Chapter 47 - Chapter 43

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On the day of the school festival for Aika and her friends, I took a bereavement leave from work.

I left the office early in the morning, claiming that my perfectly healthy father was critically ill.

It was unbecoming behavior for a working adult, but as someone with a precious daughter to care for, I had no other choice.

Arriving at Northwest Middle School in my suit, pretending nothing was out of the ordinary, I stood speechless in front of Aika's classroom.

"Welcome back, Master."

A somewhat cute girl stood at the entrance, greeting what appeared to be a parent of one of the students.

Class 2-A's event was a maid café.

A typical attraction aimed at boys.

Naturally, given the theme, the girls were dressed in maid outfits—frilly white aproned dresses and pure white headdresses—creating a striking mismatch with the classroom setting.

The café's name? "JC Club."

In small print beside it: "Pure Cosplay" Club—a name that was practically scandalous. No doubt some track-and-field girl had come up with it.

The classroom was decorated with handmade paper flowers and lollipop-themed illustrations, but at its core, it was still just a classroom.

The chalkboard, adorned with colorful drawings, was charming, and the desks covered in white tablecloths looked presentable, but there was no denying this was still a schoolroom.

The students playing the roles of maids were still just ordinary kids—even the cutest among them were only slightly above average.

Expecting more from a middle school festival would be unfair—this was, after all, an amateur production.

But that arrogant assumption was shattered the moment my eyes landed on one particular maid.

"Welcome back, Master."

Standing there was a black-haired maid who looked stunning in her aproned dress.

Lustrous hair. A face as flawless as a doll's. A figure so good it was obvious even in uniform. An air of elegance.

Though she wore the same outfit as the others, hers looked like a genuine maid's dress (though, of course, real maids don't wear anything like this)—luxurious and dignified.

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

The girl who smiled gently at me was unmistakably my daughter, Aika.

"N-no… It's just my first time seeing you in that outfit…"

I mumbled, trying to mask my embarrassment.

Truthfully, I was mesmerized by Aika in her maid outfit.

For a middle schooler, she was unfairly beautiful.

"Since you're here, why not order something? This café has quotas for each maid, even though it's just a school festival."

Aika pouted as she said this, but there was a hint of amusement in her voice.

As expected, Mizuki was likely the mastermind behind this event, and the quotas were probably her idea too.

According to Aika, the maid outfits had required a significant upfront investment, and they needed substantial sales to break even.

Middle school festivals don't have big budgets—Mizuki had taken a huge gamble.

"Seems pretty popular, huh?"

The ten or so set up inside the classroom were nearly full. I must have arrived at just the right time because a line was already forming outside.

"Yeah, and because of that, I can't even take a break. I wanted to check out the other events too."

Aika said this, but honestly, the other exhibits and events around the school were nothing special. They had that unmistakable "middle school DIY" vibe—nostalgic, but not high quality. Just like my own middle school days.

But this maid café's popularity was on another level.

On my way here, I'd passed several rest areas and food stalls, all of which were practically deserted. The success of this café was an anomaly.

Maybe I'm just a doting parent.

Maybe I'm biased.

But I think a big part of it was simply how adorable Aika was.

"Right this way."

As maid Aika dutifully pulled out a chair for me, nearly every customer's gaze followed her.

Today was open to the public, and most visitors were parents or relatives—yet regardless of age or gender, everyone was captivated by Aika.

The appreciation of beauty must be universal.

Beautiful things are a feast for the eyes.

Even if that beauty belongs to a middle schooler.

"Welcome back, Master."

There was another girl who drew just as much attention as Aika.

Short, blonde hair, with a pure white headdress that suited her.

The black-and-white aproned dress—originally designed for Western maids—only emphasized her fair skin and bewitching figure, as if declaring this was its intended wearer.

The glimpse of thigh between her flared skirt and socks, the bold yet modest swell of her chest—none of it looked like it belonged to a middle school girl.

Her blue eyes caught mine, and she smiled.

Was she a fairy from a picture book? Or the subject of illicit adult media?

Two angels had descended upon this café.

"Anna, weren't you in a different class?"

If I remembered correctly, Aika and Mizuki were in the same class, but Anna was in another. I didn't think they'd reshuffled classes mid-year.

"Ah… Anna. She is in another class, but Mizuki hired her for 5,000 yen an hour. Apparently, she's essential for turning a profit."

Aika sighed with a wry smile.

Anna seemed like she wanted to come to my table but was being called left and right, busily running around.

5,000 yen an hour? At these prices, labor costs alone would sink them. Clearly, Mizuki had zero business sense.

Incidentally, the wages weren't paid to Anna herself but to her homeroom class. So even Anna's classmates understood her commercial value.

"What would you like to order?"

When Aika handed me the menu, my eyes nearly popped out.

Heart-shaped omelet rice: 2,000 yen.

Bear-shaped hamburg steak: 2,500 yen.

Even the rip-off Filipino pubs in the neighborhood would balk at these prices.

