A child who chooses Pino with only 6 pieces,

Pino, you don't understand anything.

6 pieces.
Just 6 pieces.

It's too few.
6...pieces? What do you mean by "pieces"? That's not a unit for ice cream, is it?

For a child, the value of ice cream is its size.
To kids who crave ice cream with the suction power of a Dyson, 6 pieces are nothing but a breeze. I can't spend my precious 100 yen on a fleeting taste that disappears the moment it's blown away.

A child who chooses Pino must be on their second life, or a descendant of that kind old man who chose the smaller box in the folktale 'The Tongue-Cut Sparrow'—

I had always, always thought so.

I admit that Pino is delicious. But that's exactly why the fact that it ends in 6 pieces is so sad. I don't think I ever bought Pino with my own pocket money during my childhood.

Does that change when you become an adult?

No, even at an age where I should know when enough is enough, my life and Pino's still didn't cross paths.

Adults have their own ice cream affairs. I have to embrace every Häagen-Dazs that changes its outfit with the seasons and boldly flashes its thighs. I have no time to bother with Pino. To an adult stained by the paints of the city, the Pino of my familiar hometown seemed far too childish. If there is anything I can do for Pino, it is perhaps to send it a cotton handkerchief.

We would probably continue to walk separate paths—
Just as I thought that, I unexpectedly reunited with Pino.

The trigger was the birth of my son.

The battle of putting him to sleep, which unfolded until dawn every single day.
While being slowly worn down by sleep deprivation and fatigue, I spent my days buying more ice cream for the freezer, seeking calories for my soul.

That night, too, beside the 'crying general' who had finally fallen asleep, I couldn't fall asleep while still holding up my flag of victory. Seeking a celebratory ice cream to get some rest, if only for now... I opened the freezer. And yet, it wasn't there. I had run out of stock. How could this be...

I folded my hands for my husband, who was lying there like a stretched-out rubber band beside our son after fighting together, and headed to the convenience store while dragging my injured body.

The fluorescent lights of the middle of the night were violently dazzling. New products were noisily asserting themselves in the ice cream case, but my heart wasn't moved. I didn't have the energy to play with luxury ice cream.
What I needed was a casual, reliable sweetness. Just one bite would do. Something to gently wrap around me in my current state—

As I slowly moved my gaze to the edge of the case, the familiar red box caught my eye.

...Wait, what about Pino?

If it's Pino, which can be managed by the piece, it wouldn't be a problem even if my child cried or woke up halfway through. Wouldn't this casualness be perfect for me right now?

I bought Pino with the feeling of returning to my hometown. It had been years, or perhaps even decades. Even though I had ignored it so much, what is this peace of mind?
By the time I returned home from the convenience store, my heart, which had been exhausted by the battle, had already begun to relax.

I open the box, pick up one piece, and bring it to my mouth.

It's hard.

It had been sitting perfectly still in a seated position inside that cold, dark box until just now, so I suppose that's to be expected. As I roll it gently with my tongue to lead it, the chocolate slowly melts. Then, a pleasant, milky-white swamp spreads out as if chasing after the chocolate.

“……?!”


The Pino I was eating for the first time in a while was Yumi Adachi.

Wait a minute. I thought of it as something as innocent as a childhood friend of the nation, but when I look at it calmly again, isn't its charm as an adult off the charts...?

Every single piece is truly, thoroughly delicious. My mind and body are perfectly satisfied by these six pieces, which I used to complain were too few. The gentle flavor of milk and chocolate embraces my sleep-deprived body and exhausted heart.

It's love...

Pino is love.
Six pieces of love.

Before I knew it, I had fallen into a dream. A warm dream where a milky-white swamp spreads out. My feelings relaxed, I stretched my limbs to the fullest, and I savored the motherly swamp forever.

The next day, and the day after that, I found myself buying Pino. It didn't take long for me to start keeping Pino in the freezer at all times.

When I hit a wall at work, one piece.
When I'm about to take my frustrations out on my child, one piece.
When I lose my composure, I rip open the red box and pop one into my mouth.

Sometimes functioning as a "sedative for irritation" or a "self-recovery switch," Pino continued to support me in my daily life.

Six pieces.
Just six pieces.

I want to keep them all to myself, forever. My precious Pino. I know of nothing else that is so full of love and peace in just six pieces.

Pino and I lived quietly together, like an old married couple. I thought this happiness would last forever. Until that day, until that incident happened—

＝

I finished cleaning up after dinner, and the moment I opened the freezer to have some, I let out a "Gasp!" Deep in the back of the freezer, the Pino I had been keeping carefully so no one would find it was standing there in a transformed state.

