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Tokyo Chapter 175
🕑 Added 2025-07-28 08:44:41 +0000 UTCSteam curled from pots on the stove, casting a soft haze over the counter where Tamako leaned, her eyes glinting with maternal concern tinged with mischief. She stepped closer to her eldest daughter, Tsuki, who sat trembling on a stool, her face flushed a vivid crimson that rivaled the shop’s red lanterns. “Are you sure you’re okay, Tsuki-chan?” Tamako asked, her voice laced with worry as she reached across the counter, her hand brushing Tsuki’s forehead, the touch cool against her feverish skin. “You’re so red—almost like you’re running a fever again. Have you been overdoing it lately?” Her tone was gentle, but a knowing spark danced in her eyes, betraying her awareness of the true cause.
Tsuki, her composure fraying under the subtle vibrations from the device Shuichi had activated, forced a strained smile, her voice tight but defiant. “I’m fine,” She insisted, her words sharp as she swiftly deflected blame. “It’s just An getting on my nerves.” Her gaze flicked to her younger sister, a smug glint in her eyes as she threw her under the bus, her discomfort momentarily eclipsed by the chance to tease.
An, perched at a nearby stool, her cheeks puffed with rice, froze mid-bite, her eyes widening with indignation. “Hey!” She mumbled, her voice muffled by food, her small frame bristling with frustration. She didn’t dare argue back, not with Tsuki’s iron grip on her snack privileges, but her pleading gaze darted to Shuichi, silently begging for rescue. Shuichi caught her look, his lips twitching with amusement, his fingers subtly adjusting the dice pendant on his phone.
An’s curiosity surged as Tsuki’s legs buckled again, her sister’s sudden wince sparking a mix of awe and confusion. 'How’s Shuichi-kun doing that?' she thought, her eyes wide, marveling at his seemingly magical ability to unsettle Tsuki without a touch.
Tamako, undeterred by Tsuki’s deflection, leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, her smile sly. “Really, Tsuki-chan? You don’t need a clinic visit?” She pressed, her tone dripping with feigned concern, her eyes twinkling with the knowledge of Tsuki’s predicament. She’d seen similar reactions before, memories of her own playful experiments with her husband flickering through her mind, though Tsuki’s response puzzled her slightly.
“No need!” Tsuki snapped, her voice high-pitched, her legs clamped tightly together as she gripped the chair, her face a mask of forced calm. “I’m fine, really. We’re heading to Nagase-sensei soon, so let’s eat quickly.”
Tamako relented, her smile widening as she stepped back, her voice light. “If you say so,” She said, then tilted her head, her brow furrowing playfully. “By the way, do you hear that noise? Like a faint buzzing?” Her question hung in the air, her gaze flicking to Shuichi, a silent invitation to play along.
Shuichi, settling onto a stool, didn’t miss a beat, his expression deadpan. “Probably the fridge,” He said, his voice calm, his eyes meeting Tamako’s with a shared amusement, the lie seamless in its simplicity.
Tamako’s laugh was soft, her eyes crinkling with delight. “If Shuichi-kun says so, it must be,” She agreed, her tone indulgent, her gaze lingering on him with a mix of fondness and approval, appreciating his quick wit.
An, her head cocked, frowned, her chopsticks pausing mid-air. “Noise?” She mumbled, her voice puzzled, her young mind sensing the oddity in their exchange but unable to grasp its meaning. Her focus drifted back to her bowl, the comfort of food outweighing her curiosity.
---
Breakfast was a lively affair, the shop’s warmth a stark contrast to the crisp morning outside. Tamako watched Shuichi and Tsuki depart, her smile lingering as she turned to the counter, her movements deliberate as she wiped down the stool Tsuki had occupied, the cloth gliding over its surface with a quiet swish.
An, still slurping noodles, her cheeks puffed like a chipmunk’s, glanced up, her brow furrowing at her mother’s actions. 'Why’s Mom cleaning Tsuki-nee’s stool?' she wondered. Food was her priority.
“Dummy An-chan,” Tamako teased, her voice warm but playful as she ruffled her daughter’s hair, her laughter soft at An’s indignant huff.
