After that, Nightlight turned into something of a battlefield.
"Um, what are you supposed to do for a fever again? Cool them down? Warm them up?"
"The back of the neck, and the armpits! You cool the big blood vessels!"
"Ice! An ice pillow! ...Wait, where would that even be in this house?"
"I'll look it up!"
"Rui, search it on your phone! Hurry!"
The four of them, who were usually the ones being looked after by me, were rushing around in a flurry.
From under the covers, I watched the scene in a daze. It gave me a terribly strange feeling.
"Mr. Manager, water. Can you drink?"
Yume held out a feeding cup. Where she'd dug it up from, I had no idea—a retro glass one with a spout.
"Ah... sorry. I can do it myself."
When I tried to reach for it, Yume shook her head.
"It's fine. Stay down."
She gently brought the spout to my lips. The cold water soaked into my raw throat.
"...Thank you."
"I said it's fine. ...I mean, Mister, you've actually been taking care of us like this the whole time, haven't you."
Yume said it quietly. Her eyes were a little wet.
Mahiru laid a damp hand towel on my forehead. It was cold, and it felt good.
"Um, Mr. Manager. Do you think you could eat something warm? If you don't eat, you can't take medicine, either."
"Oh, no. I couldn't have all of you cooking for me."
"It's fine!"
Mahiru's voice came out unusually strong.
"We've only ever been on the receiving end. From you. Warm meals, kind words, all of it. So today... just for today, okay?"
Her eyes were wet again.
"Let us do something too. Please."
I couldn't say anything.
From the kitchen came a soft clatter of pots. And some slightly panicked voices.
"Hey, how much rice do we put in?"
"Just eyeball it, right? It's rice porridge."
"How do you even make dashi...? Mr. Manager always does something, right, with kombu or whatever."
"Oh, there are dashi packets here! These'll do!"
"Isn't the heat too high? It's burning, it's burning!"
From under the covers, I listened to the sounds. The pot simmering away. The clumsy tapping of a knife against a cutting board.
The green onions should be cut thinner. The heat should be a bit lower. The egg goes in after you turn off the heat.
In my head, I almost started giving instructions. Then I stopped.
Today, it's all right, I thought. Maybe I'll leave it to them. For the first time in my life.
After a while, Rei carried in a tray. On it was a small clay pot, steaming.
"...It's done. Rice porridge."
Rei said it with a slightly awkward look.
"Just so you know. Don't get your hopes up."
What was in the bowl—to be honest, it could not have been called pretty, even out of politeness. The green onions were all different thicknesses. The egg had set too hard, crumbly in places. The rice was overcooked, practically mush.
If I'd made this, I probably wouldn't have served it. I'd have started over.
But. Steam was rising from it. Gentle steam.
"...Ah."
Something caught in the back of my throat.
"Sorry it's from a dashi packet. We didn't know how to make the kombu stock or anything," Rei said fast, like an excuse.
"Yume cut the green onions, so they're uneven. Mahiru put the egg in way too early, so it set. And the rice got overcooked while Rui was spacing out."
"Hey, don't go blaming other people."
"It's the truth."
The four of them were bickering noisily.
I picked up the spoon with a trembling hand. I scooped up a spoonful. Brought it to my mouth.
...
The taste. It was salty. The seasoning was all over the place. The dashi was weak. The rice had gone soft and soggy. A bowl that I, as a professional, would never in a million years have served.
And yet. And yet, the moment that first spoonful touched my tongue—
A tear spilled over.
"...!"
It wouldn't stop. Every spoonful I brought to my mouth, more and more of them spilled out.
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. No matter how much I wiped, I couldn't keep up. Still gripping the spoon, my shoulders shook.
Bawling like this. A grown middle-aged man. How embarrassing. Even so. I couldn't stop.
"...It's, stupid, isn't it," I said between sobs.
"Over a salty rice porridge like this. ...But it's the most delicious thing I've had in my whole life."
The four of them were looking at me in surprise.
And then. Mahiru started crying too.
"Oh no, why am I crying too..."
Yume sniffled. Rei bit down hard on her lip. Ms. Makabe quietly pressed her fingers to her eyes.
At my feet, Komugi let out a worried whine. He didn't leave the side of my futon for a moment.
"Mr. Manager."
Rei, done crying, knelt beside the bed. And with eyes more direct than I'd ever seen, she said:
"We talked about it last night, you know. After you went to sleep."
"...Yes."
"You always say things to us, don't you? 'Welcome home.' 'That was a long day, wasn't it?' 'Shall we eat?' Every time we come home in pieces."
Rei's voice trembled a little.
"So now, it's our turn to say them."
The four of them gathered around me. Yume, with the feeding cup. Mahiru, with a fresh towel. Ms. Makabe, quietly at my pillow. And Rei, with a second helping of the clumsy rice porridge.
Rei said:
"Tonight—let us be the ones you lean on."
I cried again.
May a day come when you can lean on someone.
Tomi's last line echoed in my head.
I'd never been able to do it. Lean on someone. Say "Help me." I was a person who gave. That was all I knew.
But. Now, like this. Sipping a salty rice porridge made with clumsy hands. Surrounded by four girls.
For the first time in my life, I was letting someone take care of me.
"...Thank you."
I was finally able to say those words. The words I'd never been able to say.
"Thank you... Really."