Memories with the “Brat” – Part 2

The Brat and the Cat

“Hey, do you know what ‘lolicon’ means?”

Miya, sprawled on the bed, mutters casually.

“Miya-chan, what’s that?”

“It came up in an anime I watched yesterday, but when I asked Mom, she didn’t explain it well.”

“Oh, I think I’ve heard it before. Wonder what it means,” Mahiru says.

“Let’s look it up,” Asaka says, pulling out her smartphone—a kids’ phone given to her by her overprotective parents.

“Anything come up?” Mahiru asks, leaning in to peek over Asaka’s shoulder.

“Huh, I can’t see anything.”

“Information restrictions.”

No surprise—searching a term like that pulls up harmful sites. The filtering function blocks the brats’ path. They manage to open a page that loads, but with all the kanji and the context of the word lolicon, the brats struggle to understand.

“Hm, I’m not sure, but I think it means, like, an adult who likes kids…?” Asaka says.

“That’s totally Yuu-nii!” Miya bolts upright.

“So, Yuu-nii’s a lolicon, huh?” Mahiru nods knowingly.

“Oh, looks like Yuu-nii’s back,” Asaka says, jumping to the window as the sound of a bicycle comes from outside.

The brats move from the Haruyama house to Moonlight Terrace.

“Hey, you guys,” I greet.

“What’s that, Yuu-nii?” Miya asks, noticing the cardboard box I’m holding.

“Did you buy potatoes or something?” Mahiru guesses.

“Nope.”

“Show us,” Mahiru says, peering into the box.

And inside—

“Oh! A cat!”

The tabby kitten is sleeping comfortably inside the cardboard box.

“Yuu-nii, did you buy a kitten?” Asaka asks.

“I found it.”

“Looks about two months old. Nice fur, and since it was in a cardboard box, it’s probably not a stray,” Mom says, glancing at the box by my feet.

“So cute, but so sad it was abandoned,” she adds.

Sitting at the terrace table, I explain the box and its contents.

About ten minutes ago, on my way home, I spotted an unfamiliar cardboard box in a vacant lot. Thinking it was cliché, I checked inside and found this kitten sleeping peacefully.

I couldn’t just leave it there, so I brought it home.

“So cute!” Miya’s eyes sparkle as she cautiously strokes the kitten’s head. Stirred by the touch, the kitten lets out a soft “meow.”

“Whoa!” Miya jumps back like a startled cat.

“You’re way too jumpy,” I say.

“I’m not scared!”

“Miya-chan, cats love it when you pet under their chin or around their neck,” Mom says, expertly stroking the kitten. Come to think of it, her family used to have a bunch of cats. Following her lead, the brats start petting the kitten too.

“Like this?” Asaka asks.

“Exactly,” Mom replies.

“Hehe, so cute,” Asaka says.

“You’re good at this, Asaka-chan,” Mom praises.

Mahiru awkwardly pets the kitten’s rear.

“Mahiru-chan, cats don’t like their tails touched much. Try petting here instead,” Mom says, guiding Mahiru’s hand to the kitten’s chin.

“W-won’t it bite?” Mahiru asks nervously.

“It’s fine, see?” Mom reassures her.

“Will it drink milk?” Miya asks.

“Some cats get upset stomachs from cow’s milk, so cat milk is better,” Mom explains.

It’s a heartwarming scene.

“So, are we keeping it here?” Mahiru asks.

Mom makes a complicated expression.

“Hmm, I’d love to, but since we run a restaurant, it’s tough hygiene-wise.”

“Figured,” I say.

“No problem. If no one takes it, I’ll adopt it!” Miya declares boldly.

2

“No way. Your dad’s allergic to cats,” Miya’s mom, Miku-san, says firmly.

“Come on, please!” Miya whines, but it doesn’t sway Miku-san.

“No means no.”

“Ugh.”

Leaving the Haruyama house, we head to the Ryuushaku house. As usual, Mahiru’s mom, Asuka, answers the door, holding something large.

“Mom, can’t we keep it?” Mahiru asks, clinging to Asuka-san.

“Well, I’d love to, but…” Asuka-san glances back at the house, looking at the three papillons behind the gate in the entryway.

“We already have three dogs, so we’re a bit tight on space. Sorry.”

Looks like it’s a no-go at the Ryuushaku house too.

“If Mom or Dad said it was okay… but they’re not home today,” Asaka says apologetically.