“Why’re you picking on me?” An whined, her voice muffled by rice, her eyes narrowing as she set down her chopsticks, her small frame bristling with mock rebellion. “I’m not helping anymore!”
Tamako’s eyes sparkled, her chin lifting in a theatrical pout, her voice dripping with mock indignation. “Fine, be lazy,” She said, her tone childish, a mirror of An’s petulance. “But if you don’t master my cooking, you’ll never crush your rivals like I do.”
An’s face fell, her resolve crumbling under the weight of her ambition. “Mean Mom…” She muttered, wiping her greasy mouth with a napkin, her expression sulky but resigned as she shuffled back to the kitchen, Tamako’s laughter trailing after her, a warm echo in the bustling shop.
---
Meanwhile, Shuichi and Tsuki made a brief stop at the shopping street’s management office. They prepared quickly, gathering what they needed for their visit, their movements efficient but charged with anticipation. Tsuki’s excitement was palpable, her steps quick as they headed to the train station, the city waking around them in a symphony of honks and chatter.
At the station, Tsuki slipped into a restroom, emerging minutes later transformed, her usual attire swapped for a cat-eared maid outfit, complete with a swishing tail that drew Shuichi’s eye. The costume was bold, its black-and-white frills hugging her frame, the tail a playful accessory that swayed with each step. Both wore masks, a precaution against recognition, though in Tokyo’s eclectic streets, a cat maid barely raised brows. Passersby spared them only fleeting glances, their attention drawn more by the morning’s hustle than by Tsuki’s outfit.
Shuichi, grinning, couldn’t resist, his fingers catching the tail’s soft fur, tugging gently as they walked, the motion eliciting soft gasps from Tsuki. “Careful, Master,” She teased, her voice low, her legs wobbling slightly, the device’s subtle buzz amplifying her sensitivity. Shuichi’s tugs a constant tease that left Tsuki flushed and unsteady, her need for fresh clothes growing urgent by the time they reached Sumire’s apartment, a modest building tucked in a quiet corner of the city.
The apartment’s exterior was unassuming, its beige facade blending into the urban sprawl, the morning light casting soft shadows across its entrance. Shuichi pressed the doorbell, its chime a bright 'ding-dong' that echoed in the stillness, but no answer came. Tsuki, her eyes glinting with mischief, leaned closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Maybe Nagase-sensei’s peeking, too shy to open up,” She said, her tone eager. “Should we… start something right here?” Her suggestion was bold, her excitement barely contained, her tail swishing enticingly.
Shuichi rolled his eyes, his voice dry. “You’re dreaming,” He said, pulling out his phone to call Sumire, his finger jabbing the doorbell again for good measure. “She’s probably just sleeping in.” His tone was pragmatic, but a grin tugged at his lips, anticipating Sumire’s flustered reaction.
The dual assault—ringing bell and buzzing phone—finally roused Sumire, her voice groggy and slurred as she answered. “Hold on, someone’s at the door,” She mumbled, her words thick with sleep, unaware of her caller’s identity. “Gotta go open it.”
Shuichi’s grin widened, his voice smooth as he replied, “Sure, Sensei, go open the door.” His words were a quiet trap, his amusement growing at her obliviousness.
“Uh-huh, hanging up,” Sumire said, cutting the call with a frantic click, her heart pounding at the thought of Shuichi’s morning ambush. 'Dodged a bullet,' She thought, stumbling to the mirror to tame her bedhead, her movements rushed and haphazard. Guests at this hour were unexpected, her apartment a mess of scattered books and unwashed dishes, but leaving them waiting was rude. 'Maybe the landlord?' she wondered, her mind foggy as she shuffled to the intercom, her bare feet cold against the hardwood floor.
Peering at the screen, her breath caught, her body freezing as Shuichi’s masked face filled the frame, his familiar smirk unmistakable. Beside him stood Tsuki, her cat-eared silhouette a surreal addition, the maid outfit a bold declaration of their intent. Sumire’s heart raced, a mix of shock and dread flooding her senses. 'Why are they here?' she thought, her mind spiraling. 'And in that outfit? What are they planning?' The buzzing of her phone—Shuichi calling again—jolted her, but she clutched it tightly, refusing to answer, her instinct to hide overwhelming.