To calm down, I closed the freezer once and looked around. No one was there.
After taking a deep breath, I opened the freezer and gently picked up the evidence of the crime.

I wished it were a dream.
However, the fact that the box was distorted and cruelly pried open was, no matter how I looked at it, reality.

I gently opened the box along the perforations.
…It was there. 1, 2, 3, 4… 5 pieces. And, a gaping space for one piece.

There is no longer any room for doubt. Someone has stolen one piece of my precious Pino. It is a Pino kidnapping case.

When I see the "all-too-obvious evidence" left behind by the culprit, a complex sense of endearment rushes through my entire body, along with anger and sadness. After all, there is only one person who would abduct them in such a way—The culprit is undoubtedly my eldest son (then 6 years old).


Sometimes he arrives home from after-school care a little earlier than me, as I bring the nursery school kids home. During that gap in time when my watchful eyes are elsewhere, incidents that felt like omens often occurred.

When I open the front door and say, "I'm home," my eldest son, clearly flustered, says, "I was just about to take a bath," and runs off to the bathroom after taking off his clothes.

Suspicious...

Trusting my nose, I open the cupboard where I keep the snacks, and the disorganized formation of my snack stock jumps out at me. And right on top of the trash can is some brand-new snack packaging. It is nothing but evidence.

Even though I noticed the existence of the snack thief, I let him get away with it. If he were gorging himself to the point where he couldn't eat dinner, that would be one thing, but isn't stealing a snack or two kind of cute?

I almost want to teach him to at least shove the trash further down so it can't be seen, but that shallow, naive approach is actually endearing.

Thanks to my generous tolerance, my eldest son, having built up a successful experience, finally laid his hands on my sanctuary: the freezer—and of all things, my beloved Pino.

6 pieces.
Just 6 pieces.

Even though I have a stock, I can't stay silent when my beloved 6 pieces are stolen without permission.

However, I couldn't bring myself to hate my son, the culprit. My eldest son, who was once the "general of crying at night" who introduced me to Pino, has now reached Pino on his own accord. After 6 years, my son and I are now looking at these beloved little pieces from the same perspective.

“...Hey, you ate the Pino, didn't you?”

I called out to him just as he was coming out of the bath. I haven't yet decided whether I should scold him or give him a high-five as a fellow Pino lover.

“Huh? I didn't eat it!”

My eldest son's voice is high-pitched as he desperately denies it. Your agitation is showing in your attitude, my son.

What should I do?
Tell him it's not okay to eat them without asking?
Or...

“...I have another box, do you want to eat them together after dinner?”

“Oh? Really?”

Seeing my eldest son's face light up, my heart softens.
But is this really okay? I mean, you're still at the Dyson stage, aren't you? Once you eat one, you'll surely be unable to stop. Six pieces won't be enough for you.

I hate to be a hypocrite, but I'm worried about my child getting into the habit of eating ice cream. It would be better to wait until he realizes the value of a single piece and its rational efficiency.

On depressed nights, tired mornings, and moments when I'm about to cry, those six pieces have quietly stood by me. I feel like you're still too young to know that weight.

Six pieces.
Just six pieces.

……But, there are also "as many as" six pieces.

If we share them, we might see an even more wonderful view.

"It's fine. Isn't it tastier to eat them together happily than to eat them in secret?"

After dinner, my eldest son and I opened the box properly in front of the freezer and ate three Pino pieces each. It's a secret from his siblings in daycare.

My eldest son murmured dreamily, "Pino is the best, after all." Hey, what do you mean "after all," you little kidnapper?

……But you know, I get it. I thought the same thing, too.

Pino really is the best.
Eating Pino with my child is exceptional.

===

On the weekend, my eldest son came along for grocery shopping.
He started putting his favorite chikuwa and flavored cheese into the basket on his own. When he tried to add a pile of snacks, I scolded him, "Hey, just one snack!" and he grumbled as he hugged his snack and disappeared toward the shelves.

"I'll go with this one~"

In one hand, my eldest son held strawberry Pocky. In the other, he held that familiar red box.

"Wait, I said just one snack..."

"It's fine, let's eat Pino together again!"

Honestly, he's so cheeky. It seems my eldest son realized the true value of Pino much faster than I did.

A child who chooses just six Pino chocolates must be on their second life, or someone who knows the happiness of sharing with others. What a wonderful life you are leading, my son.

My eldest son, who put the Pino in the basket with a smug look on his face, disappeared toward another shelf, looking satisfied.

"You're really something..."

Even as I muttered that, my heart lifted at the milky aftertaste spreading in my mouth. Feeling my steps grow lighter, I headed to the register.

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