"Even if you say that... how exactly am I supposed to help you out here? Buy you a life-sized dakimakura or something?"
*body pillow
Kuroha Akira was playing the dense protagonist card, pretending the steam fogging the bathroom mirror had also fogged up his ability to read between the lines. Of course he understood what Shinomiya Shion was angling at — a guy would have to be denser than the lead of a harem rom-com not to catch it — but feigning obliviousness was the last fragile shield he had left.
The current situation was already teetering on the edge of disaster. If he gave even one more inch, the floodgates of his self-control were going to collapse like a poorly built sandcastle at high tide.
And honestly, it wasn't just his own restraint Akira was worried about anymore. The way Shion was looking at him — pupils dilated, lips parted just slightly, a flush blooming high on her cheekbones from more than just the steam — made him genuinely afraid she'd do something reckless first.
But Shion already had her route locked in. She planted both hands on her hips, the motion making the wet strands of her waist-length black hair sway against the pale curve of her lower back, and poked Akira squarely in the forehead with one slender finger.
"Mou, Akira-kun, be serious. We don't exactly have spare yen lying around to throw at body pillows right now, do we?"
"Th-then... once my light novel royalties hit the account next month, I'll buy you whatever you want, okay? The premium ones with the embroidered character art and everything—"
Akira had completely run out of cards to play. He'd even tossed aside his sacred principle of mooching off his women, willing to throw money at the problem like some panicking salaryman trying to bribe his way out of a host club tab. Anything to make her leave the bathroom before his self-control gave out.
But Shion wasn't biting. She didn't want his wallet. She wanted him — the whole package, blushing ears and stammered protests included.
"Akira-kun, I want a body pillow right now. And using your hard-earned royalty money to satisfy my own selfish desires? That's putting the horse before the cart, isn't it? Totally backwards."
"Uhh, well, then..."
Akira's brain was spinning at light novel protagonist speeds, frantically rifling through every escape route in his mental flowchart, but every branch came up dead. Running away was the only remaining option — except Shion was physically restraining him, water still beading down her collarbone and disappearing between the soft swell of her chest beneath the bath towel she'd wrapped around herself.
Escape route: grayed out. Unselectable.
And Shion, sensing the kill, moved in for the finisher. She left him exactly one dialogue choice, the kind of forced selection that made dating sims infamous.
"Let's do it the classic shounen way — if you want something, you put in the work to earn it. I'll scrub your back for you, and in exchange, tonight you'll kindly serve as my temporary body pillow. Deal?"
No way! That's not a compromise, that's just kicking the can down a darker alley!
If you keep walking by the river, eventually your shoes are gonna get soaked! I'm not some monk who can sit in a woman's lap and stay unmoved! I'm a healthy nineteen-year-old guy with a perfectly functional libido!
I can't agree to this. I absolutely cannot agree—
"N-no, wait, Shion, isn't this a little—"
But Akira's refusal died halfway out of his throat.
Because the smile had vanished from Shion's face.
Expressionless now, she straightened up and leaned forward, looming directly over where he sat hunched on the little plastic bathing stool. Her long wet hair cascaded down on either side of his head like a black curtain drawing closed around a stage, completely blocking out the fluorescent ceiling light. From Akira's vantage point, the highlights in her dark eyes seemed to have flickered out entirely, leaving twin pools of glassy void.
S-scary—!
Shion, did Sadako crawl out of the TV and possess you?!
"Whatever I need... you're willing to do. Akira-kun, were those words just a lie?"
Her voice came out low and even, threading into his ears like a curse muttered at a shrine at midnight.
"..."
Kuso!
She had him completely boxed in. Checkmate in three moves and he hadn't even seen the board.
In this confrontation, Akira was pinned flat on the defensive, no room to negotiate, no health bar left to bargain with. The instant he'd uttered the words "I'll do anything for you" weeks ago, he'd already signed the contract in blood. Now he was just paying the installments.
He turned his face to the side, eyes glistening with the faintest sheen of tears under the bathroom light, capitulating like the weakest of weak-willed protagonists under the divine pressure of Shion-sama.
"It's the truth... I'm willing... to serve you, Shion..."
The phrase "I'm willing" sent a strange echo through Akira's memory — those were the exact words Shion had spoken to him, soft and trembling, when he'd first extended his hand and invited her into his life as his producer's charge.
Who would have thought that pure, doll-like girl from back then would mutate into this terrifying yandere-esque succubus...
Shion, however, was thoroughly satisfied with his answer. The shadow lifted from her face instantly, replaced by a brilliant, sunshine-after-rain smile. She immediately cashed in her prize, dropping down to wrap her arms around his shoulders in a "trial hug," squeezing the breath out of him as she closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his damp hair, humming with contentment.
"Ehehe~ I knew Akira-kun would pick the correct route. Don't worry, it's really just hugging tonight. I won't do anything reckless~"
It was the exact same shameless lie a guy would tell to coax his girlfriend: "I'll just rub against the outside, I swear I won't put it in even a millimeter." Classic ecchi anime dialogue, the kind nobody ever actually believed.
Except now the gender roles were flipped, and it was Shion feeding him the bald-faced fox-spirit lies.
"Of course... if Akira-kun ends up being the one who can't hold back first, I'm totally okay with that outcome too~ After all, deciding market value is the producer's job. My job is just to keep polishing my talents and charms, ne?"
