All Beautiful Girls Want to Stick with Me

Kotomi Izumi originally planned to take out both Iroha Isshiki’s and Yui Yuigahama’s gloves at the same time, but decided it would be too chaotic to explain them all at once. So she introduced them one by one.

”Mom, Dad, these are gifts from Iroha. Just a small token from her. I heard she came over for lunch a few days ago?”

As she spoke, Kotomi placed the two glove gift boxes on the coffee table.

”From Iroha? That girl... she comes over for lunch and even takes the time to prepare such thoughtful gifts,” Akina Izumi said with delight as she opened one of the boxes.

”I remember gloves from this brand aren’t cheap. Kotomi, you’ll need to find a chance to return the favor,” said Kaneyoshi Izumi.

”Of course,” Akina nodded, taking out the pair of white ladies’ gloves. She slipped them on and admired the smooth, luxurious feel. They already had plenty of nice gloves for the winter, but the sentiment behind Iroha’s gift truly warmed her heart.

”Dear, try these on. Iroha’s so considerate, getting a pair for both of us.”

”I really like this color,” Kaneyoshi said with a smile.

Seeing that her parents were pleased, Kotomi pulled two knitted gloves from her coat pocket and also placed the paper bag with scarves onto the table, chuckling:

”Mom, Dad, these are from Yui. She stayed up two nights knitting them just for you.”

Akina was visibly surprised, and as Kotomi said this, Kaneyoshi nearly choked on his tea.

Akina held the gloves in her hands, feeling their firm texture and warm weave. The patterns were neat and clean, with no loose threads—clearly, Yui was skilled with her hands.

Kaneyoshi adjusted his glasses and looked at the paper bag on the table. Wanting to help shift the focus to protect his daughter, he asked with a smile, ”Kotomi, are these your gifts to us in the bag?”

”Ah, no. The ones I got for you are still in my suitcase. I’ll bring them out later. That bag has scarves from Yui. You remember how, when we visited her family’s cake shop, Mom mentioned the weather getting colder? Yui remembered and bought these two scarves for you both.”

”Originally, she wanted to buy gloves too, but her family’s financial situation is pretty tight. Little Yuka is about to start elementary school, and expenses keep piling up. Her monthly allowance is really small. Even when her mom tries to give her more, she refuses—she doesn’t want to add to the burden.”

”After buying the scarves, she had no money left for gloves, so she decided to knit them herself.”

Hearing Kotomi’s explanation, Akina looked at the high-end leather gloves on one hand, the hand-knit gloves on the other, and then at the paper bag with the scarves on the coffee table. She fell silent.

The quiet lasted for a long time—until suddenly, Akina picked up a cup of freshly boiled water and made to throw it at Kotomi.

”You little rascal! Not even two months into the school year and look at what you’ve been up to! Don’t you have a shred of self-awareness?!”

Kaneyoshi rushed over to stop her, shielding Kotomi. That cup held freshly boiled water—if it hit, it could leave serious burns!

Seeing this, a bright red ”DANGER” sign practically popped up over Kotomi’s head. As a notoriously mischievous child who used to climb rooftops if not disciplined every few days, Kotomi had been chased around and spanked plenty in her youth.

The most annoying part? She often felt something was off if she hadn’t been spanked for a few days—so she’d deliberately provoke Akina to restore balance.

That nostalgic memory awakened her well-trained childhood escape instincts. Swiftly, Kotomi ducked behind the sofa and said playfully:

”Mom! When I was a kid, you taught me: ’Take small punishments, flee from big ones.’ If you’re in a bad mood, hit me a few times, scold me a bit—I’ll take it. You could even smack me with the TV remote until its button patterns were imprinted on me, and I wouldn’t complain.”

”But if you throw a cup at me? I’m outta here. Ever since I started elementary school, unless I slowed down on purpose so you could catch me, you’ve only managed to hit me once out of ten chases—that’s if you were having a lucky day.”

”If you actually burn me, you’ll cry your eyes out with guilt.”

Listening to Kotomi’s nonstop rambling, Akina’s fury was instantly stoked even higher. She bent down and picked up a slipper, setting the cup aside. She hadn’t intended to throw it—just to scare Kotomi into standing still.

She’d spoiled both her daughters since they were little. There’s no way she’d actually throw a cup at them. But she hadn’t expected Kotomi to become this bold since starting high school—her sass had leveled up too.

So Akina stopped playing around and went with the classic weapon: slippers.

Holding a slipper in hand, she gauged the distance and arc, then threw it like a precision-guided missile.

Kotomi dodged the first one, but seeing it was just a slipper, she stopped evading, dove under the heated kotatsu, and covered her head with the blanket. Her little bottom stuck up high in the air, almost as if she didn’t want her mom to strain herself bending over.

