The morning light was a pale yellow filtering through the kitchen window and illuminating the dust motes dancing in the heavy silence.
Usually, breakfast at the Ayasato household was noisy with clinking plates: Yuna's demands for more syrup, Ayane's laughter over a gaming clip, and the soft, rhythmic hum of Mafuyu moving between the stove and the table.
Today, the only sound was the scrape of Makoto's fork against a cold piece of sandwich.
Yuna sat directly across from him, her gray twin-tails tied perfectly, usually a sign she was ready for a fight. She was staring intensely at her phone, her thumb flicking across the screen with a speed that suggested intense focus toward whatever monsters she was battling.
She hadn't looked at Makoto once. Not when he sat down, not when he poured his tea, and certainly not when he tried to clear his throat to speak.
"Yuna," Makoto started, his voice sounding thin and brittle in the quiet room.
Yuna's thumb paused for a microsecond, then it resumed its frantic pace. The silence that followed was a heavy pressure against his chest.
Mafuyu hovered near the sink, her back turned to the table. She was scrubbing a pot that was already clean, her shoulders hunched.
Even the air smelled different, less like the usual warm vanilla and more like the sharp scent of the bleach Mika had used to clean the air after last night's blowup.
Mika walked in, her heels clicking with a soft rhythm on the floor. She wore a silk camisole and her glasses and sat down beside Makoto, her movements fluid and calm. She poured herself a cup of tea, the steam rising to fog her lenses for a moment.
"The tension in here is bad," Mika said, sounding like a weary observer who had seen this play before. She took a sip of her tea and looked at Makoto over the rim. "You should eat, darling. You need energy for work."
"I'm not hungry, Mika," Makoto muttered, pushing the plate away.
Yuna suddenly stood up, her chair screeching harshly against the floor. The sound made Mafuyu jump and nearly drop the pot. Without a word, Yuna snatched her bag from the counter and marched toward the door.
"I'm leaving," she barked at the room in general, her voice tight.
"Yuna, wait!" Makoto stood up, his hand outstretched.
Yuna paused at the door, her hand on the knob without turning around. "Don't trip over any controllers on your way out, Salaryman," she spat, the word dripping with sarcasm that stung more than a slap.
The door slammed shut. The echo vibrated through the apartment, leaving an empty void in its wake.
Makoto sank back into his chair, his head in his hands. "I really messed up, didn't I?"
Ayane, who had been quiet in the corner while eating a bowl of cereal, finally spoke up. "You were a bit of an asshole, Makoto-kun. We're all stressed. You're not the only one with a real job."
Her eyes were dark and tiring, lacking their usual mischievous sparkle. "Yuna's been sewing until her fingers almost bleed to make sure the next photobook covers the expense of fabric and cosmetics."
"I know," Makoto whispered. "I just… the train, the office, the pressure… I snapped."
"Apologize properly when you get home," Mika advised, her hand resting briefly on his shoulder. Her touch was warm like a steady anchor. "But for now, go. Or you will be late for the train at 7:22."
===
The Clitify office was difficult today. The engineering apartment was in the middle of the Physicality Update, and the air was smelling like iron smoke and the high-pitched whine of testing motors.
"Makoto! There you are!" Kenta shouted, waving him over to a workbench where a robotic arm was covered in a synthetic skin-like silicone. "We're having a latency issue with the haptic response."
He shrugged. "The AI should respond to a stroke within 50 milliseconds, but we're hitting 200 milliseconds, making it feel mechanical. We need it to feel human by reducing the latency."
Makoto stared at the robotic arm. It was strange. He was paid to make a machine feel more human and responsive, yet he was failing to maintain a single healthy human connection at home. He sat at his terminal, his fingers moving over the keys by muscle memory.
His mind kept drifting back to Yuna's pale face. He thought about the way she looked when she was actually happy, the way her eyes crinkled when she got a five-star gacha pull, the way she would smugly demand he praise her sewing.
Now all he could see was the cold, hard line of her back as she walked out.