“Hmm, what to do,” I mutter.

Tasked by Mom with finding a home for the kitten, I take the brats around the neighborhood, visiting shops and acquaintances.

But no one can take the kitten, and time just slips by. Returning it to where I found it won’t solve anything—it’d probably starve. Taking it to the shelter risks it being put down in the worst case…

Then—

“Hey, Aritsuki-kun,” a voice calls.

“Oh, hey,” I reply.

“What a coincidence.”

“Y-yeah.”

I run into my classmate, Shimomura Hikari, by chance.

Her semi-long black hair and tanned, healthy skin stand out. Her slender, toned body has not an ounce of extra fat. The ace of the girls’ tennis team and the class’s Madonna-like figure, Hikari glances at the brats.

“Wow, Aritsuki-kun, you have three little sisters?”

“No, that’s not it. These are just neighborhood brats—”

“Yuu-nii’s friend?” Miya asks.

“Hm, all three of you are so cute!” Hikari crouches down.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Shimomura Hikari.”

“Tell her hi, you guys.”

“Nice to meet you!” the three say in unison.

“Come to think of it, Shimomura, you live around here, right?” I recall we’re in the same district.

“No, I was just heading out to shop… but I’ve been wondering, what’s that?” Hikari tilts her head, eyeing the cardboard box I’m holding.

“A cat,” Miya says.

Hikari’s eyes light up. I open the box to show her.

“Oh, a tabby! What’s the deal? You’re not planning to abandon it, are you?”

“The opposite. I found this kitten earlier, but we can’t keep it at our place, so I’m looking for someone to take it.”

“Huh, well, we’ll take it then,” Hikari says casually.

“Really? You sure?”

“Yeah, everyone at my house loves cats. One more won’t be a problem.”

Hikari stands up, pulls out her phone, and makes a call.

“Hey, Mom. So, a friend found a kitten, and—”

And just like that, things fall into place.

“She says it’s fine.”

“Really?”

“Yay!”

“Thanks!”

“Thank you so much!”

Maybe it’s the relief of finding a home after all our searching, but the brats thank her with high energy.

“I’ll show you the way, follow me,” Hikari says.

“Nice one, Yuu-nii!” Miya says, smacking my hip.

“Yuu-nii, huh?” Hikari smirks.

“What?”

“Just thinking you guys are close. You really like hanging out with kids, don’t you, Aritsuki-kun?”

“No, it’s not like I like it. They just cling to me on their own—”

“Yuu-nii’s a lolicon, after all.”

The air freezes.

“…Huh?” Hikari’s voice goes cold, the life draining from her eyes. She takes a step back.

“No, that’s not it!”

“I always thought it was weird you didn’t have a girlfriend, but that’s why, huh?”

“It’s not like that! Hey, you guys, do you even know what lolicon means?”

“It’s someone who likes kids, right?” Miya says.

“That’s totally Yuu-nii,” Mahiru adds.

“Maybe Yuu-nii doesn’t like us?” Asaka says.

Ugh, come on.

“…Aritsuki-kun?” Hikari’s voice is still stiff.

Are these brats trying to ruin me socially?

How do I even explain this?

Amid the chaos, the kitten in the box lets out a soft “meow.”

Eventually, I managed to clear up the misunderstanding, but I never imagined picking up a cat would lead to this much trouble.

The Brat Wants to Grill

1

First, you heat up a frying pan and add oil.

Then, toss in some minced pork back fat and stir-fry it.

The savory aroma of the fat whets the appetite.

Once the fat is crispy, add roughly chopped cabbage and stir-fry that too.

After about a minute, when the cabbage is nicely wilted and soft, it’s time for the star of the show.

Push the cabbage to the center to form a mound, then spread the steamed noodles on top—yellow, crumbly noodles. Quickly add water to let the noodles soak it up.

The amount of water is key. Too much, and you ruin the texture. I like my noodles firm, so I add just a little.

At the shop, they apparently cover the noodles with cabbage to steam them, but I don’t bother with that hassle. My way makes the tastiest yakisoba, if I do say so myself.

Once the water’s absorbed, pour on plenty of sauce and mix quickly. The sizzling, savory smell of the sauce fills the air.

Then, plate it up, add dashi powder, pickled ginger, or shichimi spice to taste, and it’s done.

“Mmm, looks delicious.”

Today’s a day off for the shop, and Mom and Dad are out on a morning drive date. So, I’ve got to make lunch myself.

