Chapter Text
It was Sunday afternoon, which meant Utahime was hiding out at Mei’s place.
Crazy nights out were standard for the two of them back in college, often visiting each other in their respective cities, but since turning 30, the dropoff in frequency of those kinds of nights was steep. Nowadays, the weekends were for hookups, boyfriends, game days, and getting drunk within the safety of their own homes.
And Utahime’s home was off-limits on Sundays, so she helped herself to Mei’s.
She and Mei had known each other half their lives by now, so Utahime felt no particular way about staying on her couch in her pajamas all Sunday. She didn’t even have to bring a weekend bag. One of the guest rooms in Mei’s condo being unofficially “hers” meant that she always had a change of clothes and a few essentials.
Summer meant no work. No grading homework, no creating posters, no planning lessons, no preparing art projects. There was no reason for her not to be on a couch all day, every day. She felt no rush to run home to that big, empty house.
Or at least, that was what she told Mei every weekend when she showed up at her doorstep.
Reality was much more difficult to explain.
Staying with her childhood friend, munching on shrimp-flavored calbee snacks while watching decades-old cartoons in ratty pajamas with messy hair tied up in a messy knot was easy.
But eventually she did have to go back.
Utahime was on vacation, more or less. Mei Mei was not. She still had a job, an important, well-paying, highly competitive job. So eventually, she had to get herself ready for work the next morning, which meant Utahime had to suck it up, bite the bullet, and go home.
The way home was always filled with a nervous sort of jittery air, knots twisting in her stomach the closer she got to her house. But eventually, she had to turn on her street, drive down her road, press the button on her clicker for her gate, and pull into her garage. Then she’d have to take several deep breaths, remind herself that she shouldn’t have to fear coming home to her own house on the weekend, and get out of her car with a huff of resolve.
It was late afternoon, and the place was blessedly empty.
She kicked off her shoes at the entrance, went straight to her kitchen, and dumped her purse and keys on the island. She told herself she was opening her fridge for a beer, and she did pull one out.
She also pulled out the takeout box wrapped in plastic that wasn’t there when she left Friday night.
Taped to the paper bag that held it was a note.
Dear Miss Iori,
On the menu for today is…drum roll…gyudon topped with avocado kimchi!
Suguru promised it was very good when I stole it from him. I had teriyaki again, so I wouldn’t know. Should be very filling for you. I added a juice inside for energy! I know you always say juice is too sweet, so I tried to get one that’s more natural. Better than all the beer you keep drinking.
Let me know how it tastes~
Same time next week?
Hope to actually see you this time…
Satoru ♡
She crumpled the paper and tossed it. After only a moment or so of deliberation, the food was heated up and taken out to the backyard with the beer.
As always, she left the juice in the fridge. It would be gone next week, replaced with a different one.
Next to the pool on one of the white lounging chairs was a slightly damp, rumpled towel. The only evidence to suggest he’d been there other than the takeout in her fridge and sparkling clean pool. The bowl of food was summarily deposited on the small table between the chairs.
Utahime popped the top on her can of beer, sipping it as she walked the almost absurd length of her pool. It was literally perfect. The water perfectly blue, no errant leaves or twigs skimming the surface, the tiles on the bottom freshly scrubbed so the grout gleamed, the filtering machine humming softly yet steadily.
Truly flawless work, as always. Nothing for her to complain about at all.
She sighed as she sat in the empty chair, breaking apart the disposable chopsticks before absently digging into the food.
Maybe this week was the week she finally figured out how to fire Gojo for good.
Utahime remembered when she first saw the pool through the huge sliding glass doors. Her eyes had grown so wide, and she was almost afraid to touch the handle lest the glass shatter all over her.
Mei, of course, had no such compulsion. “It’s your house now, Uta bug,” she said, waltzing into her backyard as if she owned the place. “Stop treating everything as if it were made out of glass.”
Utahime had shot her an exasperated look over the joke, but did end up joining her on the terrace.
It was about six years ago, now.
Back then, Utahime was a fresh graduate with her Master’s degree in education, with a focus on international education. She moved back to Tokyo after a prolonged stint in Kyoto, met up with her long distance friend from high school, and came to see her house.
Or rather, one of her houses.
You see, when Utahime was deliberating on whether she should move back to Tokyo, the only person she spoke to about it was her grandfather. Grizzled old man that he was, he was disliked by everyone. The younger generation saw him as too conservative, traditional, and judgmental. The older generation disliked his rebellious streak, many piercings, and tattoos.
