Now, with two goddesses on the futon, the cramped space turned into a sweet and inevitable problem. We slept clinging to each other—hot bodies pressed together, legs intertwined, arms overpping—, which was delicious, but also uncomfortable after a few hours. Elinalise would compin in the morning that Nazuna kicked, Nazuna would grumble that Elinalise took up all the space with her blonde curls, and I stayed in the middle, chuckling quietly while trying not to fall off the narrow mattress.

  I decided to fix this once and for all. I left Aoki-ya in the hands of the assistant cook I had recently hired—a quiet, efficient guy who already knew the menu by heart. Elinalise and Nazuna kept serving: Elinalise with her irresistible charm, smiles that filled the tip jar; Nazuna, despite her natural zy vampire ziness, making an effort to be useful. She carried ptes with a slow, feline grace, sometimes forgetting an order, but the customers loved the “mysterious purple-haired girl” who looked like she stepped out of an anime. Business picked up, and the restaurant finally breathed life.

  While they worked, I went to the nearest furniture store—a trip I had never made alone. I bought a king-size futon, bigger than normal, the kind that seems to swallow the entire room. By the measurements, it would take up almost the entire floor of the second story. I thought to myself: I’m going to have to reorganize everything… but it’s worth it.

  I also got new soft cotton sheets, light summer bnkets, and extra pillows—those plush ones that sink your head. The final amount made the back of my neck itch: I had never bought things like this before, had no idea of the price. And then reality hit: now there are three of us. Expenses doubled—food, clothes, bills. They arrived in this world with only the clothes on their backs (or almost), and they had been wearing old pieces of my mother’s that had been stored in the closet for years. Clothes that fit, but weren’t theirs. I brought them here with my perverted mind and the power of the stone. They deserved a good life. New clothes, comfort, security. I need to make more money.

  I hitched a ride with the delivery guy from the store—a friendly guy who commented “big family, huh?” while unloading the boxes. I carried everything up the stairs alone before their shift ended.

  The new futon was enormous. Once installed, it took up almost the entire room, leaving only space for a TV on the wall and a small walkway. I moved the gaming PC, the shelf of figures and manga, the stacks of light novels—everything to my father’s old room downstairs. While organizing the boxes there, I paused for a second looking at the empty space. I remembered him. My father. He still called from time to time, asking if the restaurant was still standing. Maybe I could ask him for a loan… or at least some advice. I mentally noted to call him ter.

  I went back to the room and finished: new sheets stretched tight, bnkets folded, plush pillows lined up. It looked perfect—cozy, spacious, ready for the three of us. Just the TV on the wall to binge anime together, and the rest was space for pressed bodies, ughter, and long nights.

  I heard the restaurant door close downstairs. They came up, tired but excited. Giggles echoed from the bathroom—running water, muffled voices.

  “Where’s Kaito? He’s taking too long…” Nazuna asked, her voice zy but needy.

  “I hope he’s not cheating on us with some anime waifu,” Elinalise joked, ughing.

  They came out of the bathroom wrapped in towels, wet hair dripping, skin flushed from the steam. They froze at the door when they saw me standing on the new futon, arms open, smiling.

  “I know you deserve so much more… but I hope you like it,” I said, voice low, almost shy.

  Elinalise’s eyes widened first, then she broke into a huge smile and let the towel fall without ceremony.

  “Love… this is perfect!” she excimed, jumping onto the futon and rolling around like a child, blonde curls flying.

  Nazuna stood still for a second, red eyes shining. Then she ran and threw herself on too, ughing loudly.

  “It’s huge! It fits all three of us… and there’s still room for more mess,” she said, pulling Elinalise into a hug and beckoning me with an outstretched hand. “Come here, Kaito. Test it with us.”

  They loved it. A lot. We rolled on the new futon, ughing, kissing, bodies still hot from the bath intertwining. The small room became our entire world—cozy, intimate, ours.

  That night we slept clinging together again, but without the squeezing. Just comfort, warmth, and the certainty that this was only the beginning.

  The next day, a zy Saturday weekend, I decided to call the old man. I never had anything to compin about him. Kind to the bone, he loved my mother with a quiet devotion that I only understood now that I had Elinalise and Nazuna by my side. After Mom died, he didn’t let me sink into depression—he stayed there, silent but present, forcing me to get up and work. When he met that beautiful, gentle woman in the neighboring town, I didn’t hesitate to support him. He needed to move on, or he would wither behind the restaurant counter like cold tempura. And when he left me behind with Aoki-ya, it wasn’t abandonment: it was trust. “Figure it out, Kaito. Grow up. Be responsible.” Harsh words back then, but now I thanked him.

  The call was simple, as always. We talked about the weather in Yamagata, restaurant business, his news with the new partner. When I brought up the subject—pns to improve Aoki-ya—he didn’t hesitate.

  “You’re thinking big, son. That’s good. Send me the bill ter, I’ll lend you whatever you need. Pay it back slowly, with the profit. I don’t want to see you struggling.”

  I accepted. It wasn’t charity; it was a father supporting a son who was finally growing up.

