By the time the fully armed tactical team stormed the meeting point, weapons raised, ready for war—
They found only naked men.
Dozens of them. Groaning. Confused. Very, very exposed.
The lead agent lowered his rifle slowly, recognition dawning.
The joke. The one going around headquarters. About the precinct that busted a gang fight and brought back a strip club's worth of unclothed perps.
That was real. That happened. And now it's happening to us.
[Encounter Summary]
Target: Large-scale gathering (approx. 45 individuals)
Tactical Note: Minimal resistance. Subjects fled in multiple vehicles. Improvised steel nail projectiles deployed against tires. Complete incapacitation achieved.
[Rewards]
Strength +2
Agility +2
¥85,000,000
Eighty-five million.
Akira let out a low whistle. Added to his existing funds, that pushed him past the hundred-million mark. Enough for a house. Outright. No mortgage, no payments, no strings.
Save a bit more. Then go shopping for real estate.
The stat gains were equally satisfying—two points each to Strength and Agility, saving him an entire session's worth of grinding.
The world blurred. When it solidified again, he was back in his room at the dojo.
Seven AM. On the dot.
He pulled up his full status:
[Player: Akira]
Age: 18
Occupation: Convenience Store Clerk (Temporarily Homeless)
Strength: 9.8
Agility: 9.8
Endurance: 8.7
Spirit: 1.8
Skills: Martial Arts (Perfected), Precise Throwing (Perfected), Swordsmanship (Perfected)
He flexed, feeling the changes. Lighter. Stronger. More present in his own skin. At his previous stats, he could handle fifty thugs and Tiger-class monsters with ease. Now?
Now I could probably dismantle my convenience store with my bare hands. If it still existed.
The game's first chapter progress showed Mother: 90% | Daughter: 60%. One more night, maybe two, and Chapter Two would unlock.
Wonder what fresh insanity awaits.
Izumi Residence — Morning
Izumi Kirishima's eyes fluttered open.
Mmm~.
Her body informed her, in no uncertain terms, that it had been thoroughly, comprehensively, enthusiastically used. The memories surfaced in fragments: the initial shock of intrusion, the flash of recognition, the subsequent surrender to familiarity and pleasure.
That child. That man.
Last night had reminded her of their first encounter—that terrifying, thrilling, unforgettable night when everything changed. Her heart still quickened at the memory.
She checked the time. Past eight. She swung her legs out of bed and immediately grabbed the wall for support.
Three hours. Nearly three hours of high-intensity... activity.
Her legs were numb. Uncooperative. She made her way to the bathroom by touch alone, leaning heavily on the wall.
The door clicked shut behind her.
From under the sofa, Izumi Sagiri waited until the bathroom sounds confirmed her mother was occupied. Then she crawled out, limbs trembling, and used the wall for exactly the same purpose.
Upstairs. Need to get upstairs.
Her legs and waist ached in ways she'd never experienced. Each step was a negotiation. She made it to her room, collapsed onto her bed, and lay staring at the ceiling.
She'd dozed under the sofa—fifthly, restlessly—but true sleep had eluded her. And when she had drifted off, he was there. In her dreams. Doing things. Terrible, wonderful, impossible things.
Hoo~.
She pulled the blanket over her head.
Busujima Dojo — Morning
In the main hall, Saeko Busujima moved through her kata with fluid precision. The wooden sword was an extension of her will, each strike a statement of purpose. Sweat beaded on her skin, tracing the architecture of her muscles, catching light as it travelled.
Her chest moved with each swing—unrestrained, natural, present.
Akira appeared in the doorway.
No restraints? The observation was immediate. Is she this comfortable around me already?
"Morning, Saeko."
She completed her strike, lowered the shinai, and turned with a warm smile. "Morning, Akira-san." She wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, then loosened her collar and waist tie, inviting airflow.
Each movement was a study in unintended provocation. Fabric shifted. Skin revealed itself in glimpses. The morning light collaborated with every angle.
If she were in the game too... The thought surfaced before he could stop it. What I could do. What we could do.
"Since you didn't have work today, I let you sleep in." Saeko's voice was perfectly normal, utterly unaware of the effect she was having. "Did you rest well?"
Very well, he didn't say. Productively. Lucratively.
"Soundly. Very soundly."
"Good. There's food in the kitchen—help yourself. I'm going to shower."
