White Album 3 Alternative (Another Possibility)

by ElectronicBee8771

Twenty years after Haruki and Setsuna married, their son is a rising star of the theater world. With killer skills, confidence to match, and a devoted girlfriend, Kitahara Yujiro's happy future is all but guaranteed. But the red string of fate has other plans, and will tangle him in a web of forbidden romance and deception unlike anything he ever anticipated.

1. Part 1

Notes:

First of all, everyone who read, gave feedback on, and especially reviewed White Album 3 (A Possibility) has my eternal gratitude. I only hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. White Album is a dead fandom by any measure of the imagination. And yet I am properly satisfied that so many people at least gave my story a chance. When I write, it pretty much sucks all my other hobby time away. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

After finishing (A Possibility), I went ahead and played the Setsuna True End of White Album 2. I know, right? This shitty fanfic author didn't even complete the source game? While the Setsuna ending isn't everyone's favorite, I found it quite compelling. Especially the somewhat darker undertones that ended up surfacing, intentional or not. Not everyone will agree with me, of course, but I really enjoyed what I read and thought it was as compelling as the Kazusa True route, in the end.

So naturally, I had to write more fanfic about it. As the summary implies, this is an alternate future fic based on the Setsuna True end to White Album 2. Kitahara Haruki chose Setsuna and rejected Kazusa. And now, here's my imagining of the aftermath, twenty years later.

One thing I wanted to make certain of was to NOT write this as just a retelling of (A Possibility) with different names and a rehashed plot. I hope it's apparent that the main character, Yujiro, is a completely different person with a different personality and approach to life from Leon. I also wanted to expand on the roles of some of the characters who only had bit parts in (A Possibility). Particularly Izumi Chiaki, as she was my favorite heroine from the Closing Chapter of White Album 2. I also, frankly, got a lot of requests for Kazusa smut. (A Possibility) may have had some possible incestuous undertones, but not to that degree. So for Kazusa fans, I hope you enjoy it.

Of note, there are some characters who appear in both works. Saeko plays a major role in this one (although she's a different person than in the previous work), because I'm a huge fan of blond-haired twin-tailed tsundere childhood friends (say that five times fast). Hanako, my surprise heroine from (A Possibility) also makes an appearance, but this isn't her story like it was in the previous work.

The way I have it planned right now, this is going to be a darker and more personal story than (A Possibility) was. Well, except that Yujiro is a total Chad, which is not anyone's reality. But it's more entertaining to read about. I hope you all enjoy it. As always, I'd love to hear your comments. As a creator, it's the lifeblood upon which we rely.

Prologue

It is the fourth century AD. The height of the power and glory of the Empire. I, the Legatus Titus Andronicus, have returned to capitol after a ten-year campaign against the hated Visigoths of Germania.

"Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds!
Lo, as the bark, that hath discharged her fraught,
Returns with the precious jading to the bay
From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage,
Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs,
To re-salute his country with his tears!"

Of the twenty-thousand loyal sons of Rome who marched out from under the Porta Salaria with me, a mere quarter of them are still able to walk. The rest have perished in agony, whether in battle, or of disease and starvation. I have personally witnessed twenty-one of my sons die during the hellish campaign, choking on their blood and weeping for their mothers. Only four remain. As I prepare to inter their bodies into the family crypt, I grit my teeth against the mocking dark that greets me, and threatens me with this question: "Was it all worth it?"

"O sacred receptacle of my joys,
Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,
How many sons of mine hast thou in store,
That thou wilt never render to me more!"

I gleefully take the opportunity for revenge, given license by sacred imperial ritual, and offer up the eldest son of my hated enemy, the captive Queen Tamora, as a blood sacrifice to Mars. As she watches her son's crimson paint the cobblestones and the light in his eyes turn to dullness, I catch the cold resolve across her features. I know she has sworn revenge on me in that moment. I know I have started a cycle of death and obsession that will result in everyone's demise.

Later, Queen Tamora seduces Saturninus, the new emperor of Rome. Her surviving sons rape and mutilate my daughter, Lavinia. Two of my remaining sons are killed by Tamora's lover, even after I'd cut off my own hand to stay his wrath. I, in turn, kill Tamora's remaining sons and bake them into pies, which I serve to Tamora and Saturninus while pretending to be insane and subservient to them. To make sure they take the bait, I also ask Saturninus a question:

"My lord the emperor, resolve me this:
Was it well done of rash Virginius
To slay his daughter with his own right hand
Because she was enforced, stained, and deflowered?"

"It was, Andronicus."

"Your reason, mighty lord?"

"Because the girl should not survive her shame,
And by her presence still renew his sorrows."

"A reason mighty, strong, and effectual;
A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant,
For me, most wretched, to perform the like.
Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee;
And, with thy shame, thy father's sorrow die!"

With tears in my eyes, I do something both unthinkable and entirely deliberate. With her consent, I stab my poor Lavinia's heart in front of the traitors and schemers who took our honor, our purpose, and our futures. Then, as a last ugly concession to vengeance, I slit Tamora's neck open. My duty is complete. I offer no resistance when Saturninus sinks his dagger into my gut. And he offers no resistance when my sole surviving son, Lucius, sends a blade right through his eye.

At the conclusion of this horrid affair, I, Legatus Titus Andronicus, having lost my family, my mind, and my life, am borne away a broken man in every respect. Yet let it not be said that I would have acted differently. I could do naught but my duty. I could do naught but follow my conviction.

I am satisfied.

Do you hear? I am content! I am at peace!

I. Am. Properly. Satisfied!

#

The stage lights faded slowly to black as the surviving consuls of Rome bore me away on their shoulders, my body draped with the cochineal flag of the Legio I Germanica. Our small pit orchestra sounded the final, withering bars of their finale, and then all was darkness.

The consuls set me down onto the hard granite surface of the Andronicus family crypt. I'd earned my eternal rest. Close by, I heard applause. A fitting send-off for a broken general who'd done his duty.

"Yuji, get the hell up!" Queen Tamora barked in my ear as she whipped my shroud off and poked at my cheek. "You need to get out there and bow!"

I opened my eyes and stared at her, dumbfounded. "But… I killed thee! Wherefore dost thou livest?"

My arch-nemesis playfully flicked my forehead. "Play's over, dumbass," she said as she took my hand and dragged me up. "Return to being Yujiro or I'll kick your ass for real."

The momentary twinge was enough to remind me. I wasn't the tragic Legatus Titus, and the beautiful girl dragging me by the hand back onto stage wasn't my arch-nemesis. I was just Kitahara Yujiro, a senior high school student at Houjou Preparatory Academy. And my co-star, playing Tamora of the Visigoths, was my dazzling, polymath prodigy of a girlfriend, Iizuka Saeko.

The stage lights all focused simultaneously on us as we walked to center stage. The heat was enough to quickly drench my shabby Roman cook costume in sweat, while simultaneously making me fear my hair would ignite in flames. But most overwhelming of all was the sheer force of the audience cheering in delight at us as they gave a standing ovation.

Saeko, smiling brilliantly as she dripped crimson from the simulated wound on her throat, raised our joined hands and led us in a deep bow to the audience, who reacted in kind. The rest of the troupe, Yada, Sugiura, Hayasaka, Shimizu, Sonoda, and Honda, all clapped for us as well.

It was the final night of the show we'd been planning, rehearsing for, and spilling tears (and a lot of fake blood) for weeks on end. This was also my last production with the Houjou Academy drama club. In a mere few months, I'd graduate high school and enter college. Caught up in the thunder and heat of it all, I embraced Saeko and kissed her full on the lips.

The audience reacted even more loudly. Unlike poor Titus Andronicus, I was truly, brilliantly alive.

CHAPTER 1: I, TITVS

To celebrate our final performance, both Saeko's parents as well as mine treated us all to something that we'd both been craving intensely, but was too damned expensive to justify except for moments like these: all you could eat buffet sushi.

"Kampai!" shouted Saeko's father, Iizuka Takeya, as he held his beer glass up over the table. Her mother, Iizuka Io, quickly clinked her glass against his and started to chug hers before anyone else could join in the toast.

"Io-chan!" my mother playfully chided her. "Were you that thirsty?"

"Ai ya, Setsuna!" Io replied, with beer foam stuck to her upper lip. "You don't understand! Work's been absolute hell! I'm just drinking my sorrows away, you know?"

My mother, Kitahara Setsuna, chuckled and gently patted Io on the head. "There there," she cooed.

"Oi, Io, are you an elementary schooler now?" Takeya teased her.

"I heard that!" Io snapped at him.

"What's going on at work?" Setsuna asked her.

"Oh, you know, the usual," Io sighed, as she broke a large segment of king crab leg in half and fished out the meat. "Overdue reports, the same personality conflicts between middle-management, more sexual harassment allegations… Being a VP is such a scam! Completely not worth it! I'm turning in my resignation tomorrow!"

"You've been saying the same thing for years," Setsuna replied, gently.

"I know, I know… Anyway, enough about me, eh? This is about our kids! I'll be quiet now and drown my sorrows in beer and crab legs. This place had better have a metric ton of them!"

My mother chuckled and then turned her gaze to Saeko and I, who were actively gorging on pieces of nigiri without any regard for good table-manners. "Can I just say how adorable you two were on stage when you kissed at the end?"

The normal thing to do when one's mother talked about kissing a girlfriend would have been to blush and stammer. But I wasn't exactly normal. "Thanks, Mom. I can understand if some people thought it was too much public affection, though."

"Oh, that doesn't matter at all. The important thing is, did Sacchan enjoy it?" Setsuna's eyes twinkled, playfully.

Saeko leaned over and placed a kiss on my cheek. "I didn't mind at all."

I took her hand in mine under the table and squeezed it. "Then it was the right thing to do, eh?"

"Absolutely," Saeko said. "I was a bit worried about if you'd be able to break out of Titus-sama's headspace. So it made me happy that you were able to quickly go back to being Yujiro again. I think the kiss proved that you were you. Actually, Yujiro, now that the play's over, I think you should go easy on the method-acting for a bit."

"It's cool. The Sennouchi method has risks, but those are largely overblown," I said, with a chuckle. "There's no such thing as completely losing yourself in a character and being unable to return to yourself. If that actually happens, it's not acting at that point. It's just psychosis."

"I heard there was an American actor who had a lot of issues returning to his true self after a role," Setsuna said. "He caused a lot of disruptions on the set with constant arguments and such. A really handsome man, though. What was his name? He played Batman…"

"Christian Bale," I said. "But I don't think his issues were due to his method-acting. It sounds like he's just kind of a jerk."

Takeya returned to the table, his plate burgeoning with sashimi. "Oh! I was curious. So now that you're about to graduate, Yujiro-kun, who's gonna inherit the club president position?"

"Probably Yada," I said. "She's the most hard-working among the juniors. Shimizu has more skill, but he's kind of lazy, to tell you the truth."

"Ah, Yujiro-kun, didn't you say it's kind of unusual for the club president to also be the poster actor or actress?" Io asked.

"Yeah, it is. The skill sets are different. Which is why I'm the president, and Sacchan is the poster actress," I said, praising my girlfriend unabashedly. She blushed, to my delight.

"You're the one the audiences actually come to see," Saeko said, laughing. "Didn't you see the reviews? They called you the 'Second Coming of Orihara Hyouko!'"

"No way," I said, shaking my head. "I'm nowhere close to the late Orihara-sama. Any old asshole can pull off a passable Titus. On the other hand, it takes a uniquely lovely woman of talent and skill to pull off Tamora."

"Oh, enough!" Saeko said, and crossed her arms. I loved that I could still provoke that reaction from her, even after three years of being together.

"Oh my God, Setsuna," Io giggled. "Aren't they the cutest? I'm so happy they're going to be at the same university."

"Hey, that's not guaranteed," I said. "I still need to pass the entrance exams for Yuunagi."

"I'm curious then," Takeya said. "See, once Saeko gets her PhD, she's done with her education. But if Yujiro wants to do grad school or something, then how's that all gonna work?"

I hadn't called Saeko a brilliant polymath prodigy for nothing. She'd skipped multiple grades in her life and earned her bachelor's degree from Yuunagi University at age sixteen. She still attended Yuunagi, but for the last two years had done so as a doctoral degree candidate in Computer Science.

"Maybe I'll stay on as a professor," Saeko said, winking at me. "He's gonna have to do everything I tell him to, or else!"

"I'm gonna go straight into law or something," I said, shrugging. "Don't need grad school that way. Besides, I'm not into tech stuff. So I wouldn't take any of Saeko's classes even if she were a professor."

"Wrong answer!" Setsuna chimed in, and gave me a playful head chop along with Saeko. "Always agree with your girlfriend!"

Io gasped. "I totally thought you were gonna go into theater!"

"No," I said, with a shake of my head. "That's just a hobby for me. Besides, the acting world is super competitive at any level higher than college. Lots of people get burnt out and embittered. I realized long ago that I don't have the skill to make a living off of it. I also don't want to have an unsteady income and make my spouse have to work constantly to support me."

"Jesus Christ!" Io said. "Saeko, you have to marry him! If not for you, then for me! I want him as my cute, devoted son-in-law! I mean, you're already childhood friends who became lovers! Take the next step!"

"Io!" Setsuna said, chiding her friend. "Don't pressure them!"

"I told you, Mom," Saeko said, quietly, with a smile. "I'm thinking about it."

Now, it was my turn to blush.

Much later that night, Saeko and I made ravenous love to each other in my room. This wasn't anything new for us—we'd been dating for three years, and had first lost our virginities to each other a few months after we'd met. By now, we knew each others' preferences, weak spots, and kinks as well as a couple that had been married for decades. We usually came together, no matter what position we used, and once my mother had made it clear to me that she didn't mind our lovemaking at all, we were pretty loud about it.

In short, life was perfect, and I had no desire to change anything.

#

"Yuji-kun, you have a letter." The new drama club president, Yada Misaki, stomped up to me as I lounged on one of the couches in our rehearsal room. She held out a small envelope and waited, expectantly. It had been two weeks now since Titus Andronicus had ended, and attention from the press had cooled off and moved on to other exciting happenings.

"Thanks, Lavinia-chan," I said, lazily taking the letter from her and returning to flipping through "Biniku no Kaori" on my Switch. She'd played the part of Titus's unfortunate daughter, and I'd taken to calling her by her character name more than her real name. "I'll read it later."

"Keep reality and drama separate," Misaki said, crossing her arms. "And you should read it now."

"You know I appreciate fan mail, but I'm kind of stuck on this puzzle right now," I said, looking up from my game.

"This is much more important than your stupid hentai game for old men, Titus-jiijii! Look at the sender!"

"Fine, fine. You know I'm only putting this down because it's you, Yada-chan." I smiled indulgently at her. She blushed a bit. I'd long known that she had a crush on me, but we both knew it would have to go unrequited. I wasn't going to lose Saeko for anything or anyone. Still, I did enjoy teasing her from time to time, and also knew she enjoyed the attention, up to a point.

I glanced at the sender's name and laughed. "Oh, come on! We both know there's no damned way Sennouchi Akira would actually send a letter to this little drama club."

"Ordinarily, I'd have trashed it," Misaki said. "But, like, you've read the papers and stuff, haven't you? We're getting noticed in a big way. You're getting noticed in a big way. So maybe an actress like her would actually, you know…"

"You're kind and always want to uplift others," I said to her, gently. "That's your best quality. I want you to never lose it, even if you occasionally fall for a scam or a prank."

Misaki turned beet red and turned away, quivering. "You're kind of crossing a line there, Yuji-kun…"

"Sorry," I said. She'd confessed to me in the past, and here I was tormenting her. I'd have to apologize to her later. "Here, I'll open it. Let's see…does Sennouchi-sama want to invest in real estate with her? Or join her cult? Or buy special purified water?"

I opened the letter and unfolded the paper. It was a hand-written note.

Greetings, you shitty brat!

You probably think you're hot stuff because you conned the audience into thinking you were a broken husk of a fifty-year-old man obsessed with revenge. To be honest, you didn't really fool me. There were a lot of issues with your performance that I wanted to yell at you about.

On the other hand, your show was decent enough to make me come. As in 'orgasm,' not just 'arrive.' Not a lot of brats can do that these days, and I've seen a lot of them through the years. I'm going to be in town next week. Meet me at the Karaokekan in Kabukicho at 1PM sharp on Tuesday.

You're probably wondering if this is a scam or a prank. If you really think so, then don't go. I won't really care. But I'll just say this: Todokanai Koi was written by Kitahara Haruki for Touma Kazusa, not for Ogiso Setsuna. If you want to know how I know this, then you'll have to ask me.

—Izumi Chiaki

I looked up from the letter and willed my hands to stop shaking. Whoever had written this knew an old family secret that, as far as I knew, my father, my mother, and Auntie Kazusa had never revealed to anyone.

"Well? Was it real, or a prank?" Misaki asked.

"I don't know," I said, exhaling slowly.

"So what're you gonna do? Does Sennouchi Akira want to talk with you?"

"I have no idea. All I know is that I'm going to karaoke to meet my destiny."

