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[Riku's Apartment, Tokyo ]
The matter settled for now, Riku had laid out a futon on the living room floor. The hardwood beneath the thin padding pressed against his shoulder blades, cool and unforgiving. Moonlight had filtered through the curtains until it faded into the grey wash of pre-dawn.
The three women made no movements throughout the night. No rustling sheets. No padded footsteps seeking him out. For once, Riku slept deeply—dreamlessly—his body finally permitted genuine rest.
Morning arrived with the smell of yesterday's miso lingering faintly in the air, mixing with the sharper scent of coffee grounds someone had already prepared.
Riku's eyes opened to the familiar translucent prompt hovering in his peripheral vision:
「Yesterday you completed three "Golden Acts." Your physical condition has undergone comprehensive enhancement. All attributes increased by 2 points.」
「Your title slots are full. Would you like to remove one title ability to obtain a new title?」
He selected Refuse without hesitation.
His current abilities—Shameless Thief, Despicable Orator, Clumsy Performer, Secret Explorer—served him well enough. No reason to gamble on an unknown replacement.
The moment he declined, another notification flickered into existence:
「Refusal bonus triggered. All attributes increased by an additional 1 point.」
Interesting. The system rewarded conviction.
Riku flexed his fingers experimentally. The sensation was subtle but unmistakable—muscles responding faster, joints smoother, that faint electric hum beneath his skin indicating his body inching closer toward human limits. Each enhancement provided diminishing returns now. The ceiling approached.
None of it particularly concerned him.
He pushed himself upright, the futon crinkling beneath his palms. Nahiro was already awake in the kitchen—he could hear the clink of dishes, smell sandalwood soap mixing with brewing coffee.
"Nahiro."
She turned, silver-white hair swaying against her shoulders. Dark circles still shadowed beneath her amber eyes, but something had shifted in her posture overnight. Less hunched. More grounded.
"I'm transferring another one billion yen to your account. For the company acquisition."
Nahiro's chopsticks clattered against the counter.
"One—"
"Spend it today. All of it, if possible. If that's insufficient for preliminary payments, contact me. I'll wire more."
Her lips parted. Closed. Parted again. Yesterday's two hundred million had already shattered her understanding of his finances. This additional sum—five times larger—completely rewrote whatever mental framework she'd constructed.
"Riku-kun... you're not worried?"
"About?"
"Losses." Her voice dropped. "Or me... taking it and disappearing."
Before she could finish, Riku closed the distance between them. His hand slid behind her neck, fingers threading through that impossibly soft hair, and he kissed her.
Not gentle. Not questioning.
His tongue pressed past her lips, prying her teeth apart, seeking hers with deliberate hunger. She tasted like the coffee she'd been testing—bitter, slightly burnt—and beneath that, something sweeter. Her own flavor. He explored it thoroughly, tongue curling against hers, drawing soft mewls from the back of her throat.
"Mmph—hnn~"
When he pulled back, Nahiro's face had flushed crimson from her cheeks down to the collar of her oversized sweater. Her chest heaved beneath the knit fabric.
"You won't," Riku said simply. "I trust you. You need this money to prove yourself to others—to yourself. Yesterday's two hundred million and today's billion are investments in you. Profit or loss doesn't matter. What matters is that you're the one using it."
The words landed like physical blows.
Nahiro—who had never experienced this kind of unconditional faith—felt something crack open in her chest. Heat prickled behind her eyes. Her hands trembled where they gripped the counter's edge.
I'll show him, she decided silently. I'll build something worthy of this trust.
Her affection rating had already reached 100. Short of death itself, betrayal wasn't possible. Riku knew this. He also knew that every yen she spent would return to him tenfold through his rebate ability.
Nahiro wasn't just trustworthy.
She was a human money-printing machine.
---
After reiterating instructions to all three women, Riku headed for the door.
His apartment felt smaller than ever. The entryway cramped, the living room dominated by his makeshift bedding, barely enough space for four people to coexist. He'd need to purchase a larger property soon. Something befitting his growing household.
The door clicked shut behind him.
"Riku-kun! So early today."
The voice came from his left—the neighboring apartment.
Yamashita Tachibana stood in her own doorway, one hand adjusting an earring, the other gripping a modest handbag. The hallway's fluorescent lighting washed over her figure, casting sharp shadows beneath her cheekbones.
Immediately, a notification materialized:
---
CLUE #Yamashita Tachibana:
Intensive part-time work has deteriorated Yamashita-san's condition significantly. Crushed beneath mounting debt, she works fourteen-hour days minimum.
Compound interest ensures she can never escape. She's reaching her breaking point.
Note: Yamashita Tachibana's husband died on their wedding night—before consummation. She remains technically virginal despite her widow status. She harbors deep aversion toward the "exposure industry," yet her husband's co-signed debts leave no alternatives.
Today, she intends to visit an illegitimate film production company for "special scene" shooting. Desperation has overridden disgust. The substantial payment tempts her despite everything.
