Agrippa
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All right! Fine! I will take you! - Chapter 11
🕑 Added 2021-09-24 03:28:44 +0000 UTCIt is not a gross exaggeration to say that schedules are the foundation of society. If everyone was free to come and go as they pleased, not staying at a dreary office until their sleep-deprived minds started coming up with waking terrors and their children got personally acquainted with scurvy due to all the preheated dinners, for instance, those at the top would lose one of their advantages when oppressing those below and making sure they stay oppressed. How different would a society be where the alarm clock is considered an eccentricity and one works, eats, and sleeps according to one’s needs? It seems like an unsolvable thought experiment, but the truth is we, the Japanese, have spent decades working on this problem and coming up with a perfectly structured, workable solution: the raising sim.
Given a stress bar that can be easily depleted by taking your underage daughter to a vacation on a nudist beach (because, apparently, medieval fantasy kingdoms are very progressive; source: Gainax), one can easily know whether it is a good idea to have her take those extra lessons at that dojo where random passersby seem to enjoy the healthy hobby of beating the living stuffing out of a ten-year-old who is defending said dojo’s sign, work at the suspicious bar that isn’t that trigger-shy about having an underage girl serve customers with a bunny suit, send her out for a week of unsupervised fun on the city (which, so far, has proven to be a very safe and child-friendly place), or even have her go out to exterminate cute woodland creatures, because no amount of trauma is enough for our little bundle of joy. Truly, that is the foundation of a society that, while revolving around a strictly defined self-scheduling, would raise its populace to no longer be slaves to anything other than one’s own parameters, allowing elites like Yukinoshita to thrive, and people like me to waste time unbothered on their state-sponsored sofas. Truly utopian.
Yet, as we desperately grasp for that possibility, we also study other alternatives, ones where the focus lies not only on personal growth and career advancement (which, obviously, are the foremost considerations when raising a healthy, not at all psychopathic killer, adoptive daughter set to inherit the kingdom). No, our land has also birthed a model that takes into account the social aspect, and even prioritizes it. Of course, that is the closely related dating sim.
Much more nuanced and granular, usually set to study the day-to-day affairs rather than monthly vagaries. It has, though, one problem that tends to be universal. A fault we have yet to solve in the overall model.
No encounters with the Christmas Cake Teacher on the weekend, because her character archetype is only encountered on school grounds.
Which is why I’m lying on my bed, recovering from my self-inflicted injuries, and staring at a phone that should, in theory, allow me to overcome this colossal design fault.
In theory.
It starts to ring, and I pick up before I even know what I’m doing.
“Hi?”
“You weren’t even going to call after forcefully taking my chastity like that, were you, Senpai?”
“Iroha, for fuck’s sake, I could have been near my parents.”
“Perfect. Maybe they would force you to take responsibility.”
… What.
“Did I short-circuit you, Senpai? I am improving; this time I didn’t even need to tell you how much of my face you can cover with your scalding, overwhelming—”
“Iroha!”
“Hmmm… it sounds so good when I force you to scream my name…” All right. Enough. I am about to confiscate all those doujins you have been binging on, young lady.
No, Brain, it’s not a good time to come up with ways to punish her.
When will be a good time, you say? I don’t know, but I would expect my door would be closed and Komachi asleep.
.. No, Brain, that’s not at all what I meant by having a younger girl unconscious while I—
“Oh? Have I managed to leave you wordless once again, Senpaaai?” sing-songs the other, actually quasi-sane choice in comparison, younger girl, with a voice that makes it clear I wouldn’t need to wait until she fell asleep.
“I seem to remember a good enough way to make you shut up we came up with yesterday…” Deep-voiced bastard, once again I find myself relying on your powers. If this is my introduction to a Shaman King tournament, so be it.
“… Unfair, Senpai, you are not supposed to turn the tables on me like that…”
… It is far too easy to imagine Iroha almost biting her knuckle while she shyly turns her body and looks up into my eyes with her downturned face after such a line. And now I feel guilty, aroused, and gleefully sadistic at once. Great.
