Makoto woke up at midnight and got back to work. 5:14 AM, the numbers on his clock glowed green, matching the oscillating lines of the debugger running on his left monitor.
The air in the room was saturated with the smell of stale energy drinks and the faint scent of the strawberry wipes Mafuyu had used to clean the desk earlier. Makoto's eyes felt like they had been rubbed with sandpaper, the blue light of his dual monitors burning into his retinas until every line of Python began to blur together.
He was stuck.
The chatbot's intelligence was technically work: It could insult you like Yuna, gaslight you like Mika, and tease you like Ayane. But as Makoto stared at the terminal output, he felt a nagging sense of emptiness.
The bot was reactive. It waited for a prompt or a command and reply. It was just an abusive text generator at this point.
"It's not a real companion," Makoto thought, rubbing his face until his skin burned. "It's just a mirror. A real partner doesn't just respond to your needs. She should anticipate them and take initiative."
He thought about the way the house functioned. If he waited until he was hungry to ask for food, he'd already be irritable. If he waited until he was thirsty to ask for water, his focus would already be gone. The reason he was even able to pull this all-nighter was that his life was managed by a caring but silent, invisible force.
A soft sound came from the hallway. Shhh-shhh. Like fabric brushing against the wall. Makoto tensed. "Was it Yuna, up for a late-night snack? Or Ayane sleepwalking?"
The door handle turned slowly. The door creaked open just enough to admit a slice of hallway light, and then a figure slipped inside. It was Mafuyu.
She stepped into the room wearing a simple cotton nightgown that reached her ankles, soft and worn from use. Over it, she had draped one of Makoto's oversized cardigans, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She looked pale in the glow of the monitors, her hair pulled back in a loose, low ponytail.
Without asking if he was busy or wanted anything, she simply walked to his side and set a small wooden tray on the only clear spot on his desk. On it was a steaming bowl of miso soup, a single onigiri wrapped in fresh nori, and a tall glass of lukewarm water.
"You're clenching your jaw, Makoto-kun," she whispered. Her voice cut through his scattered thoughts. "The tension is traveling down your neck."
She stepped behind his chair. Before he could protest, her hands landed on his shoulders. Her fingers began to work the knots in his muscles with practiced pressure.
"Mafuyu-nee, I'm almost done, I just need to figure out this logic…" Makoto retorted.
"The code will still be there in ten minutes," she murmured, her thumbs digging into the base of his skull. "Your health won't be if you keep this up. Drink the water."
Makoto obeyed. As the water hit his parched throat, realization hit him hard. He looked at the code, then at the tray of food, then at the woman standing behind him. "Mafuyu-nee," he asked, his voice raspy. "Why did you bring me soup? I didn't ask for it."
Mafuyu paused her massage, her fingers lingering on his neck. A small, puzzled smile touched her lips. "Because it's five in the morning and you've had nothing but caffeine and snacks since dinner. Your stomach was probably starting to ache. I could hear it through the wall."
"I see, because you care for me," Makoto whispered, his eyes wide as he turned back to the screen. "The chatbot should care!" He scrambled for his keyboard, his fingers flying. "It shouldn't just be a chat partner! It needs to be an active AI agent, with tool-calling capabilities."
Makoto began to type at a furious pace as his thinking flowed, the soup forgotten for a moment. "If the user's work shows fatigue, the bot shouldn't just say, "Get some rest." It should have the authority to access the system, dim the screen, close non-essential applications, and set a wake-up alarm."
"I'm giving it a personality," Makoto explained, his voice gaining energy. "Like you, Mafuyu-nee. The bot will have access to the user's computer. If it detects that the user is procrastinating, it will lock the browser. If it detects the user is stressed, it will play calming music."
Mafuyu watched the lines of code scroll by, her expression one of quiet confusion. She didn't understand the syntax, but she understood his intent. She reached out, her hand resting on the back of his chair, and winced. She shifted her weight, pressing her hand into the small of her back.
"Are you okay?" Makoto asked, pausing his typing.
"Oh, yes," Mafuyu breathed, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Just… my back. It's been aching quite a bit lately. I think I've been overdoing the cleaning, honey. I felt this strange urge to reorganize the entire pantry today. I spent hours labeling the spice jars."
