Sakura's invitation to dinner at her house felt like stepping across an invisible line. We had successfully navigated the transition from fake dating to real, handled public scrutiny, managed club chaos, and even survived a real misunderstanding. But meeting her family, the source of the high expectations she carried, felt like facing the final boss of her world.
"My father... he'd like to meet you properly sometime. As in... meet my boyfriend. ... Dinner. At our house. This Saturday."
Her words replayed in my mind throughout the week. Saturday loomed closer like an impending exam I hadn't studied for. My usual internal panic was amplified tenfold. What did I wear? What did I say? How did I act? Was there a specific way you were supposed to behave when meeting the prestigious family of the school idol you were now somehow dating?
I tried talking to Kenji about it. His advice ranged from "Wear a suit, look confident, and tell them you're going to be a billionaire" to "Just be yourself, but like, the cool, slightly-less-awkward version of yourself." Neither was particularly helpful.
"Seriously, Kenji," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "This is Sakura Yamato's family. Her father. The one she says has high expectations. I can't just show up in my usual t-shirt and jeans."
"Okay, okay," he conceded. "Let's think. You need to look respectable. Trustworthy. But still... you. How about those slacks you wore for that school event? And a nice button-up shirt? Maybe a jacket?"
We ended up going clothes shopping. "Respectable but still me" proved to be a difficult balance. I felt awkward in anything too formal. Eventually, we settled on a pair of dark chinos, a plain button-up shirt, and a simple, neat jacket. I looked… slightly less average? Maybe?
Aiko's advice was quieter but more reassuring. "Just listen, Hiroshi," she said, her expression thoughtful. "Sakura cares about you. She wouldn't invite you to meet her family if she didn't think you could handle it, or if she wasn't proud of you. Just... be polite, answer their questions honestly, and show them why Sakura likes you."
Her words helped ground me slightly. Why Sakura likes me. It still felt surreal that she did, but remembering the moments we had shared, the quiet talks, the laughter, the support – maybe there was something there. Something real.
As Saturday approached, my nervousness escalated. What if I said something wrong? What if they thought I wasn't good enough for her? What if I somehow embarrassed Sakura? The pressure she lived under felt like it was momentarily extending to include me.
Sakura messaged me on Saturday morning.
Sakura: Hey, nervous about tonight? 😊 I am!Me: Beyond nervous! 😅 What time should I be there? And um... should I bring anything? Like a small gift?Sakura: Aw, Hiroshi! You're so thoughtful! 😊 You don't have to bring anything, just yourself! But if you really want to, maybe some nice tea? My mother likes green tea.Sakura: About time... how about 7 PM? I'll text you the address! Don't worry, it'll be fine! We're excited to meet you! (Followed by a nervous emoji).
Excited to meet me? That was… surprisingly positive. But the nervous emoji from her reinforced that this wasn't just a walk in the park for her either. She cared about how this went.
I spent the afternoon getting ready, my newly acquired "respectable but still me" outfit hanging on my closet door. I bought some high-quality green tea from a nice store near the station. I practiced bowing in the mirror. I rehearsed polite phrases in my head.
Kenji texted me a stream of last-minute, mostly unhelpful, encouragement.
Kenji: Operation Meet The Parents is a go! Remember rule #1: Don't spill anything! Rule #2: Make eye contact! Rule #3: Impress the dad! You got this! 💪 Me: My hands are shaking.Kenji: That's just adrenaline! Channel it! Tell them about saving the club! That's a win!Me: Wish me luck.Kenji: Good luck, Agent Hiroshi! Report back after! 🫡
As 7 PM approached, I stood outside the address Sakura had texted me. It was in a quiet, upscale residential area. The house was large, traditional, and looked incredibly... respectable. It was imposing. This was definitively Sakura's world.
My heart was pounding like a drum solo. My palms were sweating. I took a deep breath, clutched the bag containing the green tea, and walked up the path to the front door.
There was no turning back now. I was about to step into Sakura Yamato's world, not as a fake boyfriend, but as a real one, for a real family dinner.
What could possibly go wrong? (Still everything).