#

I hadn't told anyone about what I was doing or where I was going. In retrospect, that had been a stupid idea, but I figured that whatever happened to me wouldn't be too terrible, given that I was meeting someone in public in one of the busiest entertainment joints in all Tokyo.

The Karaokekan, or "Karaoke Palace" in Kabukicho was a popular spot with both locals as well as with tourists, thanks to being prominently featured in the Ryu ga Gotoku series of action games. As a result, there was a constant influx and outflow of visitors, most of whom weren't even there to sing. Whoever had sent me the letter had been shrewd about picking the spot, for busier places lent more anonymity.

The letter had been vague about everything but the time. As I milled around the lobby, I felt stupid for even going. Even if I were meeting the real Sennouchi Akira, it wasn't like she'd appear in public looking like she did in her photographs. For a celebrity, that was tantamount to inviting paparazzi right into one's underwear. Plus, if I thought about it logically, there was no way a high-profile actress like her would ever be caught meeting an unrelated young man out in public like that. That would be pure scandal-bait.

Whatever, I thought as I turned to leave. I was glad I hadn't actually booked a room or anything, and glad I hadn't told anyone about this stupid misadventure.

A fist bumped into my gut. Not enough to cause pain, but enough to make me look up and directly into the face of whoever had punched me. I blinked and opened my mouth to apologize before moving on.

Before I could speak, the entirely forgettable, sunglasses-wearing obasan in front of me leaned in and brushed my ear with her lips. "Don't say a word. Room eleven." As she spoke, she pressed an entry ticket into my hand, then broke off into the crowd.

I looked at the ticket with cow-like eyes. If this had been an illegal transaction of some sort, I'd have been arrested immediately, with how obvious I was being. The woman was nowhere to be seen. Leaving would have been the smart thing to do. But still… I touched my ear where her lips had brushed them. I can always run if this turns into something sketchy.

Repeating that to myself like a mantra, I went up to the elevator that led to the rooms, showed the attendant my pass, and stepped in alone. A short ride later, I exited into a nondescript hall of doorways, all with a number painted outside. A cacophony of muted, throbbing beats pumped out from many of them, along with the tinny voices of high schoolers and college students belting out their favorite tunes. I found room eleven, took a deep breath, and entered.

Inside, the same forgettable obasan who'd punched me in the gut slowly took off her hat, sunglasses, and long coat. I inhaled sharply. There was no mistaking those unique features. The enticing, cat-like eyes, voluminous chestnut hair, and exquisitely-shaped lips were world-famous. She really was Izumi Chiaki, better known by her stage name: Sennouchi Akira.

"First, give me your phone," Chiaki said, and held out her hand.

Wordlessly, I complied. Her voice had an otherworldly, compelling quality to it.

She took my phone, quickly slipped it into a small bag, and tossed it on the table. "Sorry, but I have to make sure we're not being recorded. You can have it back after we're done. Would you like to order any food or drinks? I'll pay," she said.

"No, thank you," I said, trying to control my breathing. "Can I be sure you're who you say you are?"

"I don't have to justify myself to a brat like you," Chiaki said, with a smile. "If you think this is a prank or a scam, you can leave."

"I'll hear you out, but know that I'm not agreeing to anything," I said, on guard.

"Sit down," she said. "I don't like looming men."

"Sure," I said, and sat across from her. I realized that she was wearing a miniskirt. Smirking at me, she slowly uncrossed and then crossed her legs. I deliberately resisted the urge to glimpse between her legs.

"It's okay to peek," she said. "The entire world has seen my junk many times over."

"I enjoyed 'Nukitashi' a lot," I replied, referencing her portrayal of Tachibana Asane, the protagonist's little sister.

"And I enjoyed filming it," Chiaki said. "Probably my second favorite character. But we're not here to talk about me. Much. How are your parents?"

"They're fine," I said.

"Chill out. I was friends with Haruki and Setsuna in college. We all went to Houjou University. Did they ever tell you that?"

"Actually, no," I said. "Neither my father nor mother have ever mentioned knowing you."

"Really?" Chiaki's nose scrunched up. "After all the times I fucked him? Haruki…" She shook her head.

"Whoa," I said, holding out my hand. "What are you saying?"

"I spent a lot of time in your father's apartment back then," Chiaki said. "That was when he was estranged from your mother. You can probably fill in the rest. I also hung out with your mother, but don't get too horny, okay? I never fucked her. Sadly, Setsuna only leans a bit bi for one particular woman."

I crossed my arms. "I really don't understand any of this, nor am I sure I want to. Was there a point to meeting with me? Or were you just going to brag about doing my dad?"

Chiaki laughed and smacked the couch. "You're just like him! Oh, this is great. I didn't have a lot of hope, but…" She sighed. "Fine. I'll get straight to the point, Kitahara Yujiro-kun. I watched your production of 'Titus Andronicus.' Ordinarily, I'd never be interested in some two-bit high school clown show, but when the papers started calling you the 'Second Coming of Orihara Hyouko,' I had to check it out myself. By the way, you're totally trash compared to Hyouko-chan."

"I know."

"Don't take it the wrong way. I'm also trash compared to her, but at least I'm somewhat more mentally stable."

"You shouldn't speak ill of the dead like that."

"Your parents should have named you 'Koharu,' instead of something proud and strong like 'Yujiro.' You're basically Haruki, but little! Ha! Let me guess, Setsuna named you after her favorite character from 'Baki the Grappler,' didn't she?"

"Very funny, Sennouchi-san. My mother has strange tastes in movies, but she's not a manga freak."

"Anyway, getting back to the point. You're certainly no world-shaking talent. But you're not horrible, either. Despite being a pretty average upper-middle-class high schooler with decent grades, a loving girlfriend, and no real tragedies that have befallen you, you somehow managed to portray an obsessive, perverted scoundrel more than three times your age. How'd you do it?"

"Like any other actor would," I said with a shrug. "The play's been performed since the seventeenth century, so there's a lot of analysis and criticism out there. I listened to recordings, and watched and re-watched the movie with Sir Anthony Hopkins. Then I kind of mashed it all together and tried to see things through Titus's eyes."

Her lips thinned. "Was the movie your primary inspiration?"

"Sure. He did one hell of a job. It probably won't be equaled again. I'm not too proud to say I took most of my inspiration from that performance."

Chiaki waved her hand dismissively. "Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"I said 'bullshit.' You're just trying to agree with me to get the conversation over faster. At most, your performance was maybe twenty percent Hopkins. And mainly because he's a man, like you. Your primary inspiration came from someone much closer to you."

"If you say so? I mean, my father's pretty duty-bound and rigid, so sure, I took some inspiration from him."

"Your father, Haruki, is a treasure. I'll give you that. But he's not the main source. He has a lot of passion, though it's marred by indecisiveness. You, on the other hand, channeled a raging maelstrom of unshackled obsession, greed, and lust. When I watched you, I felt like I was eating her out. It was delicious."

I hadn't noticed it before, but now I realized that Chiaki had come much closer to me. In fact, she was virtually straddling my lap. Her hands rested on my shoulders and her hair brushed against my face.

"In the scene where Titus murdered Chiron and Demetrius, I was afraid, for a brief moment, that you'd actually cut your co-stars' throats for real," Chiaki said, giggling. "Your desperation, your futility, your animal rage. It was breathtaking to behold. All throughout the play, you'd been making me really wet. And at that moment, I came without touching myself."

While she'd been talking, she'd gyrated her hips against mine. One of her hands slipped down between her legs, and she started to let out husky breaths. I wanted to tell her to stop, to back off. But I didn't. I could only respond with an erection and silence. She reached for my zipper and undid it. I was too sluggish to stop her. Finally, she pulled my manhood out and placed my shaft against her slit. She wasn't wearing panties.

"You can put it in if you want," she purred.

"No…" I said, ashamed at myself for being too weak-willed to simply shove her off. Instead, I let her continued to rub up and down against my shaft.

"Anyway, that wasn't the only time it happened," Chiaki whispered hoarsely. She bit my earlobe and I shuddered in pleasure. "When your Titus killed Lavinia and then Tamora, I almost had to leave the theater because I was sure I'd pissed on the seat. Normally, I'd have been extremely annoyed, but I knew it wasn't entirely your fault. You were just channeling someone with those amazing emotions and horribly perverse tendencies. Do you know who I'm talking about?"

"I… I don't…" I gasped.

She pinched her clitoris with her fingers and spasmed. Her moisture dripped down my shaft and soaked my pants.

"I'll give you a hint, you wretched man!" Chiaki said, and stuck her tongue in my ear before making a sibilant sound.

I tried in vain to resist the mounting wave of pressure and compulsion that crashed against my groin and ricocheted towards my toes and my head in tandem. This was wrong. It was cheating on Saeko. But I couldn't do anything in the moment. "S-Setsuna! It was Setsuna!" I cried as I violently emptied myself into the space between our skin.

Chiaki's slit convulsed with enough strength to push out some more of my semen onto both of us. She let out a deep moan before losing the last bit of her strength and collapsing against me. My head flopped back against the seat cushion and my vision swirled. Chiaki then pressed her lips to mine and shoved her tongue past mine as if to scourge my throat.

Saeko's face flashed in my mind. And when I beheld her sweetness, I immediately shoved Chiaki off of me and onto the floor. "No!" I croaked at her. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You need to be more straightforward in the future," Chiaki said, chuckling. She shuffled to her knees and inched forward. "Here, I'll lick you clean."

I pressed my hands against my sodden crotch. "No. No more. I'm done here…" I said, and tried to rise, only for wave of dizziness to overtake me. I collapsed back on the seat.

"Suit yourself," Chiaki said, and went back to her seat. She sucked my ejaculate off of her fingers and let out a sigh of pleasure. "Next time, come inside me. And also, just be honest about who your main acting inspiration is. I knew it was your mother all along. She's the only woman I could spend a lifetime with and still not fully comprehend. But what I do know, I seriously like and admire."

"Why did you do this?" I growled. Desperately, I grabbed at a box of tissues and dabbed our mingled fluids away.

Chiaki looked at me like I'd sprouted two heads. "I had to be sure you were the real deal."

"Fuck you, lady."

"I have a proposal for you. Come this fall semester, I've accepted an endowed professorship at Stanford University, in California, USA. I'm going to head their theater department. I'd like you to be my student. With your foundation and my guidance, you'll become a world-level talent. Perhaps someone who could even stand near Orihara Hyouko. All you have to do is submit an application. I will make sure you're accepted. If finances are a concern, I can even get you a scholarship. Will you apply?"

I looked up at her, incredulity plastered on my face, and started to laugh. "Are you fucking kidding?"

"Not at all."

Despite the absurdity of it all, I had to laugh some more. "You're out of your fucking mind. Of course I'm not gonna say yes to any of your bullshit after what you just did. And furthermore, I have plans already. If I score high enough on the entrance exam, I'll get a full ride to Yuunagi. Plus, that's where my girlfriend is. The woman I'd like to marry! So the answer is abso-fucking-lutely no!"

With that, I unsteadily found my footing and zipped back up. I grabbed the bag with my phone in it, and made my way to the door.

"The deadline is February twenty-eighth, okay?" Chiaki said. "I can't do much if you're late."

"I never want to see you again." With that, I opened the door, stepped out, and slammed it. The rest of the day was a blur. When Saeko called later on, I told her I was sick and couldn't see her that night.

#

As an actor, it was important to be able to compartmentalize and forget. And as for my encounter with Chiaki, I did just that. Within a few days, I'd forced myself to stop thinking about it, and for my heart to stop racing every time I saw her face on television or a movie poster. The whole thing had been unreal, and I could have easily dismissed it as a hallucination. Perhaps I'd actually come down with COVID and had a horrible fever dream.

Regardless, I continued my daily routine, and things continued on uneventfully for another month. The only bad thing was that my time with Saeko had become limited, as she was putting extra work into her dissertation. We only saw each other on weekends, as opposed to nearly every day. But I'd also had university entrance exams to worry about.

About a week before the end of February, she called me as I was lounging in bed. I immediately picked up. The last time I'd seen her was on Valentine's Day, at my mother's birthday celebration. After the party was over, we'd snuck off to have a quickie, but she'd had to leave soon after.

"Hey, you!" I said, cheerfully.

"Yujiro, is this a good time to talk? Do you have a few minutes?" Saeko didn't sound like herself.

I frowned. "Of course! Hey, everything okay? Do you want me to come over?"

"No, it's fine. I, uh, wanted to tell you a few things."

"Sure, what's up?"

"I… I just got the news. I got my PhD."

I shot up in bed. "What? Whoa! That's awesome! You're the best!"

"Thank you. I mean it."

"Still, weren't you supposed to at least go for another two years or something, though?"

"I had a breakthrough around the time the play ended," Saeko said. "We achieved something no team's ever achieved before. So I was able to finish the dissertation early. The committee was powerless to resist. So I'm a doctor now. But not the type who can stitch you up or anything."

I laughed, the tension leaving my body. "Shit, you should've told me. I would've gone with you to your thesis defense. But still, congratulations! We need to celebrate! Hey, listen, I'll borrow some money and we can take a trip! Anywhere you want! Even overseas!"

"About that…" Her voice wavered.

"Eh? Saeko, what's up? You don't sound too happy. Are you sick? I also can't hear you too well. Are you on the metro or something?"

"I am. I'm on a shuttle train to Narita."

"Narita? The airport?" I grasped my phone. "Why are you going to the airport?"

She let out a ragged breath. "Yujiro… You mean the world to me. I love you so much. I'm so… so… sorry."

My heart started to race. "What do you mean, you're sorry? What's going on?"

"I'm flying to… to America. My flight leaves in a few hours."

"Oh, that's not a big deal. Are you going to a conference? Wish you'd told me, but I know how things are sometimes. When are you coming back? We'll celebrate then."

"That's the thing. I'm not coming back. At least not for a few years. I… I wanted to tell you, but I… I couldn't. I'm a coward. I'm so sorry. Please, Yujiro, I don't expect you to forgive me. All I ask is that you move on and find someone you love. Who can treat you better than I did. I'll always love you. Goodbye!"

With that, her line went dead. My hands shook and my vision blurred. Concentrate! Don't panic! I screamed to myself inside. This was a mistake or a prank. Or, somehow, she'd found out about that encounter I'd had with Chiaki. I'd need to beg her forgiveness. I punched the "call" button next to her contacts entry. It rang once and disconnected. I'd been blocked.

"What the everloving fuck…" I whispered. I could only assume she was in trouble at this point. Now was not the time to panic and whirl around in indecisiveness. I needed to act. Quickly, I plotted out how much time it would take to reach Narita by public transport.

Six hours. Way too long. Fuck. I didn't have a car, which would cut the transport time down to an hour and change. We only had one car in the Kitahara household, and usually my mother needed it to get to her job at Knights Records. She was also most likely in one of her meetings right now, or even in the studio. I knew I shouldn't interrupt her.

And yet, my mother was my only choice at this point. Trembling, I found her name in my contacts list and called her. After two rings, she picked up. I heard a familiar voice singing in the background.

"Yujiro? Are you okay?"

"Mom," I croaked. "I'm so sorry to call you at work."

"It's fine," Setsuna said. "Hold on, let me duck out to a quieter place. Are you safe?"

"I'm safe," I said. "But I'm also in trouble. I got a call from Saeko just now…"

I spilled the details to her. And like the saint she was, my mother listened calmly, without interjecting or interrupting. Finally, I was done.

"Are you absolutely sure it was Sacchan?" Setsuna asked. "There's a lot of scammers trying this thing out."

"I called her back immediately. She's blocked me."

"I see," Setsuna said. "Do you need me to drive you to Narita?"

"I can't ask that of you…"

"Yujiro, I am your mother, first and foremost. If my precious boy is in crisis, I'll drop anything to help him. Wait at the house. Or, actually, can you make it to Iwazu-chou? I'll meet you near there. It'll save us at least twenty minutes."

"Thank you, Mom. I don't know what else to do."

"You need to concentrate on moving your body. Get dressed, get a warm coat, and get to the metro station. Remember, Iwazu-chou. I'll call you."

With Kitahara Setsuna's calming voice as my North Star, I did as she directed. And within five minutes, I was sprinting down the road from our house towards the metro.

#

"I'll find parking. You get out here and search for her!" Setsuna commanded me as we pulled up to the international departure terminal at Tokyo Narita Airport.

I clasped my mother's hands and kissed her in gratitude. "Thank you, Mom!"

"You don't have time to kiss your mom! Go!" Setsuna said.

I raced into the terminal and quickly looked at the gate display. Of course, Saeko hadn't told me precisely where in America she was flying to, but logically, there was only one place where JAL and other airlines flew to on a frequent basis: San Francisco International Airport.

Of course, with security measures that had been in place since before I'd been born, there was no way I'd actually make it to a gate to find her. My parents had once remarked that it was common to say goodbyes right at the gates, but I couldn't believe them. My only chance to find Saeko was here and now. I realized that she also hadn't told me what airline she'd booked a ticket on, or what time the departure was. This was insanely silly, and I'd probably wasted my mother's time and effort. I wheeled around with my hands shoved into my hair as I realized the magnitude of my error. The whole thing had been pointless from the beginning.