She moved around to the side of the desk and began to tidy. She straightened the stack of reference papers Mika had printed out, aligning the edges until they were flush with the desk corner. She coiled the charging cable for Makoto's phone, tucking it neatly behind the monitor. She picked up the empty coffee mugs, stacking them silently on her tray.
Makoto watched her. There was something hypnotic about her movements, as if she was nesting, creating a safe perimeter around him.
Mafuyu paused, her hand going to her lower back. She rubbed the spot just above her hips, a grimace crossing her face.
"Are you okay?" Makoto asked, sitting up straighter. "Is your back okay?"
"It's just a little stiff," she said quickly, her face flushing slightly. "I think I slept in a strange position. It's nothing." She resumed her cleaning, wiping a smudge of dust from his monitor stand with the sleeve of her cardigan.
"Mafuyu-nee," Makoto said, catching her hand. "Stop cleaning. You're supposed to be resting, you've been tired all week."
Mafuyu stopped and looked down at Makoto's hand holding hers. Her skin was soft, but he could feel a faint tremor in her fingers.
"I want to help," she whispered. "Everyone else helped you with the big things. Mika helps with your CV. Ayane gave you the connection. I… I can't do those things."
She looked at him, her eyes wide and shimmering in the monitor's blue glow. "I can only make sure you're okay. I can only make the space ready for you."
"That is helping," Makoto said earnestly. "That's the most important part. I'd have starved or gone crazy three days ago without you."
He grinned, pulling his chair back. "Come here."
"Makoto-kun, you still have work to do..." Mafuyu fought back weakly.
"The code is compiling. And you've been taking care of me all night. It's my turn." He didn't let her argue. He reached out and pulled her into his lap.
The office chair was large, but with both of them, it was a tight, intimate squeeze. Mafuyu let out a small, surprised gasp as she settled onto his thighs. Her weight felt different somehow, more substantial, and her body was radiating heat.
She sat facing him, her legs straddling his waist. The thin cotton of her nightgown was no barrier to her warmth. Makoto reached under the cardigan, his hands finding the soft muscles of her lower back. He began to knead the flesh, his movements slow and deliberate.
"Mmm…" Mafuyu moaned, her head falling onto his shoulder. Her scent, a mix of laundry detergent and ginger tea, filled his senses, pushing the smell of energy drinks out of his mind. "That feels so good, Makoto-kun."
She shifted, her hips grinding against him as she sought a more comfortable position. Her movement was innocent, born of physical discomfort, but the effect on Makoto was immediate. His body, despite the exhaustion, responded with a heavy throb.
Mafuyu felt him harden beneath her. She didn't pull away. Instead, she let out a long, shaky breath and pressed her forehead against his. Her eyes were dark, shimmering with devotion and need.
"Naughty Makoto. You're already so hard," she whispered, her breath warm against his lips. "Even now, even when you're so tired."
"I'm always hard for you, Mafuyu-nee," Makoto growled, his hands sliding lower, cupping the full curves of her ass.
Mafuyu reached up, her fingers tangling in his hair. She began to rock her hips in a slow, rhythmic motion. It was slower than Yuna's frantic energy or Ayane's dominance. It felt like nurturing, her steady pulse matched his heartbeat.
"Let me take your stress away, Makoto," Mafuyu murmured and reached down, her fingers fumbling with the drawstring of his pants until she could slip her hand inside.
Makoto let out a guttural groan as her cool fingers closed around his cock. She began to stroke him with gentle pressure, her eyes never leaving his. "Don't think about the code," she whispered. "Don't think about the money. Just think about me, think about how much I belong to you."
She leaned back, her nightgown riding up her thighs, and guided him toward her. She wasn't wearing any underwear, her cunt was slick and ready for him. As she lowered herself onto him, the sensation was so intense that Makoto felt dizzy for a moment.
Mafuyu began to move, a slow vertical rise and fall. She kept her hands on his shoulders, her gaze locked on his face. She was watching him, monitoring his pleasure and adjusting her movements to ensure he was satisfied.
"Is this okay? Am I making you feel good, honey?" she panted, her face flushed, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. "Am I… am I being a good wife?"
"The best," Makoto managed to choke out, his hands gripping her hips to anchor her.
The room was silent save for the wet slap of their bodies and the low hum of the computer.