Fifty push-ups. Sixty. Seventy. Yoichi's arms trembled as sweat rolled down his bare back, soaking into the carpet beneath him. Pain lanced through his muscles, but he welcomed it—this familiar burn grounded him in reality.
"Eighty," he grunted, lowering himself once more to the floor, his nose nearly touching the carpet.
The physical exertion helped him think, helped him sort through the chaos of the past twenty-four hours. Living with five girls. The rigged quintuplet game. And now Ichika's strange series of video calls.
He collapsed onto his back, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling. What was that all about? Her excuse about researching a role was paper-thin. She wanted information about instruments. Was she actually planning to buy him something?
The thought made his stomach knot. He didn't need charity from these people. Especially not from his daughters.
Yoichi rolled onto his feet in a single fluid motion, stretching his arms overhead. His muscles ached in a satisfying way that told him he'd pushed just hard enough.
"I need a shower," he muttered, catching a whiff of himself.
He froze mid-stretch, a new problem presenting itself. The penthouse layout flashed through his mind—one massive bathroom. Not individual ones for each bedroom. And Miku was the only other person home.
Yoichi closed his eyes, imagining the potential disaster:
He walks in, assuming the bathroom is empty. Steam fills the room. Through the haze, he sees a silhouette in the massive tub—Miku, her eyes wide with shock and horror. A moment of terrible silence, then a scream that brings the building's security running.
"I don't need that headache," he muttered.
Yoichi pulled on a t-shirt and padded barefoot down the hallway. Most of the doors were closed tight, but Miku's stood slightly ajar, a soft blue light spilling out into the dimly lit corridor. He paused, listening. The faint sound of a documentary narrator droned from within.
He knocked softly. No response.
He knocked again, louder this time.
From inside came the distinct rustle of movement, followed by the soft sound of headphones being removed. The door creaked open a few inches, revealing Miku's face peering out from behind her long bangs. One dark blue eye regarded him warily.
"What?" Her voice was barely audible, guarded.
Yoichi didn't waste time with pleasantries. "I'm about to use the bath. Just making sure you weren't planning to."
"No." She started to close the door.
Yoichi's eye caught the image on the TV screen behind her. Men in ancient armor stood in formation on a grassy field. Banners emblazoned with familiar crests fluttered in the wind. His mother had painted that scene once.
"Is that the Fourth Battle of Kawanakajima?" he asked, the words escaping before he could stop them.
The door froze mid-close. Miku's single visible eye widened, her lips parting slightly in surprise. For a heartbeat, she said nothing.
Then the door inched open wider. Her face emerged fully from behind the curtain of her hair, both eyes now visible and bright with sudden interest.
"You know about Kawanakajima?"
Yoichi leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.
"Yeah. My mom was an artist. She specialized in historical paintings, especially Sengoku period stuff. We used to watch documentaries together all the time so she could get the details right in her work."
Miku took a half-step forward, her usual wall of reserve cracking. "Who led the Uesugi clan?"
"Kenshin, the 'Dragon of Echigo,'" he answered without hesitation.
"Takeda Shingen's battle philosophy?" Her voice grew stronger, more insistent.
"Fūrin Kazan. 'As swift as wind, as gentle as forest, as fierce as fire, as unshakable as mountain.'" Yoichi crossed his arms. "Good psychological warfare, but it made him predictable. Kenshin exploited that weakness."
Miku stepped fully into the doorway now, her headphones dangling forgotten around her neck. Her eyes sparked with an intensity he hadn't seen from her before.
"Predictable? It was a declaration of unstoppable force!" The words burst from her like water through a broken dam. "Kenshin's victory was a fluke, a result of Takeda's generals disobeying orders, not a flaw in the philosophy itself!"
Yoichi blinked, taken aback by the sudden torrent of words from the girl who had barely spoken complete sentences until now. Her entire demeanor had transformed. Her shoulders were no longer hunched, her voice no longer a whisper. Her hands moved animatedly as she spoke, punctuating her points.
"Kenshin had superior terrain knowledge," Yoichi countered. "The woodpecker formation he used caught Takeda completely off-guard."
"Because Takeda's forces moved too early! If Baba Nobufusa had waited for the signal, the outcome would have been entirely different." Miku's cheeks had taken on a flush of color. "The entire course of Japanese history might have changed."
Yoichi found himself genuinely intrigued. "So you think the Takeda clan could have unified Japan instead of Tokugawa?"
"Not necessarily, but—" Miku suddenly stopped, as if realizing what was happening. Her eyes darted to Yoichi's face, then away. The torrent of words dried up as quickly as it had started, and she seemed to shrink back into herself, hiding once more behind her curtain of hair.
