It was September 8, 2026, a gray Tuesday that dawned with a cold wind coming from the Sea of Japan. It had been a little over a month since that unforgettable camping trip at Sanze beach, where 2B had completely surrendered to the four of us. Since then, life seemed to have found a perfect rhythm—almost magical, if not for the donut-like stone that still sat dull on the shelf, like a silent reminder that none of this was ordinary.
Aoki-ya had truly become a tourist spot. The terrace with sea view packed every late afternoon: tourists from Sendai taking sunset photos with premium tonkatsu in hand, motorcyclists stopping on their way to the coast, local families who came just to see the "beautiful girls at the restaurant." Word of mouth and social media (mainly Nazuna's Instagram posts) made business grow exponentially. Revenue tripled compared to the previous year. I had already paid off half of my dad's loan, raised everyone's salary (Yuto, Himari, Harumi, and Hana now earned more than the regional standard), and still had money left to save and dream about the bigger house we talked about around the bonfire.
Yuto and Himari practically ran the kitchen on their own now. I stayed more at the counter or in the improvised back office, checking orders, adjusting the menu, talking to suppliers. I had plans to step away completely from the griddle and fryer—become just the owner, manage from the outside, let the girls shine in the dining room. I hadn't told anyone yet, but I already pictured it: me supervising, them serving with that charm that made the cash register jingle. Harumi and Hana were perfect: Harumi with her shy but welcoming smile, Hana with contagious energy that made customers come back just to chat with her. Some came literally to flirt, leaving generous tips and Google Maps comments like "the servers are a show on their own."
Elinalise, Nazuna, and 2B were closer than ever. Small disagreements happened—Nazuna leaving a mess on the futon, 2B being excessively organized, Elinalise monopolizing my lap—but nothing serious. I had made it clear from the beginning: "There's no room for fighting here. If it happens, resolve it right away or talk to me." They made up quickly. And in the end, it almost always finished with the four of us on the futon: bodies pressed together, muffled moans, post-orgasm laughter. 2B had also learned to serve in the dining room—traditional navy-blue uniform with short apron, white hair tied in a low ponytail, elegant posture that drew curious glances. She smiled more now, answered customers with a soft voice ("Irasshaimase… what would you like today?"), and even made shy jokes when Nazuna teased her.
But that morning of September 8, everything changed.
We opened at 6 a.m. as usual. The door chime rang, but even before turning on the dining room lights, we saw: crumpled papers scattered on the sidewalk, taped to the glass with cheap adhesive tape. Handwritten phrases in thick black marker: "DIE," "WORST SERVICE IN TOWN," "DISGUSTING FOOD, CLOSE SOON," "YOUR WHORES WILL BURN." Others with idiotic criticisms: "ROBBERY PRICES," "FAKE SERVERS." Someone had done this in the early hours.
The girls froze at the door.
Elinalise went pale, hand over her mouth.
"Who… who would do this?" she murmured, voice trembling.
Nazuna already had her fists clenched, red eyes flashing.
"I'm going to find out who. I'll rip their teeth out."
2B, beside me, analyzed the papers with a cold gaze.
"Low efficiency. Poor execution. They should have used spray to avoid leaving fingerprints."
I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.
"Calm down, girls. Let's clean this up before customers arrive. We're not giving satisfaction to whoever wants to shake us."
We cleaned everything in silence: tore the papers, carefully removed the tape so as not to leave residue, washed the glass until it shone. The restaurant opened normally. I smiled at the regulars, served tonkatsu with the same automatic "Irasshaimase," laughed at the old man's jokes who had ordered the same teishoku for 30 years. But inside, a cold rage was growing.
At the end of the shift, we went upstairs. While the girls showered (muffled laughter, steam coming out the half-open door), I went to the back office of the restaurant. Turned on the security cameras—four angles: main entrance, side, sidewalk, and back alley. Fast-forwarded the overnight footage.
There they were: two men in black hooded jackets, simple masks covering their faces. One carried a bag with the papers, the other scattered them with quick movements. Faces weren't visible, but they were tall, thin, nervous movements. I downloaded the files to my phone, cut the relevant parts.
The girls finished showering. We ate reheated leftovers for dinner (karaage, onigiri, miso soup), watched a random anime episode (no one paid much attention), talked about the day. They fell asleep after quick, affectionate sex—Elinalise riding me slowly, Nazuna sucking my nipples, 2B lying on the side holding my hand as she came quietly. I pretended to fall asleep right after.
When silence fell, I grabbed the phone. Analyzed frame by frame. Two hours of video, eyes burning. Until I saw: in one brief moment, one of them pulled a red foldable phone from his pocket—bright screen when opened to check something. Closed it quickly and put it away. My stomach froze. I had already seen an identical phone in the restaurant weeks earlier, in the hand of a customer whose face I didn't quite remember. But now I remembered: red case, nervous gesture.
