Half an hour before, Makoto was in a supermarket.
The lights of the high-end supermarket hummed with a monotonous drone that did little to disturb the triumphant thoughts spinning in Makoto's head. He stood in the produce aisle, staring at a pair of perfectly round gift-wrapped musk melons cradled in his hands, with a comical grin on his face.
Every few seconds, his gaze would drop to his phone, which was still glowing with the email he had read at least five times since leaving the office. The words were a beautiful beacon: "Offer of Full-Time Employment - Junior Full-Stack Engineer - Clitify."
He had done it. After two months of a grueling, soul-crushing internship, of sleepless nights and caffeine-fueled coding binges, and the constant fear of being just a weeb with a hobby, he had actually made it.
"I'm going to be a real adult with a real salary." The sheer weight of the numbers in the offer letter made him feel a little light-headed. He began the walk home, the heavy bag of premium fruit swinging at his side.
The setting sun painted the Tokyo sky in deep shades of violet and bruised orange, a beautiful backdrop to the exciting landscape of his future. As he walked, he knew with a strong certainty that he hadn't climbed this mountain alone.
He thought of Mika. He remembered the night she had taken his pathetic student-level resume and transformed it into a professional CV. Without her analytical logic, he would never have made it past the first automated filter. And her mock interviews, the ones people would pay thousands of yen for, gave him the confidence he needed for the real things.
He thought of Ayane. Her shady social networks helped him to get his foot in the door. She'd cashed in a favor with Kenta-senpai, all while teasing him and demanding ramen with extra eggs as a referral fee. She was the one who had convinced him that his deep understanding of waifu culture wasn't a social handicap, but a specialized skill set.
He remembered Mafuyu. She had been his nurturing shadow throughout the entire ordeal. While he was pulling all-nighters to finish his take-home assignments, she had been there in the quiet hours. She hadn't understood the code, but she had understood him. She kept his tea warm, his home organized, and his stomach full of heartier meals than he deserved.
And, of course, he thought of Yuna. She hadn't helped with his resume or his networking. She had just been Yuna.
On the night before his final interview, when he was a stuttering wreck convinced he would fail, she had just scoffed at him. "If you fail tomorrow? So what? We have money and skills: I can sew and make more costumes. Ayane can market anything. Mika can run a company if she wants to. Mafuyu can cook better than a Michelin chef."
She had snarled, her gray eyes surprisingly serious. "We will carry you. If you fall, we pick you up. If you can't pay bills, we pay them. Because you are mine, you are ours. And we take care of our family."
The thought of her safety net had been so sweet in its own twisted way that he had burst out laughing. "She was the best little stepsister in the world," he thought.
As Makoto turned onto his street, he recalled how strangely the girls had been acting lately: Yuna's sudden bouts of morning nausea that she blamed on cheap takeout, Ayane's bizarre cravings for pickles and whipped cream, and the way Mika and Mafuyu seemed to have developed a sensitivity to the smell of his cooking.
"They've all been working so hard on the next photobooks," he reasoned, his mind ignorant of the biological reality. "The stress must be catching up to them. They're probably just exhausted."
A wonderful plan began to take shape in his mind. The new salary and his sign-on bonus were generous, more than enough for a grand gesture."I would take them all on a trip to a high-end hot spring resort in Hakone. A private onsen with a massive suite where we could stay together, along with a fancy multi-course dinner." The thought filled him with warmth.
He could already imagine it: the five of them in yukatas, getting a little tipsy on premium sake, laughing in the steam of the bath. And then, the wild and raw celebration afterward. "Who needs protection when you're celebrating a new career?" He thought with a private lewd smirk.
Makoto quickened his pace, his heart racing with giddy excitement. He couldn't wait to see their faces when he showed them the offer letter. He couldn't wait to tell them they were safe, that he could finally take care of all of them.
He reached the front door of the apartment, the key a solid weight in his hand. He paused for a moment, listening. Usually, there was the sound of Yuna's sewing machine, or a game soundtrack, or Ayane's boisterous laughter.
Instead, he was met with a strange, heavy silence.
"That's weird," he thought, a prickle of unease touching the back of his neck. "It's never this quiet."
Makoto turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. "I'm home!" he called out, his voice full of joy he was bursting to share. "And I have the return offer! We're celebrating tonight!" He stepped into the living room, ready to be tackled by his wives.
But the room was empty. And on the coffee table, lined up in a neat, terrifying row, were four plastic sticks.
The musk melon slipped from his hand, hitting the floor with a dull, heavy thud.