Time to read Nana to Kaoru. Again.
“You aren’t supposed to sexually harass me via phone call either, yet here we are.”
“... Are we?”
What does that even—oh. Fuck.
“I don’t know, Iroha. Yesterday certainly went further than you watching me,” I try to reply with an even, steady voice that implies I know what the Hell I am doing. I likely fail.
“It did,” she says with a fragile tone.
And then remains silent.
Great. I am no longer horny nor gleefully sadistic. Just guilty.
“Let’s be rational about this,” I begin.
“How romantic,” she waspishly cuts me off. Oi, that’s rude, you know? I should know.
“It… could be.” I hesitate to even say as much. But she deserves it.
And yet… No. No, she actually doesn’t. She deserves much better, but this is as far as I can go.
“What do you mean?” she answers after a pause, her tone far softer.
“I… We haven’t set up any ground rules, Iroha, and maybe we should have, but what’s done is done. So, first rule: I am with Shizu.” And this is why sticking to one’s principles sucks. No wonder nobody else does it.
“I… I know.” And hearing what that hesitance implies does all sorts of weird things to my far too sensitive self. Some of them exceedingly pleasant, but now’s not the time to dwell on that.
“But we don’t yet know what that means.” Come on, Hachiman, you can do better than this. For her. For them.
“I... don’t know what you mean.” Iroha Isshiki is cunning, selfish, daring, witty. She shouldn’t mince her words, or ponder about what ifs, because that’s not her, and never will be. I won’t let her become another Yukinoshita.
“Shizu included you. Enthusiastically. I haven’t seen her act so confident ever, not in class, where she’s her usual, scatterbrained self, nor in private, where she melts at the slightest indication of genuine affection.” This is all true, but it’s not about Iroha, so how can I… “You being there… it was good for her. I think she wants to do what’s best for others, and having someone to guide, someone to show the good parts of intimacy to, made her feel that much better about herself. Shizu tried to be good for you, and you definitely were good for her.” All these words, just to tell her what should be obvious: that she’s wanted, and not just by me.
“… Is that a very roundabout way of asking me to keep having threesomes with you?”
“… It’s not not that.” I almost stutter. Which I shouldn’t be surprised about.
And then she giggles. Good. Iroha cunningly giggling is good.
Wait, what? I wonder if that’s what moralists mean when they talk about sex warping the impressionable minds of the youth?
“So, you being with Shizu means you get to slake your incommensurable lusts on two nubile, curvy bodies.”
“No. Well, likely yes, but it actually means that any decision is something that willtake Shizu into account. And on this… I think you are good for her.” As I’ve already said. Because, apparently, my eloquence and logical thinking take a nosedive when a girl nobody can convince me isn’t actually descended from a tribe of voyeuristic kitsune kunoichi comes into the picture.
“… And for you?” she breathes, and every single small hair on the side of my neck stands on end at the sound of it.
Ah, not going to give me the easy way out, are you, my foxy junior? As expected. Well then, deep-voiced bastard, you know what to do.
“Let’s see, I wonder if I haven’t already made my feeling on the issue clear… Ah, I know: ‘You are both incredible women, more beautiful than I could have ever dreamed. I don’t know what I have done to deserve this, I don’t think I deserve this… but I want to. I want to show you both how happy you are making me and make you as happy as I am in turn.’”
There. Flashbacks are effective for a reason.
Iroha’s end of the line remains silent for quite a bit, and I wonder if maybe I have pushed a bit too far, too fast, when—
“If you want me to suck on your stiff, hard cock and swallow your thick, rich cum until your legs can no longer hold you up, you are doing a very good job of asking, Senpai.” And that should be a critical hit, but I am still remembering the look of her eyes as she knelt in front of me, a naked smile as baring as her lack of clothes showing me… Everything I ever wanted to see of Iroha Isshiki, and even more that I didn’t suspect I could find in her. So, riding that high, it’s only natural that I say:
“Call me Hachi.” Because what else could I have replied?
