It was Saturday, September 19, 2026—a quiet afternoon after a lazy walk through the neighborhood. The air still carried the damp smell of the morning rain, rice fields in the background shining under the weak September sun, the sacred mountains of Dewa Sanzan looming distant like silent sentinels. We came back home sweaty, feet dirty with earth, hands held—I in the middle, Elinalise on the left with blonde curls stuck to her nape, Nazuna on the right kicking pebbles, 2B behind with precise steps, blue eyes absorbing everything as if she were still cataloging the world.
We climbed the narrow stairs of the old two-story house, took off our sneakers at the entrance, and collapsed onto the king-size futon that already felt too small for the four of us. The room smelled like old house, instant coffee, and dried sex from the night before. Nazuna grabbed the tablet first, opened a real estate app, and started scrolling through house listings.
"Let's talk again about that bigger house?" she said, excited voice. "I can't stand hitting my toe on the shelf every time I roll on the futon anymore."
Elinalise laughed, lying face-down beside me, chin propped on her hands.
"Yes! Look at this one… look at the garden! We could make a private onsen in the backyard."
2B sat cross-legged, leaning in to see the screen.
"Large plot. Natural acoustic insulation. Questionable energy efficiency, but reformable."
I smiled, but my chest tightened. They scrolled through the photos with shining eyes: modern houses with huge windows, traditional ones with curved roofs, some with pools, others with sea views. "Wow, how big this one is!", "This would fit a huge game room!", "Look at this bedroom… we could put an entire shelf of manga and light novels", "There's a shed… perfect gym to train." They laughed, pointed, imagined furniture, discussed wall colors.
But the prices… absurd. Even with Aoki-ya's revenue exploding—terrace packed every day, generous tips, new premium dishes selling well—we were far from paying cash for something like that. I had already paid off half of my dad's loan, raised everyone's salary, saved a reserve. But big houses in Tsuruoka or surroundings cost triple what I could stretch right now.
"Well…" I said, low voice. "On Monday we'll go to a real real estate agency. See actual options nearby. These online ones are pretty, but the agent will show what fits the budget."
Elinalise kissed my cheek.
"Agreed, love. It's going to work out."
The rest of the weekend was sweet and slow. We watched Chainsaw Man (I finally finished the first season), played Mortal Kombat (Nazuna addicted to Mileena, 2B preferred Sub-Zero for the precision), reviewed the restaurant finances (stock okay, profit rising), had lazy sex on the futon—Elinalise riding slowly, Nazuna sucking my nipples, 2B on the side licking Elinalise's neck. And we talked about the house. For me, honestly, the house could be anything—a renovated shack, an old mansion, as long as they were there. I couldn't imagine myself alone anymore. The loneliness from before—cold nights on the futon with Crunchyroll on, cold onigiri in the microwave, 5ch threads at 3 a.m.—felt like a distant nightmare. Losing this would kill me more than any punch from Takeshi.
Monday, September 21. Elinalise and I went to a small real estate agency in downtown Tsuruoka. We had stopped walking everywhere as a group—gossip started circulating: "The owner of Aoki-ya is dating several at the same time?", "Those servers are promiscuous, they live with him." Better to avoid stares and malicious comments.
The agent was a middle-aged man, gray suit a bit worn, professional smile.
"Good morning! Looking for what exactly?"
Elinalise, firm but sweet voice:
"A big house. Minimum five bedrooms. A bit away from the center. Large plot, if possible."
He raised an eyebrow, amused.
"Planning on having lots of kids, huh?"
Elinalise hesitated a second, then smiled.
"Ah, yes… of course."
We looked at catalogs for about 40 minutes. Most were above budget—new houses, gated communities, values that would make Aoki-ya's cash register cry. I was already giving up when he pulled out an old folder.
"This one has been for sale for years. Even before I joined the agency. Never got a buyer."
He showed the photos. Traditional Japanese house, dark wood, curved roof, surrounded by a small forest—actually a government environmental reserve, which explained the isolation. Huge plot. Structure looked solid, but the photos showed neglect: vegetation invading the garden, fogged windows, peeling paint.
"It belonged to an elderly couple, retired entrepreneurs. They moved to the countryside, passed away. The children didn't want anything to do with it—put it up for sale and went to Yokohama and Tokyo to handle the family business. They're asking an absurdly low price just to get rid of the taxes. Of course… it needs heavy renovation."
Elinalise's eyes widened.
"I'd like to see this one."
The agent grabbed the keys, drove us in the company car. Asphalt road turned to dirt. Rusted iron gates, sign "Private Property – No Entry." We entered. Vegetation had taken over: waist-high weeds, young trees growing between the path stones, moss covering everything.