And then, by some sort of divine or devilish providence, I caught a glimpse of dyed-blond hair in twintails, deep within the crowd near the security checkpoint. Her signature style that she'd worn the entire time I'd known her. It had also helped her performance as Tamora, since the queen had been a European woman.

Without any consideration or politeness, I dove into the crowd. I elbowed, pushed, and slammed my way through until I saw her from the back, right about to step through the point of no return.

"Saeko!" I shouted, out of breath, doubled over with my hands on my knees. "Wait!"

She turned around, with eyes widened. She looked like she wanted to flee.

"Please!" I begged, as I reached out to her. "Give me a moment! Even if you hate me and I've wronged you, just give me a moment!"

She came up to me, grabbed my hand, and knelt. She then started to kiss my hand. I pulled back. This was insane and she was acting insanely.

"Don't!" I said. "I should be doing that to you! What did I do? Why are you leaving me? Why didn't you tell me what was going on?"

"As I said, Yujiro, I'm a coward. A reprehensible human being. I don't deserve your love, and I don't deserve to love again."

"That's nonsense," I growled. "Utter nonsense! You're my beloved. I admire you so much! You're the most wonderful person in the world! Just…please, come back home with me and we can talk. I'll make it up to you if I can. Or at least, if you've decided not to be with me anymore, I deserve an explanation. Okay?"

"My flight leaves really soon. I need to get going. I'm so sorry. Yujiro, I have a last request for you."

"What is it?"

"Hate me, okay? Don't ever think a good thought about me again."

"That's impossible and you know it. Look. If you need some time and space to think about things, that's fine. Just unblock me at least. Don't cut me off. Or at least tell me where you're going."

"Silicon Valley. I have the chance of a lifetime. The only chance I'll ever get. I didn't make this decision lightly. And I know what a horrible person I am."

"So you're saying you got a really awesome job offer?" I laughed and shook my head. "Don't be dramatic. It's fine. I'll just save up and visit you when I can."

"It's not that simple," she said, wiping her eyes. "You have a future in Japan. Your path is set, and I'm only going to hinder you if we continue. You won't be able to find love again because you'll always feel beholden to me. I'll become an albatross. And you'll start to hate me. I won't let that happen. Goodbye, Yujiro. I love you."

I threw my arms around her. "Don't go…"

She slipped out of my grasp and quickly stepped across the security cordon. I made to follow her, but an officer quickly blew his whistle at me and advanced with his baton out. Without a ticket, I could be arrested if I pressed any further. Wordlessly, I watched Saeko disappear past the security checkpoint, and slip out of my life.

Sometime later, I stood at one of the observation platforms open to the public. It afforded great views of the planes taking off and landing, but due to security concerns, it was surrounded by a high, barbed wire fence. I leaned against the fence, my knuckles white as they gripped the freezing metal links, and watched.

Saeko's flight, JAL 3310 to SFO, dumped power to the main engine, lowered its flaps, and started to accelerate down the runway. When it reached a speed of four-hundred kilometers an hour, it lifted off and climbed rapidly away. Overhead, flakes of snow started to fall on my head.

"Yujiro, it's too cold out here," Setsuna, my mother, said gently to me from behind. She wrapped her arms around my waist and buried her face in my back. "Let's at least go get a coffee inside."

"You can go ahead, Mom," I said, softly. "I'll stay out here."

"You'll freeze," Setsuna said. "I won't let you be hurt like that."

"I don't care," I said.

She sighed. "Then if you're going to be that way, I guess I have no choice. We'll both freeze for a bit."

"Thank you, Mom. And I'm so sorry I wasted your time."

"Not at all," she said. I felt something wet on the back of my sweater, which was the only warm thing I'd been able to find on such short notice.

"Mom, are you crying?"

"A little. Don't mind me. Just having some I."

"Okay," I said. I lowered one of my hands to rest over hers.

Together, we held each other like this. Eventually, as my mother was wont to do, she started to sing softly.

Kodoku na furi wo shiteru no?
Naze darou ki ni natteita
Kizukeba itsu no manika
Dare yori hikareteita

Dou sureba, kono kokoro wa
Kagami ni utsuru no?

Todokanai koi wo shiteite mo
Utsushidasu hi ga kuru kana
Boyaketa kotae ga mie hajimeru made wa
Ima mo kono koi wa
Ugokidasenai

#

I spent the next few days in my room after that. I didn't go to school, and I barely ate or drank. I didn't watch any television or even read on my phone. My mother took care of me, bringing me food, and never complained even if I didn't touch any of it. As if she knew I'd turn around eventually, she persisted.

Eventually, I grew fed up with myself enough to at least take out the trash. I dragged the full wastebin toward me, only for it to catch on something on the floor and tip over. Scrap paper, used tissues, snack wrappers, and other unmentionable things spilled out on the floor, along with a crumpled-up piece of paper. I grabbed it to toss it back in the trash, but something compelled me to smooth it back out again.

Greetings, you shitty brat!

I angrily crumpled it up again. The meeting with Chiaki had been one of the worst moments of my adult life. And yet…

For the first time in days, I opened my laptop computer and navigated to the Stanford University website. I clicked on the "How to Apply" tab and read the instructions. They wanted essays, my academic transcript, and copies of my test scores or equivalents. Fortunately, most of that stuff could be deferred until I got the actual documents. The things that couldn't wait, however, were the application itself and the essays. I clicked on one of them.

"Why do you want to go to Stanford?" it asked.

I stared blankly at the screen, not knowing in earnest what to put down. There was no way an American college admissions committee would care about the pathetic chain of events that had happened to me since the triumph of Titus Andronicus. This was futile. My efforts were futile.

But despite it all, I started to write. I wrote down everything that had happened, right down to the gory details of my encounter with Sennouchi Akira. Hopefully, it would get her in trouble. Maybe she'd be fired, or arrested for sexual assault. I cackled as I thought of the possibility. And one minute before the deadline, I clicked "Submit" on my partially-completed application.

#

Months later, I'd won acceptance to Yuunagi University's Law Studies program. As everyone had predicted, I'd also earned a full, merit-based scholarship. And seeing that there was no longer any reason for me to attend Houjou Academy anymore, I decided to spend more of my time with my mother at her workplace.

The senior vice president of Knights Records, basically their second in command, Kitahara Setsuna had risen rapidly through the company ranks due to her ability to sniff out and develop talent that everyone fell in love with. She'd been the force behind the resurrection of Ogata Rina's career, she'd introduced the world to the White Album 3, and her latest discovery had gone from cleaning toilets at a sketchy karaoke joint to topping the Oricon for sixteen successive weeks with her debut single. Of course, I was talking about the musical phenomenon named Morikawa Hanako.

Hanako smiled at me as she swayed behind the glass of the recording booth, and continued to belt out the newest cover she'd been licensed to perform.

Oh Sherrie, our love
Holds on, holds on
Oh Sherrie, our love
Holds on, holds on

Oh I wanna let go
You'll go on hurtin' me
You'd be better off alone
If I'm not who you thought I'd be

But you know that there's a fever
Oh, that you'll never find nowhere else
Can you feel it burnin'
On and on…

The music died down quickly after she finished the final bars, and the recording staff clapped in relief and appreciation. Hanako took her headphones off, stepped out, and bowed to the small crowd. Setsuna clapped her shoulders and kissed her on the cheek.

"This is the one, I can feel it," Setsuna said with a smile. "Send it on for mastering," she ordered the sound director.

"You're too kind, Setsuna," Hanako said, embracing my mother. "Are you completely sure, though? I felt a tiny bit off pitch in measure sixty, and…"

"We can correct that during mastering. And also, you're the only one who could hear it. You're too good at this, you know?"

"Fine, fine," Hanako said. "Do you think Perry-san is going to like it?"

"Steve-san asked for you, specifically, to cover this in Japan," Setsuna said. "Of course he'll like it!"

"Kitahara-fukushacho," said one of her assistants, who carefully opened the door to the studio. "Do you have a moment? There's something that arrived that you should see personally."

"Sure," Setsuna said. "Okay, I'll be back in a bit. Everyone take a break, go eat and drink and use the toilet, okay? That means you too, Hanako."

"Boo," Hanako said. "I'm gonna practice some more."

"What do I do with you?" Setsuna said as she left. "Yujiro, make sure she eats and drinks something!"

"Okay, Mom," I said, shrugging. I had to laugh afterwards. I was in no position to order an international star around.

The rest of the staff filed out, eager to smoke, which left Hanako and me alone.

"Hanako, do you want something from the vending machines, at least?" I asked her, knowing what her answer would be.

"Nope, I wanna jam," Hanako said, going back into the recording booth. She sat at the upright piano inside and pressed the keys. She'd been on an American singer-songwriter kick recently, and with her amazing voice and fluent English, she'd been the de-facto source for covers in Japan. I recognized the infamous riff from the beginning of Vanessa Carlton's "Thousand Miles."

Makin' my way downtown,
Walkin' fast, faces pass
And I'm homebound…

She hit a wrong key soon after and then stopped. "This is harder than it looks, Yuji-kun. Oh! Hey, congratulations on getting into Yuunagi! You're gonna be a cool defense attorney like Yagami Takayuki-san, right? Better work on your martial arts skills!"

"Hanako, you play way too many video games," I said, chuckling.

"Dude, I'm an idol. I can't date guys, so I play games! 2D men are the best, anyway!"

"Fujoshi," I teased.

"Pew! So are you gonna join the drama club at Yuunagi? Or even a private troupe? You're good enough to audition for Gekidan Lupercalia, I bet."

"Honestly, that's kind of in the past right now," I said, shaking my head. She knew that I'd been dumped. "I'm gonna concentrate on my studies. Besides, if I can graduate early, it'll be a lot easier on my family's finances."

"Ah, you already have a sister attending a prestigious American university in California. What was it? Berkeley?"

"Stanford, but close. They're American football rivals or something."

"Did you apply there?"

"Yeah, I did. I'm not getting in, though. I completely half-assed the application. It was really more of a joke than anything else. Actually, come to think about it, I'd better not actually get in. Number one, it'll kill my family's savings, and number two, if they let me in, then it means they're crazy."

"Americans are crazy," Hanako said with a shrug. "That's what makes them so cool! You should totally continue theater, though. You devoted so much of your life to it, you know? I know! You should do a musical!"

"Showtunes kids are weird."

"I love showtunes, though!"

"And you're weird," I said. I genuinely enjoyed our banter, and sensed that she did, too.

"What's your favorite one?"

"Probably the first one I ever saw. It's not prestigious, like 'Les Miserables,' but it was fun. 'Rent,' by Jonathan Larson."

"I love 'Rent!' Favorite song?"

"Don't laugh, okay?"

"I promise I won't."

"'Seasons of Love.'"

Hanako immediately started to laugh. "Sorry! It's just that I didn't expect your taste to be so mainstream. Especially someone who chose to put on Shakespeare's most violent tragedy."

"I'm a normal guy, after all."

"I'll make it up to you. Let's sing it. I'll do Joanne's solo, and you do Collins."

"Let's not."

Hanako merely smiled and started to sound out the opening chords. C, G, F, F, F.

"I'm not gonna do it," I said, and crossed my arms.

"Then I'm gonna keep playing it and Setsuna's gonna wonder why I didn't take a break." She continued to press out the chords.

"Oh, fine! Damn it…" I said, and inhaled.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six-hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six-hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?

Hanako joined me at this point, our voices locked into a simple, clear harmony. That was, until she really started to belt out Joanne's famous solo.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six-hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand journeys to plan
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six-hundred minutes
How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?

She'd asked me to sing Collins's refrain, and so I did.

In truths that she learned, or in times that he cried
In bridges he burned, or the way that she died!

As we went into the bridge, I heard another voice join us from behind.

It's time now to sing out,
Although it's not the end
To celebrate, to remember a year in the life of a friend

Remember the love
Remember the love
Remember the love
Measuring the seasons of love
Seasons of love

As Hanako finished the final bars, I turned to see Setsuna behind us, as the third voice. My mother always looked brilliant when she sang, and today was no exception.

"Hanako, you just sang through your break again, didn't you?" Setsuna said, and laughed.

"Guilty as charged," Hanako said. "But seriously, I was trying to convince Yuji-kun to do theater in college. He's got the kind of stage presence I'd kill for!"

"I told you, that's in the past," I said, with a sigh.

"Is it?" Setsuna said. "I'd believe you more if we hadn't just gotten this in the mail," she said, and held out a thick, cardinal-colored envelope emblazoned with a golden seal depicting a tall pine, or palo alto, in Spanish.

I blinked at her. "What's this?"

"Why don't you open it?" Setsuna said with a shrug. "I know what it means. It means I'm paying twice the tuition to that greedy school from now on. Hanako, you're buying me lunch with those hundred millions of yours, okay?"

"No…" I said, and tore the envelope open. I lifted out the first page.

Dear Yujiro,

Congratulations! It is with great pleasure that I offer you admission to the Stanford University class of 2XXX… In particular, we look forward to the innovations and talent you are certain to bring to the dramatic arts through the theater…

"The hell? This has to be a mistake," I muttered. I skimmed to the bottom of the letter, which was signed by their director of admissions. Next to it, was a handwritten note in Japanese.

You'll pay for that cute little stunt, you shitty brat! You're mine now. Prepare your anus.

Love and Kisses!
-Chiaki

"Well, Yujiro?" Setsuna asked me. She looked equally proud and annoyed. "The Americans are waiting for your answer. Just know that we're never going to be able to afford buffet sushi again."

CHAPTER 2: AMERICA, THE BEAUTIFUL

"Yujiro, what does it mean when someone says to…" My father, Kitahara Haruki, scrunched his brow and adjusted his reading glasses as he focused on the screen of his tablet. "…stick out your gyat for the rizzler?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Uh, where are you getting this stuff, Dad? I don't think that's in any English conversation guides."

"That last book I read. It said the newest American slang will always be found on the internet, so I read about it on the flight. There were links to all sorts of TikTok videos, with interesting stuff. For example, I binge-watched this series about a 'Skibidi Toilet.'"

Oh no… I gently reached over and closed the window on my father's tablet before he could succumb to more brain rot. "Dad, it's okay. From what I talked about with Akina, no one actually speaks like that in real life. Maybe they'll drop a word or two as a joke, but it's considered 'cringe' to overdo it. At least in mainstream American circles."

"But I like this way of speaking," Haruki said. "You're so fanum tax!"

"Seriously, please quit it," I said, switching to Japanese. "The other families are giving us funny looks."

We, along with dozens of other family groups, waited patiently outside the student dorm I'd been assigned to live in for the next year. It was move-in day at Stanford University, and the air was abuzz with anticipation. Which was why my father absolutely could not get brain rot at this moment.

"You're too uptight, Yujiro," Haruki said. "Besides, weren't you the one who said we have to speak only English once we landed in America?"

"I did, but I meant real English," I said, switching back to English. I loved my father, but I'd noticed that the older he got, the more our personalities had diverged. He'd used to be a serious, rigid, duty-bound, lecturing sort, but over the last few years, he'd turned frankly lackadaisical. As editor-in-chief of Kaiou Graph, he supposedly ran a tight ship that was the envy of Japanese mass media, but I just couldn't imagine him doing any of that with how whimsical he'd become.

That said, I was also immensely grateful to him. Because of Hanako's fall album release and upcoming concert series, my mother hadn't had the time to accompany me on my flight to America and my move-in day at Stanford University. But my father had willingly scheduled a rare spate of days off to do just that. Despite wanting to do some tourism in San Francisco, his responsibilities also compelled him to return the next day.

He'd also helped me in a major way with my English. The moment I'd sent in my matriculation notice, I'd also started to panic for real. Writing and reading the language had come easily for me, but when I tried to speak it, I sounded like a horrific 1980's stereotype of a fresh-off-the-boat tourist carrying an oversized, expensive camera. How the hell had Hanako mastered speaking this devilish tongue?

As the months wound down, however, my father had surprised me by splurging on some intensive conversational English boot camps for me, as well as all the necessary review materials. And most importantly, I'd learned the common slang required for survival. By the end of it, my instructors had told me that while I'd likely never sound like a native speaker, anyone who claimed to not understand my speech was probably just being racist.

"Hey y'all!" announced a rakish-looking student who stepped out through the doors of my assigned dormitory building to greet us new students and their families waiting outside. "I'm Nick Morikawa, one of the Resident Advisors here! Welcome to Junipero! The doors are now open, and you're free to move in. Say 'hi' to your new roomies, kiss your parents goodbye, and if you have any questions, me and the other RA's will be around all day. And one more thing. Even though weed is legal in Cali, it's forbidden on campus, just like underage drinking. Sorry, I don't make the rules!"

"Morikawa, eh?" Haruki said. "He looks like an African man, but he's totally Japanese. We should talk with him."