“… Unfair. Hachi.”
“I learned from the best, Iroha.”
And she giggles.
And yes, I admit it: my foxy, cunning junior giggling is good.
Now, if I could get her to do that without ending up having to walk crouched over with my hands in my pockets, that would be great…
***
The rest of the conversation is cut short after it’s made clear none of us know what the Hell we are doing and maybe it would be better to see each other face to face before delving into more profound topics. Such as whether or not kissing is okay, and if we should have Shizu spectate if we do it.
My life is weird. I feel like that has already been established.
Said topic, of course, isn’t helping with my case of Standard Adolescent Gait Number Two. The lack of blood feeding my brain may account for some of the impairment of my mental faculties.
The other part of the impairment I would usually attribute to Iroha’s Irohaness, but given that she’s the cause of the first part of said impairment, that would mean that Iroha is, in and of herself, enough to reduce my usually not too shabby intellect to that of the kind of drooling moron who thinks calling me Hikitani is somehow hilarious.
Which… checks out. Yes. Especially the drooling part.
Because remembering the feeling of her stiff nipple rolling between the tips of my fingers as her tongue licked—
Right. Enough. Either I dedicate some time to self-care while wondering to whom of my many voyeurs I should send the video, or I change the subject.
Given that one of the possibilities is Haruno and I don’t feel like playing that particular game of Russian Roulette, change of topic it is.
So, seeing as there aren’t that many things that currently occupy my mind, like, I don’t know, winning once and for all my duel with Yukinoshita and somehow solving the mess my relationships with the opposite (in all senses of the word) genre have recently become, I turn to the one thing I know I need to deal with before I can even consider thinking about something else.
The signal tone sounds far longer than I am used to when dialing this particular number, which only adds to the knot of anxiety in my chest. Finally, she picks up, and, before she can greet me, I blurt out the line I had been thinking about for the past few minutes.
“Let’s go on a date, Shizu.” Ah, so that’s how Iroha felt yesterday.
The far too sharp squeal from the other end of the line calms down some of my concerns while steadily raising others.
I would say ‘as expected,’ but quite frankly, as much of an expert as I am quickly becoming on Christmas Cake recipes and baking methods, I admit the end product still tends to catch me by surprise.
***
“So… tie or no tie?” I ask the only person I currently trust to not completely obliterate whatever sanity remains in my love life.
“Brother, my dating experience comes from shoujo manga. Explicitly, the shoujo manga that you lend me, because you are far too sappy for your own good,” Komachi says, her voice a carefully uninterested drone as she barely lifts her eyes from the PSP visual novel she’s playing while I try to decide the level of formality adequate for illicit dalliances.
“Card Captor Sakura is a classic, and I will duel with the heart of the cards anyone who says otherwise.” There. True men don’t care how pink the covers are, only the manliness of a ten-year-old girl beating up mythological monsters like she was born with a star-shaped birthmark.
“I am sure Totsuka would be elated to know you are a Clamp fan, but you are mixing your card-related references.” Ouch. I am not even sure who that barb was aimed at, but I am sorry you had to become involved, Totsuka. Don’t worry, I will take care of you as you recover and—
Damn. I am taken.
Twice.
I am sorry, Totsuka, it seems I will have to entrust your care to someone else. Zaimokuza, likely, when he gets tired of whatever it is he’s doing with Sagami.
No, I refuse to even consider what that actually entails. Let’s see, little sister’s ruffled feathers, conversation drifting to manga…
“Just be glad I am not bringing Star Platinum into this.” Perfect. Nothing like ‘is that a Jojo reference?’ to soothe a troubled mind. Oh, I already did that before.
Let’s just say my mind needs a lot of soothing. Tee-hee.
“That… was a stretch. Nervous, are you?” she asks, with a tone that fakes nonchalance as well as I do social competence.
“Well, I am having my first date after what technically counts as my first three—” Withering glare. Right. Survival instincts, thank you for once again stopping the most lethal part of my body: my tongue. Shizu can attest to it.