"Hey, Rookie," Tokuya, the senior engineer, leaned over from the next desk, his eyes bloodshot. "You okay? You've been staring at the screen for fifteen minutes. If you're that bored, I can give you the task of labeling the moaning sound library."
He winked and nodded, "Five thousand audio files of different archetypes. It'll either make you a god of sound engineering or destroy your soul. Personally, I'm at about 80% soul-destruction."
"I'm fine, Tokuya-san. Just didn't sleep well." Makoto answered.
"Work at a startup is demanding, but you'll get used to it," Tokuya groaned. "The only thing that keeps me going is the dream of that one-week vacation in Hokkaido. Just me and my AI waifu in a cabin, and absolutely no internet."
Makoto nodded, but he knew he didn't want silence. He wanted the noise and the bickering. He wanted the life he was currently pushing away.
By lunch, Makoto felt overwhelmed. He needed support; just hearing a friendly voice would help. So he pulled out his phone and texted Ayane.
Makoto: Hey, rough morning. Wanna grab lunch? I'm at the office.
He waited five minutes.
Ayane: can't. busy.
Short, lowercase, no emojis, from the girl who usually communicated exclusively in stickers and exclamation points.
Makoto put his phone down. He stared at his monitor, the lines of Python blurring into nonsense.
Around noon, a commotion started at the front desk. His phone buzzed again.
Ayane: Actually, scratch that. I'm outside, boss!!
Makoto blinked. He grabbed his employee badge and hurried to the elevator.
"I told you, I'm his wife! He can't have lunch without me feeding him!"
Makoto's heart skipped a beat. That voice was unmistakably Ayane's.
He stood up and looked toward the glass doors of the reception area. Standing there was a figure that looked like it had stepped out of a low-budget spy movie: A long tan trench coat that was three sizes too big, oversized dark sunglasses, and a wide-brimmed hat that obscured half the face.
It was definitely Ayane. She was waving a bent-up folder at the purple-haired receptionist, who looked increasingly distressed. "He is in a critical stage of the project! If he doesn't get these documents, the whole server will crash!"
"Makoto-san?" The receptionist spotted him, her eyes pleading for help.
Makoto hurried over, his face burning. "It's okay, I've got this," he stammered, grabbed Ayane's arm, and practically dragged her toward the elevators. "What are you doing here?!" he hissed once they were inside the lifting carriage.
Ayane pulled off the sunglasses, her eyes bright with wild excitement. "I was worried for you, boss! The group chat was like a graveyard, and Mika said you were stressed!"
"See, I even brought you an Ayane Support Pack!" She reached into her oversized trench coat and pulled out a slightly squashed melon pan and a can of warm coffee.
As the elevator reached the first floor, Ayane grabbed his arm and pulled him into the alleyway beside the building. It was a narrow, shadowed space between the sleek glass of Clitify and a ramen shop, filled with trash bins and the hum of air conditioning units.
Ayane leaned against the brick wall with her sunglasses pushed up onto her head. "Yuna told me she was hurt because you yelled at her last night; you acted like a salaryman tyrant." Her eyes were serious, lacking their usual mirth.
"I didn't mean to," Makoto sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I was just tired. The house was a mess, and I spilled the milk…"
"She's sensitive, Makoto, you know that. She acts tough, but she needs your validation like a plant needs water." Ayane poked him in the chest. "And you're stressed from work. I can see it."
She stepped closer, invading his personal space. "So," she murmured, a small mischievous smile returning to her lips. "I thought I'd bring lunch to you and help you relax."
"But you can't just show up at my job dressed like that, Ayane! I'm an intern on probation! I'm trying to be a serious professional!" Makoto frowned.
"A serious professional building a Gooner-Chat?" Ayane laughed, leaning against the wall. Her trench coat fell open, revealing a purple lingerie set beneath. "Honey, look at your office. Half the guys have body pillows under their desks. I will fit right in."
"That's not the point!" Makoto snapped. "You're being reckless. What if someone from HR saw you? What if they think I'm bringing girls in here for the wrong reasons?"