Yep. No doubt about it, he was going to die today. The only question now was whether it would be from suffocation, dismemberment, or being beaten to death by a woman possessed by righteous corporate brand loyalty.
The closet was small. Incredibly, profoundly, insultingly small. The sort of closet that had been designed by a sadist who thought, "Yes, this should hold at least three winter coats comfortably," and had never once considered the possibility of two fully grown human beings being forcibly stuffed inside of it while fleeing an enraged yakuza matriarch wielding a sword. Did they have no imagination in their soul?
Mitsuhiro could feel Miasaki breathing. Not just in the vague, abstract way you’re usually aware that other people are alive somewhere around you, no, this was very specific, very immediate breathing. Warm. Close. Too close. Far, far, far too close. The sort of close that made it incredibly difficult to think about anything else.
Which was unfortunate, because thinking about literally anything else was exactly what he needed to be doing right now. Outside the closet, footsteps thundered past. Something heavy struck a wall. A voice, filled with the boundless fury of a betrayed consumer, howled:
<b>"You will accept the superiority of the banana!"</b>
The impact from the bellow shook the door on its hinges.
Mitsuhiro swallowed. "Your mother," he whispered as quietly as his panic would allow, "Is terrifying."
"Yes," Miasaki whispered back, "That’s what happens when a woman with money, power, and internet access is emotionally wounded."
Silence followed. The air felt almost as thick as the thighs wrapped around his leg. Then, very slowly, Miasaki shifted her weight. And there were precisely zero directions in which she could do that without pressing into him even more than she already was.
This was, objectively speaking, the worst possible time for Mitsuhiro’s brain to suddenly become extremely aware of every point of contact between their bodies. Or increasingly aware of just how beautiful this girl really is. Hot damn! He'd been so lost in the money before that he hadn't paid the slightest bit of attention to her figure or her face!
"…You’re doing that on purpose," he murmured.
"What? Hiding?" she whispered.
"No!" he blushed. "That."
She blushed right back at him, and the two broke eye contact.
"That’s the closet," she said. "It's not like either of us can help it. Do you think I would need help in seducing you if I really, actually wanted to?"
Another crash echoed down the hall before he could answer that. They both froze as they heard a blade scrape lightly across the floor outside the hallway. They stayed like that until it disappeared, growing quieter as time went on.
"…If we survive this," Mitsuhiro whispered, "I am never speaking about smartphones again."
"Liar," Miasaki whispered. "You absolutely will."
A faint vibration buzzed between them. Miasaki flinched, fumbling for her phone in the darkness. The screen lit up, casting pale blue light across both their faces—far too close together. A message from the sailor-uniform psychopath appeared on the screen: "Mom is demolishing the east corridor. You’re clear for now."
Miasaki exhaled in relief. The two of them could relax now... Then she noticed where her hand was resting. Then Mitsuhiro noticed that she had noticed.
"…This is a misunderstanding," he said immediately.
"…You are having a lot of those today."
"I swear on my future obituary this was not deliberate."
She studied him for a moment. Then, despite everything, she laughed. The kind of laugh you make when you very much do not want to be overheard by a woman with a sword and emotional baggage.
"You’re incredible," she whispered. "So confident in front of my family, and now you’re one shaky breath away from hyperventilating."
"That’s because confidence is an act," he whispered back. "This is the real me."
She shifted again, more carefully this time, putting just a little space between them. The sudden lack of pressure was almost disappointing, which was a troubling thought that Mitsuhiro absolutely did not have the psychological bandwidth to unpack right now.
"I think we can move," she whispered. "She’s gone the other way."
"Wonderful. Love that for us."
She reached for the closet door. It did not open. She pulled again. Still nothing.
"…Why is it stuck," she murmured.
Mitsuhiro tried to laugh quietly. It came out as more of a strangled wheeze. "Oh. That’s fine. That’s great, actually. Getting trapped in the dark with the yakuza heir was exactly how I envisioned my evening."
She braced one foot against the inside of the door and pushed, which, incidentally, meant that his crotch was getting her butt pushed into it. Still nothing. Then, without warning, the closet door was yanked open from the outside and light flooded in.
It was Rei. Her gun was already raised. Sword half drawn. Murder at a carefully measured simmer behind her sunglasses. Her gaze flicked from Mitsuhiro to Miasaki. Then back to Mitsuhiro, where it lingered like the touch of death.
"…Why," Rei said in a voice of terrifying calm, "Are you in a closet with Miss Miasaki."
Mitsuhiro opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Miasaki calmly slapped a hand over it.
"We were hiding from my mother," she said. "He insulted Bananas."
It was a strange thing to watch Rei's face, in that moment. The anger turned to shock, in turn becoming a strange sort of fear. Not the sort of fear one feels for one's own sake, but rather the realisation that someone you know is in mortal danger through their own stupidity, carelessness or both.
"…Run," Rei said.
Mitsuhiro did not require further clarification. He ran. Where to? Who cares, he had to get out of here, pronto! He bolted down the hallway at full speed, shoes squealing against polished floors, adrenaline turning his spine to liquid. He rounded a corner and slammed directly into something vast and immovable. He bounced backward and landed flat on his back.
Looking up, he saw The Boss. The man stared down at him. A giant of a man, a towering colossus who stared down at him in the way only a yakuza boss could. Disdain, like something he'd wiped off the bottom of his shoe, and was now contemplating whether or not he should shoot it, stab it, or toss it in a river.
"…Why," The Boss asked slowly, "Are you running in my house."
"Your wife is trying to murder me," Mitsuhiro said. Perhaps not the best choice of words, but come on, right now he was kind of in the middle of a great big panic! The Boss considered this for a moment.
"…What did you do?"
"I had a technology-related opinion."
The Boss nodded solemnly. His cold expression became a touch warmer. "You fool. Even I cannot help you now."
Behind them, the roar of a very angry Banana cultist echoed through the halls. The Boss sighed, bent down, grabbed Mitsuhiro by the collar, and casually hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack of rice.
"Family emergency," he barked to the staff as he began to run. "Dinner is delayed."
And then he sprinted. With Mitsuhiro flopping uselessly against his back. Somewhere in the distance, Miasaki burst into laughter. And for the first time since this whole nightmare had started, Mitsuhiro found himself laughing too. Even as he was being carried at full speed through a yakuza mansion like a sack of rice!
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