And now I made myself blush. Great.
“Look, the only thing that’s important in a date is to match your partner,” Komachi starts finally lecturing me, either out of pity or of self-preservation. One of those two. “If Ms. Hiratsuka always wears a suit and a tie, that’s what you should wear, just so she doesn’t feel out of place.”
“… You do realize she pulls it off way better than I could ever hope to?”
“Please tell me that’s why you have started exercising. Let your cute little sister retain even a trace of innocence.” Komachi looks at me, her tone halfway between deadpan and desperate plea.
“That’s why I have started exercising. To fill my suit better. Of course.”
Komachi glares at me after my wooden performance. It looks like I have not been convincing enough to save her from the despair of knowing her older brother is currently undergoing a training arc for the unique and exclusive purpose of having a better sex life. That is, like about ninety-five percent of people who undergo training arcs.
Which is a relief. It means there aren’t enough world-ending threats to bring business to the local gym.
“Right. Tie it is.” I desperately try to steer the topic back to safer waters after an uncomfortably long time staring into increasingly dead eyes that should never be allowed near sharp objects.
“Yes. Tie. It will make everything easier.” And Komachi’s wide smile reminds me that safer waters can still have sharks in them.
“You are talking about the date, right? You aren’t speaking about the tie being functionally a very fashionable noose, are you?”
“Of course, big brother. Of course.” No, sharks don’t have that many teeth.
“That isn’t clarifying the issue. At all.”
“Of course, big brother. Of course.” At this point, battle-maniac ninja sharks would be an improvement. Especially because of how stupid their bandaged swords are. A sword with a booboo is not that intimidating, you know?
Right, time to take action.
No, deep-voiced bastard, I didn’t mean you. I am not stupid enough to let you near my little sister.
With a sigh that is only partly affectation, I drop the tie over my chair and sit on my bed beside Komachi, draping an almost casual arm over her shoulder. After a while, she leans on me, her head coming to rest on my chest as I embrace her more fully.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” I ask of her.
“I don’t want you to be hurt,” she murmurs, her face nuzzling into my shirt.
“That’s what living is, Komachi. No way to avoid it.” ‘Not without going the yandere route and ensuring nobody but you is allowed to harm me,’ I carefully don’t add.
“But you can… I’m not as smart as you, and I always feel dumb when I try to help you, but I—”
“No. None of that. You are wonderful, the best sister I could have had.”
“You just say that because you take care of me, if I—”
“If you had been the older one, I would be clinging to your skirt and desperately trying to keep all the pests away so my cool older sister would still pay me attention.”
“… That’s gross. Cute. But gross.”
“An improvement from the usual?”
“I don’t think so! Now I want my own mini-Hachiman following me around like a dumb puppy, but that would mean you having kids, and that would mean—gack! Gross!”
“… Komachi, you are officially no longer the sane sibling.”
“You mean I was? Why did nobody tell me?!”
“Have you seen the competition?”
“Oh. Right.” Ah! It hurts! Your soft, compassionate look hurts!
“So… Feeling better?” I hopefully ask that damning, saintly smile.
“I… Not really. I don’t know many things, but… Look, I like Ms. Hiratsuka, all right? This isn’t about that. I know she’s a good person that has had a lot of bad luck, and I would like to be happy for her, but…”
“But she’s older.” ‘Older,’ not ‘old.’ Aren’t you glad I added the qualifier, Ms. Hiratsuka? Aren’t you happy enough not to glare at me like I just stole your last ramen bowl?
“She is. A lot. You… It will be so hard! And it’s your first relationship, and you are already doing weird things, like… ugh, like involving other women, and I know you are not a dumb, horny boy who is doing it all just for the sex, so I know you care about them, and relationships are hard when it’s just one person, so how can I ever be sure you are all right when I know you will happily tear yourself apart for any of them? It’s too much, brother, just too much. Wouldn’t you be happier if you and Yukino finally—” I place a finger on her lips before she says too much. Because she already has, I already am reeling from all of that, but that final line… That should not be crossed.