Utahime cared about none of that.
Sure, he wasn’t the kindest man alive. And yes, he was extremely judgy about everyone’s life choices. He wasn’t what she would consider a joy to be around.
But she couldn’t help it. When she learned that no one else went to see him in the hospital after his heart attack, she took it upon herself to visit him.
She hated being lonely herself. And everyone he might’ve once cared for was long gone by then.
Twice a week, three times depending on whether her part-time job kept her late on Thursdays. She’d come to the hospital with gifts that he scoffed at, teas he reluctantly drank, and conversation he barely contributed to. And once he was discharged from the hospital, she visited him at his home, having to sneak to view the address on the hospital discharge papers when he wouldn’t give it to her.
She rather thought that he disliked her, given how he never thanked her for coming or expressed any interest in her life. She told him about herself anyway, talking out loud to the room as if she were simply talking to herself. About her studies, her coworkers, the two disastrous attempts at having a boyfriend. About how she felt silly wearing the miko robes at the shrine she worked for when she didn’t believe in any of it, about how the rise in secularism led to a natural cultural detachment in a country so rooted in its spirituality, about how her mother kept complaining about how big her ass had gotten as if she could help her own genetics.
She even spoke about her insecurities regarding the scar on her face, by then several years old.
He always just sat there, sipping his tea as she rambled on for an hour or two. Cleaning the house, checking his fridge, putting away any meager groceries and medicines she could afford on her small paycheck.
The month she graduated was one of the few times he truly acknowledged her. He refused to come to the graduation ceremony even though she’d invited him and offered to pick him up, but when she came by his place the week after, he gifted her a coupon to a very nice ryokan in the mountains. And when she secured a teaching spot at a prestigious international primary school in Tokyo a few months later, he rested a frail hand on her head.
He died two months later.
Utahime alone packed up his house. Utahime alone settled his affairs. Utahime alone met with his lawyer. It wasn’t a surprise. He was old with a weak heart.
What was a surprise was the fact that the old geezer was filthy stinking rich.
His house in Kyoto, a comfortable but definitely average place, was one of five properties he had across Japan, one of seven he had overall if counting the beach house in Malaysia and the fucking shopping plaza he owned in Los Angeles of all places. The old man who wore the same outfit every day and let Utahime spend her paltry check on his groceries died with enough money to live like an emperor for twice his lifespan.
And upon his death, he left it all to her.
Her eye still twitched when she remembered the letter he attached to his will.
Working as a teacher doesn’t pay well at all. At least if you were going to teach, a high school or university would pay better, be a little more prestigious. All that schooling just to teach rich kindergarteners was a waste of your time. Hopefully, you’ll change your mind and do something more useful with your life in a few years when you realize it’s not the fulfilling soul-calling you painted it out to be.
But I doubt you’ll change your mind. You’re stubborn and foolish, even more so than young people have a right to be.
Have this so you won’t suffer and die of cold in a shack in Tokyo.
Yoshinobu Gakuganji
The most words he ever said to her in one sitting, and they were caustic insults from beyond the grave.
Still, she figured she should be grateful.
His will was heavily contested amongst his children, nieces, nephews, and other grandchildren, none of whom knew he had any of this, all of whom believed they deserved a piece of the pie. And even though she was the only one to care for him or visit him, it wasn’t like she blamed anyone. He was an asshole, and very hard to get along with.
But when she said as much to Mei Mei, who she’d kept in touch with over the years, the woman put her foot down and got on the next train to Kyoto with one of her family’s own personal lawyers. Within a week, the matter was settled. Utahime would keep everything that had been left to her, and no one would attempt to fight it.
The first order of business had been to execute his will. Sell the house in Kyoto, pocket the cash from the sale — a gift he’d always meant for Utahime for when she secured a decent job, supposedly — and inspect all the properties before officially signing the paperwork to accept them. With over a month until she had to appear at her new job, she quit her old one, packed up her small, shitty apartment, and let Mei help her fly around the world.
A week in Malaysia. Six days in the United States. Three in Okinawa, two in Hokkaido. One more day in Kyoto, then a train ride over to Tokyo.
Then here, at a fucking mansion in the outskirts of the city.
It was a little out of the way, to be truthful. Her commute was a little longer than she’d like, and she’d have to get a car. But she had the money to do that now, and it was worth it for the fact that she got to live in a mansion grander than any she’d ever stepped foot in, all for free. All expenses paid for the rest of her life, really.