Whap! Clatter! Thud!

Akina’s flurry of slipper strikes sounded like a boss fight finale. The kind of noise that made outsiders think someone was getting beat in the final stage.

She really went all in—though the slippers were just soft indoor ones with minimal impact. Even if she swung them like rebar, they wouldn’t hurt much, so she didn’t hold back. If it had been a broomstick, she might’ve hesitated. Kotomi had always been delicate—what if she actually got hurt?

Still wearing her thick winter outfit, Kotomi’s clothes acted like accidental armor. She was so cozy under the kotatsu, she almost fell asleep.

Halfway through the beating, Kotomi peeked her head out and asked with a sheepish grin:

”Mom, maybe I should take off a few layers so you can hit me more effectively?”

Akina knew full well her eldest daughter was a professional-grade brat. Despite sweating from the effort, her slipper strikes had barely made a dent. This girl didn’t even flinch.

As a child, she’d at least cry and pretend to beg. Now she was offering to undress for a more satisfying beatdown.

”Dear, your turn.”

Mixed doubles—an Izumi family tradition.

Even Kaneyoshi had been raised with the same methods.

Well, he’d been more obedient as a kid. It was Kazuma who always got the real beatings from their parents.

Kaneyoshi took the slipper with a sigh and gave Kotomi a look. He rarely got angry, and honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d hit someone. Maybe right after college?

Seeing his wife so worked up, he walked over and gave Kotomi a single crisp smack on the back.

”Ah!”

Kotomi shot straight up with a shriek, somehow launching herself from her curled-up position into the air.

”Waaah! Dad, you really hit me!” she whined, looking up at him with teary eyes.

Kaneyoshi gave her a sideways glance and whispered, ”Sweetie, are you dense? If I didn’t actually hit you, do you think your mom would’ve let it go?”

Kotomi’s most sensitive spot was her back—getting hit there truly hurt. The kind that makes you gasp from the sting.

With a pained expression, Kotomi rubbed her back and finally caught her breath. Seeing that Akina was still sitting on the sofa, fuming, she immediately reverted to her shameless self, putting on the act of a considerate little daughter. She scooted closer and began massaging her mother’s wrist with her little hands while sweetly asking:

”Mom, you must be exhausted from all that effort just now, right? Let me rub your wrist, rub your shoulders a bit, okay? Mom, when are we eating lunch? You must be starving after beating me for so long, right? How about I make lunch today? Mom~ since your hands must be sore from all that effort, how about I cook some braised pork tendons to help you recover? If you prefer braised pork trotters, I can make soy-braised pork trotters with soybeans too.”

Her voice was sugary sweet, calling her mom over and over, so much so that it was hard to stay mad.

Akina gave Kotomi a glare and flicked her forehead. Kotomi responded with a playful yelp. Akina thought for a moment, then simply laid it out:

”I’ve only got two hands. Tell me honestly—which gloves do you want me to wear? The ones from Iroha or the ones from Yui? No more dodging the question.”

Kotomi could tell her mom was giving her the choice now. Any normal person would probably agonize over it... though honestly, normal people wouldn’t even be in a situation like this. Still massaging Akina’s shoulders, she replied cheerfully:

”Mom, if I were you, I’d just wear both. Seven days in a week—wear the ones from Yui on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday; the ones from Iroha on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. On Sunday, wear one from Yui on the left and one from Iroha on the right. And if it’s cold, you’ve got the scarf from Yui too—super warm.”

”I just checked, and the scarf colors really go well together.”

”See? Such a simple problem, and you needed to ask me. Mom, you always taught me to think independently and solve problems myself.”

The atmosphere, which had just started to lighten, immediately tensed again. What had been peaceful moments turned into the calm before a storm.

Kenya Izumi gave their beloved daughter a helpless look—he couldn’t help her, wouldn’t help her, good luck.

The atmosphere felt like Silent Hill. Akina let out a long breath, then deeply inhaled again, repeating a few times before clutching her chest. Suddenly, she grabbed Kotomi’s little hands and yanked her down, pressing her across her lap and pinning her hands to her back so she couldn’t escape no matter how much she struggled.

”Honey, help me out—pass me the slipper... Actually, forget it, the slipper’s too soft. Go get the broom from the kitchen. I’m going to beat the dog.”

Kotomi, who had originally thought it was just going to be the usual slipper spanking and thus obediently laid down without resistance, immediately widened her eyes at the mention of the broom. A giant red danger sign popped up in her mind—brighter than she’d ever seen.

”Aaaaahhhhhh!”

Kotomi’s pitiful screams echoed through the house, accompanied by the crisp, relentless sound of a broom smacking her butt.

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