"...What am I doing?"
Suzuki muttered the classic protagonist line as he stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. This was a place he had never in a million years thought he would enter: Kobayashi's apartment.
Why was he here? The answer was glaringly obvious. The two of them had spent the entire night having wild, uninhibited sex, completely releasing all the pent-up stress from their toxic corporate jobs.
Suzuki knew it was incredibly strange, and HR would definitely classify it as wrong, yet somehow, Kobayashi had been the eager one. She had practically thrown herself at him, letting him do whatever he wanted with her body. Her chest might have been on the small side, she wasn't particularly tall, and her usual wardrobe consisted of unladylike, oversized work suits that completely masked her femininity. Yet, underneath it all, she was surprisingly sensitive. Stripped bare, she had aroused him to the point where he treated her entirely like his favorite plaything.
He had held her from behind, moving his waist roughly, driving her absolutely crazy until she passed out from sheer exhaustion.
To be honest, staring at the ceiling, he thought he might be dreaming. But when he looked down at the figure sleeping soundly on his chest—completely naked, her smooth legs tangled with his, and her two soft, pink peaks rising and falling with her breath—his lower half aggressively reacted once again.
Yeah. Everything was very, very real. He had absolutely fucked his senior.
A moment later, Kobayashi shifted. Her eyelids fluttered open, groggy and disoriented.
"...Where is this?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.
"Your home, Senpai," Suzuki replied deadpan.
"....."
Kobayashi blinked. The fog in her brain cleared as the soreness in her hips registered. She looked down at her own naked body, then looked up at Suzuki, her gaze inevitably catching the very obvious, thick erection pressing against her thigh.
A vivid rush of memories flooded her mind. She recalled exactly how something that massive had entered her, completely and ruthlessly taking her virginity. It was something she had honestly never thought would happen in her life; she had resigned herself to the idea that she might just die a virgin. But as a woman, she would be lying if she said she didn't have needs. From time to time, the crushing stress of the black company forced her to rely on her own fingers or toys to blow off steam.
But last night... last night had been so mind-blowingly incredible that she had forgotten her own name.
Fortunately, Suzuki had the presence of mind to buy condoms at a convenience store before they stumbled back to her place. Kobayashi knew perfectly well that if he had emptied that much stamina directly inside her, she'd likely be sporting a bulging belly and a mini-Kobayashi in nine months.
It wasn't that she was terrified of getting pregnant, nor did she expect him to instantly take responsibility for a casual hookup. But after experiencing exactly how phenomenal he was in bed... she was already doing the mental math on how to keep him.
Could I keep him in my apartment? Like a live-in maid? A gigolo? A toyboy? Or even... a househusband?
Kobayashi calculated her monthly income. Yeah. Even if he's laid off for good, I can definitely afford to take care of him.
"....." Suzuki stared at her, feeling a strange chill run down his spine as he watched the gears turning in her head.
Still, there was one major hurdle in Kobayashi's master plan.
"Can you cook?" she asked suddenly.
"Hmm?"
Thirty minutes later, Suzuki found himself walking back from the nearby morning market with bags of fresh ingredients. He stood in her cramped kitchen, efficiently preparing a traditional Japanese breakfast. He had to admit, he was a little annoyed. She had practically shoved her wallet into his hands and absolutely refused to let him pay for the groceries.
Am I officially a gigolo now? Suzuki wondered, chopping green onions with terrifying, AI-assisted speed.
"I want to drink your miso soup every single day."
That was Kobayashi's blunt, awestruck impression as she took her first sip. She was completely blown away. She hadn't expected his cooking to be this phenomenal. The rich, warm broth spread through her exhausted body, instantly curing her hangover and making her feel incredibly at peace.
He looks really good in an apron, too, she thought lustfully, staring over the rim of her bowl at Suzuki, who was serving the grilled fish.
"Don't even ask me to do a naked apron," Suzuki said without missing a beat, somehow perfectly reading the perverted glint in her eyes.