She has dressed as a "sexy teacher" for the audition.
---
Riku absorbed this information while studying her properly for the first time.
Yamashita Tachibana. Despite the honorific "Madam," she couldn't be older than twenty-four. Twenty-three, perhaps.
Her face was porcelain-pale, oval-shaped, delicate features arranged with almost artificial precision. High cheekbones. Soft jawline. Lips naturally pink, currently pressed thin with anxiety. Her hair—ink-black, lustrous—had been gathered into a high ponytail that swayed when she moved, exposing the slender column of her neck.
The outfit was unmistakably calculated.
A black blazer hugged her narrow shoulders, cinched at her waist to emphasize its thinness. The matching pencil skirt ended mid-thigh, revealing legs sheathed in sheer black stockings that caught the light with each subtle shift. Her heels—three inches at least—added mature elegance to her already considerable height.
Her chest, admittedly, was modest compared to Nahiro's generous proportions. A-cup, perhaps B at most, but the blazer's tailoring compensated skillfully.
The "sexy teacher" aesthetic read clearly. A fantasy costume designed for certain... productions.
She's planning to enter the industry, Riku realized. Today.
"Yamashita-san." He kept his voice casual. "Where are you headed?"
Her smile flickered—practiced, hollow.
"A... job interview." She adjusted her handbag strap. "New position."
The debt pressed visible weight onto her shoulders. Riku had seen similar expressions on Nahiro before liberation. That particular exhaustion born from counting yen like drops of blood.
According to the clue, fourteen months of grueling labor had only covered interest. The principal remained untouched. An infinite treadmill designed to harvest desperation.
"Madam." Riku stepped closer. "I have a friend who operates a legitimate entertainment company. With your qualifications, would you consider—"
"Riku-kun." Her interruption came gentle but firm. "Thank you, truly. But I... I don't have alternatives anymore."
Below, a black sedan idled at the curb. Waiting for her.
Her extraction vehicle. Her transportation toward something she clearly dreaded.
She turned to leave.
Riku's hand closed around her wrist.
Her skin was cool beneath his palm. Soft. The bones beneath felt fragile—bird-like—against his strengthened grip.
"Hear the terms first," he said. "My friend's company would offer you... let's say, one hundred million yen as a basic signing bonus."
He'd considered saying four hundred million. But scaring her seemed counterproductive.
Yamashita Tachibana froze mid-step.
Her head swiveled back toward him, ponytail whipping.
"One hundred... million?"
That figure would eliminate most of her debt in a single payment.
"You can guarantee that?" Desperation crept into her voice despite obvious efforts to suppress it. "One hundred million, just to sign?"
"Yes."
She swallowed. Her pulse fluttered visibly at her throat.
"Although," Riku added, "my friend's company is somewhat... unconventional."
The word hung between them.
Unconventional.
Yamashita Tachibana bit her lower lip. She understood the entertainment industry well enough—legitimate or otherwise. "Unconventional" could mean many things. Boundary-pushing content. Fanservice-heavy productions. Things requiring actors to abandon ordinary shame.
Some companies demanded... participation. Multiple partners. Explicit arrangements hidden behind artistic pretense.
But one hundred million...
Her phone buzzed inside her handbag.
She retrieved it with trembling fingers.
"Yamashita-san?" A male voice, impatient. "How much longer? We're ready for you."
The sedan below. The crew waiting. Cameras already positioned.
Two abysses yawned before her.
One familiar—the car, the "production company," the degradation she'd researched extensively while convincing herself she could endure it.
One unknown—Riku's offer, his "unconventional" friend, the promise of one hundred million yen.
She looked at Riku. Really looked.
His jaw was clean-shaven. His eyes steady. Yesterday she'd watched him escort three beautiful women into his apartment. She wasn't naive. She understood transactions.
If my first time goes to him instead...
His face was handsome. Objectively, undeniably attractive.
...would that be so terrible?
"I'm sorry," she spoke into the phone. "I won't be coming today."
Silence.
Then: "You bitch. Getting cold feet now? Your entry fee isn't refundable, you know. Fucking time-wasters."
The line went dead.
Entry fee. "Nutrition fees." Standard bribes paid to male performers in that industry. Money she'd already lost.
None of it mattered anymore.
Yamashita Tachibana squared her shoulders. Her cheeks flushed pink—embarrassment, anticipation, fear all tangled together.
"You're certain? One hundred million, guaranteed?"
"Yes."
Her tongue darted across her lips. Her heart hammered against her ribs hard enough that she felt certain he could see it.
He brought home three women. He knows what he wants. And if that's the price...
"Fine." The word emerged shakier than intended. "If the money's real... I'll do whatever's required."
Riku nodded.
Clearly she'd misunderstood something fundamental about his offer. But correcting her seemed unnecessary.
What mattered: he'd just helped Nahiro spend another hundred million yen.
Which meant another one billion flowing directly into his account.
His lips curved slightly.