Having pieced together what was going on, Gotoh Shin headed home with a knot of anxiety twisting in his gut.
He lived right next door to the Gotohs, and his adoptive parents were working overseas, rarely ever around. The house felt empty as he slung his guitar over his shoulder and made for their place. He wanted to talk about the band stuff with Hitori as soon as possible.
He and Hitori were that close—close enough that the Gotoh family already saw him as one of their own.
That was why Shin even had a key to their house. The moment he unlocked the door, a thick wave of alcohol stench hit him.
The Gotoh household had no father; both daughters had been conceived through IVF by their mother. It was some kind of policy: as long as a family raised kids, they got priority job placements and all sorts of subsidies.
The economy was in the dumps, society a total mess—people had zero interest in having kids anymore, not even through test tubes. And even though IVF mostly produced girls in this world, the matriarchy had no choice but to push incentives anyway.
Michiyo Gotoh had taken the plunge, landing herself a job.
Of course, she doted on her two daughters with all her heart.
But no job was easy. Hers meant overtime every day, plus schmoozing with colleagues late into the night. By the time she stumbled home, she was always three sheets to the wind.
Little Futari sat in front of the TV, rubbing her sleepy eyes and yawning.
Sprawled face-down on the sofa was the voluptuous auntie herself—Michiyo Gotoh—her business skirt suit clinging to her curves. From a distance, her ass looked like a pair of massive, ripe peaches.
Sheer stockings hugged her legs, a few toes twitching faintly.
"Go wash up and hit the hay," Shin said, ruffling little Futari's hair.
She hugged him quick, then shuffled off.
"Hitori's probably busy filming videos, huh."
The Guitar Hero account actually made decent money—Hitori's earnings helped cover household bills.
Tonight, with Shin away, the sisters had apparently survived on instant ramen.
Normally, Shin handled dinner; he'd whip up bentos for their lunches the next day too.
Might as well eat together—saved a bit on groceries that way.
Breakfast was Michiyo's domain; she'd bang it out bright and early before heading to work.
Shin had slotted perfectly into this family setup. A high schooler radiating full-on househusband energy.
"Michiyo, you awake? Here, drink some water."
Shin poured a glass, handling her drunken state like a pro.
It wasn't his first rodeo.
"I want milk... Waaah, Shin, you're such a good boy. Can I have some of your special milk?"
She was utterly plastered, self-awareness long gone.
"You're hammered tonight," Shin muttered.
He flipped her over gently, unbuttoning her blouse to let her breathe easier.
A glimpse of purple lace-trimmed bra peeked out; Shin stole a casual glance, playing it cool.
"We're done for, Shin... What am I gonna do?"
"I screwed up big today. Might lose my job."
"Over thirty, no accomplishments to show, daughters still growing up... and I haven't even dated a guy."
She grabbed his hand, spilling her woes in a drunken sob.
Shin could only sigh as she vented the day's stress-fueled tears.
"You've been busting your ass. It'll turn around."
He reached out, ruffling her hair.
"Shin... you feel different tonight. Like... more mature. More tempting."
"Wanna just gobble you up."
Michiyo mumbled it, yanking Shin into her embrace and mashing his face into her impossibly soft chest.
A boozy perfume haze washed over him, leaving his head spinning.
"Shin~"
She fumbled at him clumsily for a few seconds, then started snoring.
"Work's really grinding her down," Shin said, face burning as he wriggled free.
His eyes lingered anyway, throat bobbing with an involuntary gulp.
Huge... and so soft. Will Hitori end up this stacked someday?
Hitori already boasted an outrageously killer figure, but Michiyo was straight-up her "future blueprint."
Shin was a red-blooded guy—reborn from infancy in this enhanced body, mentally all grown up.
But biology didn't care. His teenage hormones were raging.
The beast between his legs stirred, straining like it was about to break loose.
This isn't right. Why's it throbbing like this? Sure, I've felt it before, but never this intense.
Shin clamped down on the urge.
He'd almost reached out just now, let his hands roam wild.
Michiyo was out cold anyway—total blackout, zero reaction.
But he and big Hitori? Pure love. He couldn't betray that.
Down, boy. Shrink back!
Shin exhaled sharply and headed upstairs.
Big Hitori was in her room. He paused at the door, ears picking up... something.
"Mmm... Shin~"
Her voice from inside—breathy, needy, trembling on his name.
Shin didn't barge in. He knew she was in the middle of her "moment." Crashing now would be mortifying.
With her social anxiety, she'd probably combust on the spot.
"Sigh... sexual frustration. I used to tease them as crazed witches, but now my body's going haywire."
"Gotta fight this desire tooth and nail, or I'll slide right into the abyss."
He chalked it up to his "physique boost" from the system— that thing down there pulsed with unnatural stamina, like it could go all night.
Once the sounds died down, Shin adjusted his pants. But that blatant bulge? No hiding that.
"Hitori, can I come in?"
He kept his voice steady, aiming for normal.
He didn't notice the slight lilt at the end—subtly seductive.
Hitori yelped in panic, telling him to wait. Rustling chaos followed—cleanup mode.
When Shin entered, the air hung thick with a sticky, suspicious sweetness.
Hitori's eyes shimmered, wide and dewy. Her thin nightie clung to sweat-slicked skin, tracing every perfect curve. No underlayer in sight.
Faint outlines teased at her most vulnerable spots.
"I wanted to talk."
Their gazes locked, sparked—then darted away in mutual evasion.
Hitori had just finished, still buzzing with unfinished heat.
And Shin? His rational leash was fraying
fast.
Gotta hold back.