"...Is that a hard no?" Kobayashi practically begged, leaning across the table.
Suzuki just sighed, sitting across from her with his own bowl of rice. He looked at her speechlessly, genuinely wondering if his destiny was to become a full-time househusband. Yet, as he watched her eat, he remembered how her small ponytail had swayed last night when he was pounding her. He also remembered feeling the rigid tension in her lower back—a byproduct of her terrible office posture.
Once I liquidate those Yahoo! Auction snipes on Monday, I should buy her a high-end, luxurious ergonomic chair, he decided silently.
"Instead of visualizing me in a naked apron, why are you wearing your office uniform?" Suzuki asked, gesturing to her crisp white button-down and tie. "Isn't it Saturday?"
"There's still a mountain of work I have to finish," Kobayashi sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I left the office way too early last night, remember? So, of course, I have to go back and take care of the leftovers."
Normally, Kobayashi would have stayed at her desk until midnight on a Friday. But because she wanted to chase after Suzuki and comfort him, she had abandoned her post.
"I'm sorry," Suzuki said, feeling a sudden pang of genuine guilt.
"Don't worry about it. I really enjoyed our time together," she smirked, taking another bite of rice. "But what is your plan now? You have a mandatory two-week suspension with absolutely nothing to do. Are you going back to visit your family—"
Kobayashi froze. Her eyes widened in horror. "Ah! I'm so sorry!"
"No, it's fine. I'm not angry," Suzuki waved it off casually, entirely unbothered by the reminder that he was an orphan. "But to be honest, I'm not really sure what to do with myself."
Even if he never stepped foot outside this apartment, Suzuki knew he could generate a massive fortune using the Manager. But how to actually spend that money? He had no idea. There was nothing he desperately wanted. His life had suddenly become completely free—a sensation he had never experienced after spending his entire existence grinding just to survive. When he finally had nothing to do, he was paralyzed by the sheer volume of choices.
"Then... what about staying here with me?"
"...Is that okay?" Suzuki blinked, surprised by the sudden, bold invitation.
"Well, if you don't mind the mess, just stay here," she offered, looking down at her soup to hide her blush.
"It would be too much if I just freeloaded and did nothing. I'll help you clean up and take care of the chores... and many other things," Suzuki promised.
...Many other things...
Kobayashi's mind instantly spiraled into the gutter. She vividly imagined Suzuki dressing up in a frilly French maid outfit, lifting the skirt, and utterly dominating her in the bedroom.
"..." Suzuki stared at her, watching a small line of drool form at the corner of her mouth.
"Ah! Look at the time! I really have to go now!" Kobayashi suddenly shouted, jumping up from the table. The corporate slave instincts kicked in; the work had to be done!
"Be careful out there," Suzuki said, standing up and handing her a neatly wrapped box. "Also, here is your bento for lunch."
Thanks to the Manager skill, calculating precise nutritional values, flavor profiles, and cooking times had become effortless. Since he had nothing but free time, throwing together a top-tier bento was a breeze.
"T-Thank you very much!" Kobayashi practically beamed, clutching the bento box to her chest like a sacred treasure.
"It's fine. What do you want to eat for dinner tonight?"
"Curry!"
"Got it. Be careful on your way."
They awkwardly, domestically waved goodbye. As the front door clicked shut, Kobayashi stood in the hallway for a long moment, staring at the wrapped bento in her hands.
Yeah. It's definitely not a bad idea to keep him as my househusband.
No, wait. My personal maid!
Inside the apartment, Suzuki surveyed the cluttered living room. Empty beer cans, scattered laundry, and dusty shelves surrounded him.
"Hmm... am I really going to become a househusband?"
He rubbed his temples, feeling a strange mix of surreal amusement and domestic duty. As a single, overworked woman, her place was undeniably a disaster zone. He rolled up his sleeves and started gathering the empty cans.
I suppose being a househusband isn't a bad gig, Suzuki mused, looking around the messy room. But is it really going to be this easy?