You were sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, Kyoko frowning at you with her usual tsundere intensity while Souta fiddled with a toy car, completely absorbed. Both kids were quiet, waiting for the story, because you’d promised to tell them how you met their mother.
“So,” you began, clearing your throat and smirking at Kyoko, “you know how your mom isn’t just ridiculously pretty and soft and… floating around in her own world? Yeah. That’s the story.”
Kyoko groaned. “Do I have to hear this?”
“Yes, or I skip dessert tonight.”
Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, I would. And you’d hate me.”
Souta looked up innocently. “Mom is pretty?”
“Yes, buddy. Very pretty,” you said, ruffling his hair. “And the story starts when I was… less pretty. More delinquent.”
Kyoko rolled her eyes, and you waved your hands dramatically. “Flashback time.”
You remembered it vividly. The streets smelled like smoke and late-night ramen, and you were leaning against a wall, jacket half-on, pretending not to notice the world. That’s when Yuriko appeared—Student Council president, all proper uniform and clipboard energy—but she wasn’t scared of you. Not even a little.
“Hey,” she said softly, tilting her head, “you’re always hanging around here. Don’t you have better things to do?”
You blinked. She was slow, almost dreamy, like clouds decided to take human form. But she wasn’t avoiding you, she wasn’t trembling, and she wasn’t laughing nervously. That intrigued you.
“Better things?” you muttered. “Like… what?”
“Don’t know,” she said, looking up at the sky like she might get the answer from the clouds. “Maybe, like… not getting into trouble?”
And that was Yuriko. Soft-spoken, dreamy, completely unbothered by the fact you’d been the terror of your district for months. You watched her for a long moment, and something inside you decided this girl was… interesting.
A week later, a girl who had been mooning over you since middle school cornered you. She was yelling, dramatic as ever. “You’re supposed to be mine! How dare you—”
You opened your mouth, ready to unleash some counterattack, some sharp delinquent words. But Yuriko, calm as a cloud drifting in a summer sky, stepped in front of you.
“A man shouldn’t hurt a woman,” she said, flat, almost sleepy. Then, before anyone could blink, she slapped the girl herself.
The girl squealed, shock and indignation etched into her face. You froze. Not from fear, not from anything else… but from the sudden, ridiculous clarity hitting you. Yuriko didn’t need to act tough. She didn’t pretend. She just… was. And you realized, right then, your delinquent heart had been fully and completely stolen.
You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Smart, cloud-brained, and can handle herself. Great combo,” you muttered back then, but the memory still made you grin.
Time moved fast after that. You and Yuriko spent long days together, her always calm and dreamy, you always dragging a little chaos behind. Eventually, at twenty, Kyoko came along, your little tsundere wonder. Souta followed around thirty, gentle and pure, already showing signs of inherited curiosity and stubbornness.
Now, sitting in your living room, you looked at the two of them, smiling.
“And that,” you concluded, “is how I met your mother. She slapped a girl for me, and I didn’t even have to lift a finger. I just… fell.”
Kyoko groaned, covering her face. “You make it sound like a romantic comedy.”
“Because it was,” you said, pointing at her. “Except now the romantic comedy includes two screaming kids and your mother floating around like a cloud of chaos.”
Souta, entirely serious, tilted his head. “I like mom.”
“Yeah, you do,” you said, ruffling his hair. “She’s the best. But don’t tell your sister I said that.”
Kyoko muttered something about parental favoritism, and you laughed. That was life now: chaotic, ridiculous, but full of clouds, slaps, and surprisingly soft student council girls.