Three Hours Later
They left Azure Heights with a signed purchase agreement, financing paperwork, and a move-in date set for two weeks from now.
Yuki was still in shock, occasionally laughing at the absurdity of it all.
"I need to tell the hospital I'm quitting," she said as they walked back toward the train station. "Two weeks' notice. They'll think I've lost my mind."
"Let them think whatever they want. You're free now."
"Free," Yuki repeated, the word suddenly strange in her tongue. "I haven't felt free in... I don't even remember how long."
"We're not done," Max said as they walked away from Azure Heights.
Yuki looked at him, still slightly dazed. "What do you mean?"
"When was the last time you bought yourself something nice?"
His mother thought about it, then laughed. "I honestly can't remember. Maybe three years ago? I bought a nice scarf on sale."
"Three years," Max repeated. "That's unacceptable. Come on."
He stopped a taxi, and they headed to Omotesando—one of Tokyo's premium shopping districts, known for high-end boutiques, designer stores, and luxury brands.
Yuki's eyes widened as they pulled up to the avenue with its modern architecture and expensive storefronts. "Max, we don't need to—"
"Yes, we do. You're about to quit your job and move into a luxury apartment. You need a new wardrobe to match your new life."
"That's ridiculous—"
"It's necessary." Max grinned. "Besides, when was the last time we spent a whole day together? No work, no responsibilities, just us?"
Yuki's expression softened. "It's been years."
"Exactly. So today, we're shopping, eating good food, and pretending we're rich people who don't have to worry about prices."
"We're not pretending," Yuki pointed out. "You just spent twenty million yen on an apartment."
"Then we're rich people who actually are rich. Even better."
They started at a mid-range boutique—Max didn't want to overwhelm his mother immediately with designer stores. The shop had elegant but accessible fashion, and Yuki, as usual, made her way toward the modest section.
"Mom, no," Max said, steering her away from the practical blouses and simple skirts. "You always buy things that are 'appropriate for work' or 'practical for daily life.' Today, you buy things you actually like."
"I do like practical things," Yuki protested.
"You're a 52-year-old woman who looks ten years younger and has never let herself enjoy it. Try something different."
A sales associate approached—a young woman named Akari. "Can I help you find something?"
"Yes," Max said before his mother could refuse. "She needs a complete wardrobe update. Casual wear, going-out clothes, maybe something elegant for nice dinners. She has excellent taste but tends toward conservative choices—help her figure it out."
"Max!" Yuki looked mortified.
Akari smiled warmly. "I understand completely. Let me pull some options that might work."
She returned with an armful of carefully selected pieces
"Let's start with something casual," Akari said, leading Yuki toward the changing rooms. "I think these will surprise you."
Yuki held up a cream-colored cashmere sweater and dark denim jeans. "These seem... tight."
"They're tailored," Akari corrected gently. "There's a difference between tight and well-fitted. Trust me—you have the figure for it."
Max settled into one of the chairs outside the changing rooms, scrolling through his phone. A message from Velara popped up: Still alive or did you actually turn into a hermit?
He was typing a response when the changing room door opened.
"I don't know about this," Yuki's voice came first, uncertain.
Then she stepped out.
Max's eyes lifted from his phone, and his fingers froze mid-text.
For a moment, he genuinely didn't recognize the woman standing in front of the mirror.
The cream sweater was simple but it fitted perfectly in a way that looked effortlessly elegant. The neckline was modest but showed her collarbones, something he had never noticed before.
However, it was the jeans that made him pause.
Dark indigo denim that fit like they had been custom-made for her body. The fabric clung tightly to her figure, filling out the denim completely. The jeans sat perfectly at her waist, and Max found his eyes tracing down involuntarily—over the swell of her hips, down those thighs.
Then his gaze caught the three-way mirror's reflection.
Her ass. Round, full, perfectly shaped.
The jeans molded to it like a second skin, the denim stretching across curves that were mature and womanly. The back pockets sat perfectly positioned, and the way the fabric tightened when she shifted her weight—
Max blinked, forcing his eyes away from the mirror.
She looked like she had stepped out of a lifestyle magazine. Like one of those effortlessly alluring Tokyo women you would see in trendy cafes, the ones who somehow made simple outfits look like high fashion.
"Oh my god," Akari said, clapping her hands together. "See? I knew it. You look absolutely stunning."
Yuki turned slightly, examining herself in the mirror with obvious discomfort. "It's too much. I look like I'm trying too hard."
"Mom," Max finally found his voice. "You look amazing."
She glanced at him, embarrassed. "You're just saying that."
"I'm really not." He stood up, walking closer.
Yuki's cheeks flushed slightly.
Akari jumped in, circling Yuki with a professional eye. "Your son is absolutely right. You have incredible proportions—you're tall, you have great shoulders, and these jeans? They could be in our catalog photos. Seriously, I want to take a picture for our Instagram."
"Please don't," Yuki said quickly, but she was smiling now.
"The sweater is Mongolian cashmere," Akari continued, gently smoothing the fabric across Yuki's shoulders. "It's warm but not heavy. Perfect for Tokyo winters. And it's machine washable, so practical too."
"How much?" Yuki asked, reaching for the price tag.
Max intercepted her hand. "Doesn't matter."
"Max—"
"Today, prices don't exist. We've established this." He turned to Akari. "What else did you bring?"
Akari grinned, sensing a sale. "Oh, I have so many ideas. Let me get the next outfit."
Yuki looked down at herself one more time, turning slightly to see the back view in the mirror. Her eyes widened slightly as she caught sight of her own reflection—the way the jeans shaped her backside. She touched the fabric uncertainly, almost surprised by what she was seeing.
"I... I didn't realize..." she started, then trailed off.