"Dad, don't you remember? It's rude to talk about someone's race in America," I whispered to him. The other families started to march into the dorm, many of them pushing dollies full of furnishings along. My father and I only had a few suitcases of clothing. My sister, Akina, had told me not to buy anything, for she had plenty of hand-me-downs to apparently give me. In many ways, she was just like our mother. "Actually, where's Akina?" I looked around, but not effectively since I was still tethered to my suitcases.

My father, probably eager to talk to another Japanese person after less than a day out of the country, had of course immediately gone up to the poor RA and was chatting the hell out of him.

"Kitahara-san, was it?" Nick asked, bowing politely to Haruki and switching to Japanese.

"Yes, that's right," Haruki said. "It's so nice to get to speak our tongue again. My son demanded we only speak English so I got a little stir-crazy. Morikawa-kun, are you by any chance related to Yuki-sama, with Ogata Productions?"

He smiled, broadly. "Yuki-sama is my adoptive mother."

"Oh! That means you're siblings with Hanako-sama!"

It was a well-known fact that Morikawa Yuki, although retired from the idol business, had amassed a lot of children over the years, both biological and adoptive. Her adoptive kids had almost all been orphans, too, like Hanako had been.

"I am! Are you also Akina's dad, by any chance?"

"That's me," Haruki said, chuckling. "We're looking for her. Please let us know if you see her, okay?"

"Yo, King!" a voice rang out in English that I hadn't heard in nearly a year. Not since she'd last briefly come back over part of her summer break. My older sister, Kitahara Akina, raced up to Nick and gave him a hug.

"Yass Queen! What's up?" Nick replied in English, and clapped Akina on the shoulders.

"My little brother's a frosh now, so take care of him," she said, and then quickly turned to me. Just like she had with Nick, she immediately rushed over and gave me a crushingly powerful hug.

"Akina, it's been a while," I said, somewhat more subdued than I'd intended to be. Part of it had been the shock over her appearance. Last time I'd seen her in Japan, she'd pretty much looked like any other fashionable young university student, with her hair done up in pigtails much like my mother had sported when she'd been that age. It hadn't been uncommon for passerby to mistake them for identical twins.

But now, she'd entirely shed her previous look for something distinctly American. Her hair was normal on the right, but done up in tight cornrow side-braids on the left, with streaks of blond and pink highlights running everywhere. She was heavily tanned, enough to make herself look like a gyaru right off the streets of Shinjuku.

"Oh shit! Your English is way better now! Nice job, Yuji," she said, releasing me from her embrace. "Okay, I can't stay here all day, but I'm gonna give you a mini-fridge, a bong, and some pillows and bedsheets, because what the school gives you completely sucks and will probably give you chlamydia."

"Why a bong?"

"You know, to smoke weed."

"Isn't that illegal?"

Akina laughed at me gave me a devilish grin. "This is America, dingus! Oh my fucking God, you're gonna love it here."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Nick said, winking at Akina before he turned to help another family.

"So why'd you decide to come here, anyway?" Akina asked me. "I heard you got a full ride to Yuunagi Law. Didn't you wanna be a prosecutor or something? Weren't you gonna marry Sacchan?"

I sighed. "Saeko dumped me. I had some time to re-think things."

"Oh shit," Akina said, her face fallen as she hugged me again. "I'm so sorry, Yuji. I really liked her. What happened? Wait! Actually, you don't need to talk about it, if you don't want to. I'll listen if you want to talk later, though."

"Thanks," I said, clenching my jaw. "Maybe later, once I'm rested up. We have a lot to catch up on, it looks like."

"So are you still gonna study law or something?'

"No. I'm here for the theater program."

"Great! You're awesome at that stuff. You know I'm an opera minor, right?"

"With your voice, how could you not be?"

"God, even in English, you're still a fucking player. Don't forget I'm your sister," she teased, punching me on the shoulder.

"Akina," Haruki finally said. "I'm glad to see you. You look well."

My sister's face fell as she favored him with the briefest of glances. "Yeah, I guess I do." She turned back to me, and again gave me a hug. "I'll bring the stuff to your room in a bit, and then I gotta go. We're doing La traviata at MemAud in a few days to welcome the new music majors, so it's crunch time. I'm playing Violetta, so make absolutely sure you go, or I'll kick your ass."

"I will. Thank you, Akina," I said, and hugged her again.

She waved to me and bounded off.

Haruki let out a sigh, but quickly put on a smile for me. "Well, shall we move you in?"

#

Like the overwhelming majority of freshman, I was compelled to live with a roommate. Conventional wisdom held that one's freshman year roommate was likely to become a friend for life, so even I was a bit anxious to see how things would turn out. My roommate had already been in the dorm room for the last few weeks, owing to having participated in a summer program that had taken place before move-in.

I knocked politely to let him know I was about to enter, only to hear the strangest-sounding "Ohairikudesai!" issue from within.

"Ah, sounds like your roommate's Japanese," Haruki remarked. "You're very lucky, you know. To have a Japanese senpai, your sister here, and a roommate, too. Many foreign students don't have it half as good. But I wonder if he has a speech impediment…"

"I wonder…" I said, and opened the door. My jaw dropped at the surreal sight within. Exactly half of the room's institutional carpet floor had been replaced with legitimate tatami mats. The walls were covered, down to the last square centimeter, with wall scrolls and posters of anime characters (some of whom I didn't even recognize), and whoever my roommate was, he'd attached shelves to the walls that were packed with figurines and Gundam models.

"Ohayo gozaimasu," my roommate said, giving me a deep and passable bow as if he were a cabaret host greeting a customer. He wore a well-fitted and tailored yukata, down to the paulownia wood geta sandals on his feet. His enunciation was still wrong, though. "Watashi no namae wa Aslatiel Shah Zahar Khan."

I raised an eyebrow. It all made sense now. I wasn't dealing with a fellow Japanese student with a mild speech impediment. I was dealing with a complete and utter weaboo. I needed to stop this nonsense in its tracks.

"Hi there, nice to meet you," I replied in English, and offered my hand. "I'm Yujiro Kitahara. Let's get along."

"Wait! Don't you speak Japanese?" Aslatiel asked in English. "We should talk in Japanese, bro!"

"I'm seriously trying to improve my English, so I'd like to speak English whenever possible," I said.

"But your English is fine! Can I at least call you senpai, then?"

"Thank you. And I wouldn't use senpai. We're about the same age, right? We're also both freshmen here, so we're on equal footing."

"Okay, then is just Kitahara-san okay?"

"Listen, we live together now, so you can use my first name. Or just 'Yuji' is fine. Can I call you Aslatiel, in turn?"

"I'd be honored, Yuji-san."

I considered asking him to drop the honorific, but I didn't want to push too hard on my first day. "Great. I uh, like what you did with the floors. The carpet looks dirty."

"If you want tatami, I can get you some. The carpet's full of bacteria and ground-in cum."

Better not be yours, I thought. "Thanks for the info. Maybe I'll take you up on the offer. Can I ask where your family's from?"

"Kazakhstan! And no, I'm not related to Borat."

"I thought Borat was just a fake persona invented by some shitty comedian."

Aslatiel's eyes went wide and he practically threw his arms around me. "Oh thank God! You know the truth! You truly are the protagonist of Grisaia!"

"That's Juicy Yuuji. I'm just plain Yuji," I said, shaking my head. "So, uh, Kazakhstan. I've never been there before."

"Neither have I," Aslatiel said, chuckling as he stepped away. "If I set foot there, I'll be arrested and probably killed."

"Why?"

"I'm the rightful heir to the Khanate. When the Russians took over in 1850, they exiled my family in pain of death. The current government doesn't recognize us, either. But one day, we will take back what is ours."

This place really attracts all kinds of strange people, doesn't it? I don't remember who, but someone smart once told me to stay out of Central Asian dynastic feuds. So I will. "Good luck, then. I'll be rooting for you. I'm gonna move my mini-fridge in now."

A few hours later, my father and I finished moving my meager possessions into my new room. My half still looked insanely boring compared to Aslatiel's half, and since he'd told me about what was probably mashed into the carpets, I henceforth resolved to never go barefoot if I could help it. Still, I had what I needed to survive, and if I needed anything more, I'd ask Akina for help.

As a service to the new students who didn't know where anything was, the dining halls were at least open to families for the day. Nick had shown us where to go, and now my father and I ate spaghetti dinner together at the end of one of the long tables within Wilbur Hall.

"This is far too much for me," Haruki said, setting his fork down. He'd only eaten a quarter of what they'd served. "Do American students really eat like this every day?"

"I guess they do." I looked down at my plate, unable to continue as well. "Feels bad wasting food, but I don't have a microwave yet."

"I gained a few kilograms when I started college, but the portions were more sensible back then," Haruki said. "Make sure you move around a lot, if you're going to be dining like this all the time."

"So, what do you think?" I asked him.

"Your roommate is a decent fellow, even if he acts like a clueless tourist," Haruki said, chuckling. "I gave him some pointers on how to improve his Japanese."

"That's probably the last thing he needs, Dad."

"I'm glad you have so many people from home around you. I wasn't expecting that."

"Neither was I. I thought Akina would be my only connection to home." Now I remembered how she'd reacted to him. "Um, about Akina, I pology—"

Haruki shook his head. "It's okay. She has a lot of reasons to hate me. After all, she fled here to escape having to see me. So I can't expect her to act like we're some loving father-daughter pair. If it's my karma, so be it."

I blinked. "But still! Do you want me to call her to come over? Maybe she was really distracted, or on her period, or—"

"Yuji," Haruki said. "Leave her alone. She rightly blames me for—"

His mouth moved, and I didn't hear his words. I stared at him, my brow raised in confusion. I genuinely hadn't heard a word out of him, even though I heard the clamor of the dining hall loud and clear. What looked like a glimmer of resignation flashed across his visage. Quickly, he cleared his throat, looked away, and then squeezed my arm.

"Still can't?" he said. "It's okay. Just know that I love you both more than anything else in the world. Remember that, Yuji. If you're ever in trouble, or need advice, you can call me or your mother. We'll do anything we can for you."

"Thanks, Dad," I said. "I wish you could stay longer."

Haruki laughed. "Listen. Your first few days of college are precious and us old folks have no business hanging around. Go out, drink within reason, and talk to a lot of people. Maybe you'll find a girl just as good as Sacchan was."

I looked down. "Yeah, I guess I need to move on. One of the reasons I came here, anyway."

"Good," he said. "I'm heading out now. My flight's tomorrow and there's an old friend and mentor in San Francisco who will hang me by my toenails if I don't spend some time with her."

"Kazaoka-san? The CEO?"

"Exactly. You could even say my job's on the line," he said, with a chuckle. "Here, give me a hug."

I stood and wrapped my arms around my father. I clenched my jaw to prevent myself from crying. He patted my cheek, turned, and headed out. He'd left his plate on the table, forcing me to stay behind to bus it, thus preventing me from chasing after him. He'd always been sly about those sorts of things.

#

Night encroached quickly in late September, and from here on, the days would only be shorter until spring. Soon, it would be the season of White Album, and the snow would start to fall. Nothing had been officially planned for the evening of move-in day, and both my sister as well as my newly-discovered-to-be-Japanese RA seemed extremely busy, so I was left mainly to my own devices. I quickly shot off an email to my mother to let her know I'd moved in and seen my sister. I should have taken a picture, I realized, and resolved to get one next time. For now, I had everything I needed to survive, including toiletries, bedding, and clothing. It was apparent that fattening food would be my enemy here, so I needed to find a gym as soon as possible.

During my theater days, I'd maintained a regular workout schedule that included both weights and cardio training. What neophytes didn't know about stage productions was that they were physically grueling activities. Actors and actresses who didn't maintain their bodies were only sabotaging themselves and dampening their skills. Maybe Izumi-sensei will know where to go, I thought, resigned. It was tempting to simply blow her off for the rest of my college career, but she'd also mentioned getting me a scholarship. If my meager acting could help offset the insane financial burden I'd just saddled my parents with, then even dealing with Chiaki's bullshit would be worthwhile.

Aslatiel was absent, so I didn't really have anyone to talk with. Although I didn't feel like it, I resolved to go out to the dorm lounge and at least start learning my fellow students' names. At least it was a great way to practice my English. With a groan, I pushed myself away from my chair, exited the room, and went down the long hall toward the lounge. My room was on the first floor, all men, while the second floor was all women, and the third floor was mixed. On the way there, I noticed that thankfully, the dorm had a small common kitchen, so at least I could brew tea when I wanted.

The large common area of the dorm was a generously open space with couches to spare, a walled-off quiet computing area in one corner, and even a baby grand piano in the other corner. I wonder what Auntie Kazusa would think, I wondered upon looking at it. I was barely intermediate-level when it came to the instrument.

A large-screen television, currently tuned to an American baseball game, occupied much of the space on one wall, while the opposite wall was thick glass that afforded views into a common courtyard. I realized that the dorms were arranged so that they all faced the same space—probably an effort to encourage communication between inhabitants of different dormitories.

Other freshmen, likely with the same idea as me, nervously congregated in small groups, exchanging pleasantries, boasts, and of course, efforts to find new romantic partners. And although underage drinking was illegal, many of them already had bottles of beer and other hard liquor in their hands. A pungent vegetal smell occasionally tickled my nose. It was horrid, almost fecal in its notes, but strangely compelling at the same time. I didn't want to embarrass myself by asking if it was cannabis, although I guessed that it probably was.

"Wanna beer?" a woman asked me from behind. I turned to meet her. She was a white woman, blond, with flowing hair and soft features and green eyes.

"Hi, sure. Thank you," I said, and took the cup she offered me. I drank deeply, and finished it off in a few gulps.

"Nice! I wasn't sure if you'd accept."

"I never turn down a free drink," I said, winking at her. "I'm Yujiro, by the way. Most people just call me Yuji, so you can do whatever. What's your name?"

"Madison," she said. "Are you from overseas?"

I told her. Our conversation continued, and she took me over to where another group of freshmen had apparently rolled a beer keg into the dorm. America seemed increasingly lawless by the minute. We refilled our drinks a few more times, and I greeted more of my soon-to-be classmates. None of them seemed to overtly mind my English, to my pleasant surprise. After about four or five beers, I was starting to feel warm. I noticed that Madison had snuggled up to me on the couch and was resting her head on my chest as I told her amusing stories from the production of Titus Andronicus. Eventually, she looked up at me, expectantly.

"Hey, wanna kiss?" she asked.

"Sure," I said. She was more than a little tipsy, so I wasn't going to go all the way with her, but I reasoned a makeout session would be harmless and fun. After news of my sudden single-ness had spread like wildfire, I'd come to school to find my shoe locker jammed with love notes, including from every woman in the theater club. I stopped going to class soon after that, to avoid causing discord. But it had also meant self-denial. I hadn't been with a woman for almost half a year now. I leaned in and met her lips.

She murmured and reached up to stroke my chest. Another hand went to my thigh, and started to inch up in the direction of my groin. My hands followed in turn, and started to follow the shape of her curves. Her hair reminded me of Saeko's. Her curves were similar. If I closed my eyes and tuned everything else out, I could even delude myself into thinking she was Saeko…

My ears pricked up to the sound of war drums. Though distant at first, they rapidly approached, along with a vague, rumbling sensation on the ground. For a moment, I almost believed that the Legio I Germanica approached with Legatus Titus at the fore. I lifted my head to break off my makeout session and went wide-eyed at what I saw just outside.

A deep brass boom issued forth with a force that made the glass walls of the dorm shake and sent a shiver up my spine. Holy shit, it's really the Legion! And who could have blamed me for thinking so? Occupying the courtyard was a formation of at least a hundred individuals with instruments ranging from bass drums to trombones, accordions, and Sousaphones. They were festooned with a mixture of crimson-soaked rags, American football armor, and man-impaling cone bras straight out of a Madonna video from the 1980's. Basically, they looked like a horde of drunken goblins here to strip the flesh from our bones. What they played on their instruments was pure pandemonium: Hell's own symphony.

And in the center of this terrible formation was a vehicle unlike any I'd ever seen before. Someone had turned a humble golf cart into an armored, rust-colored killdozer behemoth, complete with a wall of booming speakers mounted behind a stage straight out of Thunderdome. But instead of a raving mad warboy spewing flames onstage, there was another sight that grabbed my attention by the balls.

A young woman, unmistakably Japanese, with flowing, midnight-colored hair shredded on an elongated keytar as the vehicle came to a stop. She may as well have been wearing nothing, as her tiny miniskirt, leather corset, and single fishnet stocking barely covered her up. She wore a costume biker hat that threatened to fall off her head at any moment, and "fuck me" pumps with twenty centimeter-long soles that may as well have been stilts. I also recognized the melody she played—I'd have recognized it on any instrument. The solo from "Sound of Destiny," by Ogata Rina.

But more than her costume, or her choice of song, it was her face that drew me. To others, she must have looked like she was intensely concentrating, but I knew the truth: she was having an orgasm.

Now I recognized her style. It was unique among unique styles, and impossible to duplicate unless certain criteria were met. Entranced by this dazzling, overpowering clusterfuck of terror and beauty, I gently laid a passed-out Madison down on the couch and stumbled outside, along with dozens of other onlookers from the dorms.