A week passed. Nothing happened again. We cleaned the glass, ignored the bad comments on social media (which increased, but not enough to tank the rating), and life went on. I put up a new sign at the entrance: "We need a cook and servers." The girls were overloaded—smiling, serving, cleaning, but I saw the exhaustion in their eyes. I hadn't brought them into my world to work themselves to death. I wanted them to live, love, cum, not fry tonkatsu 12 hours a day.
I held a meeting with everyone at the end of the shift. Explained the plan: I was going to step away from daily operations, become just the manager. Oversee, improve the menu, handle social media, let them shine. Yuto nodded: "I already expected this, boss. You're ready to grow more." Himari smiled sadly: "Just don't take the girls away, okay? They're family now." Harumi and Hana made puppy-dog faces but understood.
We hired quickly. The new cook was Himari's recommendation: a quiet 28-year-old guy, her former apprentice at the old restaurant, unemployed for months. Learned fast, precise hands. The new server was a beautiful foreigner: daughter of a Japanese man and Brazilian woman, natural blonde, green eyes, big breasts and ass that drew attention effortlessly. Spoke fluent Japanese with a light, charming accent. She would perfectly replace Elinalise when the time came.
A week later, with the new hires in training, I was in the kitchen helping Yuto when a familiar face appeared at the back door.
Takeshi.
Son of Daichi, owner of a modest ramen-ya in the neighboring town. His father had been an old friend of my dad—helped when Daichi opened the business, giving seasoning and management tips. Takeshi was two years older than me. We played together as kids when the families met. I hadn't seen him in years.
"Kaito! Damn, look how much this place has grown!" he said, entering with a wide smile. "Lots of people, servers hotter than the last…"
I laughed, wiping my hands on the apron.
"Thanks, Takeshi. Took out a loan, invested heavy. Hired the girls… some temporary ones I found online, pretty server service to attract customers. It worked."
He nodded, looking around.
"Girlfriend? Or are you banging all of them?"
"Nah, just work really…"
He winked, like he didn't believe it.
"Seriously? I'm dating Aoi, remember her? From our school days. Big tits, super slutty. Sex is insane, man. She loves when I…"
He started talking low, unnecessary details: how her tits bounced, how she moaned when he fucked her from behind. I found it weird—exposing his girlfriend like that to an old acquaintance? I smiled politely:
"Glad you're happy, Takeshi."
His phone rang. He picked it up: foldable, shiny red case. Opened the inner screen, answered quickly.
"It's my dad. Needs me in the kitchen. See ya, Kaito!"
He left in a hurry.
My blood ran cold. "It can't be."
That night I went back to the recordings. Frame by frame again. The gesture of opening the phone, the red phone case. It was him. And the other… probably the father, Daichi. Why?
We finished the day as usual: played Mortal Kombat on the Switch (Nazuna screaming "Fatality!" every time she won), laughed, had light sex on the futon. They fell asleep pressed against me.
In the early hours, light sleep because of the anger. I heard noise: cans falling, footsteps on the sidewalk. I got up without waking anyone, put on a jacket, grabbed the phone. Live cameras: two hoods again, throwing more papers.
I went out the back, circled silently. Caught them head-on, phone flashlights illuminating.
"Is that you, Takeshi?"
They froze. The other pulled off the hood: Daichi.
Takeshi laughed nervously.
"How did you find out?"
"Recordings. Tell me why."
Daichi spat on the ground.
"How did you get all this so fast? Our ramen-ya never took off. You took all the customers. And you still live with those whores? I followed you guys. Saw you fucking in the forest, on the beach… jealousy? Maybe. But I'm going to do everything to take what you have."
Takeshi nodded, cold eyes.
"You don't deserve it."
I lost it. Went after Takeshi. They reacted: Daichi grabbed a trash can, Takeshi a piece of wood from the ground. I took more hits than I gave—punch to the face, kick to the ribs, wood to the eyebrow. Blood ran into my eye. They ran when they saw I wasn't going down easy.
I limped upstairs. They were still sleeping. Went to the bathroom, turned on the dim light. In the mirror: split lip, open eyebrow, swollen black eye, bruised arms. Cleaned the blood, applied bandage, ointment. Lay back down, body aching, mind spinning.
Tomorrow they would see. And they would ask. And I didn't know how to explain that the real world, the world without a magic stone, could still hurt.
I didn't sleep well that night. My body hurt in places I didn't even know could hurt: ribs throbbing with every deep breath, eyebrow burning under the makeshift bandage, swollen lip rubbing against my tongue every time I tried to speak. I stared at the dark ceiling of the room, listening to the calm breathing of the three beside me—Elinalise pressed against my left chest, leg thrown over mine; Nazuna curled up on the other side, thin little hand on my arm; 2B lying on her back, eyes closed but posture still a little rigid, as if sleep didn't fully relax her. They slept like angels, and there I was, awake, tasting the metallic flavor of dried blood in my mouth.
I was the first to wake up, as always when the mind won't shut off. I got up slowly so as not to wake them, but the movement made my ribs complain. I sat on the edge of the futon, feet on the cold tatami, and stared at the floor. The room still smelled like sex from the night before—sweat, lubrication, a faint vanilla scent from Elinalise mixed with 2B's scent. It was comforting and painful at the same time.
