A gentle smile formed on his lips. His first instinct was simple kindness. He nodded, trying to reassure her. "No problem, Mafuyu-nee," he said softly. "Just ask. I'll see what I can do to help."
Mafuyu let out a small sigh of relief, her shoulders slumping as if a great weight had been lifted. "Thank you," she whispered. "You're so kind." She took a deep, shuddering breath, her hands twisting the handle of her empty basket.
"It's my boyfriend," she began, her voice low and hesitant. Her eyes, filled with sadness, finally met his. "His name is Tatsuya. We've been together for almost a year."
She looked away, a flicker of shame in her eyes. "He's a good man," she said, but there was no conviction in her voice, only the hollow echo of a lie she'd told herself a thousand times. "He's just been under a lot of stress at work lately."
She took another deep breath. "And sometimes," she whispered, her voice choked, "he gets angry."
With a slow, reluctant motion, she pulled up the sleeve of her cardigan. On the pale, delicate skin of her wrist was a dark, ugly, unmistakably hand-shaped bruise.
"That fucking bastard!" The thought exploded in his mind, a white-hot flash of rage. His gentle smile vanished, replaced by a hard, cold mask. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"Did he hit you anywhere else, or do anything else!?" he asked, his voice a low growl. He grabbed her wrist, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they hovered over the discolored skin. "Let's report this to the police! I'll come with you."
Mafuyu-nee flinched violently, a small, terrified whimper escaping her lips. She tried to pull away, her eyes wide with panicked terror. "No!" she whispered, her voice a raw plea. "No police! Please!"
She yanked her hand free, pulling her sleeve down with frantic desperation. "It was just an accident," she said, the words a textbook of excuses that every abused woman tells herself. "He didn't mean to, really. He was just trying to stop me from leaving during an argument."
She wouldn't meet his eyes. She just stared at the floor. "And it's only happened a few times," she added, her voice choked. "And he always apologizes afterwards. He brings me flowers. He tells me he loves me."
She looked up, her eyes wide and pleading, as if trying to convince herself as much as him. "He's a good man, a good boyfriend," she repeated. "He just has a temper."
"A few times? That's enough to get him in jail already!" Makoto bit his lips, a sharp pain that did nothing to numb the ache in his heart. He saw it now: The fear behind her gentle smile, the desperation she was hiding.
His anger wasn't going to help her. Not now. He needed to be smart. He needed a plan.
"Need to gather whatever I can first before I can persuade her out of this." He gathered his thoughts and took a deep breath, forcing the rage down, burying it under a layer of cold, strategic calm.
"Fine," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "So, what can I do for you then, Mafuyu-nee?"
Mafuyu let out another small sigh of relief. The desperate terror in her eyes softened, replaced by a fragile, hopeful glimmer. "Thank you," she whispered. "You're a good... friend, Makoto."
She took a deep breath, her hands twisting the handle of her empty basket. She couldn't meet his gaze, her eyes fixed on the floor, her face filled with profound shame.
"His birthday is coming," she began again. "And I want to make it special for him." Her voice dropped to a low whisper. "He's always wanted to try a three-way," she whispered, the words a final, desperate surrender. "He talks about it a lot."
She looked away, a flicker of disgust in her eyes. "And I want to surprise him," she said, her voice choked. "For his birthday. To make him happy. So he won't be so stressed anymore." She took another deep breath, as if the words themselves were a physical weight.
"And I don't have any friends I could ask," she whispered, her voice raw and broken. "And you're the only person I know who wouldn't judge me." She looked up, her eyes wide and pleading, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "So I was wondering," she whispered, "if you would be our third?"
Makoto's mouth opened in surprise, a stutter on his lips. He almost said something stupid, something flippant.
"What do you expect me to do in that threesome, Mafuyu-nee? If you just want an audience, then I would say no, I have no interest in NTR stuff..." The words formed in his head as a reflexive response. But then he looked at her, at the raw, desperate terror in her eyes, and the joke died in his throat. "This wasn't a game."
A deep blush spread from Mafuyu-nee's neck to the tips of her ears. She looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
"No!" she whispered, her voice raw and broken. "Not like that." She took a deep breath, her eyes darting around the aisle, as if afraid someone might be listening. "He wants to watch," she clarified, her voice barely a whisper. "He wants to see me with another man."
She couldn't even look at him. She just stared at her own feet, at the worn, sensible shoes she was wearing. "He said it would be the hottest thing he's ever seen," she continued, her voice choked. "He wants me to perform for him."
She finally looked up, her eyes wide and pleading, shining with unshed tears. "And I know it's a lot to ask," she whispered, "but you're the only one I could think of. The only one I could trust."
She took a deep breath. "So I was wondering," she whispered, "if you would be the one to have sex with me? In front of him, Makoto?"
"That was so sick," Makoto thought, a cold knot of rage forming in his gut. His first instinct was to reject her, to tell her to run. But his heart ached as he imagined her asking someone else, some stranger, for this favor.
He couldn't let that happen.
"Fine," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "I'll consider it. But you must not ask anyone else." He grasped her shoulders, his fingers sinking into the soft fabric of her cardigan as he ran his hand through her hair.
The moment his hand touched her hair, Mafuyu flinched. It was a small, almost imperceptible movement, but it was there. A reflexive response to a man's touch.
But then she seemed to realize it was him, and she relaxed, a small sigh escaping her lips. She leaned into his touch, just for a moment, a silent plea for comfort.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with gratitude. "Thank you, thank you, Makoto-kun..." She pulled away, a flicker of shame in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I shouldn't have..." She took a deep breath, her hands twisting the handle of her empty basket.
"His birthday is next Saturday," she said, her voice a little stronger now. "He's taking me out for dinner first at a fancy restaurant."
She looked up, her eyes wide and pleading. "And then, we're going to a love hotel." A deep blush spread across her face. "He's already booked the room," she added. "It has a big, one-way mirror, so he can watch."