The house was a lot more modern than she thought it would be, considering the house her grandfather had lived in back in Kyoto was on the older, more traditional side. But he wasn’t truly conservative. The piercings and tattoos alluded to that.
So as she and Mei explored the place — three stories, a 6LDK with three bathrooms, a garage, and an enormous pool in an enormous backyard off the enormous terrace — her eyes grew wider and wider, almost as if they’d just pop right out of her head.
Mei Mei, coming from a more comfortable background and having a prestigious job with a great trajectory, was grinning from ear to ear. “Being kind to old people pays off sometimes,” she said appreciatively. “Fully upgraded, rooms on both the main floor and the top floor that could be considered the primary, state-of-the-art appliances. The only negative is that pool.”
Utahime startled out of her slack-jawed reverie. “The pool?” she asked. “Why? I love to swim!”
“Because it’s maintenance, bug. Like, a lot of it.”
“How much?”
“A few big sessions to get it up to par at first,” she said, eyeing the green-tinged water littered with rocks, leaves, and branches, “and then weekly sessions throughout the spring and summer to keep it running.”
“Is it expensive?” Utahime asked.
Mei shrugged. “You can afford it. It just usually ends up being more hassle than it’s worth, regardless of whether or not money’s an issue. Besides keeping it running half the year, there’s also the process of shutting it down before winter, keeping the pipes from freezing, draining and refilling it if need be, keeping animals away from it, reopening it in spring…”
Utahime drifted off as she listed all the things that keeping a pool would require, opting to look around instead. An outdoor kitchen that looked more like it was for caterers than a regular person to cook in, swinging chairs that looked more like couches or beds suspended from a covered pergola, a covered sitting area complete with both a fire pit and a fireplace on the wall, as well as two TVs.
All she could think was that she wished the old man had talked about himself a little before he died and how awesome this setup would be on game days.
Mei was still talking about the pool when she tuned back in.
“We’ve already agreed that since your living expenses are pretty much covered for life, you’d only be living off your teacher’s salary,” Mei said, referring to the conversation she insisted Utahime have with a financial advisor when the will first dropped. “You’ll still have utilities and taxes and other things to pay for, but that should be primarily covered by the proceeds from the Kyoto house sale and investments over time. That should theoretically leave you with enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“For some help. You can hire a part-time housekeeper, as well as someone to take care of that pool once per week in the warm months, and close or open it before and after the cold months.”
Utahime frowned. “Shouldn’t I try to get a reputable company?”
Mei waved her words away. “There’s really no difference in the quality of work being done, but a company will charge you a lot more. Just put out an ad. More than likely, someone from the local college will answer it and do it for cheap.”
“A pool boy,” Utahime deadpanned. “You’re telling me to hire a pool boy.”
Mei’s smile stretched across her face with its mysterious, foxlike quality. “Well, you are a rich older woman now. Might as well fully commit to the bit.”
Unfortunately for Mei’s overly suggestive fantasies, the first person to answer Utahime’s ad wasn’t a boy, and hadn’t been one in a very long time. Several decades, in fact.
Hirota-san was an older man. Not as old as Utahime’s grandfather had been, but not all that far off either. Still, for his age he was pretty spry, and he had several decades of experience in pool management. He used to run his own company, but he sold it off a few years back for a decent amount of money. Retirement made him bored, so he started answering a few ads like Utahime’s, which brought him to her.
At first, her pool did need a lot of work. It hadn’t been touched in years, and there wasn’t only extensive cleaning to be done, but extensive damage to fix as well. When Hirota-san was going down the list of all that the pool needed before it became functional, much less swimmable, again? Utahime almost told him to forget it, unsure of how she was going to keep up or remember everything.
But the old man had a certain gleam in his eye, told her that he’d take care of the work as long as she could afford the repairs. There was a certain fire as he spoke about the intricacies of his life's work that told her she’d be in good hands with him, so she gave him the code to her back gate, letting him come and go as he pleased.
At first, he was supposed to come once a week. In reality, he ended up coming almost every day, eager to work on her pool. He drained it, cleaned it, got rid of old parts, ordered new parts, upgraded her filter system, and even took her shopping with him to pick a new tile before completely re-tiling it. He bought all his own personal tools and equipment, did all the work alone, and seemed happy enough to do it. For a while, it seemed like it was his pool more than it was hers, which was why when the day came that he officially declared it swimmable, it seemed only right for her to take his hand and jump into the deep end with him.