The house appeared at the end of the trail: large, imposing, but decayed. Roof crooked in places, rotting wooden veranda, broken windows covered by makeshift boards. It looked straight out of a Japanese horror movie—the kind where vengeful spirits haunt abandoned houses.
I thought: "Better not."
But Elinalise saw something else. She walked through the house like it was already hers: pointing out rooms ("Here a huge library"), measuring walls with steps ("Game room fits the king-size futon and more"), taking photos and sending them to the group with Nazuna and 2B ("Look at this! 8 bedrooms!"). Yes, eight bedrooms—various sizes, some with forest views, others with intact tatami.
I, not knowing much about construction, started inspecting the structure. Old wood, but solid—thick beams, traditional joints without loose nails. The agent confirmed:
"Built with the best material of the time. Survived earthquakes, snow, humidity. Just needs new finishing: flooring, partial roof, exterior paint, updated plumbing."
Besides the main house: a small shed for tools or storage, a closed garage for up to four cars, and a huge Japanese garden—stones, dry pond, moss-covered wooden bridges. Everything overtaken by nature, but with obvious potential.
Elinalise pulled me aside on the veranda.
"Love… I want this one. The girls already agreed in the group. It'll take work, but it's worth it. And with government incentives to repopulate the countryside… the price drops even more."
I looked at her—reddish-brown eyes shining with excitement, blonde curls swaying in the wind.
"Okay. Let's go for it."
We went back to the agency. Elinalise was almost jumping in the car seat.
"I want this one, love. It's going to be our house."
The agent smiled.
"Perfect. Reminder: the sale includes everything inside—old furniture, utensils, even some paintings and ceramics."
He adjusted the paperwork. I signed. Transferred 1/3 of the value (low enough to fit the current cash flow), would finance the rest over five years. He promised:
"At most three days and I deliver the documents and keys. Fast bureaucracy."
We called a GO Taxi and went home. Elinalise in the back seat, excited, sending photos to the group, planning renovations. I looked out the window, heart racing.
That old, abandoned, isolated house… felt like a risk. But it also felt like destiny. The stone had brought the girls. The restaurant had grown. Now, a house that had been waiting for us for years.
Maybe it was the next step. Or maybe it was where the shadow that light attracts would finally reach us.
But with them by my side, I was ready to find out.
As promised, the agent showed up at Aoki-ya around 11:30 a.m. that Monday, September 24. The door chime rang softly, and Elinalise—who was at the counter serving a group of tourists from Sendai—saw him first. She winked at me from across the dining room, waved discreetly, and escorted him to an empty table in the corner of the terrace, away from the crowd. Then she called me with a subtle nod.
Still wearing the apron dusted with flour from the tonkatsu I had helped prepare earlier. We sat. The agent, with his gray suit a bit wrinkled from the day's heat, opened a thin folder and slid the documents toward us.
"Everything's set. Final registration done at the registry office yesterday afternoon. Congratulations, the house is yours now."
He handed over the keys—a heavy bunch, old rusted iron mixed with shiny new copies. Elinalise took them first, fingers trembling slightly, reddish-brown eyes shining.
"Thank you… really."
I thanked him too, shaking his hand. Since it was lunchtime and the smell of katsu-curry and miso soup filled the air, Elinalise insisted:
"Stay and eat something. On us."
He accepted with a grateful smile. We served a full teishoku: crispy tonkatsu, steaming rice, fresh shredded cabbage, miso soup with tofu and green onion, iced green tea. He ate slowly, praising the seasoning ("Better than many places in Tokyo"), and left satisfied, promising to handle any remaining bureaucratic loose ends.
We went upstairs right after. Nazuna and 2B were already there—Nazuna lying face-down on the futon playing on the Switch, 2B sitting in the gaming chair analyzing the house blueprint on the tablet.
"So?" Nazuna asked, pausing the game.
I showed the keys. Elinalise raised the bunch like a trophy.
"We got it. It's ours."
Nazuna jumped on the futon, screaming with joy. 2B stood up slowly, took the keys carefully, as if they were an ancient artifact.
"Well… now it's time to start the house renovation," I said, feeling the weight of those words.
Nazuna hugged my waist.
"It's going to be fine, love. It's going to be perfect."
Elinalise and 2B nodded, eyes shining with anticipation.
Aoki-ya was already running on its own. Himari commanded the kitchen with an iron hand and motherly affection—seasonings adjusted, tonkatsu juicy inside and crispy outside, karaage that made customers come back the next day. Yuto was the perfect right-hand man, silent and efficient. Helena, the new Brazilian-Japanese server, had learned everything in record time: open smile, charming accent mixing Japanese and Portuguese, curvy body that drew looks (but she handled it gracefully, deflecting flirts with light jokes). She was more interactive than the others—chatted with customers, took photos for Insta, suggested dishes. The Google Maps praises came in droves: "The Brazilian blonde is a show on her own."
