Yoichi woke to sunlight slicing across his face. He blinked, disoriented. The bedroom ceiling came into focus, pristine white and unfamiliar. Not his Osaka apartment with its water stains and peeling paint.
The penthouse. Right.
He fumbled for his phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen. 9:30 AM.
"Shit."
He sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. Last night's movie marathon had stretched into the early hours. The quintuplets' laughter, the shared popcorn bowl, Ichika's shoulder occasionally brushing against his—it had felt almost like family.
His phone buzzed with notifications from the group chat. He scrolled through them with increasing dread.
YOICHI-SANNNN! WE'RE SO SORRY! WE TOTALLY FORGOT TO WAKE YOU UP FOR SCHOOL! I HOPE YOU'RE NOT MAD! DON'T GET LOST ON YOUR WAY! - Yotsuba (8:15 AM)
Tanigawa-kun, it has come to my attention that we have neglected our shared responsibility of ensuring your timely arrival for your first day of classes. This is a regrettable oversight. Please refer to the digital map I have sent to your inbox. - Itsuki (8:16 AM)
You are late. School starts in 10 minutes. - Miku (8:20 AM)
Loser. - Nino (8:30 AM)
Nothing from Ichika.
Yoichi stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at Tokyo's sprawling skyline. An hour late on his first day. Perfect start to his academic career.
He fell back onto the bed with a grunt. "If anyone asks, I got lost on the road of life," he muttered to himself.
The sheets twisted around his legs as he stood, sticky with sleep sweat. His mouth tasted like stale popcorn. His hair felt greasy against his fingertips.
A shower. That's what he needed. A reset.
"At least I'll have that ridiculous bathtub all to myself," he said, grabbing a fresh towel and a pair of boxers from his drawer. "A small silver lining."
He padded barefoot down the hallway toward the grand bath. The penthouse sat in perfect silence, sunlight streaming through the windows onto empty furniture. Everyone gone. School, probably. Or wherever rich girls went on weekday mornings.
A tune rose to his lips, soft and melancholic—one of his mother's favorites. The memory brought a rare softness to his features as he pushed open the bathroom door without knocking.
Steam clung to the mirrors, fogging the marble surfaces. The faint scent of jasmine hung in the air. His whistling continued, uninterrupted, as he tossed his towel onto a bench. He kicked off his sweatpants and underwear, then pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid motion.
He turned toward the shower stalls.
And stopped.
She stood by the sink—Ichika—a small towel clutched to her chest. Her hair clung to her neck in damp tendrils. Water droplets traced lazy paths down her collarbone.
Their eyes met.
The towel slipped from her fingers.
It pooled at her feet with a soft whisper of fabric against skin.
Yoichi's whistling died in his throat with a pathetic wheeze.
Full breasts with bubblegum pink nipples. The gentle slope of her stomach. The soft triangle of hair between her thighs.
His brain short-circuited.
Her eyes widened, lips parting in shock—but they didn't stay on his face. They dropped, traveling down his chest, over the ridges of his abdomen that years of hard labor had carved into his frame, lower to where dark hair formed a trail leading to—
Her gaze fixed there, unblinking.
Two seconds passed. Three. Four.
The only sound was water dripping from a faucet.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
She stared. He stared back.
Her lips formed a small 'o' as something changed. Something that made her eyes widen further.
Yoichi felt blood rushing south. His body reacting to her unabashed scrutiny with a slow, undeniable transformation.
Their gazes snapped back to each other's faces.
"Why are YOU here?!" They spoke in perfect unison.
Ichika's hands flew up to cover herself, several seconds too late to matter.
"You have class!" Yoichi's voice came out rougher than intended. "I have an excuse, what's yours?"
"I... I felt sick this morning."
Her eyes kept darting downward, then jerking back up to his face, her cheeks burning crimson.
Yoichi turned away sharply, reaching for his discarded clothes. He needed to leave. Now.
"Wait!"
Her voice stopped him, his hand frozen halfway to his sweatpants.
"What?"
"We're... we're both late anyway..."
The soft pad of bare feet on tile. She was moving closer.
"Why don't you... come in?" Her voice had dropped to a husky whisper that sent shivers racing down his spine. "We could... save time. And water."
Behind him, her breathing quickened.
"Are you serious?" he asked, still facing away.
