It's Monday evening, 11:30 PM, in a small, cluttered apartment on the other side of the city, Yui sat on her bed with her laptop glowing. She was on a video call with a woman who looked exactly like an older, more tired version of herself.
"He was so cool, Mama," Yui whispered, her eyes shining in the dark. "He just stood there. Without blinking, he caught the guy's hand and told him to stop. It was like… like he was my own guardian."
Her mother, in a simple nightgown and reading glasses, smiled warmly through the screen. "He sounds like a special young man, Yui-chan. It's rare to find a boy who is both diligent and caring. Most men today are just children with wallets."
"He is special," Yui murmured, hugging a pillow to her chest. "But… what if he already has a girlfriend? I don't want to be the third wheel." She let out a discouraged sigh. "I'm just a country bumpkin with messy hair and bad eyes. Would he even look at me?"
"Listen to me, Yui," her mother said, her voice firm. "You are a talented, beautiful girl. And men like that. Men don't look for models, they look for someone who loves and understands them."
Yui's mother leaned closer to the camera. "If you feel this way, don't let it go, Yui-chan. Push forward! Be the best partner he has, even if it's just at work for now."
Yui looked at her mother, a determined smile spreading across her face. "You're right, Mama. I'm not giving up. I'm going to be the best designer he's ever worked with."
She touched her cheek, the spot where she imagined Makoto's hand might one day rest. "The Hackathon is later this week," Yui whispered. "I'll find a way to show him how I feel, too."
Yui ended the call and lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She closed her eyes, a dream of a handsome coworker and a sake-filled balcony already forming in her mind.
===
It was Friday morning, the day of Clitify's first mandatory Intimacy Innovation Hackathon, a forty-eight-hour development marathon designed to push the WaifuEngine to its absolute breaking point.
For Makoto, it meant two days and one night away from their apartment. For his wives, it meant a state of high-readiness alert.
The atmosphere in the apartment had shifted from simmering tension to a full-blown tactical freeze. Makoto moved through the rooms like a man walking through a minefield, sensing the hidden tripwires but unable to see them.
Every time Makoto picked up his phone, he felt four pairs of eyes, some physical and some metaphorical, burning into the back of his neck.
Yui's messages had become a rhythmic pulse in his digital life. They were mostly harmless: fragments of CSS code, questions about the backend API, and the occasional link to a new anime trailer. But the frequency was increasing.
Yui: Makoto-san, are you excited for the overnight hackathon?
Yui: I hear the hotel has a 24-hour ramen bar! (´ ∀ ` )
He hadn't replied to that one yet.
"You're packing light, darling," Mika observed when leaning against his bedroom doorframe, her arms crossed over a soft cashmere sweater. Her hair was down and she looked tired, but her eyes were sharp, scanning the contents of his duffel bag like a customs agent.
"It's just one night, Mika," Makoto said, folding a t-shirt. "I just need a change of clothes and my laptop."
"And this," Yuna said, marching into the room. She was holding a small framed photo. It was the chaotic group selfie they'd taken after the first photobook success back at the Tokyo Anime Festival: Yuna-Shinobu scowling, Ayane-Mitsuri grinning, Mafuyu blushing, and Mika-Nekuzo looking calm, all crowded around a disheveled Makoto in his Muzan costume.
"Yuna, I can't take a framed photo to a hackathon. It's a workspace," Makoto protested.
"It's a desk accessory," Yuna snapped, shoving it into the side pocket of his bag and zipping it shut with violent force. "If any glasses-wearing intern bitch gets close enough to see your screen, I want her to see exactly who's waiting for you to come home."
Makoto sighed, but he didn't fight her. He knew better.
Ayane sauntered in next, carrying a spray bottle. Before Makoto could react, she unleashed a fine mist of her signature perfume, sharp spicy citrus, directly into the bag.
"Ayane! Now all my clothes are going to smell like you!" Makoto groaned
"Exactly," she purred, leaning in to give him a deliberate lick on his earlobe. "It's Ayane's branding, honey. Make it harder to forget my territory when my scent is literally woven into your shirts and pants."
Mafuyu was the last. She handed him a triple-decker bento box wrapped in a heavy cloth. It was heavy enough to be used as a blunt-force weapon.
"Eat everything, Makoto-kun," she whispered, her eyes watery. "Don't eat the hotel food. You don't know who's touched it. Only eat what I've made for you." She squeezed his hand, her eyes filled with quiet, grounding warmth. "We'll be waiting right here."
Makoto's departure felt like a weird cult ritual: Yuna kissed him first, a sharp biting kiss that left his lip throbbing. Ayane followed with a deep, hungry assault that left him breathless. Mafuyu pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek, her scent of ginger and tears clinging to his skin.
Finally, Mika stepped forward. She didn't kiss him, just reached out and adjusted his collar, her fingers lingering on his pulse point. She looked into his eyes, her brown-pink gaze calm and terrifyingly clear. "Don't stay up too late, darling."
She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "And remember, I can always find you."
Makoto felt as if he were leaving for a war zone rather than a corporate event. When the door finally clicked shut, and he began the trek to the train station, his skin felt like it was buzzing.
He felt marked and watched. And he was right.
===
The Clitify Hackathon was being held at a luxury hotel in the center of Shibuya. The entire top floor had been converted into a high-tech War Room with long tables and ergonomic chairs. The lobby was a sea of beanbags, high-end monitors, and enough caffeine to power the whole engineering department.
The air was thick with caffeine, cheap cologne, and the manic energy of twenty developers, designers, and PMs who hadn't slept in days.
"Ayasato-kun! Over here!" Kenta shouted, waving Makoto over to a corner table.
Makoto sat down, feeling the weight of the bento box and the scent of Ayane's perfume radiating from his bag.
Beside him sat Yui. She was wearing a loose, oversized hoodie and thick-rimmed glasses, her hair up in a messy bun. She looked like a classic classmate, approachable and cute and entirely different from the high-octane women waiting for him at home.
"Hi, Makoto-senpai!" Yui chirped, her eyes crinkling behind her lenses. "I saved you a spot. I already set up a new UI kit for our project, too."
Somehow, Makoto could still feel the phantom weight of Mika's gaze. "Weird, must be because of the way she looked at me this morning." He said while opening his laptop. "Thanks, Yui. Let's start!"