Noticing that Eri had gotten her act together, I cleared my throat and said, "Eri, could you please wash the breakfast dishes in the sink? I need to head to my room and set up accounts on some foreign porn sites."
Her delicate eyebrows shot up, and her lips parted slightly in surprise. It looked like she was remembering our heated chat from yesterday when she asked, "Aren't you going to school today?"
I gave her a cheeky grin, the morning sunlight streaming in from the kitchen window illuminating my face.
"Nope, I've got more important things to deal with here. So, about those dishes?"
She sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with her slender fingers as she nodded reluctantly.
"Alright, I'll wash them. You're the only one with cooking skills between us anyway..."
"Wait—you can't cook?"
I was genuinely shocked.
Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed dangerously, and her posture stiffened as she crossed her arms defensively.
"What? You think every woman should be stuck in the kitchen?"
Realizing she misunderstood me, I softened my tone.
"Cooking is a basic survival skill, Eri. It has nothing to do with gender—everyone should know how to whip up a meal."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, clearly annoyed by my little lecture.
Leaving her to simmer in her irritation, I retreated to my bedroom where the soft hum of my computer welcomed me.
The blue light from the screen lit up my determined face as I carefully searched for accessible websites.
After an hour of digging, I found five promising platforms: XXANDX with its sleek black design, PORNPRO with its flashy red banners, BRAZENNN's minimalist look, NOTFORKIDS with its ironically named neon green display, and XRODENTS, which had a creepy rodent mascot.
All were foreign sites mostly in English, needing just a Gmail account to sign up. With great care, I created a dedicated email address just for this, my fingers flying over the keyboard as I registered on each site.
Each site presented similar terms: copyright protections highlighted in bold text, recommendations for original content underlined in their policies, and prominently featured live streaming capabilities.
Just as I finished registering on the final website, my bedroom door swung open with a soft creak.
Eri glided into the room wearing the casual pink V-neck top and charcoal leggings I'd purchased for her yesterday at the department store.
The familiar citrus-and-sandalwood scent of my soap enveloped me like a cloud.
Had she really used my soap? I narrowed my eyes as she approached with catlike grace, leaning against the back of my chair.
Her slender arm draped across my shoulders, the warmth of her skin seeping through my thin cotton t-shirt.
She peered at my computer screen, her jasmine-scented breath tickling the sensitive skin of my ear.
"What are you doing, watching porn?"
Her melodical voice lilted with curiosity rather than judgment.
Her amber eyes fixed on the livestream—an American performer with caramel-tanned skin and generous curves, wearing nothing but a professional gaming headset with neon blue accents.
The woman on screen bit her full bottom lip, her manicured fingers tracing lazy circles around her bare boobs and her nipples as she performed for an invisible audience.
Even through the pixelated stream, her practiced movements showed years of experience in holding viewers' attention.
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly desert-dry.
"I'm not watching porn," I corrected, voice dropping to a whisper.
"I'm registering our account."
But Eri seemed transfixed, her gaze never leaving the screen as she leaned closer, her silken hair brushing against my cheek.
"What is she doing exactly?" she asked, her voice dropping an octave.
Recognizing her genuine curiosity, I explained, "She's livestreaming, talking directly with her fans in real-time."
Eri's delicate brows furrowed.
"It's not porn? There's no man there..."
The seriousness in her tone made me glance at her profile—her expression was studious, analytical.
"It is a type of porn," I clarified, scrolling down to reveal the chat window.
"Look how she's showing herself to viewers."
The rapid-fire messages scrolled by, each more explicit than the last.
One highlighted message stood out—a viewer offering $100 for showing masterbation with a dilto.
Eri's eyes widened slightly.
"How much is $100 in yen?" she asked, her finger hovering over the screen.
I immediately answered since I already know the exact money exchange ratio, "Each USD trades at precisely 122.25 yen, so one hundred dollars equals exactly 12,225 yen."
Eri's amber eyes widened, the golden flecks in her irises catching the blue light from the screen.
"12,225 yen from just one viewer?" Her slender fingers gripped the back of my chair, knuckles whitening.
"How much could she earn from the entire livestream?"
I scrolled through the chat, mental calculations racing.
"She has a very few audience, so roughly 85,000 to 100,000 yen for this session alone."
The color drained from Eri's porcelain face.
Her lips parted slightly, revealing the edge of her perfect teeth as she processed this information.
One hundred thousand yen—nearly half a salaryman's monthly wage—earned in a single broadcast by simply revealing bare skin.
I could almost see the gears turning behind her eyes, comparing this to her parents' exhausting work schedules, their perpetual fatigue.
"There are a lot of creeps in the world like Irie, I guess," she muttered, her voice barely audible over the soft hum of my computer fan.
I watched her face with fascination, tracking each micro-expression as her worldview visibly shifted.
She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully, leaving a small indentation in the soft flesh before fixing me with those penetrating eyes.
"Kiyoshi," she said, her voice suddenly firm and clear, "Can I do this 'livestreaming' thing right now?"
The question hit me like a physical blow.
My stomach dropped to my feet, blood rushing in my ears.
Yesterday she'd nearly broken my nose for suggesting to become pornstar, and now she was volunteering?
My thoughts raced to the system requirements, and immediately a translucent blue notification materialized in my field of vision.
[Ding! Eriko's solo livestreaming doesn't meet the minimum recording requirements...]
I swallowed hard, my throat clicking audibly in the quiet room. Her expectant gaze burned into me as I gathered myself.
"Do you know how to speak English?" I asked instead of answering.
She shook her head, silky strands of hair brushing against her shoulders.
"I can barely read it, let alone speak properly," she admitted, then added with a hint of admiration, "But you can. You're more fluent than our English teacher or anyone I knew..."
Regret washed over me like acid rain.
All those hours perfecting my English pronunciation in front of mirrors, bragging about my TOEIC scores—for what?
To become a live porn translator?
My temples throbbed as I forced my voice to remain steady.
"The livestream isn't simple," I explained, gesturing at the screen where the American performer now traced lazy circles around her pussy lips.
"They'll demand to see everything—cleavage, boobs, ass, pussy. Could you really handle that?"
Eri's amber eyes clouded momentarily, her teeth catching her bottom lip.
"If it's just showing my boobs and speaking seductively..."
My chair crashed against the desk as I shot to my feet, blood rushing to my face in hot waves.
"Are you serious?"
My voice cracked like thin ice.
"Yesterday you nearly broke my nose when I suggested we become porn actors. You only wanted to film a kissing scene. Now suddenly you'll bare yourself to strangers while I translate your dirty talk?"
Her delicate features froze, eyes widening like a startled deer.
I couldn't stop the torrent of words spilling from my mouth, each word sharper than the last.
"I haven't even seen you naked yet, filming that innocent kiss made me sick with guilt. I skipped school today worried you might hurt yourself, and now you're making me look like an idiot!"
My hands trembled as I gestured wildly between us.
"Why the sudden change? Yes, it's your body, your choice—but don't I deserve to be the first? To see you, to touch you?"
The final question escaped as a desperate whisper: "Do you hate making these videos with me specifically?"
My unfiltered thoughts poured out like blood from a wound I didn't know I had.
Silence engulfed between us, only after few moments after I spoke did I realized my own words…