Nazuna, 2B, and Elinalise took short shifts: helped during lunch and sunset peaks, but didn't stay all day. I wanted them to live, not kill themselves working.
I called the same contractor who renovated the restaurant: Isamu, practical man of few words, and his son Osamu, young but skilled. They had availability. I sent the address and we scheduled to meet in front of the house the next afternoon.
This time, 2B came with me. She insisted—"I want to analyze the structure personally"—and I let her. We arrived by taxi. The rusted gate creaked when we opened it. Isamu and Osamu were already waiting, pickups full of tools, clipboards in hand.
We started right there at the entrance. 2B took the blueprint that came with the documents, cross-referenced it with Google Maps images, Elinalise's photos, and our notes on the tablet. She spoke with military precision:
"Gate: structural reinforcement, anticorrosive paint, automatic opening sensor. Solar LED lighting along the entrance path—20 poles, spaced 5 meters apart. Pavement of the dirt road: draining asphalt or permeable concrete, minimum width 3.5 meters for vehicles. Prune vegetation: selective removal of invasive trees, preservation of native reserve ones."
Isamu took notes, impressed. In the house, 2B pointed out everything:
"Exterior woodwork: partial replacement of beams exposed to humidity. Outlets and wiring: update to current standard, install DR circuit breakers. Roof: repair broken tiles, total waterproofing. Flooring: removal of damaged tatami, replacement with treated wood or resistant laminate. Exterior paint: waterproof sealant + traditional dark color. Interior finishes: mold removal, anti-mold paint, thermal insulation in walls."
Furniture: "Discard 70%—old mattresses, moldy sofas. Reuse and refurbish: solid wood tables, built-in cabinets, some antique ceramics."
Garden: "New pool here—8x4 meters, infinity edge for the forest view. Traditional renovation: restore stones, dry pond, wooden bridges, stone lanterns. Minimal maintenance to preserve the reserve ecosystem."
Tool shed: "Structural reinforcement, new metal shelving, interior LED lighting."
Garage: no keys in the padlocks. Osamu went to the car, came back with a small sledgehammer. Two precise blows—padlocks destroyed. We opened the double doors.
A strong smell of abandonment hit us: mold, dust, old leather, moldy paper. Inside: piles of old magazines, yellowed manga from the 80s/90s, accounting books, boxes of old photos. And a car covered by a dusty sheet.
Osamu whistled.
"Look at an old car. Must have been sitting for decades. Probably doesn't even run."
I walked around. Pulled off the sheet. Toyota 2000GT—faded pearl white, elegant lines, round headlights, long hood. A classic sports car, rare as fuck.
"It's a 2000GT," I said, low voice. "Must have been the old owner's pride."
I took a photo and sent it to the agent. He replied quickly:
"Everything on the property is yours. The owners left it in the contract. See if there are documents inside. I can send it to a friend at the dealership who knows how to transfer."
The car was unlocked. Interior stank of old leather, but seats intact, original dashboard. In the glove compartment: old yellow document and keys.
2B finished explaining everything to the contractors. They guaranteed:
"We noted everything correctly. We'll send the phased budget in 48 hours."
They left. We locked the gate (with new padlocks Osamu left), called a taxi. I stopped quickly at the agency to leave the car document. We went home.
Elinalise was waiting at the door, anxious.
"So? How did it go?"
I showed her the car photos.
"We found a 2000GT in the garage. Rare. Could be worth a fortune."
Nazuna's eyes widened.
"Seriously? Like, millions?"
I searched quickly on my phone. Recent auctions: a 2000GT in good condition sold for over 2 million dollars. Insane.
"Maybe. Let's see if we can transfer and restore it."
2B nodded.
"High efficiency. Specialized maintenance. Appreciation potential."
I set the car aside for now. Gave attention to the girls: kisses, hugs, naughty hands. They were excited about the renovation—already planning bedrooms, garden, pool. I smiled, but inside I thought: that old house, full of other people's stories, was now ours. And the car? Maybe an unexpected gift from the stone. Or maybe another shadow waiting to emerge.
But with them by my side, laughing, planning, touching me… it was worth any risk. The house was waiting. We were going to turn it into a home.
The next day, September 25, the budget arrived by email around 10 a.m. I was in the kitchen at home, making green tea to calm my nerves, when the phone vibrated. I opened the attachment, scrolled through the detailed spreadsheet, and… "Holy fuck," I muttered low, almost soundless. The total was high—very high. Structural renovation, electrical, plumbing, roof, garden, pool, entrance paving… everything added up to a punch in the stomach.
Good thing the girls didn't hear. They hated when I cursed—Elinalise made a disappointed mom face, Nazuna laughed but then lectured me, 2B just raised an eyebrow as if analyzing a programming flaw.
