The cheerful sound from the living room floated up the stairs and slipped under Eriri's door.
Curious, she emerged from her room and descended the stairs.
There she found Tanaka Masao and her mother, Sayuri Sawamura, watching TV, their laughter punctuating the program's audio.
Eriri settled onto the sofa beside them and fixed her gaze on Masao.
"It's getting late. Aren't you going home?"
"I'm staying over tonight."
"That's right, I insisted," Sayuri chimed in. "Masao-kun has had a very long day. The journey home would be too much."
"Oh. I see."
Eriri accepted this with a simple nod and turned her attention to the television.
The screen flashed to a man pulling a ridiculously exaggerated, grotesque face.
"Gyah! What is that?!" she yelped, jolting back.
"It's a prank show," Sayuri explained, a playful smile on her lips. "It's quite amusing. You should watch for a bit, relax your mind."
"What's so interesting about this nonsense?"
—
Two minutes and thirty seconds later.
"Pfft—BWAHAHA! That's too funny! That guy is just too pathetic!"
Eriri was now slumped against the sofa cushions, laughing uproariously. Tears of mirth welled in the corners of her eyes.
It took her a moment to catch her breath. Wiping her eyes, she declared.
"Now that's a proper prank. I wonder how the producers come up with these. I'd love to try it sometime."
Sayuri's eyes lit up with immediate, fervent agreement. "You think so too? To be honest, I've been wanting to try the very same thing."
Mother and daughter shared a look—a moment of perfect, unspoken understanding. Then, as one, their heads swiveled toward Masao.
Masao, who had been a contented spectator, suddenly found himself the center of their predatory attention.
A cold shiver of dread traced its way down his spine.
"H-hold on now!" he stammered, his survival instincts screaming. "A prank only works if it's a surprise! I'm already on to you! So, the plan is ruined!"
Eriri considered this, her head tilting.
"Hmm. I suppose you have a point."
Masao began to relax, the tension seeping from his shoulders. It was a premature victory.
"Says who?" Sayuri interjected, her voice a silken challenge.
"Knowing a prank is coming can be even more entertaining. Imagine the constant vigilance, the heightened nerves… only to be caught off-guard anyway. The resulting reaction would be exquisite."
Eriri's eyes gleamed with newfound, terrifying inspiration. "She's right!"
A wicked, fox-like grin spread across her face as she leaned toward Masao.
"Heheheh… Well, Masao-kun? Are you prepared?"
"Stay back! Don't come any closer!"
He'd read doujinshi with plots that started like this. Why, of all times, did reality have to choose now to subvert the tropes?
—
In the end, the scenario Masao's subconscious had half-expected—or vehemently claimed it hadn't been expecting—did not come to pass.
There was no being playfully pinned down or otherwise assaulted in a clichéd, fanservice-filled manner.
(Masao: I absolutely was NOT expecting it!)
After the playful scheming and laughter, a comfortable, happy atmosphere settled over the room.
As evening deepened, dinner was served.
The table was laden with a feast. Masao wasn't sure if the Sawamura household always dined with such opulence, or if this was in his honor.
Given Eriri and Sayuri's slender figures, he strongly suspected the latter. His mouth watered at the sight.
"Itadakimasu!"
The three spoke in unison before picking up their chopsticks. According to the strict diet plan laid out for him, Masao was allowed one
"cheat meal" this weekend.
He had strategically allocated it for tonight.
As he took the first bite of flavorful, well-seasoned food, Masao nearly wept. This was worth every minute of choking down bland chicken breasts.
He ate with single-minded focus, his clear enjoyment bringing a warm, satisfied smile to Sayuri's face.
The meal proceeded in a comfortable silence, a common custom. Whether it was the prolonged deprivation of flavorful food or his increased metabolism from training, Masao managed to put away a staggering portion of the spread.
He finally leaned back, patting his rounded stomach with a sigh of contentment.
"Good grief," Eriri remarked, raising an eyebrow. "You ate like a man who's been lost in the jungle for a week."
"I've been on a diet lately," he explained after a sip of tea. "My regular meals are pretty bland. This was my one cheat meal for the week."
"A diet?" Eriri looked skeptical. "Don't tell me you're just starving yourself. Wouldn't a binge like this undo all your progress?"
"Masao-kun, crash dieting is a terrible method to lose weight," Sayuri added, her tone gently chiding. "It harms your health, and the results never last long."
"I know, I know, it's not like that," Masao assured them. "I'm training. Hard. Two hours every day. I just keep my daily meals very plain. This was my reward."
Eriri studied him, her skepticism shifting to surprise.
"Two hours? Every day? And you've kept it up?"
She of all people knew the pain of exercise; her own past attempts at getting fit, through either diet or workouts, had always fizzled out from a lack of willpower.
"Don't underestimate my resolve, Eriri," he said, a note of pride in his voice. "I've been at it for a full week now."
Her curiosity was piqued. "So what made you suddenly decide to lose weight? What's the motivation?"
Before he could answer, Sayuri—who had drawn her own, entirely incorrect conclusion that this was all to impress her daughter—cut in with a graceful, matronly air.
"It's for his health, of course. Carrying excess weight is a burden on the body, isn't that right, Masao-kun?"
She gave him a subtle, knowing wink. 'Don't worry, your secret is safe with me.'
Confused by the wink but sensing an easy exit, Masao nodded.
"Yeah. That's right."
"Is that so? Well, good luck, then," Eriri said, her interest evaporating as quickly as it came.
After dinner, they relaxed for a while longer, watching more TV. As the night grew late, it was time to turn in.
As the guest, Masao was offered the first bath.
Even in a spacious home like this, it was customary to share the same bathwater among family—a practice born of both thrift and convenience, especially in a household usually comprising only two people.
As Masao made his way to the bathroom, Eriri fixed him with a sharp look, her small fangs peeking out from behind her lips.
"Listen. Don't you dare get any… funny ideas in that bathwater. If anything… untoward… happens, I will never, ever forgive you."
All three of them were seasoned veterans of certain corners of the internet, so the implication was crystal clear.
Masao's face flushed scarlet.
"I would never!" he spluttered, his voice cracking with indignation.
Once inside the steamy sanctuary of the bathroom, Masao stared at the filled, inviting tub.
—
In the end, he didn't even sink into the water for a soak. He just took a brisk, efficient shower.
The truth was, the habit of long, contemplative baths had never been part of his routine.
When he came out, his hair still damp, barely ten minutes later, mother and daughter stared at him in unison.
"Whoa. That was fast."
"My, that was quick!"
"This," Masao declared, his pride slightly wounded, "is a perfectly normal duration for a shower!"
—
The night passed without incident or further commentary on his bathing habits.
The next morning, after a pleasant breakfast, Masao offered his thanks, said his goodbyes, and took his leave.
As he walked away from the Sawamura villa, Masao felt a sense of accomplishment.
The doujinshi was launched, he'd survived a day with Eriri, and he'd even, somehow, made a friend in her mother.
___
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