When I started Suspecting my Wife of Cheating, I Somehow Ended up Living in the Middle of Nowhere - Episode 11

The village of Itoyori decided to accept three new residents, a decision made solely by the village chief, Takayuki Kunezaki (60), based on his own arbitrary judgment. The first was a pink-haired, long-haired YouTuber named Cecil Okari (estimated age 20)… affectionately known as “Cecilun.”

She was a mid-tier YouTuber with 300,000 subscribers—certainly popular enough. What’s more, for the villagers, she checked off two highly sought-after boxes: “young” and “female.” That alone made her a sensation, with people of all ages crowding around her house.

The reasons varied: “just to say hi,” “to bring gifts,” “to show her around the village,” and even “to propose marriage.” Although well-meaning, over 100 visitors came to her house daily, leaving Cecilun overwhelmed. Choosing a place to live had, in effect, revealed her home address. She only now realized that this meant she’d start getting deliveries and fan mail too.

“Wait a minute… am I screwed as a YouTuber?!”

It took her a few days to start realizing the gravity of the situation.

○●○ In the Case of Kumagorou Zenpuku

I moved to Itoyori village with only the essentials. First priority: clear my yard, which was wildly overgrown. It was likely goldenrod—but I’d never seen it grow to nearly two meters tall.

I went to the village chief to borrow a lawnmower.

“A lawnmower? Ah, it’s outta fuel right now… but if you’re okay with that, go ahead and borrow it.”

The mower was sitting in the front yard. It was the kind with a two-meter bar, a circular blade at one end, and handles on the other. Gas-powered, the spinning blade trims the grass.

Out of fuel, huh… I remembered there was a home improvement store along the highway.

“I planned to pay for the fuel anyway. Perfect timing—may I borrow it?”

“Hmm… fine, but it’s an important mower, y’know? If it breaks, that’d be trouble… How about you go buy the fuel first and bring it here?”

“…? Got it.”

A mysterious mission had been assigned to me: go buy fuel for the mower?

I drove my compact car toward the hardware store.

○●○

“You’re just mean sometimes.”

The one speaking to the village chief, Takayuki Kunezaki (60), was his wife Toshiko (58).

“What now?”

“That city pig doesn’t know what kind of fuel goes in a mower! He’ll probably show up at a gas station with a kettle and say, ‘Fill this with gasoline,’ and cause all sorts of trouble!”

“Maybe so. And if he does, maybe he’ll pack up and head back to the city.”

Toshiko had moved to the village from a nearby city 40 years ago. Upon seeing that there were no convenience stores or supermarkets, she’d been devastated.

Coming from a relatively well-off household, Toshiko had no clue how to handle chores or farm work when she married into the Kunezaki family. The former village chief was her father-in-law, and her husband Takayuki was a rising star. But because of her inexperience and ignorance, the locals ridiculed and bullied her behind her back.

They’d hand her a sickle and tell her to clear vast fields of weeds. Through tears, she learned through trial and error. That experience twisted her personality, making her unable to teach others with kindness.

“I’m curious what kind of fuel the pig’s gonna bring back.”

An hour later, I—Kumagorou Zenpuku—returned from the home improvement store and headed back to the village chief’s house. If they’d let me borrow the mower first, I could’ve fueled up and gotten right to work.

But I’d been told to bring back fuel. Maybe it was a hint not to use cheap stuff?

“Thanks for waiting! I’m back!”

I called out cheerfully. Standing at the entrance were the village chief and a woman who seemed to be his wife.

“Oh, nice to meet you. I’m Kumagorou Zenpuku. Sounds like a brand of shochu, but it’s my real name.”

“Ah, you’re that guy. I’m the chief’s wife. Well then, let’s see what fuel you brought.”

At her prompting, I showed her the fuel can.

“I figured this amount would be enough…”

“Why’d you buy this one?”

She pointed to the fuel.

“Oh, the mower looked like a two-stroke engine, so I bought pre-mixed fuel.”

She looked a bit stunned. Was that the wrong choice?

“Then why’d you choose the 25:1 mix?”

Pre-mixed fuel usually comes in two types: 50:1 (gas to oil) and 25:1 (with more oil).

“Given how old the mower looked, I figured the 25:1 would be less likely to damage the engine.”

“Grrr…”

“Was that a mistake?”

I asked nervously.

“No, that’s perfect! But how the hell does a city guy know about mixed fuel ratios?!”

“Oh, I love home improvement stores…”

Home centers were kind of my thing.

“Well then, I’ll fill it up and take care of the rest of the yard.”

“Wait, you don’t have to do that!”

“But it’s out of fuel, right? There’s not much left, so I’ll finish up quickly.”

I poured in the fuel, checked the blade and the protective cover, primed the engine by pressing the fuel bulb until the air bubbles were gone, turned the choke on, flipped the switch, and pulled the starter cord.

The engine started on the first try.

Though it looked old, the mower had clearly been cared for. You can tell a lot about a person by their tools. Well-used tools are fascinating that way.

Choke off. Time to start.

“Cut from right to left… about a 1.5-meter sweep…”

Was I mumbling to myself?

I cleared the rest of the yard, bagged the grass, and loaded it into my car. The whole job took about an hour—20 minutes of mowing and 40 minutes gathering the grass. That’s the thing with mowing—it’s the cleanup that’s hardest.

“Alright, I’ll be borrowing it then!”

“Wait up!”

The chief’s wife stopped me.

“You helped with the mowing, so at least stay for some tea.”

“Oh, thanks…”

I sat on the veranda and had some barley tea before heading home.

□□□ Mother’s Update

I found a new place to live—a village far from Fukuoka City, but still within the prefecture. My mother finally underwent surgery and was hospitalized. I planned to visit from time to time. Many hospitals restrict visits due to viruses, but since hers had all private rooms, visits were relatively easy.

My father visited daily to pick up laundry. It baffled me—he used to abuse her every day, and now he came by to check in? It didn’t make sense. Since they were still married, I didn’t forbid visits. But apparently, he once said, “You’ll heal faster if you breathe from your belly,” and started pushing on her lower abdomen. A nurse intervened and kicked him out, and I got a call from the hospital.

They wanted to ban him. I pleaded, “Just five minutes, please. If he tries anything again, I’ll support a full ban.” They agreed on 5-minute visits, with a nurse or doctor posted nearby to immediately remove him if needed.

I was just grateful. When I visited, I could stay an hour or two, feed her lunch, and spend quality time.

March 15, Late Night

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I Checked My Wife’s Phone
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