"So, you're all making costumes?" Mafuyu asked, her voice still small but clear and curious now. She looked at the pile of fabric in the corner, genuine interest flickering in her eyes.
"We're entering a competition," Yuna announced, chest puffing out with pride, mouth still half-full of steak. "We're going to crush everyone."
"You were very good at sewing back then, Yuna-chan," Mafuyu said. The soft compliment made Yuna blush.
"Of course I am." Despite her words, pink colored Yuna's cheeks.
Ayane grinned. "We could use another hand, actually. Our beader and trimmer is a bit... unreliable." She winked at Mika, who just smiled calmly.
"Oh, I don't know..." Mafuyu began, her voice trailing off. The familiar fear crept back into her eyes.
"You should come," Makoto said, his voice gentle but firm. "We're usually working in the evenings. It'd be fun."
The invitation hung like a fragile promise. For a moment, something like hope shone in Mafuyu's eyes. A vision of life beyond her quiet, terrifying prison. Then, just as quickly, it vanished. The haunted look of fear replaced it.
"I can't," she whispered, gaze dropping to her empty plate. "Tatsuya... my boyfriend, he doesn't like me going out at night."
The name landed in the room like a physical weight, shattering the warm peace. The mood shifted instantly. Yuna's face, which had been flushed with pride and rare good mood, became a hard mask. Ayane's lazy smile vanished. Mika's serene expression turned cold and angry.
"Her boyfriend is quite... possessive," he said. The understatement was so massive it was almost a lie. "But I'll try to do something about it. We can talk about it later." He nodded at the girls' darkening faces.
"This wasn't over." They understood. They might be chaotic, selfish, and more than a little insane, but they weren't stupid. They knew what "possessive" meant. They'd seen the bruises she was trying to hide.
===
After finishing the dishwashing, Makoto walked back into the living room. He looked at the confused, angry faces of his harem. Heavy silence still hung in the air.
He turned to Mafuyu. "Does anyone need a ride home?" He knew only one of them would say yes.
"A ride?" Ayane says, breaking the sudden, heavy silence. "Nah, I'm good. I think I'll just… crash here again." She stretches, a long, theatrical gesture. "Your couch is surprisingly comfortable."
"I'll stay too," Mika says, her voice a soft, musical purr. Her eyes, however, are as sharp and cold as a winter sky. "We still have a lot of work to do on the costumes. We should get an early start."
Yuna just nodded, her movement sharp and jerky. "Yeah," she says, her voice a low, dangerous growl. "An early start. We really need to continue working tomorrow morning." She glares at the pile of fabric as if it's personally offended her.
Mafuyu stood there, small and fragile, out of place in the middle of the chaotic living room. "I should go," she whispered. "It's getting late." She didn't look at Makoto or anyone. She just stared at the floor near his feet.
"I'll walk you to the bus station, then. It's dangerous at night." Makoto didn't wait for an answer; he just gently took her arm.
The apartment door clicked shut behind them. The warm, chaotic noise of his life cut off, leaving them both in the cool darkness of the street.
Mafuyu walked beside him, a silent ghost in the pools of orange light from the streetlamps. The fragile bubble of normalcy, of laughter and good food, had popped. The heavy, terrified silence returned.
She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk under the weak glow of a streetlight. She didn't look at him. Just stared at her own feet, at the worn, sensible shoes she was wearing. Her shoulders began to shake. A small, choked sob tore from her throat.
"Why?" she whispered, her voice breaking with confusion and self-loathing. "Why are you being so nice to me, Makoto?" She finally looked up. Her face was a mess of tears, eyes wide and shining with desperate, pleading heartbreak. "What do you want from me?"
It was the question of a woman who'd forgotten that kindness could exist without a price. A woman who'd been taught that every gesture of affection was just a prelude to a demand.
Makoto smiled, low and affectionate. "Well, if you really want to know... There are many reasons. Part of me wants to repay your kindness. Part of me wants to help you." He paused, his voice dropping to a raw whisper. "And to be honest, I want your body and your heart both, Mafuyu-nee."
Mafuyu stared at him, mouth slightly open. The tears, which had been flowing freely, seemed to freeze on her cheeks. Of all the possible answers, all the polite denials and comforting reassurances she might have expected, this raw, brutal honesty wasn't one of them.
Then, a small sound came out. A soft, wet chuckle. Her system had been so overloaded it could only respond with hysterical amusement.
"My body?" she repeated, voice breaking with disbelief and strange, thrilling, terrifying excitement. "You want my heart too?" She took a deep, shuddering breath. A single tear rolled down her cheek.
"You're crazy," she whispered. But there was no fear in her voice. No anger, just awe. She looked up, eyes shining with a wild, adoring light. A slow, heartbreaking smile spread across her face.
"Okay," she whispered. The word was a final, desperate surrender. She took a step closer, her body a trembling weight against his.
She buried her face in his chest, hands clutching at his shirt like a lifeline. "Okay," she sobbed, voice muffled against his heart. "If you can take it, they will be all yours. Just don't break me."
Makoto patted her back, a fond smile on his face as he held her. "I know." He looked at her, eyes sparkling with wicked light. "Just wait for me. I'm no longer just a little boy like back then, Mafuyu-nee."
The bus started arriving, headlights a bright glare in the darkness. "I will free you," he grunted, his voice a dark promise. "And I'll make him pay for that!"
Mafuyu-nee's sobs hitched in her throat. The whispered promise, dark and seductive, cut through the fog of her despair. It wasn't a promise of comfort, but a promise of retribution. A promise of a cage being broken and its keeper being punished.
She pulled back just enough to look up at him. Her face was a mess of tear tracks and raw, desperate hope. The bus's headlights washed over her, catching the wild, almost feral light that had ignited in her eyes.
The gentle, victimized waitress was gone, replaced by a woman staring at the face of her potential salvation. And her potential damnation. "Be careful," she whispered, fingers tightening on his shirt. It was both a plea for his safety and a warning about her boyfriend. "He's not a good man."
The bus hissed to a stop, its doors folding open. Makoto didn't say anything. He just leaned down and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to her forehead.
Mafuyu let out a small, shuddering gasp. Then, with a final squeeze of his shirt, she let go. She turned and climbed the steps onto the bus without looking back. The doors hissed shut. The bus pulled away, taking Mafuyu with it, a ghost disappearing back into the night.
Makoto stood there for a long moment. The cold night air was a stark contrast to the white-hot rage burning in his chest.