Her lips brushed the shell of his ear as she whispered that last line, and Akira felt every hair on the back of his neck stand at attention.
"I'll... think it over carefully..."
Tears actually beaded at the corners of his eyes now, his bitter smile carrying the faint melancholy of a protagonist who'd just realized the route he was locked into led to the bad ending.
Seeing his complete and total surrender, an enormous wave of accomplishment surged through Shion's chest.
Sugoi...! This is the best feeling ever!
The sensation of having complete control over the person you love most... a quiet little hum of pleasure can't even compare to this!
Then came the back-scrubbing portion of the program. Though it was dressed up in the noble robes of "Shion serving Akira faithfully," in practice it was a forced transaction at swordpoint, and the one doing the scrubbing was visibly more excited than a doujinshi artist on the morning of Comiket.
Shion abandoned the last shreds of her shame and went full feral, her hands roaming with deliberate "accidental" wandering that left both of them flushed scarlet from collarbone to ears.
The lavender-scented body soap she'd lathered between her palms made a soft kuchu, kuchu sound as she worked it across the broad plane of his shoulder blades, fingertips tracing each ridge of muscle with far more attention than mere cleaning required. Her medium-cup breasts, barely contained by the white bath towel knotted under her arms, pressed forward against his back with every stroke, the slick fabric sliding wetly against his skin until he could feel the firm points of her nipples poking through the cotton.
Pyuu~ went the showerhead in the background, hot water pattering against the tile.
"Um, Shion-san, this really is just back-scrubbing, ne? Just back-scrubbing?"
"Mhm, it's back-scrubbing. I'll get you nice and clean, I promise~"
"But, uh, your hand seems to be... drifting toward... that area... my, um, oshiri—"
*bum
Her little hand is not behaving itself at all! Where is it heading right now?! That's not back territory, that's clearly south of the equator!
"This counts as the back too, you know. Anatomically, they're connected~"
"..."
It was the exact same logic a chikan on a packed Yamanote Line train would use to justify himself. She was absolutely, one hundred percent doing it on purpose.
*molester
Akira was now personally experiencing what every molested schoolgirl in every cautionary public service announcement had ever felt. More than the physical sensation of slim fingers tracing dangerous geography along the small of his back and dipping lower with each pass, it was the humiliation lancing straight through his soul.
A creeping, scalding sense of grievance and disgrace — the helpless mortification of being unable to push back against the aggressor — battered his self-esteem in continuous waves.
This is so humiliatingggggg—!
Her fingertips skated lower, slipping beneath the curve where his lower back met something distinctly not-back, and he felt her palm cup briefly, squeeze once with frank appreciation, before retreating with feigned innocence.
"W-wait! That absolutely cannot be classified as back!"
Game over! It's joever!
"Ehehe My hand slipped Please forgive me just this once, Producer-san. I promise I won't make the same mistake again, okay?"
Shinomiya Shion deployed a moe attack — eyes huge and watery, lower lip puffed out in a tiny pout, head tilted at exactly fifteen degrees of devastating cuteness.
It was super effective!
"Guh—!"
Akira could only swallow his rage like a bitter pill and yank a folded towel across his lap, desperately barricading his thighs lest her "slippery" little hand find its way to even more catastrophic coordinates. Beneath the towel, his traitor body had already begun to react to the relentless assault — half-hard and twitching, the heat pooling in his groin completely at odds with the panic flooding his brain.
...
Having played to her heart's content, Shion finally settled into legitimately scrubbing his back. She'd originally fantasized about using her chest as the scrubbing implement — full Soapland-style service — but being only a medium cup, she felt a tiny pang of insecurity about the visual impact. Plus, this whole bathroom ambush had been spontaneous; she hadn't pre-positioned a strategically-sized bath towel as cover, so she had no plausible deniability and reluctantly shelved the plan for a future opportunity.
Even so, she was thoroughly satisfied. She'd sprinted a considerable distance down the path of love tonight, and the finish line was visibly closer.
After rinsing the suds from his back with a careful pour of warm water from the wooden ladle, Shion leaned forward and pressed her forehead gently against the nape of his neck, her wet hair spilling over his shoulder, and whispered in a voice softer than falling cherry petals.
"All done, Akira-kun... I cleaned your back properly~"
"Th-thank you... Then, Shion, you finish washing up. I'll head out first."
"Mhm... I'll wrap up here and come back to your futon soon. I don't want to get your clothes or bedding wet."
"..."
She really, truly is not holding back anymore...
Akira suddenly grasped the horrifying truth — as long as Shion kept finding excuses to corner him under the banner of "physical health maintenance" and "relieving accumulated tension," he would keep suffering this exact brand of mental torture indefinitely. Every week. Possibly every night.
His willpower was facing the boss battle of its lifetime, and his level was woefully under-leveled.
Akira, who up until now had only ever been genuinely passionate about money, found his trademark confidence completely evaporated. The post-evolution, fully-unleashed shameless version of Shion-sama was, in a word, yabai.
Kuso... can I actually hold the line?
If I can't hold the line... my entire life's route is about to get rewritten on the fly.
Whether he could withstand the continuous, escalating advances of Shinomiya Shion—
This was a trial.