I took a deep breath, closed the laptop, and called:
"Girls… our dream got expensive."
Elinalise came first, still in her restaurant apron, blonde curls tied in a messy bun.
"How much?"
I showed the screen. Nazuna threw herself on the futon beside me, 2B stood behind the chair, arms crossed, analyzing the numbers like a mission report.
"Wow… I didn't expect it to be this high," Elinalise said, low voice. "How are we going to do this?"
"I don't know yet," I replied, trying to sound calm. "But I'll figure it out. Worst case, we renovate one thing at a time. First the main house, then entrance, garden, garage… the rest later."
Nazuna nodded, hand on my thigh.
"Makes sense. Doesn't have to be everything at once."
2B spoke with precision:
"Dividing into phases optimizes costs and reduces financial risk. Priority: habitable structure, then aesthetics and leisure."
I called Isamu right away. He answered on the second ring.
"Isamu-san, can you divide the budget into stages? First the house—woodwork, roof, electrical, plumbing, flooring, painting. Then entrance and garden. Lastly garage and extras."
He agreed immediately.
"Of course, Kaito. I'll send the phased version by tomorrow. That way it's lighter on the cash flow."
I hung up, relieved. Maybe it would work.
A few hours later, the phone rang again. It was the agent.
"Mr. Aoki, we need your documents to transfer the vehicle. Please bring them to the address I'm sending via LINE."
I grabbed the folder with the car papers (old yellowed document, rusted keys) and went alone. The dealership was standard: showroom with shiny new cars, used ones lined up in the back. The agent's friend, Shin, greeted me at the door.
"You must be Mr. Aoki. Nice to meet you."
"You must be Shin," I replied, shaking his hand.
He took me to the small back office, smell of coffee and new leather.
"The process is simple, but we need the deceased owner's children's signatures. Since the contract states everything on the property is yours, it shouldn't be difficult. They want to get rid of it quickly."
He took my documents: registration, proof of residence, signature on several copies. Explained the steps—send by mail to the heirs, return in up to two weeks, transfer at the DMV.
"My service: flat fee. Card okay?"
I paid. Went home by taxi, head spinning with numbers.
I arrived and started researching the 2000GT: recommended oil (5W-30 synthetic from the era), original Toyota oil filter, fuel filter, compatible battery. I called 2B.
"Let's check the car's condition. Grab the tablet."
She nodded.
"Yes, love."
I grabbed my dad's old toolbox—wrenches, pliers, electrical tape, flashlight. We stopped at an auto parts store: correct oil, new filters, fresh battery, manual pump for tires. At the gas station, we bought a can of premium gasoline.
We arrived at the house by taxi. I asked the driver to go all the way to the garage—he agreed, thankfully, because everything was heavy. 2B opened the garage gate with the new key.
Strong smell of mold and old gasoline. The 2000GT was still there, faded pearl white, retractable headlights closed like sleeping eyes.
First, oil: read the yellowed manual, changed the old oil (black as tar) and filter. Fuel filter next—drained the old tank (evaporated gasoline, smelling like varnish), installed the new one. Battery: connected the cables, first start attempt… nothing. Second… nothing.
2B noticed.
"Love, there's a loose cable. Main one from the distributor, coming from the coil."
I checked: disconnected wire, dried insulation. Snapped it firmly.
"Must be just that."
I held the key in the ignition. The engine coughed, spat blue smoke, then caught. Deep, classic rumble, alive. Let it run a few minutes—dashboard no warning lights, temperature rising normally.
I grabbed the manual pump and inflated the tires—arms aching after 20 minutes, but they held firm.
"Come on, 2B. Get in the car."
She sat in the passenger seat, posture straight, blue eyes curious. I sat in the driver's seat—first time driving something since license lessons. Shifted into first, released the clutch slowly… the car moved. Smooth, precise, deep rumble filling the garage.
We drove to the house entrance and back. 2B smiled—rare, subtle, but genuine.
"Great, Kaito. It worked."
"Now maybe we can sell it for a good price."
She pouted, whiny voice—something she learned from Nazuna.
"Do we really have to? I love the design. The headlights pop up… it's beautiful."
I laughed.
"For the value, love, it would cover the entire house renovation and still leave a lot left over."
She nodded slowly.
"I understand."
We stored the car, locked the garage. Went back by taxi. I was already thinking about talking to Shin about listing the car after the transfer.
At home, the girls were waiting anxiously. I told them everything: phased budget, car running, sales potential. Nazuna hugging my neck, Elinalise kissing my mouth, 2B holding my hand tightly.
That night, on the futon, bodies pressed together, we talked about the house: bedrooms for each, game room, library, gym, pool. I didn't talk much—just listened, felt their warmth, the smell of shampoo and hot skin.