I don’t cook much, but yakisoba is different. In this town, knowing how to make yakisoba is practically a required skill.

Time to eat.

In the empty shop, I take a seat at the counter and bring a bite of yakisoba to my mouth—at 12:05 p.m.

“Yuu-nii!”

“Yuu-nii!”

“Yuu-nii!”

“Huh? It’s closed.”

“Mahiru, looks like it’s a day off.”

“But look, Yuu-nii’s inside!”

Asaka presses her face to the window, smiling.

Ugh, the noisy brats showed up.

I’m about to eat, and they’re causing a ruckus.

Can’t ignore them making a scene outside, so I reluctantly deal with it.

“What’s up, you guys? I’m in the middle of something.”

“Something smells good,” Miya says.

“That’s… yakisoba,” Mahiru declares.

I let the brats into the shop.

“Looks delicious. Did you make this, Yuu-nii?” Asaka asks.

“Yup. Want some?”

“Yes!”

“Yes!”

“I’ll have some!”

Like koi fish begging for food, the three brats open their mouths. I toss a bite of yakisoba into each.

“Delicious!”

“Tasty!”

“It’s good!”

“For Yuu-nii, this is pretty good,” Mahiru says.

“‘For Yuu-nii’ is unnecessary. Here.”

“Delicious!”

“Tasty!”

“It’s good!”

“Hahaha!”

I get carried away feeding them, and then—

“Oh, it’s gone!”

The brats ate all my lunch.

“You guys ate everything! Now I’ve got nothing left!”

“There’s still some cabbage,” Miya points out.

“Eat your veggies properly,” Mahiru adds.

“It was delicious,” Asaka says.

Fine, I’ll make another batch.

As I head to the kitchen, Miya tugs at my clothes.

“Yuu-nii, I want to make some too.”

2

“Did you wash your hands?”

“Washed!”

“Washed!”

“I washed!”

“Alright, I’m gonna teach you brats the art of yakisoba.”

“Woo!”

These brats live in a yakisoba town but claim they’ve never made it, so I’ve got no choice but to drill the Yuu Aritsuki-style yakisoba method into them.

That said, no way am I letting them touch knives, and I’ll handle the fire parts.

First, spread oil in the pan. No heat yet. Normally, I’d heat the pan first, but with the brats around, safety comes first.

“Okay, Miya, spread the oil.”

I lift Miya up, holding her as she grips the spatula.

“Like this?”

“Yup, make sure it’s even.”

Her clumsy movements get the oil spread across the pan.

“Next, Mahiru, add the pork fat and break it up with the spatula.”

Now I lift Mahiru.

“Hiyah, hiyah!”

“Good, good. Alright, you guys step back and get the plates ready.”

I light the fire and stir-fry the minced fat.

“Okay, Asaka, add the cabbage.”

I turn off the heat and lift Asaka. She’s the lightest.

“Done!”

“Good job.”

The pan is filled with cabbage.

“Wow, it already smells good,” Miya says, sniffing.

“Yuu-nii, I want to cook too,” Mahiru says.

“Nah, it’s dangerous.”

“I want to cook!”

“Fine, fine.”

I turn off the heat and lift Mahiru again.

“Here, move the spatula quickly.”

“U-uh, okay.”

“Don’t dawdle, or it’ll burn.”

“I got it!”

It’s not exactly cooking, but she seems satisfied with the imitation.

“My turn!” Miya says.

“I want to cook too!” Asaka adds.

The moment I put Mahiru down, Miya and Asaka pounce.

“Alright, that’s enough.”

The spatula makes a satisfying clack.

“More!”

This is exhausting, and my back’s starting to hurt from lifting them.

“Yuu-nii, I’m next,” Asaka says.

“I want another go,” Mahiru insists.

“…Seriously?”

It takes about ten minutes to get through this step with them taking turns.

Yakisoba’s all about speed, and this is slowing everything down.

“Alright, time for the noodles. Miya, the noodles.”

“Here!”

I loosen the noodles and place them on top of the cabbage.

“Oh, when I went to my grandpa’s in Kumamoto during summer break, the yakisoba there wasn’t that great,” Mahiru says suddenly.

“It was all soft and had no bite,” she adds.

“Cup noodle yakisoba is soft too, right?” Miya agrees.

A few years ago, our town’s yakisoba won a national competition and became part of local revitalization efforts. Its distinct chewy texture is its signature.