Hirota-san was a dear, and Utahime looked forward to seeing him every Sunday afternoon. She’d bring the beer, he’d bring the snacks, and after he was done cleaning her pool, they’d watch a game. She preferred baseball, he tried to get her into American football, they often settled on soccer. She’d tell him about working at her school, he’d gossip about his other jobs, they’d sometimes match up names to stories since they both worked for a particular demographic in the area. He was good company those first few years back in Tokyo.
But then he told her one year that he was quitting. His son’s wife had just given birth to twins and fell ill, and he missed his family, so he was going several hours across the country to live with them, help out with the kids.
Utahime understood, though she was sad about it at first. Hirota-san made her a manual on everything he did for her (their) pool, how to keep up with it, and any info regarding materials and dimensions she might need.
“So that no one you hire after me can pull a fast one on you,” he’d said.
She’d been very grateful, and it had come in handy almost immediately. Because once she put out a new ad in the local paper, the person who answered it seemed a bit…green.
When Utahime put out the new ad, it was much the same as last time: hours, general area, pay, her phone number. She got a phone call right away, and after a few qualifying questions that Hirota-san had told her to ask, she agreed to have them come out.
Sunday afternoon came around, and Utahime was lounging on a pool chair reading a book. It was hot, so she was dressed in shorts and a large cotton shirt. She made a slight effort in her appearance, her usual bow in her hair and her face freshly washed. She didn’t want to make a bad impression on the person. Hopefully, if she could find another Hirota, that would be ideal. Someone who knew what they were doing, no-nonsense about his work, didn’t need her to hold their hand through it.
But the person who walked through her gate into her backyard was nothing like the old man she spent most of her Sundays with the past few years.
This one was tall. Freakishly tall. And pale. With a shock of white hair on his head a shade that even her decrepit old grandfather never managed (on his beard, of course, seeing as he’d been bald the entire time she knew him).
And when he got close enough for her to see him properly, he pushed his sunglasses off his face into his hair, revealing the most startling pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen, framed by long, thick lashes the same shade as his hair.
He was stunning, not even in an attractive type of way. This was a person whose looks would literally stop people in their tracks in the middle of a busy street — men, women, and children alike.
And yet when he stopped a few paces in front of her, it was his mouth that dropped open slightly, his eyes that went wide, his face that went red.
Utahime immediately became self-conscious. She considered herself far from self-loathing, but also refused to believe a guy that looked like that took one look at her in her ratty shorts and wild hair and was already half-enamored with her.
He disavowed her of that notion immediately.
“Wow,” he breathed out. “I didn’t think you’d be so hot.”
She stiffened. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, your voice sounded hot over the phone,” he said, still dazed, “but I wasn’t expecting you to look like that.”
Utahime spluttered, her face going up in flames.
The nerve of this guy!
“Be respectful!” she scolded when she finally found her voice. “I have to be older than you by several years!”
“That’s unimportant.”
She peered at him closely. His voice had sounded much deeper over the phone. In person, it was light and bright and cheerful, and he still had a boyish air about him. But his height threw her off.
“How old are you anyway?” she asked, eyes narrowed.
He shrugged. “I’m legal.”
So a kid, then.
“Well, if you’re so legal, then that means you’re old enough to understand what is appropriate and what is not when you’re applying for a job,” she said. “I am older than you. I am to be your employer. If you cannot act appropriately and respectfully within those bounds, you can go right back where you came from and just forget it!”
That seemed to snap him out of whatever daze he was in. “No, wait! I’m so sorry, Utahime!”
“That’s Miss Iori to you!”
“Miss Iori!” He bowed, popping back up maybe a bit too fast to be truly repentant. “I’ll be the most respectful pool tech you ever see, promise!”
His words might’ve carried more weight if he wasn’t still openly ogling her, his gaze trekking up and down her body, a crooked smile pulling plush lips over white teeth to reveal sharp canines.
Just the fact that she was so aware of him in the first place should’ve been enough for her to send him back. She’d never been this conscious of Hirota-san. The older man had always just been there, been her pool guy (and later on, a decent weekly drinking buddy). If she were being honest with herself, she would’ve recognized this for the trouble it was.
But at the time, Utahime was still very much in denial. She still saw herself as a reasonable, sensible adult capable of logic, rational thought, and sound judgment. Even though this kid was only the first person to answer the ad, no one else who called was able to answer even half the qualifying questions Hirota-san told her to ask.
So Utahime grudgingly allowed him to stay.