2B woke up next. Her blue eyes opened slowly, sleepy, took a few seconds to focus on me. When she saw my face—swollen black eye, cut lip, bandage on the eyebrow—she blinked twice, as if processing the information.
"What happened, Kaito?" she asked, voice low but firm. She sat up quickly, sheet falling to her waist, exposing her small firm breasts. "Nazuna. Elinalise. Wake up. Kaito is hurt."
Nazuna grumbled, turning to the side, still half asleep.
"Hmm… five more minutes… okay?"
Elinalise opened her reddish-brown eyes, yawning lazily, messy blonde curls falling over her face.
"What? Kaito hurt? What do you mean?"
She sat up in a jump when she saw my face. Nazuna woke fully, rubbing her red eyes.
"Kaito? What the fuck is that on your face?!"
The three surrounded me on the futon. Elinalise touched my lip carefully, fingers trembling. Nazuna held my chin, turning my face to the dim lamp light. 2B analyzed coldly, but her eyes were worried—a human worry, not mechanical.
"Who did this?" 2B asked, voice low and dangerous.
I looked at the ceiling again, neutral expression. No way to hide it. I could make up that I fell down the stairs, hit the bathroom door, any stupid lie. But why? They deserved the truth. I didn't want to lie to them. Never.
"Sit down," I said, hoarse voice. "I'm going to tell you everything."
They arranged themselves around me: Elinalise on one side, Nazuna on the other, 2B in front, legs crossed, waiting like a soldier awaiting a report.
I told them. From the papers on the sidewalk, the hate phrases taped to the glass, to me going out in the early hours and catching them in the act. I talked about the hoods, the quick and uneven fight—two against one, trash cans and pieces of wood against my fists. I said I recognized Takeshi by the red foldable phone. I talked about the envy: their ramen-ya not taking off, our restaurant packed, the girls living with me, the sex they saw in the forest (Daichi had followed us at some point). All pure jealousy.
Nazuna gritted her teeth.
"I'm going to kill them. Vampire or not, I'll rip their heads off."
2B nodded, cold eyes.
"Maximum efficiency. I can neutralize both in under thirty seconds."
Elinalise held their hands, firm voice.
"Calm down. You're not that anymore. Here we're normal humans. Violence will only make everything worse—prison, lawsuit, closing the restaurant. No."
I agreed, she was completely right.
"She's right. We'll handle it the right way. I'll take the recordings to the police station."
They protested, but accepted. We had breakfast in silence: cold onigiri, green tea, fresh miso soup. They looked at me worried while I chewed slowly, lip hurting. After, they went down to the restaurant—supervise, smile at customers, pretend everything was normal. I collected the camera files (including the overnight fight, which the external cameras caught), put them on a pen drive, and went to the city police station.
The place was small, smell of old coffee and paper. I explained everything to the on-duty officer: repeated vandalism, recordings, identification of suspects (Daichi and Takeshi), the self-defense fight. Handed over the pen drive, my details, said I didn't start the aggression—only tried to stop the vandalism and they came at me. The officer noted everything, said they would check the images, notify the suspects, and give me a return by phone. I nodded, left limping a little.
I went back home. Avoided appearing in the restaurant while the wounds healed—the girls told the staff I had the flu, better to stay home. They managed everything: Elinalise in the dining room with irresistible charm, Nazuna taking photos for Insta, 2B in the kitchen helping Yuto with military precision. Daichi and Takeshi didn't show up there. The vandalism stopped. The bad comments on social media disappeared suddenly, as if someone had ordered them to shut up.
Four days after the report, the phone rang while I was resting on the futon. It was a female officer.
"Mr. Aoki? This is from Tsuruoka police station. The suspects Daichi and Takeshi were notified today. They received a formal warning, a restraining order to stay away from your establishment, and notice that any repeat will lead to criminal charges. The camera footage was sufficient. If there's any more incident, notify us immediately."
I thanked her, hung up. Relief mixed with residual anger.
I told the girls when they came up at the end of the shift. They threw themselves on the futon around me, relieved.
Elinalise kissed my bruised face carefully.
"It's over, love. They won't mess with us anymore."
Nazuna hugged my waist.
"If they try again, I'll forget I'm human and rip their balls off."
2B held my hand, fingers intertwined.
"You did the right thing. Justice, not revenge. Efficiency. Though I still think killing them would be more efficient."
I smiled, despite the pain.
"Yeah. It's over."
But deep down, a little voice insisted: envy doesn't disappear with a notification. What if they came back? What if the problem wasn't just the restaurant? What if the stone, which brought so much good, attracted more shadows?
I hugged the three of them, warm bodies pressed against mine. They kissed me slowly, affectionate hands on my back, chest, avoiding the bruises. We didn't have sex that night—my wounds still hurt too much—but we stayed there, hugging, breathing together. Aoki-ya was safe. We were together.