She passed him, close enough that he caught the scent of clean sweat and something floral. At the threshold, she tugged her collar again, welcoming the morning breeze against her skin.
Then she was gone.
Akira stroked his chin, watching the empty doorway.
Opportunity. There's definitely opportunity there.
Tonight?
School — Lunch Break
Saeko and Suguha sat together in a quiet corner of the cafeteria, lunch trays between them.
"Senpai." Suguha leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "Did anything happen last night? Between you and Akira-san?"
Saeko's expression didn't flicker. "Akira-san is a man of true martial virtue. Such things would never cross his mind."
Absolutely never, she assured herself.
Not even a little.
Behind them, Suou Yuki—student council executive and information-gatherer extraordinaire—perked up her ears.
Busujima. Kirigaya. Kendo tournament. Her interest was professional. The top two contenders' personal lives fell squarely under "intelligence worth gathering."
"Oh~!" Suguha's voice carried that particular teasing lilt. "If he won't make a move, you could. And if you won't..." She grinned. "I will."
SNAP.
The chopsticks in Saeko's hand fractured cleanly in two.
Suguha's grin froze. "Kidding! Totally kidding! I'll test him for you this afternoon at practice. Scope him out. See what he's really about."
"No need." Saeko's voice was perfectly calm. Perfectly level. Perfectly terrifying. "I trust Akira-san's character completely."
She rose, broken chopsticks in hand. "I'm getting replacements."
The moment she was out of earshot, Suguha exhaled like a deflating balloon.
Senpai in love is absolutely terrifying.
Her lips curved into a smile.
But these next few days? Something's definitely going to happen. I can feel it.
Afternoon — Busujima Dojo
"I can't... I can't anymore..."
Kirigaya Suguha collapsed onto the tatami in an ungraceful heap, chest heaving, limbs splayed. She yanked at her dojo uniform, peeling off the top layer with zero regard for propriety.
The binder beneath was soaked through, clinging to contours that refused to be completely concealed. Each gasping breath made her chest rise and fall in ways that demanded attention.
Akira lowered his shinai. Swallowed. Sat down heavily.
Saeko emerged from the kitchen, orange soda in hand—the ones Akira had stocked in their fridge that morning. "Mind your image. Akira-san is right there."
Suguha waved dismissively. "Senpai trusts his character, so I trust his character! Besides—" she patted her binder "—fully covered. Professional grade."
She twisted the cap.
FIZZZZZ—!
The soda erupted like a shaken volcano, drenching her chest, her binder, everything in the immediate vicinity.
White fabric + copious moisture = transparency.
Everything that should show. Everything that shouldn't. All of it, suddenly, visibly there.
"Ah—!"
Suguha shot upright. For one suspended moment, her chest—freed from the constraints of dry fabric—performed its own introduction.
Then she abandoned dignity entirely, tilted her head back, and chugged the remaining soda directly from the bottle.
"Ah~!" She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, utterly unbothered by her state. "Cold! So good!"
She grabbed her discarded uniform top, mopped the spilled soda with it like it was a rag, and sauntered toward the washroom without a backward glance.
Akira had not moved. Had not spoken. Had barely breathed.
I only shook one bottle. ONE. And Senior Busujima picked THAT one.
Saeko, meanwhile, had fetched a proper wet rag and was now kneeling on the tatami—post-training, post-binder-removal, clad in soft, loose clothing that draped rather than concealed.
Her hands gripped the rag. Her back stayed straight. Her hips rose slightly with each forward motion as she methodically cleaned the floor.
The silk shifted. Slipped. Revealed.
Every angle offered something. A glimpse. A suggestion. A promise.
Reality, Akira reminded himself. This is reality.
But just a little longer. A little longer and—
Time, as it does, passed.
Nine o'clock. Suguha, the human chaperone, finally departed.
Not much time left.
Akira reluctantly pulled out his phone. The icon glowed.
Conquest.
He climbed through the window with practiced ease.
The Izumi living room awaited. On the sofa, mother and daughter sat side by side, their expressions a study in contrast when they saw him.
Izumi Kirishima: resignation softening into something almost like welcome.
Izumi Sagiri: wide-eyed, breath-quickening, barely-suppressed anticipation.
Akira smiled.
Blessing in disguise.
Another grand spectacle indeed.