  I didn’t let it cool off. I called Elinalise and Nazuna to the new futon, we sat in a circle with paper and pen, and pnned everything. New decoration: light walls with wood and navy blue touches to remind us of the nearby sea. Modern kitchen equipment—new stove, electric fryer, bigger fridge. Comfortable tables and chairs, warm mps instead of the old cold ones. And the highlight: I remembered that when I climbed onto the roof years ago to fix a leak, you could see the Sea of Japan in the distance, a piece of blue horizon between the mountains.

  “Let’s make a second floor,” I proposed. “Half covered, half open. Terrace with sea view. Outdoor tables, umbrels, pnts. Tourists will go crazy.”

  Elinalise cpped.

  “Perfect! We’ll turn into Tsuruoka’s spot for anyone who wants to watch the sunset with a katsu-curry in hand.”

  Nazuna, lying face-down on the futon, swung her feet.

  “And more expensive, eye-catching dishes… Like tonkatsu with special sauce, or a fresh seafood set from the port.”

  Unfortunately, the terrace would take a bit of the already small house space—my father’s room became a storage for old stuff, and the stock shrank. But it would be worth it. The focus was shifting: no longer just for locals who order the same teishoku for 30 years. Now, attract tourists—people from Sendai, from Tokyo, foreigners looking for “authentic Yamagata with a view.” More eborate dishes, slightly higher prices, full experience.

  By Monday we already had a local contractor—a practical man of few words who accepted the job without charging an abusive fortune. We expined everything: second floor, semi-open terrace, soundproofing so as not to bother the neighbors, renovated kitchen. He started on Wednesday.

  The renovation took a month and a half, and there was still one week until the opening. Meanwhile, we didn’t stop making money: we took phone and social media orders, delivering bento boxes to people’s homes. Customers came to pick up, praised the “beautiful new team” (Elinalise and Nazuna greeted at the entrance), and left generous tips. We worked fewer hours, but the pace was light. There was time to go out—sunset trails, weekend beach—, watch anime on the new futon, py on my old PS2 (Nazuna got addicted to Final Fantasy X and Kingdom Hearts, screaming “go, Tidus!” every time she lost a battle).

  And sex. A lot of sex. Lazy mornings with Nazuna waking me with slow, shy blowjobs that turned wild; afternoons with Elinalise pulling me into the improvised storage for a quickie against the wall; nights à trois on the huge futon, sweaty bodies intertwined until dawn.

  One week before the opening, I took the two of them shopping in Sendai—an entire day just for them. We went into every store that caught their eye: new clothes, lingerie they tried on and showed me in the fitting room (muffled giggles behind the curtain), light dresses to serve on the terrace, cute accessories for Nazuna. They bought a few things they hid from the bags.

  “It’s a secret!” Elinalise said, winking mischievously when I asked.

  Nazuna hugged my arm on the way back.

  “Rex, Kaito. It’s going to work out. I created Instagram and Twitter profiles for Aoki-ya. Photos of the terrace under construction, new dishes, us smiling… people are already commenting they’ll come to the opening.”

  Despite the worry—the loan from Dad, the money spent on renovation and shopping—the day was fun. They ughed, tried on clothes, kissed me in the street without shame. And I felt it: this was life. No longer solitary survival.

  I hope it works out.

  The opening was coming. Aoki-ya would never be the same again.

  That st week before the opening passed at a speed I had never experienced before. Maybe it was the anxiety hitting hard in my chest, or maybe it was because, for the first time, I wasn’t carrying everything alone on my back. Elinalise and Nazuna threw themselves body and soul into the project—each in her own unique way. Elinalise organized the customer flow with a charm that made anyone smile, testing poses on the new terrace for Instagram photos. Nazuna, with her feline ziness, took the photos and replied to comments on her phone, lying on the futon while typing short, teasing replies that made engagement explode. “Come watch the sunrise with us ?,” she wrote, and the hearts poured in.

  The restaurant turned out much better than I imagined. We nailed everything. We cleaned every corner: the worn wooden counter sanded until smooth and varnished, wobbly tables repced with new light oak ones, walls painted white with navy blue details that recalled the distant Sea of Japan. The terrace was the heart of the renovation: half covered with a wooden roof and retractable blinds for rainy days, half open with a view of the horizon where the sea met the mountains. Round tables, white umbrels, bamboo pots and paper nterns that lit up at dusk, creating a cozy and magical atmosphere.

  We bought standard uniforms for the three of us: light white blouses with 3/4 sleeves, navy blue pleated skirts at knee length (modest but elegant, with a short apron tied at the thin waist). Elinalise left the neckline subtly open, just enough to draw attention without overdoing it. Nazuna folded her skirt a little shorter, giving a more rexed and sexy vibe. I wore a simple white dress shirt with a bck apron—nothing fshy, just to match.

  The idea was to keep Aoki-ya open all day for the opening: from breakfast to dinner. That way we’d catch the sunrise viewers (just before 7 a.m. in Tsuruoka) and the sunset crowd (around 6:30 p.m.). We posted on Instagram and Twitter: “Official terrace opening! Sunrise with hot coffee and fresh onigiri. Sunset with dinner and sea view. Come!” The comments exploded: “Finally a pce like this in Yamagata!”, “Are the girls in the video real?”, “I’ll bring my bike and stay all day.”