She showed him around the areas she expected him to be in. The pool house, the backyard, the back gate. She showed him all the equipment and the filter. She reiterated what she expected him to do, he assured her that he was ready to work, and they finalized the details of his schedule and his pay. Originally, she’d been planning on having him come on Wednesdays, seeing as those were her half-days at the fancy private school she taught at. Unfortunately, Gojo was busy on Wednesdays. But luckily for her, Sundays worked for him, so she was able to keep the same schedule she had with Hirota-san.
With all the introductions and details out of the way, she shooed him off. Since it had taken much longer than she’d thought to get through everything, she was running late to meet up with some coworkers, telling him that he could come back the next week to officially start. She offered him a drink — he chose a juice — then waved him off, closing the back gate behind him.
When the next week came, Utahime almost fired him for the second time.
She’d slept in late, having been out till very early with Mei. The sun had already been rising when she stumbled into her bed, still wearing clothes from the night before. It had been a while since they partied that hard, only doing so because one of Mei’s potential clients that she was really trying to land took a liking to her and invited her out, and Utahime didn’t want to leave her alone with strangers. Mei could’ve handled herself, but Utahime couldn’t help but worry. The next time, though? She’d stay her ass home. 30 years old was much too old to be doing the same things she’d done at 20. Her back hurt, her stomach hurt, her head hurt, and she essentially slept the entire day away.
It took her hours to drag herself out of bed, take a shower, wash her hair, take medicine, and order food. So many hours that the sun started dipping by the time her takeout was at the gate.
She went to go get it and came back, but she was so out of it that it took her a while to notice the shadow of someone moving around her backyard.
She screamed, almost dropping her food.
But just then, the shadow came close enough for her to see the body attached to it.
“Gojo?!”
She watched him fiddle around, a phone in his hand. He was typing away, talking at the screen as he moved around the filter system.
Even after all this time, Utahime knew very little about pools. It was why she hired a technician to help her with it. But just by watching Hirota-san these past few years, and by being a teacher to people who were constantly learning new things right before her eyes, Utahime could tell that something was very off.
She left her takeout on the kitchen island and went to talk to him.
At the sound of the sliding glass doors pushing open, Gojo’s head popped up. Whatever he was watching on his screen went silent.
He tried for a sunny smile. “Hey, Utahime.”
“Miss Iori,” she corrected.
“Of course,” he said apologetically. “My bad, Miss Iori. Wow, you’re up real late, huh?”
Utahime tried not to fidget under his gaze. She was wearing very short shorts and a skimpy tank top that didn’t cover her entire midriff, only a thin robe that had been missing its belt for years thrown over her to protect her modesty a little when she went to grab her food. But she let it fall open when she was back inside her house because she thought she was alone.
“Is everything alright?” she asked. “You were supposed to be here this morning.”
She looked over at the clock on the patio table. It was so late, he should’ve finished around seven hours ago.
“Yeah, everything’s fine! Just running into a bit of trouble, but I’m almost done, promise!”
She looked at him carefully. “Hm…okay…”
Not entirely trusting him, she went into her house, grabbed her food, and sat on one of the patio chairs. As she ate, she just watched him. And the longer she watched him, the more she was convinced.
Gojo didn’t know what he was doing.
The pool surface was clear, at least. And she could hear the jets running. But after he struggled to find the pump basket and she had to point out that it was, miraculously, near the pump, she stopped him.
“You’ve never done this before, have you?”
He didn’t even try to deny it, sitting back on his legs and rubbing at the back of his head. “That obvious, huh?”
Utahime took a deep breath, counted to ten, then carefully said, “Why would you answer an ad for a job you don’t know how to do?” she asked slowly. “How did you even manage to answer my initial questions?”
“My best friend answered them for me!” he said, a little too cheerily for someone who basically just admitted to engaging in fraud. “He was a pool tech for a little while, and told me it was easy work, easy money. He was supposed to come with me to my first couple of jobs to show me the ropes, but he got called in to help at his family’s restaurant at the last minute today. At first I was waiting for him, but he told me he couldn’t come in a few hours ago, so I’ve been watching videos instead, trying to remember what he told me.”
A tick above Utahime’s eyebrow made the skin there twitch as the kid rambled on. “And did you ever think to ask me whether I’d be comfortable with a stranger on my property?”
“I’m a stranger too, and you’re fine with that.”
“Gojo!”
“Please, Miss Iori!” He clasped his hands in front of his face. “I can do the work. I really learn very quickly. Give me a month and I’ll be the best pool tech you’ve ever had, promise! You won’t regret giving me this chance!”