She pressed her lips shut, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes glued to the screen, willing them to leave. 'If I don’t open, they’ll get bored,' she thought, her logic desperate. But Tsuki’s sudden move shattered her hope. With a sly grin, Tsuki faced the camera, ensuring Sumire saw her, then crouched out of view, vanishing from the frame. Sumire’s eyes widened, her mind leaping to wild conclusions. 'No way… are they… here?' she thought, her panic spiking at the thought of neighbors witnessing such a scene.
Frantic, Sumire flung open the door, her voice a strangled gasp. “What are you—” She began, only to falter as Shuichi’s teasing voice cut through, his mask now off, his grin wicked. “Sensei’s so predictable,” He said, his tone playful but pointed. “Thought we were up to something scandalous out here, didn’t you? Couldn’t resist peeking?” His words hit their mark, Sumire’s face burning as she realized Tsuki’s crouch was a ruse, the girl now standing innocently beside him.
Shuichi seized the moment, slipping past her into the genkan, his arm encircling her waist, his lips brushing her ear with a featherlight kiss. “Rather watch, Sensei, or be the star?”
Sumire yelped, wrenching free, her face a blaze of crimson as she stumbled back, her heart hammering. “I’m your teacher!” She protested, her voice shrill, her hands flailing to keep him at bay. “You can’t just—”
“Oh, but I can, Nagase-sensei?” Tsuki purred, stepping forward to wrap her arms around Sumire from behind, her breath warm against her ear, her tone a playful echo of Shuichi’s. Sumire’s panic surged, her body twisting as she broke free, darting to her bedroom and slamming the door, the lock clicking with a desperate snap.
Shuichi and Tsuki exchanged a glance, their amusement mirrored in their eyes. “She’s quick,” Shuichi said, his voice impressed, recalling Sumire’s legendary kick that had felled the principal. “Slippery, too—underestimated her.”
Tsuki locked the front door, securing the chain with a soft clink, her grin predatory as she licked her lips. “Doesn’t matter,” She said, her voice low, her eyes gleaming. “She’s ours now.”
“You’re straight out of a villain arc,” Shuichi teased, catching her chin, tilting her face up, his touch firm but playful. “Evil maid vibes.”
Tsuki’s eyes sparkled, her voice fervent. “I’m Master’s loyal maid,” She said, her tone dripping with devotion. “If you’re a deviant, I’m no saint. Dragging the heroine down with us is my job.” Her words were a vow, her excitement a quiet flame that warmed the room.
“Good girl,” Shuichi said, his voice low, his hand catching her tail, tugging her toward the living room, a cozy space cluttered with books and cosplay props, the air tinged with the faint scent of lavender from a diffuser. “Let’s snap some pics for Sensei,” He said, gesturing to the couch. “Show her our… cosplay exchange.” His tone was mischievous, his intent clear.
Tsuki complied, her movements fluid as she leaned over the couch’s armrest, her posture exaggerated, her tail raised invitingly. “Like this, Master?” She asked, her voice coy, her skirt hiked just enough to frame the scene. Shuichi’s camera clicked, capturing the moment, the images sent to Sumire’s phone with a quiet ping, a bait he knew she couldn’t resist.
He crept to the bedroom door, his steps silent, sensing Sumire’s curiosity would draw her out. Sure enough, the door cracked open, her eye peering through, her attention fixed on Tsuki’s provocative pose, oblivious to Shuichi’s presence. He blocked the door, his grin sly as he leaned down, his voice a whisper. “No need to hide, Sensei,” He said, his tone teasing. “The president’s fine with a closer look—gets her going, actually.”
Sumire gasped, her attempt to slam the door thwarted by his hand, her face a blaze of panic. “What do you want?” She demanded, her voice cracking, her hands clutching her hair, her gaze darting to Tsuki’s swaying tail, a fascination she couldn’t suppress. The photos, tantalizingly vague, fueled her curiosity, her resolve crumbling under its weight.
“Nothing scary,” Shuichi said, his voice soothing, his arm slipping around her waist, guiding her toward the living room, his touch light but insistent. “The president’s into cosplay now, just wants to swap tips with you.”