  The opening was on a Saturday. Already at dawn, when I arrived at 5 a.m. to open the kitchen, there was already a line at the door. Groups of early-rising motorcyclists (helmets hanging on handlebars, leather jackets worn by the wind), trailer families parked in the improvised parking lot, curious locals and even Japanese tourists from Sendai who saw the post. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, but the air was fresh, smelling of dew, damp earth and distant sea salt.

  We opened at 6 a.m. sharp. The door chime rang nonstop. Yuto, the assistant cook I hired months ago, was already in the kitchen with me—a quiet guy, few words, but fast and precise hands. He fried onigiri on the griddle, prepared boiling miso soup, sliced perfect tamagoyaki. Elinalise and Nazuna served in the dining area and terrace: tray in hand, smile on face, leaning slightly to deliver the pte and letting the subtle cleavage catch attention without being vulgar.

  Customers who had already read the menu on social media went straight to the point: “A sunrise breakfast set with a view, please!” During sunrise, the terrace became a spectacle. The sky went from deep purple to soft orange, then gold, reflecting on the distant sea. Lots of people taking photos: couples hugging, groups of friends holding phones high, motorcyclists posing with their bikes in the background. Nazuna circuted with the tablet, taking live Instagram photos: “Sunrise at Aoki-ya! Come see it with us ?”. Elinalise served hot coffee and fresh onigiri, chatting with everyone like old friends.

  It was an extremely profitable day. In the morning alone, we made what used to take three full days. The cash register jingled nonstop: coffees, tuna and salmon onigiri, steaming miso soup, soft tamagoyaki. The terrace filled quickly—tables full, people standing waiting for a spot, ughter and conversation filling the air. But it was a lot, a lot, A LOT of rush. Two cooks (me and Yuto) and two servers (Elinalise and Nazuna) were too few for the flow. We completely forgot to think about that. Orders piled up in the kitchen, line at the entrance, customers waiting for tables. Yuto was sweating cold while frying tonkatsu nonstop, I ran between pots and griddle, Elinalise and Nazuna flew through the dining area and terrace with heavy trays.

  We managed to hold it together. At lunch, the rush continued strong: premium tonkatsu with special sauce, upgraded katsu-curry, fresh port seafood sets. In the afternoon, iced tea and traditional sweets. At sunset, the terrace turned magical: nterns lit, pink and orange sky reflecting on the sea, customers toasting with cold beer and hot dishes. Elinalise served with a smile that made anyone forget the exhaustion, Nazuna took sunset photos with customers posing beside her.

  At the end of the day, we were destroyed. Literally. The sun had set hours ago when we locked the door at 10 p.m. The cash register was full—numbers I never imagined seeing. We climbed the house stairs, sweaty bodies, wrinkled uniforms, legs shaking from exhaustion.

  In the small bathroom, we showered together—hot water running, hands touching slowly, tired ughter mixed with low moans of relief. Elinalise washed my back, Nazuna massaged my aching shoulders, and the three of us hugged under the warm water for long minutes, just feeling each other’s heat.

  We came out wrapped in towels, sat on the king-size futon we had bought weeks earlier. We ate something quick and light: leftover tuna and salmon onigiri from the kitchen (fresh, wrapped in crispy nori, still warm), iced green tea in tall gsses with clinking ice, some pieces of cold but tasty tamagoyaki. Nothing heavy—just enough to calm the empty stomach and replenish energy without weighing us down.

  Nazuna threw herself face-down on the futon, face in the pillow, voice muffled.

  “I’m never doing a 16-hour shift again… but it was amazing. Look at the register, Kaito… we did it.”

  Elinalise y beside her, kissing the sweaty nape of Nazuna’s neck.

  “You were perfect down there, Nazuna-chan. And the terrace? It looked like an anime scene. Everyone happy, photos nonstop… I felt truly alive.”

  Nazuna turned her face, smiling zily.

  “Me too. And you, love? Are you proud?”

  I y in the middle of them, pulling both against my chest.

  “Proud doesn’t cover it. I… I never thought Aoki-ya would become this. You two transformed everything. The restaurant, my life… everything.”

  Elinalise slowly kissed my jaw.

  “And tomorrow the routine repeats… but with more people to help. We’ll hire another server and another cook. We’re not going to work ourselves to death.”

  Nazuna snuggled closer, leg thrown over mine.

  “Tomorrow we rest a bit after lunch. Promise?”

  “I promise,” I replied, kissing her forehead, then Elinalise’s.

  We slept like rocks. Deep, dreamless, pure rest. Bodies pressed together, breathing synchronized, their scent wrapping me like a warm bnket. Because the next day the routine would repeat—but now with more customers, more ughter, more love and the certainty that Aoki-ya was no longer just a corner restaurant. It was the beginning of something much bigger.

  ??[Thank you very much for reading]??