Having eaten this yakisoba my whole life, I never realized it was special. But I’ll admit, it’s the best yakisoba in the world.

“Okay, time to add water. Miya, fill a cup with water.”

“Got it.”

Miya fills the cup halfway with tap water.

“Miya, that’s too much. Use less.”

“Like this?”

“Less.”

“What? There’s barely any left!”

“That’s fine. The cabbage releases water, and we’re adding sauce too.”

I let the noodles absorb the water and stir-fry them.

Then, the finishing touch: the sauce. A savory aroma rises with a sizzle.

“Smells good!”

“Looks tasty!”

“It smells delicious!”

I turn off the heat and plate it up.

“Done.”

While the brats carry it to the dining area, I do a quick cleanup.

Finally, I can eat lunch.

It’s already past one o’clock.

All this hassle for one batch of yakisoba…

“…What?!”

“Delicious!”

“I’m a cooking genius!”

“It tastes better when you make it yourself!”

“You guys ate it all?!”

The brats devoured everything, leaving only scraps of cabbage and pork fat on the plate.

With sauce on their faces, they rub their stomachs, satisfied.

“Alright, let’s play!” Miya says.

“Today’s the racing game, Miya,” Mahiru says.

“Come on, Yuu-nii, let’s go!” Asaka urges.

They race upstairs.

“Do people normally eat everything like that?”

While eating their leftover cabbage and fat, I plot my revenge.

In the end, I made another batch.

The Brat and the Sports Festival

1

Late September. Autumn is deepening. The cicadas have gone quiet, and the town’s greenery is fading. As summer fades, a major event for kids takes place.

Under a crisp autumn sky, children in red and white caps bustle around the schoolyard. Parents form a human wall around the perimeter, vying to catch a glimpse of their kids’ performances.

Play equipment is decorated with triangular flags, and white tents are set up. The slightly distorted announcements from the broadcast booth mix with occasional drumbeats and the lively melody of “Heaven and Hell.”

It’s the sports festival.

A nostalgic scene.

“Hey, Yuu, go grab me a coffee.” Taichi says.

“Tatchan, can I get one too?”

“Yeah, hurry up. Miya’s event is in three minutes.”

“Got it.”

Tatchan, or Haruyama Taichi, is Miya’s dad and my dad’s car buddy. Because of that, he used to play with me a lot when I was a kid.

Blond hair, tanned skin, and sharp, predatory eyes—he looks like a rough-around-the-edges guy but is kind at heart.

I return with two canned coffees.

“Here, Tatchan.”

“Thanks—wait, both of these are café au lait! I wanted black!”

“It’s fine, same thing.”

“They’re both café au lait!”

“Tatchan, it’s starting.”

“Tch.”

First-graders with red pom-poms made of plastic march in and line up in the center of the field.

“Where’s Miya… Miya!” Taichi dives into the crowd with his video camera.

I climb the stairs to get a better view of the field. It’s small, but you can see everything from up here.

There’s Miya. And Mahiru. That’s Asaka.

Their dancing is clumsy but charming. All three are on the red team.

The dance ends, and the first-graders clear out. Next is the sixth-graders’ big ball-rolling event. No need to watch that.

I wander the school.

It’s been six years since I was last at my alma mater.

Leisure sheets and foldable camping tables are scattered around.

Apparently, these days, only parents or related people can enter school sports festivals. I got in because I’m with the Haruyamas. I sip my café au lait on a bridge over the courtyard pond.

Yeah, I used to fall into this pond a lot in the lower grades. I resume my stroll, letting my feet guide me. Some places are the same, but others, like removed playground equipment, have changed. No surprise—it’s been almost six years since I graduated.

Recalling the nostalgic scenery in my mind, I finish my café au lait in one gulp.

Soon, the noon bell rings.

“Yuu-nii, did you see my awesome performance?” Miya says, munching on a rice ball in her gym clothes.

“Oh, I saw it. I definitely saw you trip backward during tug-of-war.”

“You didn’t need to see that! Idiot!” Miya smacks me.

Ignoring her, I check the afternoon program. The only event for first-graders is the footrace.

“Gonna grab a smoke,” Taichi says, standing up lazily.

“Smoke in the designated area. You know where it is?” Miku-san asks.

“I know.”

While eating Miku-san’s homemade bento, I hear a familiar voice from behind.

“Hey, Miya!”