"I... I don't know." Her voice trembled slightly. "Maybe. Yes?"
He turned his head just enough to see her in his peripheral vision. She stood with one arm across her chest, the other hanging at her side.
"What exactly are you offering, Ichika?"
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. "I don't know that either. I just..."
Outside the bathroom, a distant door slammed.
They froze.
"Is that..." Yoichi began.
Footsteps echoed through the penthouse. Multiple sets. Voices.
"...can't believe you made me come back with you," came Nino's distinct growl.
"I hope Yoichi-san's okay," Yotsuba's voice followed, bright with concern.
Ichika's eyes went wide with panic. "They're home."
"Why are they home?" Yoichi hissed.
"They must have come back to check on us."
More footsteps. Coming closer.
"Ichika-nee!" Yotsuba called. "Are you feeling better?"
They stared at each other, naked, flushed, and now trapped.
"I'm... fine!" Ichika called back, her voice rising at least an octave. "Just... getting ready!"
"Have you seen Yoichi? We couldn't find him in his room and his phones location is still in the house."
Yoichi shot Ichika a panicked look. She covered her mouth, suppressing what might have been a hysterical giggle.
"No! Haven't seen him!"
"I'm gonna leave some towels inside for you okay?"
Yoichi grabbed his towel, wrapping it around his waist in a frantic motion. Ichika snatched hers from the floor, clutching it to her chest.
"No need!" she called out. "I'm good!"
Too late. The doorknob turned.
Yoichi dove behind the shower curtain just as the door cracked open.
"I'm naked!" Ichika shrieked.
The door instantly slammed shut. "Sorry!" Yotsuba yelped. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I'm fine, just... woman things!"
"Oh!" A pause. "Have you seen Yoichi-san? We're really worried."
Behind the curtain, Yoichi closed his eyes in silent prayer to any deity who might be listening.
"Nope! No idea!" Ichika's voice was unnaturally high. "Maybe he went exploring!"
"Maybe..." Yotsuba sounded doubtful. "Well... we'll keep looking. Feel better!"
Footsteps retreated down the hallway.
Yoichi peered around the curtain. Ichika stood with her back against the door, towel clutched to her chest, eyes closed. When she opened them, their gazes locked.
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then, simultaneously, laughter bubbled up between them—quiet at first, then growing until they were both shaking with it. The absurdity of the situation, the narrowly avoided disaster, the lingering tension—all of it dissolved into breathless, silent laughter.
"That," Ichika gasped, wiping tears from her eyes, "was too close."
"They're looking for me," Yoichi whispered, his earlier humor evaporating. "If they find me here..."
"Half-naked," Ichika added, tightening her grip on her towel.
"With you..."
"Also half-naked."
Their eyes met, and the gravity of their situation settled over them like a heavy blanket.
"They'll never let us live it down," Ichika murmured, her actress's mind already spinning through scenarios. She pressed her ear to the bathroom door. "They're in the living room. Talking. Nino sounds annoyed—so, normal—and Yotsuba's worried."
Yoichi ran a hand through his damp hair, shaking loose water droplets that trailed down his chest. "There's no way I can get back to my room without them seeing me."
Ichika watched him, her gaze calculating. Then, slowly, her lips curved into a smile that transformed her face from worried to mischievous.
"You need a distraction," she said, eyebrows arching. "A big one."
Yoichi's eyes narrowed. "What kind of distraction?"
Her smile widened "Leave that to me. I'm a professional." She tapped her chest with her thumb. "Five-time winner of the Quintuplet Best Actress award."
"That's... a thing?"
"It will be when I save your ass." She pulled her phone from the pocket of her robe that hung nearby. "Here's what we'll do. I'll text you when the coast is clear. You stay hidden until then."
Yoichi frowned. "And go where? Back to my room?"
"No, genius. Out the front door, then back in again. We'll make them think you just got home." She waggled her phone. "When I text, you make a run for the stairs. Get dressed, then come back down like nothing happened."
"That's... actually not terrible."
"Try to contain your amazement," she said dryly. "And for god's sake, hold onto that towel. I've seen enough of you for one morning."
Her gaze flickered downward for a brief second, and despite the tension, a smirk played at the corner of her mouth.
"Text me when it's time," he said, voice rougher than intended.
Ichika nodded, squaring her shoulders like a soldier preparing for battle.
"Showtime."