, she might not have the energy to co. It’s understandable. Miss Mari’s second pregnancy—how many months along is she?"
Kotomi Izumi spoke with a gentle smile, her voice soft and soothing, giving others the feeling of basking in warm sunshine and a spring breeze.
Saori knew that Kotomi had deliberately placed the question "how many months along is she?" at the end. That ant she only needed to answer that one question. There was no need to elaborate on the rest.
"Five months already. When I went to my sister’s house for dinner half a month ago, her belly had noticeably grown."
Saori deliberately emphasized the words "half a month ago," as if afraid Kotomi might miss them.
"You went to your sister’s house half a month ago? Saori, I really must say sothing. You’re about to have a new niece or nephew—how can you visit your sister so infrequently?"
Kotomi asked with a playful smile.
Of course, Kotomi understood Saori’s little sches the mont she heard them. By repeatedly stressing that she had gone only half a month ago, Saori was clearly trying to hint that her relationship with her sister was not very harmonious. She wanted to draw a line between herself and Mari Funamoto, and use that to express her loyalty to the Izumi family.
When Saori heard this, her face imdiately lit up with joy. She nodded repeatedly, then gave an embarrassed laugh and said:
"You’re absolutely right, Miss Izumi. Although I don’t have any plans to date or get married for now, I do like children.
"When I found out I was about to have another niece or nephew, I was genuinely happy. But you also know my reputation within the Funamoto family and in Kyoto. I even have a nickna—’The Disgrace of the Funamoto Family.’
"Compared to my sister, who’s practically the favored daughter of heaven, I’m like the difference between heaven and earth. We don’t really have much in common to talk about. I can’t stand being silent for even a minute, so every ti I go to her house, we exchange a few casual words, then it’s just awkward silence. We eat a al, put down our chopsticks, and I quickly find an excuse to leave.
"Honestly, I already think going once every half month is frequent. If I weren’t afraid of my mom nagging , I’d probably only visit her during the New Year to pay respects."
"I haven’t t your sister yet, so I can’t say whether she’s truly a favored daughter of heaven. But I can certainly feel that she’s quite proud. Hehe."
At the end, Kotomi let out a soft laugh. Her eyes were filled with amusent, yet the feeling she gave was as cold as falling into an ice cellar.
When the dishes were gradually served, Saori stood up to take her leave. Kotomi did not ask her to stay and eat.
Mainly because there wasn’t enough food ordered. It was enough for Kotomi Izumi, Yui Yuigahama, and Yukino Yukinoshita to eat—but if Saori joined them, it wouldn’t be sufficient.
After all, out of this entire table of dishes, Kotomi alone would eat ninety percent of it.
When the restaurant manager brought over the iced Pepsi, he bowed respectfully and said to Kotomi:
"Miss Izumi, all the dishes you ordered have been served. If there is anything else you require, please call for at any ti. I will be at the bar counter. You only need to ring the bell on the table. It is Harugamo Inn’s honor to serve you."
"Mm, alright. Thank you for your hard work."
Kotomi nodded. She first reached into her coat pocket with her right hand, then picked up the nu with that sa hand. After glancing at it casually, she returned it to the manager.
What did that gesture an?
As soone capable of becoming the restaurant manager of Harugamo Inn, he naturally understood social nuances and could read the room well. After respectfully receiving the nu with both hands, he bowed once more and said gratefully:
"Thank you very much. I wish you and your friends an enjoyable al."
With an expression as steady as if frozen in place, he turned and left. Once he stepped out of the restaurant, his movents beca as natural as pulling out a cigarette from his pocket. He retrieved the tip that had been placed beneath the nu and swiftly slipped it into his pocket.
Though the mont was brief, he had managed to glance at the amount—it was a 10,000-yen bill.
There were generally two ways to give a tip. If it was an ordinary server, one could simply take out a wallet in front of them and hand over a bill.
But for soone like a restaurant manager, the tip needed to be prepared in advance and held discreetly in the palm. One would pretend to look at the nu or the bill, slip the tip above or below it, and then hand the nu over.
...