“Oh, Yuu-nii’s here too.”

Mahiru and Asaka walk over together.

“Hey, you guys.”

“You came to watch?” Asaka asks, hugging me from behind.

“How was it?”

“The dance was cool.”

“Hehe, we practiced a lot,” Asaka says.

“Let’s play over there,” Mahiru says, pulling my hand.

I stand up.

“Miya, you done?” Miku-san asks.

“Yup, thanks for the food!”

We head to the backyard to play. These kids were running around all morning, and they still have this much energy? They should rest at lunch.

Watching them play on the equipment, I ask, “You guys only have the footrace left, right? First-graders don’t do the relay.”

“Heh heh heh, Yuu-nii, just watch. I’m the fastest in my class,” Mahiru boasts.

“Oh?”

“Faster than the boys.”

Mahiru puffs out her flat chest confidently.

She’s got good athletic skills. She did well in the morning events too.

“Let’s see it then. By the way, I was on the relay team in sixth grade.”

“For Yuu-nii, that’s pretty cocky,” Mahiru says.

“What was that?”

“Mahiru-chan, do your best!” Asaka cheers.

“Yeah!”

“You too, Asaka.”

“I’m the slowest in my class…”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll be cheering, so give it your all.”

“Okay!”

“What about me, Yuu-nii?” Miya asks.

“You too, Miya. Do your best.”

“Yeah!”

The brats seem fired up, darting around the playground equipment even more energetically.

…Shouldn’t they save some energy?

2

The cheer battle between the red and white teams ends, and the afternoon session begins.

“Next up is the first-graders’ footrace,” the announcement echoes.

I secure a prime spot near the finish line and wait for the three to appear.

Miya’s in the first group. Her semi-long brown hair is tied in a ponytail, and she’s full of energy.

The starting gun fires with a sharp crack, and the first-graders kick up dust as they sprint.

Go, Miya.

Oh, no. Not good.

Despite her tomboyish nature, Miya’s not that athletic. My mental cheers are in vain as she gets passed one by one.

Miya finishes fifth out of six. Spotting me at the finish line, she gives a shy wave. I give her a thumbs-up, and she flashes a bright smile.

Asaka’s turn is in the third group.

Her long black hair flails as she runs desperately. Her big, clumsy strides are pretty slow, but the other kids aren’t that fast either, and she finishes a solid fourth. After crossing the finish line, she spots me and runs over before joining her group.

“Yuu-nii, I did it!”

“You did great.”

“Hehe.”

I pat her head, and she heads back, looking satisfied.

The fifth group is Mahiru’s turn.

Mahiru surges to the lead from the start, pulling away from the others.

She’s fast.

No surprise—she’s the most athletic of the brats.

It’s like she knows how to run. Her arms swing properly, and her posture stays solid. Compared to the other kids running with raw effort, her skill stands out.

She’s got first place in the bag. She wasn’t kidding about her confidence.

Just a few meters from the finish line, it happens.

“Oh!”

Maybe she leaned too far forward, or maybe she tripped on something, but Mahiru falls.

A gasp ripples through the crowd.

In a footrace, even a second’s delay can change everything. In the few seconds it takes Mahiru to get up, the other kids pass her.

Mahiru finishes last, sixth out of six.

“Cheer up already.”

“…”

“It was like an accident. Can’t be helped.”

It’s the day after the sports festival. Mahiru came to my room in the morning to hang out… but she’s been sitting on my bed, sulking.

“No, that wasn’t my real effort.”

She’s got a bandage on her scraped knee.

“Everyone knows you were the fastest. It was just bad luck, right?”

“I’m fast.”

Tears well up in her eyes, and her voice gets nasal.

“I was the fastest.”

She came over this early just to say that?

She was so confident, so the shock must hit hard, especially since it was an accident, not a lack of skill.

What a handful.

I pull Mahiru into a hug.

“I saw how hard you tried.”

“But I came in last…”

She grabs my shirt, pressing her tear-streaked face against it.

“I saw you leave everyone behind at the start, and I saw you try to get up even after falling.”

“…”

“If it bothers you that much, win first place next year. Or what, you don’t think you can?”

That provocation makes her look up with a pout.

“Ugh, I’ll do it! Next year, I’m getting first!”

“You sure you can?”

“I can!”

Her usual energy is back.

Wiping her tears, Mahiru stands up.

“Alright, Yuu-nii, just wait for next year!”