"This is a school festival event, right…?"

I couldn't help but double-check. The actual dishes being served looked like they cost next to nothing to make.

Getting a maid to draw a heart in ketchup on an omelet the size of two fists for 2,000 yen was daylight robbery.

"Hey, hey, customer. These prices are totally fair. This is the going rate, you know."

A rough voice chimed in from behind. Turning, I saw a tanned girl in a maid outfit standing there.

Rusty short hair, a sharp nose bridge, bold eyes, wild double canines.

Her sun-kissed skin contrasted starkly with the pristine white headdress and apron dress.

Even though she was showing less skin than usual, my eyes were still drawn to her absolute territory and bare arms.

A single armband on her sleeve read: "Manager."

This was the mastermind herself—Mizuki.

"The going rate? You mean the rate at actual maid cafés?"

I'd never been to a real maid café, but I knew they charged around this much—for the experience of interacting with the maids.

But pulling this at a middle school festival? That wasn't just confidence—it was outright audacity.

"Nah, nah, nah. Say that after you've seen our maids. The maids of JC Club don't just rival real maid cafés—they surpass them!"

Mizuki spun her tray skillfully before pointing at me dramatically. She might as well join the circus.

"...I'll admit, the level is high for middle schoolers."

The maids here, led by Aika and Anna, were all exceptionally cute.

Even Mizuki, the brains behind the operation, looked undeniably adorable in her maid outfit.

Sure, there were a few average-looking ones, but overall, the quality was undeniable.

I didn't know how they stacked up against real maid cafés, but they could probably hold their own—if not outshine them.

"Just for today, I even recruited girls from other schools."

Mizuki whispered this while balancing her tray. Bringing in students from other schools for a festival? That was beyond bold.

But the café's booming business spoke for itself. Even after deducting wages for outside help and Anna, they were bound to make a hefty profit.

This track-and-field girl… was terrifying.

"Hey, the line's backing up. Hurry up and order. Oh, and as the manager, I recommend this—you can request any maid you want. Aika, Anna, even girls from other schools. Your choice~"

With that, Mizuki flitted off to another table. When it came to her passions, she had an uncanny business sense.

Her recommendation? The "Add 1,000 yen for a custom ketchup message from your favorite maid" option under the heart omelet rice.

Charging 1,000 yen for a word in ketchup? Ruthless as ever.

But since I was here…

"Can I order this?"

I pointed to the add-on omelet rice for Aika.

3,000 yen total was outrageous, but since I'd come all this way, skipping it would be a waste.

"What should I write?"

"Surprise me."

Aika blinked in confusion. Normally, customers probably specified what they wanted. "Surprise me" must have thrown her off.

"Just write whatever you like. Something easy is fine."

Realistically, writing in ketchup on an omelet wasn't easy. Anything too complicated would just turn into a mess.

"Even if you say that…"

Aika seemed genuinely stumped. Even for a school festival event, charging 3,000 yen must have felt like pressure.

It was my money anyway—she didn't need to stress over it.

"Here you go."

After a while, a modestly sized omelet rice (with a single broccoli floret as garnish) arrived.

But Aika hesitated to set it down. Even though leaving it in her hands only drew more attention, she stood there, cheeks faintly red.

"...Your custom message omelet rice."

Finally resigning herself, she placed it in front of me.

Written in ketchup was:

—LOVE.

Just four simple letters, yet my ears burned instantly.

As I stared at the message, Aika's own ears turned bright red.

To an outsider, I must have looked like some degenerate salaryman forcing a middle school girl to write "LOVE" for him.

But this was Aika's own choice—if she was this embarrassed, she could have refused.

Yet, this was the most flustered I'd ever seen her.

Even compared to the times she'd whispered "I love you" in more intimate moments, this was somehow more heart-pounding.

"D-don't get the wrong idea. It was just the easiest word to write!"

Face crimson, Aika hurried off to another table.

Honestly, it was the first time I'd seen Aika so flustered.

The usually composed girl was now blushing over her own actions, acting her age for once.

As I smiled at her reaction, I became acutely aware of the stares from behind the partition—likely the male students working in the kitchen.

They were probably dying to know who the guy that got Aika, the class beauty, to write "LOVE" for him was.

A short while later, a wave of surprised murmurs rose from the kitchen.

Seems Mizuki had spilled the beans about who I was.

Whether because of that or not, when I left, the entire class of boys saw me off with a chorus of "Take care, Dad!"

If they ever found out about my real relationship with Aika, they'd probably faint on the spot.

But putting that aside, I thought—this was a good class.

Here, Aika could just be a normal middle schooler.

Not the heir of the Kutsuki family. Not some untouchable outlier. Just an ordinary fourteen-year-old.

Sure, she still stood out"—but in the way any class beauty would.

There was no hostility, no alienation. Just the natural distance her looks and maturity created.

In Class 2-A, Aika was one of them.

I could tell from the atmosphere today, from the way she talked with the other girls.

I was glad—truly glad—I'd sent Aika to this school.