Chapter 67: Little Mai of Peach Valley

It gave off a distinctly loser-like vibe.

Damn!

The scene just now had left Haruhi Harano utterly stunned. If his eyes weren't deceiving him, the girl who had appeared was the daughter of Eri Momotani—Umai Momotani!

Although they had only met a few times and barely exchanged words, Umai Momotani had always struck him as a flawless beauty. Her clothes, her bearing—everything about her was impeccable. How could she possibly be the same girl he’d just seen, that awkward nerd? They were worlds apart!

Her appearance now made Haruhi swear that Umai Momotani was a full-fledged otaku, and not just any otaku—a shut-in, with every attribute cranked up to the maximum. It was almost too familiar.

Moments later, the tightly shut door suddenly swung open, and a small head poked out. Her gaze was quiet, her expression bewildered as she regarded the two sitting on the sofa, all traces of earlier confusion gone. Clearly, this otaku had not been prepared for guests in the house, or perhaps she hadn’t even known about them.

As soon as Haruhi looked her way, Umai instantly retreated, slamming the door with a loud bang.

But it wasn’t long before the door creaked open again, just a crack, and a pair of large eyes peered through, unwaveringly fixed on the living room.

This made Haruhi and Miron Seiryo, sitting on the sofa, feel as if something was perpetually watching them.

Recovering from his shock, Haruhi clicked his tongue in his mind. People truly were more than their appearances. Curiosity piqued, he pulled up Umai Momotani’s profile on his virtual screen.

[Character: Umai Momotani]
[Intelligence: 89]
[Charm: 90]
[Figure: 95]
[Stamina: 78]

[Affection Level: 30 (Ordinary friendliness)]
[Profile: Raised single-handedly by her mother, Eri Momotani, Umai was the recipient of high hopes. Beneath the cool, all-rounder academic persona lies the heart of a lazy shut-in. If she can sit, she’ll never stand; if she can lie down, she’ll never sit. Every time she returns home, she unveils her truest self. Despite her chronic lack of motivation and refusal to study, she consistently ranks among the top three in her year. Perhaps that’s just life. (Evaluation: If she becomes your partner, best keep your mouth clean. Umai may be lazy, but she’s no fool. Having a gorgeous, brilliant, and thoroughly lazy companion might just open up new possibilities.)]

Seeing Umai’s stats, Haruhi was startled. What terrifying numbers—she was the very blueprint of a perfect goddess! An invincible presence! Especially that mind-blowing intelligence score of 89; she was the smartest person Haruhi had ever encountered.

Her charm and figure needed no comment, and even her weakest stat, stamina, was a solid 78. That might seem low, but the average adult’s stamina was only about 60; those extra 18 points put her on par with amateur fitness buffs.

Heaven had opened four windows for her, but sealed one iron door: her extraordinary laziness dragged her down. Otherwise, Umai Momotani would truly be unbeatable.

Utterly terrifying!

[Umai Momotani’s current status: Slightly bewildered due to unexpected guests at home (weak); intensely curious upon discovering the visitors are the siblings from downstairs (strong); feeling deeply embarrassed that her shut-in persona was witnessed by outsiders (strong)… ]

Damn, this was tricky. Haruhi was a little troubled. He’d accidentally glimpsed the side she most wanted to hide—would she hold it against him?

He glanced again at the door cracked open, considering how to avoid being targeted by a genius beauty. A bold idea took shape in his mind: If, just if, I became your family, even your elder—how would you cope then, Umai?

The boy was at a loss, while the girl seemed utterly unfazed.

Lady Seiryo sat nearby, nibbling on dried fruits and playing with her phone, her slender fingers idly scrolling through the screen, her expression indifferent. As long as no one bothered her, she couldn’t care less about others’ affairs; she’d rather spend that time browsing recipes to decide tomorrow’s menu.

Cooking was exhausting, but the strange sense of accomplishment and being needed deeply satisfied Lady Seiryo.

Time ticked by. Hearing the sounds of activity in the kitchen, Haruhi, eager to boost his favorability, slipped in to help, earning further praise from Eri Momotani.

Preparing sukiyaki was easy, and no one had to wait long. Soon, a big clay pot, bubbling and steaming, was brought out.

Golden broth coated the vegetables and seafood, the various ingredients arranged in sections, with a pristine egg cracked over the top.

“These days, when it’s cool, this is perfect,” Eri Momotani said with a smile as she served rice to the two.

“You’re too kind, Eri!” Haruhi quickly stood to take the rice, thanking her again for all the trouble.

Watching Haruhi’s polite manners, Eri Momotani felt a warmth in her heart—so obedient, clever, and considerate; if only he were her child…

The thought crossed her mind: she almost wished to adopt Haruhi as her own.

Compared to him, her own daughter—so lazy and messy—was a constant headache.

At school or outside, she kept up the icy scholar persona: cultured, thoughtful, understanding. But once home, off came the uniform and the mask fell away. She’d slip into an enormous, questionably fashionable T-shirt emblazoned with a huge “Otaku” and collapse bonelessly onto the sofa, letting its softness envelop her. Unless it was gaming or eating, nothing could rouse her.

She reveled in her shut-in life, gaming late into the night until two or three in the morning. Yet somehow, she always ranked in the top three academically, and physically she’d inherited Eri’s athleticism—despite being a shut-in, her stamina was maxed out. At school, she was a six-sided warrior.

Eri Momotani was both exasperated and proud—love and frustration mingled.

But today, mealtime arrived, and Umai still hadn’t appeared. Odd—usually, at this hour, she’d come running like a little pig, sniffing her way out of the bedroom.

Yet today, she hadn’t come at the first call. Eri was puzzled and called out through the bedroom door, “Umai, dinner’s ready!”

No response. She called again, and finally the door opened. Umai drifted out, still wearing that white T-shirt with the bold “Otaku” print.

She dropped into a chair as if surrendering, paying no heed to her appearance, her eyes scanning between Haruhi and Seiryo.