The woman onstage ended her solo with a flourish, took her keytar, and promptly smashed it against the stage, causing a shower of sparks and a feedback surge that drove me to my knees. "Gooooooooood eeeeeeeeveninggggg bitches!" she cackled into a microphone. "Call the cops, I don't give a fuck! For the rest of you freshmeat, hear this! We're the Leland Stanford Junior University Marching Band! That's right! A marching band! We do things differently! Fuck your orderly formations, fuck your discipline, and most of all, fuck your musical talent! We're a place every degenerate scumbag can feel proud to belong to, and we definitely have a place for you!"

I couldn't help feeling like she was pointing at me. I'd been pushing my way through the crowd, drawn to her magnetism. Our eyes briefly met. To my surprise, she looked away, but quickly resumed her tirade.

"Tonight, we're taking over the Quad! Anyone who thinks otherwise can fight me! Come down for a better party than whatever bullshit you have going on, and if you're nice about it, I'll kick your ass! Seeya, suckers!" she cackled, and gave us all the finger.

The horrible hordes around her, previously silent, now started up their maelstrom play and bobbed and weaved out of the courtyard. The gigantic killdozer threw up a burst of black smoke, roared, and then reversed, taking the midnight-haired woman along with it. For a moment, I thought I saw her glimpse back at me. My imagination, I assured myself.

The logical thing to do would have been to make my way back to the dorm to laugh about what had happened and settle down into a peaceful night—I was hellishly jet-lagged, after all. But I couldn't get her face out of my mind. Hell, when I thought about her, it was even difficult to envision Saeko's face. I clenched my jaw and made a fist. Then I started to walk toward the Quad.

#

True to the mysterious band woman's word, the Stanford Quad, a respected symbol of academic excellence and collaborative learning, had been turned into a combination of an orgy and a mosh pit.

"Hey man, join the band!" some of the hooligans whooped at me as I approached the pile of dancing, fucking, and crawling bodies around a trash bonfire that had been lit right in the middle of the quad. I had no idea how the university tolerated any of this. Had this been a Japanese university, they'd all have been expelled within the hour. But, as Hanako had told me before, Americans were crazy.

"Sure! Who do I talk to?" I asked, in reply. One of them slapped a fresh beer into my hand and shoved me toward the killdozer, which had come to rest in front of the bonfire. Once I got a closer look at it, I realized something: the thing was basically a mockup of none other than Pochita, the chainsaw devil. Perched nearby, squatting on a much-abused folding table, was the woman from earlier. She leered at me as I approached, and flicked her cigarette at my feet.

"Whaddya play?" she growled at me.

Her raw beauty up close almost stole my speech away. If I'd been anyone other than Kitahara Setsuna's progeny, I'd have probably collapsed to my knees, blubbering as I swore eternal allegiance to her so long as she occasionally stepped on me or kicked me in the balls. But Setsuna's implacable blood coursed through my veins. It rendered me immovable, even in the face of an unstoppable force. If the result of such a collision was nuclear annihilation, nothing pleased any of us more. I grinned at her.

"Nothing," I said. "I'm not here to join, either. I just wanted to get your name. And your phone number."

The band members near her pointed and gasped, letting out hoots, oohs, and aahs. I didn't care if they were mocking me.

Her eyes widened. I'd seen this expression before, on another woman I held dear. And whom I also desired.

Finally, she laughed. "Look at the balls on this one! Don't worry, Shithead. Half of these guys and girls can't play anything, either. How about I teach you, eh? But you have to sign first." She picked up a hastily-copied, smeared paper nearby her that I recognized as a club application form, and tossed it to me, along with a razor blade. "If you sign in blood, I'll lick it off."

"I'm a dedicated thespian, so I'll have to refuse."

"Then no name, and no number. Get thee gone, nerd!"

"No problem," I said, and then switched to Japanese. "But let me confirm one thing. I can't play piano worth a damn, but I know you play with Touma Kazusa's style. It's unmistakable because it's so erotic. What is your relationship to her?"

A flitter of rage coursed over her azure pupils, but was quickly gone. She sighed and beckoned me closer. "Come here. I'll at least give you a kiss, just so you shut the fuck up."

I walked toward her. She gave me a devious smile as one of her hands caressed my cheek. And with the other hand, she took a bottle of 180-proof bottom-barrel Tennessee whiskey, filled her mouth with it, and then pressed our lips together. She forced the burning liquid into my mouth. To prevent it from backing up into my tear ducts, I had no choice but to swallow it. She broke off, licked my face with her tongue, and then pushed me over onto my ass while the rest of the band laughed.

Hands lifted me up under my arms, and dragged me away. I'd already had quite a few beers back at the dorm, and probably at least three fingers of high-proof booze forced into my gut. There was no way I'd be able to resist falling asleep. The last thing I realized, before I finally lost consciousness, was that I was having trouble remembering every detail of Saeko's face.

CHAPTER 3: OF MONSTERS AND MEG

My head throbbed and my eyelids refused to block out the warm light streaming onto my face. In vain, I tried to squeeze them even more tightly shut, which only made my headache worse. Finally, unable to take the pain anymore, I opened my eyes and rolled over in bed.

I blinked. This wasn't my dorm room. For starters, I was lying on a king-sized bed, atop a mattress far softer than the shitty institutional foam provided to students. I groped the pillow under my head and realized it was filled with real goose down. It also smelled sweet, like a woman's perfume. The sheets covering my naked body were of the highest quality Egyptian cotton. Yeah, I was absolutely not in my room. I didn't need the lack of weaboo trappings to tell me such a simple fact.

Don't panic. Assess the situation calmly. It was a convenient mantra, but quickly lost its validity the moment I realized that I also wasn't alone in bed. A woman, also naked, rested peacefully next to me with her back turned. I couldn't lean over to get a look at her face, but her hair looked and smelled familiar. Too familiar, in fact. I became acutely aware that I knew who this was. My heart started to pound. This was a true worst-case scenario.

Slowly, while fighting my hangover, I shifted my legs a few millimeters closer to the edge of the bed. If I was careful and calm, I could slip out of bed, make my way out of the bedroom, and I'd have a fighting chance to escape. And, as if to mock everything I stood for, Izumi Chiaki—the Sir Kenneth Branagh Endowed Chair of the Stanford Department of Theater and Performance Studies—immediately rolled over on top of me.

"Morning, you shitty brat," she drawled, sleepily, and kissed me deeply on the lips. "Wanna do it?"

The sane thing to do would have been to push her off me and storm out. But my lips still burned from the memory of the midnight-haired beauty I'd kissed the night before. Whether I liked it or not, I was hard as a rock. "Fuck it, sure."

Chiaki pressed her lips to mine and again shoved her tongue down my throat. My hands went for her breasts, and roughly squeezed them while my fingers prodded at and teased her nipples. She writhed under the stimulation and bit my lower lip. I slipped a hand between her legs and started to rub. She was already drenched.

"Stop wasting time," she said. "Just put it in already. I was fingering myself all morning waiting for your hung-over ass to wake up."

"Hai, Sensei," I said, mockingly. I rolled her onto her back and spread her thighs apart with my hands. Her folds were engorged and her clitoris thrust at me like a tiny dagger. I wasn't any better off, though. A stream of cloudy Cowper's fluid leaked from the tip of my shaft. This wasn't going to take long at all. With a single movement, I entered her. She moaned and raked her nails along my back hard enough to cause welts, all the while locking her legs so I couldn't pull out. It was probably embarrassing for both of us, but we reached our limits within a few minutes. I buried my face in the down pillow next to her ear and let out a shout while her spasming walls drained and milked an ungodly amount of semen from me. Then, we both went limp.

"Ah, that brings back memories," Chiaki purred, as I rolled off her. "Kitahara Haruki took my virginity, you know."

"Good for you," I said, pressing my hands against my face.

"He has an enormous cock. I don't know how Setsuna or Kazusa put up with it."

"Is there a point to this story?"

"You're actually a little smaller than he is," she said, as she grabbed my shaft and tried in vain to make it erect again. I was young, dumb, and full of cum, but even I couldn't defy the laws of physiology.

"Sorry to disappoint you. Maybe you shouldn't fuck your students, Izumi-sensei."

"I'm not disappointed at all, though. Yours is much more pleasurable for a small woman like me."

"No matter what you do, I'm not going to be hard again for a little while."

"Too bad men don't have multiple orgasms," she sighed. She noisily rubbed her clitoris next to me, and within a few seconds, arched her back in bed and let out a low groan. "Shit, I could do this all day."

"Can I leave now?"

She threw a leg over me and kissed my neck. "No, we need to eat breakfast. Don't worry, I can cook."

I considered declining, but I was hungry again. "Fine. I have no allergies, so go nuts."

Chiaki rolled out of bed and took a few steps, only for a rivulet of milky fluid to course down her leg. She giggled. "Yuji, you really let out too much. If I get pregnant, are you going to take responsibility?"

"No. I felt your IUD strings. You can sue the manufacturer."

"You're such a spoilsport. Well, in any case, get dressed and meet me in the kitchen. You know how to make coffee, yes?"

"I do."

"Then make some. I've got a V60 and a grinder."

After sex, I at least felt more limber than I had when I'd woken up. I pulled my sheets aside and swung my legs over the side of the mattress. Nearby, my clothes sat neatly folded on a chair. To my surprise, they looked freshly-laundered. Then, I went to the kitchen.

I'd seen the faculty condos across from the fraternity houses on Mayfield Avenue, on the southeastern part of campus, but until now had obviously never been inside one of them. The kitchen was decently appointed, and Chiaki, as a coffee enthusiast, had all the equipment needed for a high-quality brew.

I measured out the beans onto her scale, processed them in her Barratza grinder, and set the gooseneck kettle to 98.9C, just below boiling. Fine coffee existed in a liminal space of temperature, consistency, and time. After the water came to temperature, I carefully dumped the grounds into the filter in the V60 and started to pour. Eventually, I stopped after pouring in exactly 560 grams, which was enough for two cups and liquid lost to the process.

Chiaki, in the meantime, set out two bowls, plunked some sugary trash cereal into them, and poured in some milk. "Bon Appetit!" she said, with a flourish. She'd changed into an airy white dress and pink flip-flops.

"I thought you said you could cook," I said, as I set her coffee in front of her.

"If you don't want it, I'll eat it," she said, and sipped at her coffee. "Eh? Where's the sugar?"

"What kind of coffee drinker puts sugar in their brew?"

"One with good taste, obviously," she said. She reached over to a nearby container, opened it, and dumped an ungodly amount of white crystals in.

I regarded her with unveiled disgust. "Seriously?"

"Sugar is energy. Maybe you can't get it up because you're hypoglycemic. Eat some cereal and we can fuck again."

"Before we do that…" I shook my head. "How'd you find me, anyway? You're not a member of the band, are you?"

She laughed. "I don't mingle with students."

"Yet you just fucked me."

"You're my special project. I'm a respectable professor. You, on the other hand, got silly drunk on the first night at school. I just happened to be walking by and found you sprawled out on the cobblestones with a dick drawn on your face."

I abruptly stopped chowing down on my cereal and felt my cheek, even though I knew it was a futile gesture. Not like I'd be able to sense permanent marker or anything.

"Oh, don't worry. Alcohol swabs take Sharpie right off," she said, giggling.

"Thanks for your help, I guess."

"Make it up to me, then."

"How?"

She tilted her head, reached out, and grasped my hands. "Stay with me here, okay? Just forget everything and be mine. I'll take care of all your needs. It's just…" tears started to fall from her eyes. "I'm so lonely here. Do you know what it's like to be a single woman in a foreign country where you don't speak the language? But now that you're here, I'm so relieved. Yuji, I love you. I've been in love with you since the moment I saw you on stage, playing Titus Andronicus. Be my general, okay? I don't care if you stab me like you did Lavinia. I'll die happy. I just want to do so in your arms."

I slowly rose from my chair with our hands still clasped, and knelt in front of her. "How could I ever hurt you, my beautiful teacher? After all, you're the only reason I'm here. I threw it all away, you know? My future in Japan. My girlfriend, too. All so I could grasp at this moment. I love you too, Chiaki. I'll gladly spend the rest of my life with you." I moved in and kissed her, passionately. Our tongues swirled around each other's. I moved a hand to her breasts and fondled her over her dress. She gasped with pleasure and delight, and lifted my shit over my head.

Kissing each other lightly, we both shuffled to the bedroom again and fell into the bed. I rolled onto my back and she straddled me. I was fully erect. She grasped at my shaft and practically slammed it into her pussy, then started to bounce up and down. I wrapped my hands around her ample hips, and sunk my fingers deeply into her rump. She moaned and tried in vain to muffle herself with the flesh of one of her forearms, while she again stimulated her clit. Within a few more minutes, she came again. I still had a ways to go, having ejaculated earlier.

"Yuji! I love you! I love you so much!" she sobbed as she fiercely ground her hips against mine.

"Chiaki, I'm at my limit!"

"Give it all to me, my love!"

With that, I groaned and came again deep inside her. She arched her back again in orgasm, forcefully enough to eject my manhood from her. Semen coursed out of me and painted her breasts as well as my abdomen and chest. She let out a quavering sigh and collapsed against me. We breathed in sync for a while, before she finally spoke.

"Overall, the etude went okay, but you're seriously rusty," she said. "Did you not practice at all after your play?"

"I didn't," I said. The little vignette we'd just play-acted through, during which she'd cried and begged me to stay with her, was known as an "etude" in the theater world. They were a valuable practice method, since they also emphasized improvisation and could be done anywhere. Etudes weren't supposed to result in the actors having sex, though. "I assumed I was going to give the theater up after starting university, so I saw no need to practice anymore. Besides, I was never great with sweeping declarations of love."

"Audiences like them, though."

"Shouldn't we show, not tell?"

"You have to do both," Chiaki said, as she rolled off of me onto her back. "Anyway, you're way rustier than I thought you'd be. We'll have to do extensive practice even outside class. By the way, our first seminar begins next Tuesday. If you miss it, I'll rescind your scholarship."

"Aren't you being kind of a monster, Izumi-sensei? Taking advantage of an undergrad while also threatening him financially?"

"I view that label as a compliment. People call me all sorts of things. 'Alien,' 'Vampire,' 'Predator.' But I like 'monster' the best. No word better expresses fear and loathing, you know?"

"Kaibutsu-sensei."

"Mm, don't turn me on so much, or we're going to waste the entire day having sex and won't get anything done."

I snorted. "My impression is that's how you spend most of your days."

"You shitty brat. I was wondering why you were so willing to go earlier. Is it true? That your girlfriend broke up with you?"

"It's true. I don't want to talk about it." And I don't want to give you more fodder to fuck with me with.

"Your essay was super cute. We all loved it. The dean is a huge fujoshi and masturbated a lot while reading it. Her research interest is in the portrayal of men being sexually degraded and humiliated, after all."

"I wanted to get you in trouble. Seems it had no effect."

"Oh, I'm still I trouble, thanks to you. The other professors are hyper-jealous now. Or did you think they'd call me 'problematic' and fire me? Or even involve law enforcement?"

"That would have been ideal."

"You know perfectly well that us thespians are a horrid hive of perverts and degenerates. If you're wondering about it, I didn't have to exert any undue influence to get you admitted, at all. You did it all yourself, with that titillating story of yours!" She started to cackle and kick her legs in delight.

I shook my head. "Great."

"Hey," she said, as she rolled over again to face me. She started to rub one of my nipples with her fingertips. "What if your ex-girlfriend came back all of a sudden? What would you do in that case?"

"It won't happen. I have no idea where she is and I don't care. I'm over her, anyway." I tensed under both the stimulation, as well as her question.

"Oh? Did the strikingly beautiful LSJUMB drum major play a part in it?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that what she is? What's her name, by the way?"

"As I said, I don't mingle with students, and I don't know her name. I just know that she's cute, is all. Did you stick it in her yet?"

"No."

"Do you want to?"

"Of course."

"You damned theater nerds are so promiscuous," she said. She shifted around in bed and ran her tongue up and down my shaft. "Well, if you manage to fuck her, I wouldn't mind having a threesome with the two of you, okay?"

"For her sake, I'll pass on the offer," I said. Chiaki took the entirety of my penis into her mouth. I pressed my head into the pillow from the pleasure of her amazing deep throat technique. In the end, we really did waste the rest of the day having sex and accomplished little.

#

Eventually, new student orientation came to an end and the real academic quarter began. Stanford, unlike many universities (including Yuunagi or Houjou), used a ten-week-long quarter system, as opposed to a semester system. Classes were shorter in overall length, but there were many more of them over the course of the year. Freshmen of course had to take a bunch of mandatory classes over the course of first year, although my seminars with Chiaki would fulfill many of those requirements.

With the many different requirements the university imposed on its students, there was seemingly no time for anything else until second year. That didn't stop anyone, however, from trying to enroll in possibly the defining class offered by the university at the heart of Silicon Valley: CS101, or "Introduction to Computing Principles."