“I don’t have an easy answer, Komachi, but… Right, here’s the hard one.”
“I swear if that’s a sex joke, Komachi is going to make sure they never find your body, brother,” she grumbles, her face once again buried into my chest like a particularly tsundere kitten. Ah, how soothing it is to know that Komachi’s cuteness remains a constant in uncertain times. I wonder if we could replace the ever-fluctuating gold standard with something far more precious and reliable?
“No jokes, I swear,” and won’t that be a hard promise to keep? “It’s just… I love Shizu.”
“That… Doesn’t seem like a particularly hard answer, brother.” Ah, how adorable is her frowning face looking up at me as I ruffle her hair and she nuzzles into my hand while faking discomfort.
No, I am not using my sister’s superlative cuteness as a mental escape from the hardships on the road ahead. That’s preposterous. I am a very responsible person who never shirks nor creatively interprets his duties, you know?
“You are doing it again, aren’t you brother?”
“I don’t have a clue what you are talking about.” Ah, how cute is her disappointed sigh as she contemplates whether I am actually adopted. Wait, no, the not-blood-related route is a definite pass. That way lies madness.
More of it, I mean.
“Tell me,” she asks. And I need to answer her and drop the pretense, because what else can I do when my cute younger sister asks me something?
“I love Shizu… And Iroha. And Yui. And Yukino. And I may even tolerate Haruno, if I have a good priest on speed-dial.”
“… You have ten seconds to clarify that, harem-trash-brother.”
“There are… different kinds of love. Or so I am given to understand. It’s not about ‘more’ or ‘less,’ it’s about each person and the way you connect. I could have had a relationship, a monogamous, normal one, with… a younger girl. I can… easily imagine that, and I won’t say I haven’t in the past, but now… There are other… Shizu. I want Shizu, and I can’t imagine a future without her in it. But Shizu is complicated, maybe even more than I am, and I think part of that is that she won’t let herself be happy as long as she feels she’s taking something away from others. She needs to give, and if I try to be the only one with her, she will feel she’s… Harming me.” I look at Komachi’s wide eyes. It’s not that she doesn’t understand what I am trying to tell her, it’s that… I don’t think she has ever seen me like this. Dissecting the problems that lie at the hearts of people, acting toward the optimal solution that nobody else would ever consider. I have never been like this with her. I never needed to. “Shizu tried to convince me to pursue another girl, to forget about her and go out with someone you… are likely thinking of. What does that tell you about her?”
Komachi looks into my eyes, her apprehension long melted into a sadness I hate to see, yet need to be there.
“That she’s self-sacrificing. That she will do something stupid to put the happiness of others above hers. That she… You are far too similar, brother. Are you sure that’s love and not narcissism?” she says, and I chuckle in a way I hope doesn’t make her cringe.
“I am. I have known her for long enough to see our differences, and I love her far more because of them.”
“… Too sappy, brother.”
“Keep that up, and I am taking my Card Captor Sakura collection back.”
“No! I need to see how much of the homo-erotic tension actually pays off!”
“… Komachi, your big brother needs you to make a promise to him. If you fulfill it, it will earn you a lot of Komachi points.”
“What is it?” She asks, cutely tilting her head in a way I dearly hope Iroha doesn’t learn to copy.
“Never, ever,” I shudder at the dread name of my most fearsome classmate, “befriend Hina Ebina.”
One fujoshi hounding me is one too many already.
***
Hours later, I am in front of the station, fiddling with my white tie as I try not to Carradine myself in public (nor in private—my sexual life is already adventurous enough, no matter how ridiculous it is for a virgin to think so). It’s about twenty minutes before the agreed-upon time, and I am cursing my stupid eagerness, because now I have to wait till the time Shizu decides it is fashionable to show up and have me tell her how long I have not been waiting. Also, I am getting increasingly nervous with every minute that passes, because I am used to being right on time (that is, at least five minutes late), and not having people be there when I arrive is weird.
