When I returned to the living room, Otoha was meticulously attaching a wet wipe to the floor wiper.
She was doing it with the precision of a technician assembling a high-end, government-grade machine—lining up the edges perfectly, smoothing it out carefully.
“…Wait. Have you not started cleaning yet?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“Oh, no, not yet. I just finished attaching the wipe, so I’ll start now.”
(So slow!!!)
I barely managed to swallow the words that almost shot out of my mouth.
Otoha pressed the wiper to the floor, her slippers making faint pat-pat sounds as she moved.
I watched as I repositioned the furniture, keeping out of her way.
(Too slow…)
Even though she was moving at a reasonable pace, she wasn’t making any progress.
(What is this creature…?)
For the first time, I observed Otoha like she was some unknown species.
I had always preferred capable women.
Even when it wasn’t Akane, every woman I’d dated had been the career-driven type.
Some of them hated housework, but even then, they did things efficiently.
Akane’s place, for instance, was always as pristine as a model home.
On the rare occasions I spent the night there, she would whip up a stylish breakfast at lightning speed the next morning—almost like magic.
"I don't particularly like cooking, but I hate being unable to do something."
That was what she always said. And whenever I mentioned wanting to eat a particular dish, she would make it flawlessly.
——Akane, of course.
“Can you keep wiping while I run to the convenience store to get us dinner? Do you want anything in particular? A bento with assorted dishes? A tonkatsu bento?”
I had run out of patience with her snail-like pace and finally asked.
“Um… I’d like a cute bento.”
“…A cute bento?”
What the hell does that even mean?
Did she mean one with octopus-shaped sausages? Something colorful?
Or was she talking about the size?
I had no idea.
“Uh… I’ll leave it up to you, Rentarō-san.”
“…Alright.”
No, actually, I still had no clue.
After much deliberation, I picked out a chirashi sushi bento, thinking the vibrant sashimi colors might qualify as “cute.”
When I returned, Otoha was still wiping the floor, her slippers making that same pat-pat sound.
At least half the living room was clean now. I quickly set up the sofa and table, then laid out the bentos.
Her eyes lit up with pure delight.
“Wow! It’s so cute! Thank you, Rentarō-san!”
…So this was a cute bento?
What is this woman?
Choosing a meal based on cuteness—it made no sense.
Food should be about taste! About the dishes you like!
She even took out her phone and started snapping pictures of the convenience store sushi.
“I’ll use it as a reference for an illustration later,” she explained.
0 Comments