"Whew... Harugamo Inn’s restaurant really is excellent. The food tastes great. If I ever open a restaurant in the future, the first thing I’ll do is poach all the chefs from Harugamo Inn."
After setting down her thirty-second plate of rice, Kotomi wiped her small mouth with a wet towel and let out a satisfied sigh, speaking half-jokingly. It was obvious she had enjoyed the al thoroughly.
Fortunately, the servers around them were very observant. Whenever Kotomi was about to finish a plate of rice, they would promptly bring a fresh one and quietly remove the empty plate. That was why, despite Kotomi eating thirty-two plates of rice by herself, there was only a single empty plate left by her side once she was full.
Originally, Kotomi had intended to eat rice from a bowl. However, the rice bowls at Harugamo Inn were small. Eating one tiny bowl after another felt troubleso, so she simply switched to plates.
And not just any plates—the largest ones available, the kind that could easily hold an oversized serving of big-plate chicken.
"Hm? Yukino, is there sothing on my face?"
Sensing Yukino Yukinoshita’s gaze lingering on her, Kotomi lifted her head and asked.
"N-no, there isn’t," Yukino replied, her cheeks flushing.
"Oh ho~ So that ans you were secretly looking at ?"
"Of course not. I was looking at the oil painting behind you," Yukino said quickly, her face red.
Kotomi turned her head to look. There was indeed an oil painting not far behind her—but rather than directly behind, it was positioned slightly to her left. If Yukino truly wanted to admire the painting, her line of sight wouldn’t have been angled the way it was just now.
So yes, Yukino had been stealing glances at Kotomi.
That cool and tsundere little tigress was just like this. She would stare intently at Kotomi when she thought she wasn’t noticed, yet blush and deny it the mont she was called out.
Kotomi’s interest was instantly piqued. She would never miss an opportunity to "bully" the little tigress. With a mischievous grin, she said:
"If I’m not mistaken, there’s only one oil painting in this entire restaurant. I don’t know its na, but it looks very grand.
"I rember our art teacher once said, ’So people buy oil paintings without necessarily understanding their aning. They might not even know who painted them. They simply buy them because they find them pleasing to the eye.’
"I heard that the oil paintings displayed on Harugamo Inn’s walls aren’t permanent. Every so often, Saaki Funamoto purchases a new one to hang up, which indirectly supports quite a few art galleries in Kyoto.
"But back to the point—even though I’m not great at math and have no sense of direction, even I can tell that this painting is slightly to my left. So, Yukino, even if you wanted to look at it, your gaze shouldn’t be..."
Before Kotomi could finish speaking, she suddenly felt sothing brush against her waist. Her chatter instantly stopped. She cautiously lowered her head and saw Yukino’s hand resting on her waist at so point.
Kotomi imdiately shrank her neck instinctively and looked at Yukino. She found Yukino smiling faintly at her, as if silently saying:
Are you going to keep talking? If you continue, I’ll make sure to properly ’relax’ that slender waist of yours.
"Ahem..."
Kotomi cleared her throat. When she spoke again, she abruptly changed the topic:
"Speaking of oil paintings, I really like Van Gogh’s The Starry Night. As for my absolute favorite? I don’t know! In my dictionary, there’s only ’more,’ never ’most.’"
Yukino nodded in satisfaction at Kotomi’s sudden shift in topic. She withdrew her hand from Kotomi’s slender waist and, as if nothing had happened, began chatting with her about Van Gogh’s paintings.
"Among Van Gogh’s works, the one that left the deepest impression on is the Sunflowers series. More precisely, it’s because I quite like the flower language of sunflowers," Yukino said softly.
"The flower language of sunflowers?"
Kotomi looked puzzled. She wasn’t very knowledgeable about flower anings. After thinking hard for a mont, she managed to recall two common interpretations:
"If I rember correctly, the flower language of sunflowers is faith and pride."
Yukino let out a faint sigh, clearly unsatisfied with that answer.
Kotomi wasn’t wrong. Sunflowers did symbolize faith and pride. But Yukino had hoped she would say another aning.
That other aning was—
Silent love. Love that has never been spoken aloud.
—
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