A long, sometimes glorious, and mostly inglorious litany of famous names had gotten their start with this course. William Hewlett, David Packard, Sandy Lerner, Larry Page, Sergey Brin, Marissa Meyer, Jerry Yang, Marc Andreessen, Larry Ellison, Diane Green, Jensen Huang, Garry Tan, and even Elon Musk were on that list. Long after multiple tech bubbles had come and burst, students still hungrily flocked to the class. As a theater major, I had no business being there. I was just denying a future angel entrepreneur their rightly-deserved spot.

Good! I thought, smirking as I settled into an empty seat in the sparsely-occupied first row of seats in the massive Gates lecture hall (which had been named, no surprise, after Bill Gates). It was a universal truth that no matter how packed a lecture hall was, no one wanted to occupy the front row. People would rather walk away than sit where I was, so I had a lot of space to myself. Another student, heavily covered in a pink, cat-eared hoodie and wearing a mask, balled up in their seat next to me. I paid them no mind.

In reality, I'd probably lose interest within a week and fail to formally enroll—I was mostly here for the vibe, after all. I flipped through the handout and read a rough outline of the topics to be discussed on the first day. The professor's name was "S. Iizuka."

Japanese, eh? I chuckled. Had the entire damned country followed me over to California? I sighed as I dismissed the possibility that the "S" stood for "Saeko." Our professor was totally going to be some 50-year-old dude, probably "Shinji" or "Shinichi" or something of that nature.

Behind me, a group of budding young venture capitalists gabbed excitedly amongst themselves over how they were going to leverage artificial intelligence and the power of social media to turn America into a "real-life Gilead." Further on, another group loudly exchanged proposals about "state-mandated GF's" and how they were going to bring about a Pacific Northwest ethnostate once they'd earned their degrees.

Finally, the appointed hour arrived. Our professor entered from a small side door, holding a laser pointer in one hand and a copy of our syllabus in the other. To my surprise, she—our professor was a woman—was much younger than I expected, in her twenties at most. Conservatively dressed, in fashionable-but-sensible slacks, rimless glasses, a cream-colored blouse, and with her naturally black hair drawn into a bun, she was still unmistakable. I wouldn't have missed her in a crowd of millions.

"Sa—" I immediately clenched my jaw to keep myself from shouting, and tensed my abdominal muscles hard to keep my heart rate from topping a hundred eighty beats-per-minute. Was this where she'd gone? Was this the offer she couldn't refuse? If so, then she'd been right to leave me. She'd broken my heart to pieces. I'd thrown away my assured future because of what she'd done. But still. I realized now. This was her dream in front of me.

Dr. Iizuka Saeko—the newest member of the Stanford University Department of Computer Science, and current holder of the Alan Turing Foundation Endowed Professorship—dropped her laser pointer as her eyes met with mine. Her mouth opened slightly. I saw her tongue move to the roof of her mouth to enunciate the "Y" syllable.

I looked away first. This was important for her. I wasn't going to ruin her chance to make a strong first impression. I'd been waiting and listening here long enough to get a sense of who my classmates were, at least in this particular class. And I'd read enough online as well. This fucking place was full of the worst examples of turd-mongering, misogynist, amoral pieces of trash I'd ever encountered. To them, Saeko had no business teaching them. She had no business anywhere else but barefoot, pregnant, and bruised in their kitchens. It was even worse that she was an Asian woman. She was nothing more than a target for domination in their eyes. Whether they were Japanese, American, British, Saudi, Russian…it didn't make a difference. Men like this were the same everywhere.

Crush them, Sacchan! I thought, making a fist and turning my head to face her again. I grinned, hoping to convey how proud I was of her. Show them who's boss! "Ganbatte," I whispered. "Tatakae!"

Saeko looked away, picked up her laser pointer, and took in a deep breath. Then, she continued to the podium and started her lecture.

"Before I start the course, I wish to say a few things to those assembled," she said, in flawless English. "Some of you are here with only one purpose: to use the power and promise of technology to enrich yourselves at the expense of others. You see computing not even as a mere tool, but as a weapon to be wielded against the weak. Against those you despise because they are weak."

She peered at the students in the lecture hall, took a breath, and continued. "I see some of you nodding in agreement, and others regarding me with contempt and fear. I am not here to change your minds, nor will I judge your work by anything other than its quality and creativity. Many of you will continue far past this little introductory course, complete your majors, and bring both about joy and misery in equal measure. I have no control over that. No one does, save for you. But what I will ask is this: in fifty years, will you be able to look on the world you left to your grandchildren with pride? I want you to think about this question with every piece of code you write. Every product you engineer. And every action of your lives."

Saeko closed her eyes, advanced to the first slide, "Interpolation of a finite set of points on an epitrochoid formation," and my brain immediately went numb. Before she could speak, however, the class started to applaud. Only a few at first, but the momentum built. Even the gloomy-faced, wannabe Commandants of Gilead listlessly joined in, pressured by the crowd.

Her gaze lingered on me for a moment, before she started her lecture. To be honest, the rest of it was a barely-comprehensible blur. This was supposed to be an introductory class, wasn't it? By the end of class, my hand cramped from taking notes, and my energy was spent. Finally, Saeko reached the end of her slides, introduced the TA's who'd actually be doing most of the teaching grunt-work, and quietly slipped away through the side door.

I started to get up. I was still resolved to go after her, though it wasn't appropriate to at all. Right as I was about to start heading out, however, I felt someone tug at my sleeve. Annoyed, I wheeled around?

"What?" I barked, ruder than I should have.

"I was asleep during all that," the pink-hooded person said. I recognized her voice as female. And familiar, for some reason. "Give me a copy of your notes."

"Get it from someone else," I growled. "Or better yet, pay attention next time."

"You're a chode."

"And you're an asshole," I said, and turned again to leave. "Bye."

"That means you kissed an asshole," she snapped. "You're into eating ass? Not a lot of guys who'll do that."

I turned again. "What are you on about?"

The woman, now standing, slowly took off the oversized, cat-eared hood of her outfit and stripped off her mask, then shook her hair out. Midnight-colored tresses spilled everywhere and down to her waist. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot, but the memory instantly came back to me. The drum major of the international terrorist organization known as the Leland Stanford Junior University Marching Band sneered expectantly at me and crossed her arms.

I snorted, turned around, and walked away. I was done with her shit, and I didn't care about her name anymore. Saeko was within reach again. There would be no distractions going forward.

#

My priority was to get coffee, of course. I shook like a leaf, my hands trembled, and my vision was blurred. The answer to all this sympathetic overload was of course, to take stimulants. I was an actor, and that was all I knew to do.

Fortunately, there was a small coffee shop next to Gates Hall, probably strategically positioned to serve the maximum number of sleep-deprived coders hacking away night and day. I ordered the largest double-espresso latte they offered, and sat down at a table to down it. While I did so, I considered my options.

Improbably, I'd found her again. Silicon Valley occupied a large geographic area, almost half the size of the Tokyo metropolis. There were hundreds of companies that she could have worked for, and at least three universities hungry for brilliance like hers. Running into her during a course that I'd attended on a whim was something out of a shoujo manga. A true example of the red string of fate reuniting lovers.

But none of that meant that she'd want to take me back again. She'd left me for a reason, after all. I'd tried to be as supportive as I could for her during her studies. I'd thought I'd been a caring, responsible, and gentle partner for her. But what if none of that had been true? What if she'd felt like I'd been stifling her the entire time? Or even worse, making her miserable? I recalled that in desperation, I'd asked her parents—begged them on my knees—to tell me if there was anything I'd done to offend her. Io and Takeya could only shake their heads sorrowfully and try to comfort me as best they could. Io had even cried and called Saeko a "baka musume" for it. So I was still in the dark.

I pressed my hands to my face. I had every reason to initiate contact with her, and since her email, office phone, and even office location was public information, I had every means. But I also didn't want to make her miserable again.

"So, are you fucking that professor?"

I looked up and glared at the drum major, who'd sat herself across from me. A sneer seemed permanently plastered on her face.

"Piss off," I said. "Why would you ever insinuate that?"

"I may have been asleep, but I'm not blind," she said. "I saw the way you looked at her. And even though you're obviously some dense harem protag douchebag, take it from me; her little shoujo heart was bursting out of her chest whenever she looked at you."

"If you want class notes, why don't you just get them from your thralls in the band? Surely some of them also attend the class?"

"Lots of 'em, actually," she said, cackling. "You're a dramatic one, aren't you? 'Thralls' and shit? What am I, a dark lord of the night?"

"You wish you were. I'm just a theater nerd. Sorry for the hyperbole."

"You're technically right, I guess. I could just ask one of them for the notes. But I want yours, specifically."

"Why?"

"Because you two are so fucking lovey-dovey it makes me puke," she said, cackling. "Ah! I figured it out. You were dating each other in Japan, weren't you? What's she like in bed? Sub? Dom? Did you guys ever do shibari? I've always wanted to try it out. Are you guys into piss?"

"You're insane." I knife-handed at her. "Leave."

"My name is Megumi," she said. "Touma Megumi, in Japanese. Most Americans just call me 'Meg.'"

Touma! I inhaled sharply. There weren't a ton of Toumas in Japan, in the first place. But I was still done with her shit. Now more than ever, after hearing her speak more. "Megumi, huh? Great. I still don't want to be your friend. Get out of here."

"You also asked me if I was related to Kazusa."

"I really don't care anymore if you're her cousin or little sister or something. You're an asshole."

"Touma Kazusa is a giant fucking bitch. And she's also my mother."

I clenched my jaw. This was going too far. And Kazusa herself had never told me about Megumi at all. So I had no reason to believe her. "Sure she is."

"If she wasn't, how did I learn her style? You said it was unique and couldn't be duplicated by just anyone."

I opened my mouth to retort, but had nothing. "If that's the case, you're at the wrong college. Juilliard is that way," I said, pointing at what I thought was East.

"I don't play anymore," she said, with a shrug.

"Then what good are you?" I asked, feeling nasty.

Megumi reached over and slapped me. "You're a bastard. That was over the line!"

I rubbed at my reddening cheek. "Then why do you insist on spending more time with me? I told you to leave."

"Because I want your notes, dickhead."

I rolled my eyes, opened my backpack, and fished out the handwritten notes from class. I slammed them on the table in front of her. "Fine! Take them and go away. I don't need them back. I'm probably gonna drop the class, anyway. Too many incels for my liking."

"See how easy that was?" Megumi said, smugly, and pocketed them.

"Are we done here, finally?"

"For now. I'll return them once I've made copies. See you next week."

"No, you won't."

"Yes, I will."

"Shut up, Meg."

She cackled, and finally got up and left me. I watched her skip away, swaying musically. To my great chagrin, even in plain clothing, she was still one of the most ferociously beautiful women I'd ever laid eyes on. Everything about her reminded me strongly of Touma Kazusa, even her profanity-riddled voice.

Kazusa, or, "Auntie Kazusa," as I'd called her growing up, had been a constant presence in my early life. It wasn't even a stretch to say that I'd had three parental figures in my life: Haruki, Setsuna, and Kazusa. The three of them had always been an unbreakable trio for many years. Haruki and Setsuna loved each other, but also loved Kazusa. Yet it hadn't been a true "throuple" or "polycule" or whatever it was currently called. Only Haruki and Setsuna shared each other's bed.

As a kid, I didn't understand the dynamics, or care. I just enjoyed being around Auntie Kazusa. I loved her softness, her voice, and the touch of her fingers, both supple enough to sound out the most tender pianississimo as well as strong enough to rupture strings during a fortissimo. It was she who'd also taught me how to play piano, and how to recognize her style. Of course, when I eventually became drawn to other activities, she hadn't pressed the issue, and let me simply stop practicing and playing like any other child who abandoned an instrument.

It was also she who'd held me close many a night while babysitting me when my parents went out on a romantic date or were too busy at work. And occasionally, I'd sense that she was crying. As a younger child, I didn't know at all why her tears drenched the nape of my neck as she squeezed me tighter.

I wasn't sure exactly when I started to see her as more than some beloved, sexless Auntie. Probably after puberty, I assumed. After all hormones made us grow, but also messed with everyone's mind. But I remembered feeling increasingly perturbed by her touch. With her breasts pressed up against my back, or with her hands that caressed against my shoulders and back.

The night before she finally departed Japan to engage in her multi-year world tour, she silently held me in bed, stroking my hair.

"We can't hold each other like this anymore, Yuji," she'd sighed, sadly.

"Why not, Auntie Kazusa?" I'd asked.

"Because you're seeing me as a woman now. And I'm seeing you as a man, though you're still a child."

"I'm sorry, I can't help it," I'd said.

"Neither can I. It's best if you find a girlfriend soon."

"And if I don't?"

"Then wait a few years. At least make it legal for me," she'd said, laughing as she ruffled my hair. Then, she'd leaned in and kissed me.

I sat, soporific in memory at the little coffee shop outside of Gates Hall as I rubbed my lips. They burned even more now.

CHAPTER 4: A BED OF WARM LETTUCE

It was later that afternoon when I finally returned to my dorm room. Junipero was almost dead quiet, which I appreciated after a long day full of turmoil. I'd found Saeko again, and also made a new enemy who happened to look like a teenage Touma Kazusa.

Speaking of my beloved Auntie, I hadn't actually spoken to her in years. After that night when she'd kissed me like a woman kissed a man, we'd simply drifted apart with space and time. I'd taken her advice and dated a number of girls afterward, although nothing serious had happened. Then, I'd started to notice how my beautiful, blond-haired, twin-tailed, tsundere childhood friend looked at me with increasing longing in her eyes.

I still had Kazusa's contact information in my phone, although I wasn't sure it was remotely up to date. It was tempting to ask her about Megumi and just what the hell Megumi's major malfunction was, but I knew better. Kazusa was better appreciated at a safe, and above all, chaste, distance.

Expecting to find my room empty as usual, I failed to knock and simply turned the handle and let myself in. Aslatiel lay in his bed in his boxers watching and thoroughly enjoying the award-winning classic film that wrote the book on incest hentai: "Swing Out Sisters."

Contrary to my expectations, he wasn't cranking his hog alone. Lying next to him in bed beneath the covers was a strikingly pretty woman also casually rubbing herself between the legs. She wasn't wearing anything but a bra and panties, either.

"Oh shit!" I said, turning away. "I'm sorry, guys! Let me know when it's cool to come back!"

If my weaboo roommate managed to get laid, perhaps he'd be less of a weaboo, was my thought and earnest desire. For that, I was willing to sleep outside for however long it took. Plus—I hated to admit this—I could always ask to sleep over at Chiaki's condo. She'd made it clear to me that I was always welcome so long as I acceded to her desires.

"No, it's totally fine, Yuji-san! Come in, it's your room, too!" Aslatiel said.

"Seriously, I'm okay!" I said, chuckling from the other side of the closed door. "I have somewhere else to stay. Enjoy yourselves!"

"Yuji-san, at least say 'hi' to my sister before you go," Aslatiel said.

Huh? I briefly lost the ability to form words in English. I opened the door again and stepped in. "Nani?" was all I could force out.

"Yeah, this is my sister. Lucatiel-chan, this is Yuji-san, my roommate. He hasn't been around a lot."

"Hey, nice to finally meet you!" she said, waving.

"Hajimemashite…" I mumbled.

"Bro, why are you like, speaking Japanese with her and won't with me? It's unfair!" Aslatiel pouted. "Anyway, did you know? She's an Olympic gold medalist in fencing. She can hit a fly in the nuts with her epee. Cool, huh?"

"Onii-chan! Stop bragging!" Lucatiel said, swatting her brother.

"Do you guys usually, uh… watch ecchi together?"

"All the time. Don't you? With your family?"

"No," I said. "I actually can't even imagine it."

"Wanna watch, too? I'll make room," Lucatiel said, shuffling closer to her brother. She patted the empty space she'd made.

Chiaki's bedroom seemed like the most normal place on campus at that moment. Lucatiel was dangerously hot, but by that same logic, sticking a Q-tip in one's own brain seemed like a good way to relieve stress.

"It's okay, thanks! I actually just needed to set some of my things down!" I backed away to the door. "My professor's making me do her at her place tonight. I mean, making me do stuff for her class tonight." I turned and fumbled for the door handle. "Later!"

I stepped into the hall and let out a ragged breath. This school was insane. This country was insane. And the grave of Aslatiel and Lucatiel wasn't any place for outsiders.

Guess I'm paying for my lodging tonight, I thought as I took my phone out and scrolled to Chiaki's spot in my contacts list. Right as I was about to call her, my phone rang. It was a name and number that I hadn't seen come up in many years: Touma Kazusa.

"Yuji-kun? Is it still you?" she asked, her voice as rich as breathy as I remembered it.

"Touma-obasan?" I said, a touch more formal than I'd used to be with her.

"Yuji-kun, call me 'Kazusa,' okay? Like you used to," she replied in Japanese. I detected what could possibly have been hurt tinging her voice.

"Sorry," I said. "Actually, are you okay if we continue in English? I kind of made a rule for myself once I got to America. To only speak in English unless I really didn't know what to say."

"Okay, English is fine," she said, in passable English. Her skills had also doubtless improved during her tour, if only out of sheer necessity. As a side-benefit, the lack of honorifics would help mitigate the awkwardness we likely felt about how to address each other.