He begged and pleaded so much that she eventually caved, his voice agitating her hangover headache.
“Fine!” she snapped. “One month. Four chances. That’s it!”
“You won’t regret it!”
Somehow, Utahime felt like that would turn out to be a lie.
The next Sunday, Utahime didn’t leave things to chance. She woke up early enough to be downstairs right around when Gojo was supposed to arrive.
To his credit, he was on time. Like he said, he had a friend with him. An equally tall boy with long dark hair pulled back into a bun. This friend didn’t seem as immature as Gojo was, giving her a short bow and introducing himself politely, as well as apologizing for intruding in her home.
“Thank you for giving this one a chance, miss,” he said in a deep, rich sounding voice that she recognized as the one on the phone. “I’ll whip him into shape in no time.”
Utahime smiled at him, handing over the packet Hirota-san created for her. “My last tech basically rebuilt this pool from scratch, so if there’s anything you don’t understand, maybe this can help.”
He bowed again. “Thank you. I’m sure it will be useful.”
Gojo came in between them, shoving a bag in her face. “Here, Miss Iori! Got this for you!”
Utahime blinked furiously, slowly taking the bag from him. “What is it?”
“I told you Suguru worked in a restaurant,” he said. “It’s a really good one. I had him make you a dish, as thanks for giving me a chance.”
“So he’s helping you twice?” she asked. “What does he get out of it?”
“My undying loyalty and forever promise of friendship!”
“A headache.”
It was like night and day. She wondered if they were the same age, or if this boy who called himself Geto was older by much. And she wondered just how two seemingly polar opposites managed to become best friends. Maybe Gojo was embellishing that part?
But when she was walking back into her house to put the food away in her fridge, she heard them whispering.
“See, man?” Gojo said softly, almost too soft for her to hear. “I told you!”
And Geto’s voice was equally quiet and a bit leering when he replied, “Yeah, I see what you’re saying. Lucky you.”
She didn’t turn around, pretending she hadn’t heard them. Utahime had been around guys all her life, and they weren’t as different from each other as they initially seemed. It didn’t take a genius to know what they were talking about by the tones of their voices.
She supposed that guys would be guys, no matter the age.
It took longer than it usually took Hirota-san. Her pool was very large and had a custom curved shape, so depending on the week, it would take him anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour to do everything he needed to do.
It took Geto almost three hours to show Gojo the ropes.
She watched them work from her place inside her living room, lounging on the couch reading a book. They even referred to the packet a handful of times. But when they were finally done, Gojo had a beaming smile on his face as he gave her a report on everything they accomplished.
Utahime was satisfied, so she handed him the envelope with his pay in it, which he happily took. Out of the kindness of her heart, she tried to pay Geto for his work as well, but he refused the money, claiming he was simply helping a friend.
And later on when she didn’t feel like cooking, she warmed up the food the boys got her. Spring vegetables tossed in a vinegar and ginger sauce with marinated crab.
It was insanely delicious.
The next time around, Utahime was a little under the weather, so she didn’t feel like getting out of bed. She left the envelope with his money in it inside the pool house and texted him to help himself after he was done. She did watch from her bedroom window for a little bit. Geto was with him again, and they did seem to be working. When he was done, he sent her a long voice note.
Miss Iori! Today I did everything by myself. Suguru only had to direct me a little bit. I cleared out the pump filter and ran the jets on my own and even balanced the pH all by myself! I’ve gotten really fast. It only took two hours this time. I swear by the end of the month, I’ll get everything down to one. I know where everything is now, and your pool looks and feels amazing. Don’t get upset, I did have a little dip. But it was mostly unintentional! I tripped and fell in…and then stayed in for a little longer than I should’ve. It was really hot today! Take care, Miss Iori, okay? I know you said you weren’t feeling well, so Suguru made you some zosui! It’s actually really good, I had some! Not from your bowl, of course, from my own. I had him put really good tuna in it for the vitamins and minerals, so you should eat it soon. There should be enough for two big bowls or three small ones. You can text me if you need anything else and I’ll go to the store for you! If not, I’ll see you next Sunday. I’ll be coming by myself because Suguru has to work, but if you don’t trust me yet, feel free to supervise me personally! I took the envelope in the pool house. Thank you again for giving me this chance.
Utahime shook her head when she listened to it. He was so full of energy when she felt like dying. The world was unfair.
But later, much later when she was able to go downstairs, she ate the rice soup. Gojo was right, it was really good.
And when she texted him her thanks, he answered almost immediately with a smiley face sticker and a meme.