She tugged at her headphone cord, twisting it around her finger. "You... really know a lot about this."
"My mom loved history," Yoichi said, his voice softening. "She said you can't paint what you don't understand. So we learned together."
He could still see her, sitting cross-legged on their apartment floor, books spread around her, sketching battle formations with charcoal-stained fingers.
Miku glanced back into her room, then at Yoichi.
"I'm watching a documentary series," she said finally, her voice quiet again but with an undercurrent of something new. Hope, perhaps. "About the major battles of the Sengoku period. If you want, after your bath..." She trailed off, looking down at her feet.
"You could watch too," she finished, barely audible. "If you're not busy."
Yoichi studied her for a moment.
"Sure," he said. "After I shower. What episode are you on?"
Miku's head snapped up, surprise evident in her widened eyes. She clearly hadn't expected him to accept so easily.
"Um, three. They just finished covering Okehazama."
"Nobunaga's ambush. That's a good one." Yoichi nodded. "My mom painted that battle scene too. She loved how the thunderstorm masked their approach."
"I have snacks," Miku added hurriedly, as if afraid he might change his mind. "If you want some."
"Sounds good." Yoichi pushed himself off the doorframe. "I'll be quick."
As he walked toward the bathroom, he heard the soft click of Miku's door closing.
His mother would have liked Miku, he thought. She always appreciated people who cared about the stories behind the history, not just the dates and names.
The bathroom was exactly as opulent as he'd expected—marble floors, multiple shower stations, and a tub big enough for a small army. He stripped quickly and stepped under the hot spray, letting the water sluice away the sweat and tension.
Twenty minutes later, dressed in clean sweats and a faded t-shirt, hair still damp, Yoichi stood outside Miku's door again. He hesitated, hand raised to knock.
What was he doing? Getting comfortable here was dangerous. These girls weren't his family. This place wasn't his home. It was all temporary, a means to an end.
But the memory of his mother's voice echoed in his mind: "Knowledge shared is twice as valuable, Yoichi. Never pass up the chance to learn from someone who sees the world differently than you do."
He knocked.
The door opened immediately, as if Miku had been waiting just on the other side. She'd changed into comfortable pajamas, a loose t-shirt with what looked like a samurai helmet logo and soft pants. Her headphones were gone, her hair pulled back slightly to keep it from her face.
"I made tea," she said, gesturing to a small tray on the floor near a pile of cushions. "And these are rice crackers. The spicy ones are good."
Her room surprised him. Unlike the chaos of Ichika's space or what he imagined would be Nino's aggressively trendy decor, Miku's room was almost traditional. A low table, tatami mats covering part of the floor, shelves lined with history books and what looked like strategy games. A string of small paper lanterns cast a warm glow across the space. It felt peaceful, intentionally separated from the modern luxury of the rest of the penthouse.
"Nice room."
Miku looked around as if seeing it through his eyes. "It's quiet here. I can think."
She settled onto a cushion, tucking her legs beneath her. Yoichi sat across from her, noting the traditional Japanese tea set—simple, elegant ceramics.
"The documentary is paused where I left off," she said, pointing to the TV. "They're about to explain Nobunaga's psychological tactics."
Yoichi nodded, accepting the cup of tea she offered. "My mom always said Nobunaga would have made an excellent artist. He understood how to create lasting impressions."
"She painted these battles?" Miku asked, her curiosity breaking through her reserve.
"Yeah. She specialized in ukiyo-e style historical art. She had a small gallery in Osaka that showcased her work." Pride crept into his voice. "She was really good, but the market for traditional art is small."
"Do you have any pictures? Of her paintings?" Miku asked, then quickly added, "You don't have to show me if you don't want to."
Yoichi hesitated, then pulled out his battered phone. He scrolled through the photos, past dozens of his mother's works, until he found what he was looking for.
"This was her Kawanakajima piece," he said, passing her the phone. "She worked on it for months."
Miku took the phone carefully, as if handling a precious artifact. Her eyes widened as she studied the image—a masterful ukiyo-e style painting depicting the famous battle, with Kenshin and Shingen locked in personal combat at the center, their armies clashing around them in waves of movement and color.
"This is beautiful," she whispered, tracing the scene with her eyes. "The woodpecker formation is exactly right. And the way she captured Kenshin's expression..." She looked up at Yoichi, a new respect in her gaze. "Your mother was incredibly talented."
Something warm and unexpected bloomed in Yoichi's chest at the sincere appreciation in Miku's voice.
"She would have talked your ear off about Sengoku tactics," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "You two would have gotten along."
Miku handed the phone back carefully. "I would have liked that." She reached for the remote.
"Ready to continue?"