"It's been a long time since we talked," I said. "How are you?"

"I'm okay. I finished up the last concert in Los Angeles."

"That's great! Hey! Did you know? I'm at Stanford University now. I wish I had some way to come down to LA…"

"That's fine. I'm in San Francisco right now. Yuji, can you meet me? I'd like to have dinner together."

My breathing quickened. "Of course! I might not make it in time for dinner, though. The Caltrain takes at least two hours to go from campus to the city."

"I've sent a car for you," Kazusa said. "It should arrive within a few minutes."

"That's great, thank you! But Kazusa, how do you know where I live?"

"I don't know if I should say this, but your father talked with me," Kazusa said.

Of course! I realized. I smiled like an idiot and laughed over how silly I'd been. Haruki would have told Kazusa everything about me. After all, he, Kazusa, and my mother were an unbreakable trio of friends for life. She'd have known everything they'd have known. It all made complete sense. How had I missed that simple fact?

"Okay!" I said, with a grin. "I'll look out for the car. See you soon!"

#

It was a well-known fact that Touma Kazusa didn't know the value of a dollar, much less that of a yen. Her frivolous spending was the stuff of legends and the butt of jokes within my family, so I wasn't surprised that she'd sent a driver in a black Bentley Continental GT to pick me up.

From an efficiency standpoint, it had been entirely worth the money, since the driver took me to the city proper in a third of the time it would have taken the ancient Caltrain system to do so. Hence, I was let off at the doors of the world-renowned, three-Michelin-starred Quince, in San Francisco's Jackson Square.

It was the sort of place whose more-than-hundred-dollars-a-plate entrees looked like torn pieces of warm lettuce scattered on a plate with dollops of green mystery sauce dotting everything. Basically, a venue Kazusa would consider perfect for a casual, impromptu meeting with a scrub like me. After eyeing me suspiciously, the maître-d took me over to a small corner table lit by candlelight, where Kazusa sat. And to be honest, she took my breath away when I beheld her.

She was in her forties now, but had somehow become even more ravishingly beautiful than I'd remembered her. She'd made no effort to conceal the fact that she'd aged. The midnight tresses that spilled everywhere now had occasional strands of gray. Her hands were slightly bonier than they had been in the past. The finest of lines could be seen at the corners of her eyes, as she didn't wear makeup. None of that mattered. She was the single loveliest being I'd beheld in a long time. Even Megumi's beauty seemed childish and haphazard compared to Kazusa's refinement. I couldn't do anything but stand still in place, drunk on her perfection.

"Yuji, sit down. I won't bite," Kazusa said, gesturing at the chair opposite to her.

"Auntie Kazusa," I said, breathlessly as I followed her command. "It's been far too long."

"I told you I'd be gone for a long time," she said. "Wine?" she asked, and poured way too much of an expensive red into my glass.

"Please," I said, and took a sip. The bottle was probably worth hundreds, if not thousands of American dollars. Kazusa didn't give a damn what things cost, so long as they were sweet, which this vintage certainly was.

"Congratulations on getting into college," she said, smiling as she raised her glass. I lightly tapped it with mine, and took another sip of the sweet red.

"Thank you," I said.

"I thought you were going straight to Yuunagi Law, though?"

"A lot of things happened," I said.

"We should order, first," Kazusa said, as our waiter approached.

I hurried glimpsed over the menu. I was unfamiliar with any of this haute cuisine, having held all-you-can-eat sushi to be the pinnacle of fine dining for most of my life. "I'll have the, uh, duck, and the bitter melon salad," I said, hoping that my choices would at least taste decent. I knew they wouldn't be filling. The Stanford dining experience had quickly warped my sense of adequate portions in only a few days.

"Excellent, Sir," the waiter said. "And your I, Madam?"

"I'll take everything on the dessert menu."

"Everything, Madam?"

"Everything," Kazusa said.

"At once, Madam," the waiter said, trying to control his facial expressions.

I had to chuckle. She hadn't changed at all. And I knew that she preserved her slim figure by simple virtue of the fact that intensive piano practice burned as many calories as any college football game did.

"Yuji, I saw a recording of your play. About that Roman general, Titus Andronicus," Kazusa said, sipping her wine. "I didn't really understand all of it, but I could feel your passion. Is that what you've decided to do with your life?"

"It is," I said. "My professor is Sennouchi Akira, if you can believe it. She's somewhat strange, but I'm learning a lot from her."

Kazusa smiled slyly at me. "The girl who played the evil queen—your childhood friend—is she your girlfriend now? I saw you two kissing at the end."

"Yeah, she…was," I said, unconsciously clenching my fist. "I was with her for three years. We were talking about potentially getting married after I finished college. She dumped me a few months ago."

"What happened? Did you cheat on her?"

"No!" I said, louder than I should have. "Sorry, that came out too strongly…"

"I'm sorry, Yuji. I shouldn't have said that. You're not the type to do such a thing."

"It's okay, Auntie Kazusa. It's only natural to wonder."

"I'd say so. You've…" She swallowed. "You've become really handsome since the last time I saw you. To be honest, it's a little difficult to look directly at you."

"Ah, I'm underdressed, I know," I said, laughing to suppress the truth of what she was saying. "There was an issue in my room, so I couldn't get changed into something better than jeans and a hoodie. I'm surprised they let me in here."

"You look like any other Silicon Valley capitalist, so it's fine," Kazusa said, letting out a low giggle.

"Guess so," I said, glad to have deflected the conversation away from Saeko.

The waiter brought my I out, which to my displeasure was no more than a single piece of rare duck breast drizzled with mystery sauce on a bed of warm lettuce. The bitter melon salad was basically two slices crossed over a piece of unidentifiable cheese. I'd have to make up for this with a late-night run to Lakeside dining, where I could indulge in the greatest of American vices: fried cheese.

Meanwhile, the staff labored to fit six oversized plates of dessert onto the table, and eventually just placed half of them on my side. I knew better than to touch them. Kazusa demanded sugar and wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

"How are your parents?" Kazusa asked me, between bites of fancy panna cotta drenched in chocolate liqueur.

"They're great," I said. "Hanako-san's album is coming out soon, and she has a concert at the Budokan for Christmas Eve, so Mom's super busy with everything. Dad, of course, is doing everything he can to help her out, but he's probably driving her up the wall," I said, laughing.

Surprisingly, a trace of a frown crossed Kazusa's features. "Yuji? Aren't they—"

I took advantage of the silence to casually dig into my pathetic excuse for a duck I, and finished it off in two bites. "Auntie, I should've just done what you did and ordered all desserts. Seriously, this is less than twenty-five grams of meat."

Kazusa blinked. Her lips trembled. "Yuji, just remember that we all love you, okay? That hasn't changed at all."

"Sure," I said, eyeing her dessert plates. College dining really had ruined me already. "Oh! I was meaning to tell you something. I met a girl recently. I'm not sure what year she is, but she's the drum of the marching band, plays piano, and stole your look. She also claims to be your daughter. Calls herself 'Touma Megumi.' Be careful if you ever visit, because you might have some sort of delusional super-fan at my school."

"Megumi is my daughter."

I accidentally aspirated some of the wine into my trachea and coughed and sputtered. Our waiter approached in concern, ready to Heimlich my dumb ass, but I waved him off with a forced smile. "Excuse me?" I said to Kazusa.

"Megumi is my daughter. I had a feeling you two might meet, as improbable as it was. I have a lot of explaining to do. Will you listen?"

A wave of both nausea and trepidation welled up from within. Now, I was glad I'd only eaten a pathetic amount of dinner. "Of…of course, Auntie. Tell me everything."

"I'm sorry I never told you about her. The truth is that for a time I was with someone I thought could…potentially substitute for your father. He's an artist. Extremely handsome. Kind. Successful in his field. He treated me with nothing but love and respect. We had a daughter and he wanted to marry me."

I clenched my jaw. This was too much. "What…what happened? Why didn't you marry him?"

She shook her head. "He was perfect. A dream come true. He wasn't Kitahara Haruki. In the end, I couldn't go on lying to him like that." She took a deep drag of her wine and finished the glass before pouring another.

"How come you never told me about her?"

"Because I was a terrible mother. I had no idea how to raise a child. I had no idea how to even approach it."

"But you did fine with me," I said.

"You were different," she said, her cheeks reddening. "I never regarded you as just a kid. Plus, you had Setsuna, the definition of a perfect mother. With Megumi, I couldn't do anything. Her father was her only true parent. I ended up being no more than her tyrant of a piano teacher. I messed up, Yuji. I messed up bad. Maybe I didn't want to tell anyone because I was so ashamed, but that, in turn, only adds to my shame. I realize that completely."

"Last time we talked, she told me that she'd given up the piano," I said. "But I saw her do it, and with your style. So you did at least that right."

"Did you know? She won the Giovanni two years ago," Kazusa said. She pulled out her phone, tapped it a few times, and showed me a picture of her with a younger, much less stylish Megumi holding an oversized trophy.

"If she was sixteen, that makes her…the youngest ever winner?"

"Yes, the youngest ever," Kazusa said. "The next day, she told me she was quitting it. I got angry and slapped her. She hasn't spoken to me, since."

"Do you want to make up with her?"

"I've tried. She refused. I didn't even realize she was at Stanford until I saw her on television over the summer, leading the band. When did you see her play piano?"

"It was a keytar, which she then smashed to pieces. But she played masterfully. It seemed to give her a lot of pleasure." I wasn't going to tell Kazusa about the particular other detail I'd noticed.

Kazusa bit her lip and became silent for a while. Then, she finally looked up at me. "Then I'll stay."

"Beg pardon?"

"I'll stay here. Stanford reached out to me a few months ago. They wanted me to join as a visiting professor in the music department. Only a year, but I'll be able to do anything I wish. I was going to back out tonight, but… I'll stay."

"That's amazing," I said. "You really are an international superstar, Auntie."

"It's a prestige grab for the university," Kazusa said. "I'm nothing more than another flashy accessory for them, but I'm not inclined to go back to Japan just yet. Harvard offered more money, but I hate the weather in Boston. It snows too much there."

"I'm still glad to have you close to me," I said, brightening up. "I've been extremely lucky. To have Akina and Auntie Kazusa so close by…"

"How about Sennouchi Akira? She's a much bigger celebrity than I am."

"She's extremely annoying," I said, with a snort. "Are you planning on moving in on campus?"

"Tomorrow," Kazusa said. "Ah, it would have been a pain to cancel the move at the last minute. Miyoko would have murdered me."

"Don't anger your manager, please."

"Actually, I was going to ask you. Can you help me move in? The company will set things up as best they can, but I'll need someone strong to help me afterward.

"Of course! It's a weekend, anyway, so I don't have classes."

"Thank you. I can pay you, too."

"Don't worry about it. I'm just glad to see you again, Auntie."

"And I'd like another favor, if you can," Kazusa said, her eyes pleading now.

"Anything."

"You've already met Megumi. Can I ask you to be her friend?"

"No," I said.

"Yuji!"

"Auntie Kazusa, I'm sorry to tell you this, but your daughter's an asshole. I don't like her at all. She's really creepy. For example, she wouldn't stop harassing me until I gave her notes for a class that she slept through."

Kazusa reddened. "Megumi!" she gasped.

"I don't mean to offend, but you should know the truth. It might not be worth it to reconcile with her."

"No, I wasn't offended," Kazusa said. "I was a little taken aback, is all. She likes you."

"I highly doubt it."

"No, she really likes you. Yuji…it's okay if you two want to date, okay? I won't interfere. Just be gentle with her for her first time."

Now it was my turn to redden. "I am not going to date your daughter, much less sleep with her. That's final."

"But aren't you frustrated? You said your girlfriend of three years dumped you before college started. Don't you need to have sex? You should be having sex every day at this age."

"Kazusa!"

She rubbed her lips. "Well, I guess that's up to Megumi in the end. She might be nervous, you know? Listen, Yuji, if you're too frustrated, you can sleep with me, instead."

I promptly spilled my wine all over the tablecloth.

#

The next day, I found myself shirtless, sweating, and panting at Kazusa's new condo. Moving heavy furniture was difficult, and even more so because Kazusa hadn't been helpful at all in directing us where to go or where to set things. All she'd cared about was that her piano, a 1928 Steinway Model D, was positioned just right in her living room. After we'd gotten everything set to her specifications, she promptly started to practice and wouldn't speak to anyone. She'd been surprised when I'd told her it was customary to tip American movers, and had simply pointed to a wad of hundred-dollar bills jammed into her purse nearby. The movers were more than happy to accept these, however. Finally, as I watched the truck pull away, I collapsed on the couch.

Kazusa continued to play, and I enjoyed the sensation of hearing her music while my muscles enjoyed blissful rest. What I didn't enjoy so much of was my realization that Chiaki's condo was literally next door. Now, I wondered how much sound transmitted through the walls. The last thing I wanted Kazusa to hear was me fucking my drama professor.

On that note, I had no idea who lived in the condo on the other side. Well, that's for Kazusa to figure out, I thought as I considered napping on the couch.

"Yuji, what's wrong with the air conditioning?" Kazusa asked. "It's far too hot in here. My piano's going to roast at this rate."

I opened my eyes. I'd been shirtless, so I hadn't noticed a problem at all, but Kazusa was dressed too warmly for Palo Alto's weather at this time of year. I moved over to the central air vent and felt the breeze with my hand. It was warmer than it should have been. "Hm. There might be a coolant leak or something. I'll call maintenance."

"Thank you," Kazusa said, and then promptly stood at her piano, whipped off her top, and shuffled out of her pants. I stared at her, wide-eyed, as she resumed practicing in nothing but her underwear.

"Auntie…" I started to say, when I heard a knock at the door. "I'll get it. You get dressed again."

This was California in early fall, so a college boy in cargo pants without a shirt on was as common a sight as the invasive squirrels that plagued the campus. No one would give me a second glance, unlike in Japan. I opened the door.

Saeko stood at the door, holding a boxed cake from a local bakery. "Welcome to the neighborhood! I'm Iizuka, with Computer Science! I live next door! Are you Touma-sensei…" she looked at me and her words trailed off.

Kazusa came up behind me, still in her underwear, and stared at Saeko. "Hi, I'm Touma. Thanks for the cake. Is that castella?"

I caught Saeko as she promptly stumbled and passed out.

CHAPTER 5: SMELL MY FINGER

A few minutes later, Saeko rested on one of Kazusa's couches with a bag of ice resting on a towel on her forehead. While Kazusa grumpily put her clothes back on, I stayed with Saeko, silently watching her breathe. Luckily, I'd caught her before she could actually injure herself, which I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself for. So, the only thing to do was wait.

I bit my lip as I studied her. She'd obviously changed her look to something much more conservative, probably because of the pressures of academic politics. But her appearance wasn't the only thing that had changed about her. I'd seen it with my own eyes on her first day of class. She had a fierce, uncompromising confidence about her that I'd never seen before, while we'd dated. She hadn't needed my encouragement at all. That class of ghoulish, wannabe Elon Musks hadn't stood a chance before her. So it was a good thing she left. I was just holding her back. Then this is fine. I can let her go now.

My eyes stung as I looked away from her. The right thing to do was to leave before she awoke. Then she could socialize with another faculty member and write me off as a bad dream brought on by the heat. I'd also quietly drop her class and stop attending. An additional benefit was that I wouldn't have to see Megumi again. I started to rise.

"Yuji, don't leave," Saeko said.

I looked back at her. Shit. She'd woken up. "Sa—I mean, Doctor Iizuka. Are you okay?"

"Please don't call me that," she said, slowly sitting up. The ice bag fell off her forehead and into her lap. Unthinkingly, I reached for it, only for our hands to collide. She immediately grasped it in hers and didn't let go.

"I apologize, Professor."

"Damn it, Yuji. Don't be so formal with me."

I clenched my jaw. "Why not? You're an endowed professor. I'm just an undergrad. We're not in the same department, anyway. Will you let go of my hand?"

She didn't. "I know you're angry with me. I did a terrible thing to you. But can you at least not treat me like a total stranger?" She pressed her lips to my fingers.

I snatched my hand back. I had to be strong enough to let her go for real.

"Can I at least explain myself?" she asked, her eyes watery.

"I think it's self-explanatory," I said. "You're literally 'living the dream,' as the Americans say. You don't have to justify it at all. I'm extremely proud of you. Your parents are extremely proud of you. All of Japan is proud of you. You'll change the world here, I'm sure of it. So I forgive you for everything. I'll cheer for you from the sidelines and try to support you in any way I can."

"Are you telling the truth, or are you acting?"

"I'm telling the truth. Acting is my job, now. I don't do it for free."

She shifted over to sit closer to me. My heart rate picked up. And I started to react between my legs.

"Then," Saeko said, as she placed her hands on my cheeks and turned my head toward her. Our lips drew closer. "If you truly forgive me, can we pick up where we left off?"

"Absolutely not. Faculty are forbidden from being romantically involved with students," I said, turning away from her and crossing my arms. Hypocrite, I thought in Chiaki's teasing voice.