Tsuki played her part, her hands gripping the couch, her tail swaying rhythmically, her performance a quiet invitation. Sumire’s breath hitched, her hand trembling as she reached out, the tail’s softness a revelation that drew a quiet gasp, her earlier panic fading under the tactile allure. 'Just cosplay research,' she told herself, her justification flimsy but comforting, her fingers tugging gently, eliciting a soft moan from Tsuki that sent a thrill through her.
Shuichi stepped back, settling onto the couch, his grin satisfied as he watched Sumire’s surrender, her focus consumed by the tail. He nodded to Tsuki, who knelt before him, her movements practiced, her role as maid a quiet ritual that grounded him. Closing his eyes, he leaned back, the couch’s worn fabric a familiar comfort, the room’s quiet hum a deceptive calm amidst the brewing chaos.
Sumire snapped out of her trance, her actions dawning on her with a rush of shame. She froze, her hand still clutching the tail, her face burning as she realized the extent of her indulgence. “I… I didn’t mean…” She stammered, her voice trembling, her instinct to flee warring with her body’s refusal to move, her eyes darting between Shuichi’s relaxed form and Tsuki’s flushed face.
Shuichi opened his eyes, his grin playful as he pressed Tsuki’s head gently, drawing another soft hum from her, her body trembling. “She’s fine, Sensei,” He said, his voice calm, addressing Sumire’s concern. “I’ll fix the tail later.”
Sumire swallowed, her imagination conjuring vivid images of Shuichi reattaching the tail, her heart racing at the intimacy implied. She extended the tail, her arm shaking, but Shuichi waved it off, his smile enigmatic. “Not that,” He said, his voice low. “Let’s warm things up with a little game first.”
He guided Tsuki to a desk in the corner, its surface cluttered with papers and cosplay sketches, the faint scent of ink lingering in the air. “Since we’re here, and you’ve been so kind to share your cosplay expertise, it’s only fair we help tidy up, right?”
Tsuki, her eyes still hazy with excitement, nodded eagerly, her body trembling as she crawled beneath the desk, her posture exaggerated, her skirt hiked to reveal her intent. “Understood, Master,”
Shuichi pulled Sumire’s office chair closer, its wheels squeaking softly, and sat with a relaxed air, his hands resting on the armrests. “Sensei, how many ways are there to take a temperature daily?” He asked.
Sumire, caught off guard, answered reflexively, her voice hesitant. “Three, I think?” Her friendship with Naomi kept such knowledge fresh, though the question’s context eluded her.
“Which three?” Shuichi pressed, his grin widening, his tone deceptively casual.
“Oral, underarm, and…” Sumire’s voice trailed off, her eyes widening as realization crashed over her, memories of strange dreams merging with the present, her face a blaze of crimson. 'They’re not… here, are they?' She thought, her mind reeling, the scene unfolding a mirror to her subconscious fears.
Shuichi, ignoring her shock, adjusted his posture, scooting the chair forward, the movement eliciting a long, muffled protest from Tsuki, her hands pushing back futilely against the chair, her body curled awkwardly in the cramped space. Sumire stood frozen, the tail dangling from her hand, her mind a whirlwind of disbelief. 'This can’t be real,' she thought, the surreal scene clashing with her rational mind, the addition of Tsuki’s maid persona only heightening the absurdity.
Shuichi’s expression shifted, a brief frown giving way to relaxed pleasure, his voice calm but teasing. “This chair’s comfy, Sensei,” He said, his hands gripping the armrests. “But it’s wobbly, like Naomi-sensei’s. Could you steady it? Keep bumping the president.”
Sumire’s face burned, her voice a strangled protest. “Hold it? No way!” She snapped, her eyes darting to the gap between desk and chair, her mind recoiling from the implications, her body trembling with a mix of shock and reluctant fascination.
Shuichi’s expression was the picture of innocence, his voice reasonable. “What’s that, Sensei? Just hold the backrest, keep it still so it doesn’t knock into her.” His words were a flimsy veneer, his chair’s deliberate motion a quiet taunt, the scene a surreal blend of normalcy and audacity that left Sumire speechless.