To summarize: some people have first date jitters, while I apparently have anxiety attacks.
And I swear this trice damned piece of pretentious string is trying to murder me. Probably a disguised henchman from Yukinoshita making sure I don’t survive to see the end of our duel. Ah, your expected treachery behooves you, Yukinoshita. You truly were Haruno’s sister, after all.
“Ah, did you… wait long?” A soft voice asks from behind me.
All right, Hachiman, no matter how long you think you have been monologuing at yourself in increasingly dumb tangents, you know it’s still twenty minutes before eight o’clock.
You know no woman would ever show up that early to meet you. That’s just not the established pattern—I mean, protocol.
So, don’t make a fool of yourself, just turn around nonchalantly to make sure it’s not actually Shizu asking you if you have been waiting too long when it’s not even—
It’s not Shizu.
No, it can’t be Shizu.
The woman in front of me is wearing a dark blue dress that leaves her shoulders bare, a sheer, creamy shawl wrapped over her toned arms that are, inadvertently (I think), pushing her breasts together so they strain the straight line of her strapless neckline and leave just a hint of the delightful vertical line hiding under it. She’s wearing heels decorated with a single whorl of black sequins that do wonders for a pair of gorgeous legs that are left bare until just below her knee, where a flared skirt cruelly hides the shape of her thighs from me. Her ears are decorated with dangling earrings with a glittering square of onyx that matches her choker, and her hair is pulled up into a high ponytail to leave her neck and its decoration available for my eyes to feast on the slender lines.
“Hachi?” The wonderful, delightful vision asks.
“Glarble nargle,” I answer with charm and aplomb.
“Did… Are you all right?” she asks as she approaches me and tenderly cradles my cheek.
“Glurg?” I reassure her.
“Are you… joking now? Is that it? I knew Iroha was pulling a prank, no way I look good in—”
Ah. Iroha. Makeover. Sanity.
Yes, that makes far more sense than me being in a world where Shizuka Hiratsuka knows how to take advantage of her superlative charms yet remains single.
Now, what should I do when confronted with a flustered Christmas Cake who is quickly devolving into an incoherent, rambling mess?
Of course.
Clasping the hand caressing my face with my own, I take a step forward, my chest pressing against her far more impressive one, and rest my other hand on the small of her back. Shizu lets out a small gasp at the sudden pressure on that sensitive part of her anatomy (the three of them) and looks down into my eyes just in time for me to lean forward and taste another sensitive part of her.
Our lips barely brush against each other, the slight contact enough to make my heart race, and her eyes widen before she closes them and rests her weight against me.
And so, with her body losing strength between my arms, with the heat of her skin soaking into mine, with the fragrance of her subtle perfume swirling in intoxicating whorls around my mind, I kiss Shizu in earnest. Uncaring of how frowned upon public displays of affection usually are, because Iroha’s masterpiece deserves my full, unreserved attention.
Though I can’t help but notice she didn’t manage to make her change her cherry lip gloss…
Comments
Agrippa
“Wait, is this NTR? It feels like NTR. Oi, fatty, we need to have a few words.”
Agrippa
Thank you! About Japanese culture, it has some frankly horrifying, when not outright dystopian, stuff (at least from what I know of it, which doesn’t include a lot of personal experience), but Hachiman’s point of view is also quite… special. I should find it worrying how easy it is for me to slide into his mindset, to be honest, but then again, I am also very comfortable in the barely reformed Holmes supervillain expy headspace, so I better not read too much into it…
aj0413
"I am sorry, Totsuka, it seems I will have to entrust your care to someone else. Zaimokuza, likely, when he gets tired of whatever it is he’s doing with Sagami." > I endorse this decision! lmao
Nick Russo
Another great chapter. The phone call with him and Iroha was nicely flirtatious and fun. The scene with him and his sister was really, really sweet. And I look forward to seeing how the date goes. Admittedly I don’t understand Japanese culture very much, but sometimes his inner thoughts make me wonder if he’s stoned. 😉