She lowered her head. "So, you were acting after all."

"I'll withdraw from your class," I said. "You won't see me again. It'll be easier for both of us."

"No!" she said, making a fist. "If we're not going to be in a relationship, then you have no reason to drop it. I'm just your professor, after all."

"It isn't a required course. I don't have to take it if I don't want to."

"Yuji," Kazusa said as she walked in. Thankfully, she was dressed now. "Just take the class. Otherwise, you won't be able to survive in our modern society."

I pouted. "Auntie Kazusa, do you know anything about computers?"

"I pay other people to do that," Kazusa said, with a shrug. "Oh, and thanks for the castella. It was great."

"Did you leave any for the rest of us?" I asked.

Kazusa shook her head. "Why would I? In any case, it's nice to make your acquaintance, Iizuka-sensei. Let's be good neighbors."

Saeko stood and bowed politely. "Thank you, Touma-sensei. Can I ask…what is your relationship with Yuji?"

"I've known him since he was a baby, though I was away from Japan in the last few years. As his auntie, I must make sure he studies hard. So I won't allow him to drop your class. I'll make him go to office hours, too."

"Auntie Kazusa!" I groaned.

"Thank you, Touma-sensei," Saeko said, bowing again. A twinkle returned to her eyes. "He's lucky to have such a wonderful guardian here with him. I will make sure I challenge him and keep him on his toes."

"She's not my guardian," I objected.

"I'll take my leave now," Saeko said, and started to walk out. "Yuji, my office hours are every Wednesday from noon to four. I expect to see you frequently."

And before I could get a word in, Saeko left again.

#

"Yuji, can you call the maintenance people now?" Kazusa asked, and stripped down to her underwear again. "It's still too hot. I might need to get naked."

"Auntie Kazusa, what the hell are you doing?" I asked, wheeling on her.

"Making sure you study hard," she said, as she tossed her pants on the couch. "Ah, this is better!"

"You know she's my ex, right? You can't have missed that detail."

"I'm aware. She's extremely beautiful, and certainly smarter than I am," Kazusa said. "You should get back together with her."

"I won't," I said.

"Because she's a professor?"

"Yes, there's that. But more so, she really hurt me. I didn't tell you about it over dinner. She just…one random day called me to say she was flying to America and that we couldn't be together anymore. Then she blocked me. She made no effort to explain anything to me. How is that forgivable?"

"Setsuna forgave your father for much worse."

"Mom's a saint, is why. I'm not. I'm a petty bastard who wants only vengeance."

"You're lying," Kazusa said. "If you truly hated her and wanted to get revenge, you'd have said 'yes' to her when she asked to get back together. You'd get married, have a ton of kinky sex, and slowly tear her heart into little pieces over the years. You'd torture her with your love, and enjoy every minute of it. I knew someone like that. She was truly brilliant."

"Auntie, that's insane."

"See? That proves you still love her. You either need to go back to her or move on for real. You can't just waver back and forth in a vain attempt to keep everyone happy and distracted. I also knew someone like that. He was infuriating."

I sat back down on the couch and held my head in my hands. "A large part of me wants her back. And I was tempted when she said she also wanted to be together again. But I'm also afraid I'll keep her from growing. The world she lives in is full of monsters. She needs to be strong to fight them."

"So lend her your strength."

"She's done well enough without me," I said. "Kazusa, can we talk about something else?"

"Okay," Kazusa said, and sat next to me. "Sorry, I'm not trying to pressure you about her. I'd actually prefer if you dated Megumi, instead."

"I also don't want to talk about that, either."

"We're running out of topics to discuss, since you don't play piano. Do you want to start learning again?"

"Not really," I said.

"You're very difficult sometimes, Yuji," Kazusa said.

"I'm sorry."

Kazusa reached behind her and slowly unhooked her bra. The cups fell into her lap. I fidgeted, trying to control my breathing. She was probably just too hot. We needed to fix the AC. Kazusa gently grasped one of my hands and lifted it to a breast.

"Yuji, it's too hot in here," Kazusa said, breathily.

I slowly turned my head to face her. "I'll call maintenance."

"Not yet," she said, and pressed her lips to mine.

I'd been waiting for this moment for years, and I wasn't ashamed of it. While our tongues writhed against their counterparts, I allowed myself to fully sink my hands into her soft, voluminous mounds, and my fingertips to rub against her generous brown tips. She'd had a child, and all women's breasts ended up changing like that. There were some who said it was less attractive that way, and I declared them complete liars.

My lips moved down to the side of her face, and then to her neck, where I sucked and raked my teeth other the base of her throat before moving down even more, and taking a nipple in my mouth. One of my hands, now free, glided over her belly, enjoying the feel of her bare skin. She was in her forties—there was some cellulite. I again did not give a fuck. If anything, it made her more real to me than some perfectly-shaped fantasy of a celebrity pianist who I could only jack off to in secret shame. No, Kazusa was a real, mature, flesh-and-blood woman who'd offered herself to me, and who I could in turn offer my supple young flesh to in return.

My fingers pushed past the elastic of her panties and probed through her wavy pubic hair until I find the top of her slit. Whether from sweat or arousal, or both, everything was practically soaked. I gently swirled the pads of my fingers against the hood of her clitoris, causing her to moan and whisper for more. I answered, and thrust my fingers into her womanhood, causing her to involuntarily clamp down against them. I had a great deal of sexual experience by now, so I wasn't a fumbling virgin who didn't know a woman's prepuce from her perineum. I curled my fingers to rub against the part of the vaginal wall which contained her Skene's glands, and she bucked against me. More moisture drenched my hands as she had a light orgasm, and she bit down against my shoulder, where she'd been sucking for dear life.

"Stop bullshitting!" Kazusa gasped. "Jam it in, already!"

She yanked my pants down without even undoing my fly, and I quickly kicked them down to my knees. Then, she reached down, grabbed my manhood, and pulled it into her. If I hadn't already been moving to penetrate her, she'd have probably injured me with how forcefully she'd tugged. I thrust it into her all the way to the base. She let out a contented groan, and I continued to thrust. This was something I'd fantasized about for years, and now that it was coming true, I was about to come shamefully fast. There was nothing I could do about it. Even pausing or trying to pull out would just hasten things. So I humped her as hard and fast as I could, and brought myself over the edge within a few minutes. Somehow, I'd allowed her to come from all my efforts, though. She shouted and crushed me with thighs that she'd locked around me, and I felt her walls contract rhythmically with enormous force.

I buried my face in her chest, drooling all over her breasts as she held me against her for an indeterminable amount of time. Eventually, her hold loosened, and I felt strong enough to raise my head.

"Are you okay, Auntie?" I finally asked her.

She gazed down at me and ran her fingers through my hair. "I feel like a criminal now. I'm sorry your perverted auntie couldn't control herself, Yuji."

"You're not a criminal. I couldn't control myself, either."

"We can't tell your parents."

"I know. That's the last thing any of us needs right now."

"I'm relieved, you know."

"How so?"

Kazusa bent her neck and kissed me on the forehead. "You're not as big as Haruki was."

I rolled my eyes. "You know, no man wants to hear that he's smaller than another guy."

"But it's a good thing! Haruki is way too large. It was extremely painful when we did it. I was honestly worried that you'd injure Megumi when you put it in."

"Sorry, but I'll never fuck Megumi. I just had something much better. Also, a man's penis size is determined more by his mother's genes than anything else."

"Just like Setsuna to be so considerate of the women her son makes love to," Kazusa said, giggling. "She should know, too, because she complained all the time about how sore she was after a passionate night with him."

"Alright, just because we're talking about my parents fucking, I'm getting dressed," I said, and rolled off her. I hastily pulled my pants back up and put on my T-shirt, which I'd tossed aside much earlier in the day for the move.

"Do you want to stay over?" Kazusa asked.

"I at least need to get my laptop from my room, so I can do some assignments. Mind if I use the toilet, first?"

#

Right as I stepped out of the bathroom, I heard another knock at the door. It had better not be Saeko, I thought to myself. The last thing I needed was for her to walk in to the obvious smell of sex in the air. I decided to let Kazusa get the door this time. I also didn't need to cause more misunderstandings for no reason. Kazusa, who'd pulled on her blouse but only wore her panties, opened the door. I suppose she had every right to, as she was in her own house. I quickly pulled the bathroom door shut, to the point where I was just able to peer out at what was going on.

"Hi-diddly-ho, neighborino!" Chiaki said with overbearing, extremely corny cheer.

"F-Flanders?" Kazusa replied, confusion writ on her face.

"So close and yet so far! Hello, I'm Izumi Chiaki, with Theater Studies. You may remember me from such films as 'Full Metal Daemon Muramasa: ReVengeance' and 'Todokanai Koi,' but you probably know me better by my stage name, Sen—"

Kazusa looked down at Chiaki's empty hands. "Did you bring cake?"

Chiaki's face scrunched up, but she quickly started to laugh. "Touma Kazusa is indeed a living legend! Aha! This is great! Stay on campus forever, please!"

"Sorry for not wearing pants," Kazusa said. "My air conditioning is broken and someone is dithering about calling maintenance." She shot a look back at me.

Damn it, Auntie Kazusa, I thought as I emerged from the bathroom and walked up to Kazusa's side.

"Hey, Juicy Yuji," Chiaki said, waving gaily to me. She leaned her head in and sniffed at us, exaggeratedly. "Kazu-nyan, are we both, you know?" She thrust the index finger of one hand through the "O" made by the index and thumb of her other hand. "With him?"

"I never said you could call me 'Kazu-nyan,'" Kazusa retorted. "Anyway, you must be his drama professor. He warned me that you were extremely annoying."

"Yuji's such a romantic, isn't he?" Chiaki said, giggling. "But I really didn't expect to find him here. I only came because I caught a stalker on your property."

"Excuse me?" Kazusa said.

"Yeah, this chick," Chiaki said, and tugged at a chain I just noticed hooked to her belt. Another woman stumbled into view. Her wrists were bound with pink, fuzzy handcuffs, her ankles were manacled to a steel S&M spreader bar, and her mouth was occupied by a ball gag. Around her neck was a leather collar connected to the chain that Chiaki wielded. And even though her features were otherwise contorted with rage, I recognized her immediately: Touma Megumi.

Gagged as she was, Megumi could only groan unintelligibly as she saw Kazusa. And when her eyes fell on me, her face turned a shade of red I thought only existed in anime. Megumi's gaze flicked back to Kazusa, pleading.

"Know her?" Chiaki asked.

Kazusa smirked. "I have no idea who this is. What will you do with her?"

Chiaki licked her lips. "You know, Kazu-nyan, if you're cool with not involving the police, then I won't either. I'm researching a role I have in an upcoming horror film. 'Sadistic Blood X.' There's a horrific scene where one of the heroines gets cruelly experimented on. As in parts chopped off and other unmentionable things. And since I won't accept anything but real, visceral experiences to fuel my acting, I was thinking I'd, you know, take this one back and get some inspiration."

"Do what you wish," Kazusa said. "This one looks like she doesn't have a mother. She won't be missed by anyone. So it's not my problem."

Megumi let out a muffled, despairing shout and shook in place. Chiaki reached behind Megumi's head and unsnapped the fastening keeping the ball gag in place. It fell out of Megumi's mouth and plopped wetly on the foor.

"Mommy! Yuji! Help me!" she sobbed, and then immediately clenched her jaw when she realized what had happened.

"Brilliantly done, Megu-nyan!" Chiaki said, as she quickly undid the rest of Megumi's restraints. "Have you considered acting as a career?"

Megumi wheeled around to slap Chiaki, only to have Kazusa catch her wrist in an iron grasp.

"Megumi, enough," Kazusa said. "If you wanted to visit me, you should have just knocked on the door. If she hadn't caught you, someone else would have called the police. And American police have guns and love to shoot everything."

Megumi broke out of Kazusa's grasp and turned to face her mother, red-faced. "Y-you! I'm not gonna… You're all insane!" Her wild-eyed gaze fell on me. She caught my hand in her grasp and wrenched me away from the threshold.

"Run!" she commanded me.

And to my surprise, I followed her order. Knowing Kazusa was likely silently nodding in approval, and Chiaki was likely laughing uncontrollably, I ran with Megumi all the way down Mayfield Avenue toward the center of campus, past the curious faces of onlookers on the front lawns of of Sigma Nu, Columbae, and Muwekma-Tah-Ruk. We ran with our hearts racing, our lungs burning, and our minds blissfully empty until we had nothing more to spare.

#

Eventually, we collapsed on our hands and knees in the middle of Tressider Square. Megumi crawled up to a planter next to a bench and promptly threw up, while I simply lay on my back, desperately trying to lower my heart rate. Students passing by either simply stared at us, or pointed and laughed. I finally sat up, still feeling lightheaded. Megumi inhaled deeply, blew her nose into her hands, and wiped the snot on the cobblestones.

"If you're thinking 'why can't this bitch be prim and cute like muh Japanese ex-girlfriend?' I'll punch you in the dick," she said, panting.

"You don't seem to have a Japanese bone in your body," I said. "So really, there's no comparison."

"Wrong! I spent most of my life there," Megumi said. "It sucked."

"Where'd you go to high school?"

"Some fuckin' shitty place. I don't wanna talk about it."

"Kazusa told me you won the Giovanni at age sixteen. You're the youngest ever winner. Why'd you quit?"

"Because I knew it would make her mad," Megumi said, proudly. "Listen, all that running and puking made me hungry. Wanna grab a burger?"

I considered declining, but all the physical activity I'd engaged in had left my body demanding calories. Visions of Kazusa's naked body writhing in my embrace surfaced in my mind. Megumi seriously looked just like Kazusa did. Right down to the shapes and sizes of their breasts and the swell of their hips. I wasn't entirely sure what kind of hunger motivated me at this point. "Sure, let's do that," I said, and pulled myself to my feet.

Tucked into the first floor of the Tressider student union was the Treehouse, which served the greasiest burgers on any college campus save for Harvard's, which boasted Mr. Bartley's. Megumi and I sat on one of the bench seats in the back and mowed through thousands of calories of American excess. She washed it all down with a deep drag of Mountain Dew and then let out an enormous belch.

"Aw shit, that's better," she said.

"Smells like it," I said, waving a hand in front of my face. "You know, that's terrible table manners even in America."

"Motherfucker," she said.

"I'm not wrong."

"No, I meant you're a guy who fucks mothers. I know what you were doing with Kazusa."

"We weren't—" I shook my head. "Why were you stalking her, anyway? You could've just knocked."

"Because I wanted to see if I could drive her off somehow. You know, like the movie 'Poltergeist' and shit. Maybe take a dump in her Steinway."

"Why do you hate her so much? She knows she was a poor mother. She admitted it to me and regrets it. So why can't you just reconcile?"

"You're even stupider than you look, Yuji-kun."

"Also, how do you know my name? I never told you that."

"It was on your notes. You're such a good little tool, you know that? I was right to pick you as my study slut."

"I never said I'd continue that. You need to start paying attention in class. Show the professor some respect, for a change."

"Oh my fucking God, you really love our CS prof, don't you? Why are you dicking around with Kazusa? She's old and busted. I bet her bladder's falling out of her vag. Our prof is hot as hell. I bet she's super kinky, too. I'd fuck her in a heartbeat. Double-dildos in our asses and everything."

"Saeko—Professor Iizuka—is someone I respect and admire. Stop talking about her like that."

"Jesus H. Christ. Just get married already."

I sighed. "We were talking about it."

Megumi blushed. "Lame. Anyway, I'm gonna file a police report on that crazy Sennouchi Akira bitch. Wanna go with?"

"Only if I can see them arrest you for making a false accusation," I said, as I loudly drained my soda. "You really think they'll believe you, a known troublemaker who can't control her mouth, instead of a literal Oscar-winning world-famous actress and endowed chair at Stanford?"

"Fuck you, man. She's like Harvey Weinstein with tits!"

At that, I had to laugh. I'd make sure to use that line on Chiaki one day, if she became too annoying. "You were kinda decked out there in S&M gear. How'd she get it all on you, if you weren't letting her do it?"

"I was watching you fuck Kazusa. I got a little too into it. So I didn't realize she'd put a damn spreader bar on my legs until it was too late."

My eyelids narrowed. "What do you mean you were getting too into it?"

"I was masturbating, duh."

"Sure you were," I said, rolling my eyes.

"No really, I was. Smell my finger," she said, and shoved her hand beneath my nostrils.

I pushed her hand away. "I think it's time for me to leave."

"What're ya doin' tonight?"

"I need to watch my sister sing in La traviata. It's at MemAud, although I doubt you'd be interested."

"Opera's stupid."

"Bye," I said, and got up.

"There's a party at Phi Psi tonight," she said, tugging at my sleeve. "Should still be going even after the opera's over. Go with me."

"No."

"Call me once you get there," she said, and held out her smartphone. They all had apps that exchanged contact information with a tap of the devices. I considered not doing it, but instead, I pulled out my phone and tapped it to hers. My phone vibrated to confirm I'd received her information.

"Fine. I'll think about it."