The weeks following the hackathon felt like a good period for the Ayasato household. The air in the apartment was usually a thick mix of fabric softener and hot glue, and the lingering aroma of whatever feast Mafuyu had made for dinner.
Makoto, for his part, felt like he was finally standing on solid ground. His internship at Clitify was progressing toward a formal offer. It had transitioned to a busy routine of feature development and bug squashing. He started to feel like a legitimate part of the team as his Family Edition module became the talk of the office.
And the girls' cosplay venture was thriving. The online orders for their debut photobook had provided enough funds into their shared bank account, allowing Yuna to stop hoarding cash in her piggy bank and Mika to stop looking at the monthly bills like a predator assessing its prey.
But while Makoto's professional life was gaining clear focus, his domestic life was dissolving into a confusing chaos.
Their apartment had become a base for Harem Scarem Productions. Ayane had fought tooth and nail for the name, arguing that Yuna and the Backups sounded like a failed pop band. Yuna had eventually caved, mostly because she was too busy designing the elaborate butterfly-wing patterns for her Shinobu haori to continue the argument.
The living room had been surrendered to the cause of high-end cosplay: Rolls of shimmering silk and heavy leatherette leaned against the walls. Piles of half-finished patterns and discarded thread snippets littered the rug.
===
Today, Makoto was enjoying a day of working from home. He sat at the low table with his laptop, balancing his actual coding work with managing their social media. He watched the way the morning sun caught Ayane as she helped Mafuyu trim lace, and he felt a strong sense of peace.
In the center of it all sat Yuna, hunched over her sewing machine, her foot working the pedal with rhythmic mechanical precision, providing the heartbeat of the house. Makoto thought the competitive energy that had defined their relationship since the anime festival had finally settled.
He was, of course, a complete idiot as usual.
The first problem appeared after breakfast. Makoto was drinking his second cup of coffee, trying to ignore a minor headache, while Yuna and Ayane were locked in their daily argument over design.
Yuna was in full Main Wife tyrant mode. She was currently hovering over Ayane, who was attempting to sew the intricate gold trim onto her Mitsuri haori.
"No! No, no, no!" Yuna shrieked, her voice sharp enough to cut through the room. She snatched the fabric from Ayane's hands. "Do you even know how to use a sewing gauge, you incompetent big-breasted cow?! It's a simple straight stitch! A trained monkey with a blindfold could do a better job than this!"
Ayane rolled her eyes, leaning back on her elbows. "Relax, Yuna. It's a three-inch seam. No one is going to be looking at the gold thread when my boobs are on display."
"I will see it! And the audience on X will notice too!" Yuna snarled, her gray twin-tails shaking with indignation. "The integrity of the Harem Scarem brand is at stake!" She opened her mouth to continue the lecture, her finger pointed accusingly at Ayane's chest.
But then she stopped mid-sentence, with a strange expression on her face. The fiery red of her anger drained away, replaced by a pale greenish tint. Her eyes went wide, reflecting a dawning horror.
"Yuna?" Makoto asked, setting his coffee down.
Yuna didn't answer. She clapped a hand over her mouth, let out a small wet-sounding hiccup, and made a mad dash for the bathroom. The sound of her bare feet slapping against the floor was followed by the loud bang of the door and the unmistakable sound of retching.
Makoto winced, his stomach turning in sympathy. "Is she okay? She's been working too hard lately."
"She's been eating those sour gummies for breakfast," Ayane noted, though she looked toward the bathroom with a rare flicker of concern. "That's probably not helping her stomach."
Makoto got up and walked to the bathroom door, knocking gently. "Yuna? You okay in there? Do you need some water?"
The door slammed open almost instantly. Yuna stormed out, her face still pale but her eyes blazing with defensive fury. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her small frame trembling.
"I'm fine!" she hissed, her voice a dangerous growl. "It must be that cheap takeout you bought last night, you fat pig! I told you that place looked shady! You probably tried to poison me so you could inherit my Genshin account!"
"It was the same sushi we all ate, Yuna," Makoto said gently.
"Well, my stomach is more refined than yours!" she snapped. She pushed past him, her shoulders hunched. "I'm going to lie down. Don't wake me up!"
She disappeared into her room, leaving Makoto staring after her. "Poor Yuna," he thought, a wave of guilt washing over him. "She's been pulling too many all-nighters. During my internship, I've been letting her carry too much. Her system is probably just crashing from the energy drinks and stress."
He made a mental note to cook her some plain rice porridge for dinner to soothe her stomach.