Mika looked up at Makoto, her lips parted slightly. The air in the room grew heavy. "Feeling confident yet, darling?" she asked, her voice dropping to a husky whisper.
"I'm getting there," Makoto managed to say.
"Good." A small, mischievous smile played on her lips. She stepped back but kept her hand on his chest. "Because confidence is sexy."
She turned and walked back to the whiteboard, her hips swaying a little more than necessary. "Next, you need to make a good first impression. You need a haircut," she stated, looking at him critically. "And that suit fits you poorly. It makes you look like a salaryman who gave up."
"It's the only one I have." He retorted.
"Then we will tailor it," she said. "Yuna can sew. I will measure." She picked up a tape measure from the side table. "Come here."
For the next twenty minutes, Mika measured him. She measured his shoulders with her hands lingering on the muscle. Then she moved down his chest, her arms wrapping around him in a mock hug. When she measured his inseam, her knuckles brushing against his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch.
"Stand still, darling," Mika chided when he twitched. She was kneeling in front of him now, measuring the hem of his trousers. She looked up, her glasses sliding down her nose. From this angle, he could see down the front of her camisole.
Mika caught him looking, but she didn't look away, just smiled a slow, knowing smile. "Do you like the view, candidate?" she teased.
"It's unprofessional, miss..." Makoto choked out.
"This isn't a professional environment," she murmured. She stood up slowly, her hands sliding up his legs. "This is a private consultation." She stopped when her hands reached his waist and leaned in, resting her forehead against his chest.
"You're stressed, darling," she said softly. "I can feel your heart beating."
"You're not helping, Mika," he laughed breathlessly.
"I'm testing you," she countered and looked up. "Focus. Even when there are distractions."
She moved her hand down, cupping him through his trousers, making him gasp. "Can you explain a sorting algorithm right now?" she whispered, giving him a gentle squeeze.
"Mika..." He groaned.
"Can you?" She squeezed harder, rubbing her thumb over the head. "Tell me the time complexity of QuickSort."
"O(n logn)," he stammered, his hands gripping the edge of the table behind him.
"Average case," she corrected, pressing her body against his. "What about worst case?"
"O(n squared)," He mumbled the answer.
"Correct." She kissed his neck, her lips hot against his skin. "See? You can do it."
She looked smug when she pulled back, leaving him panting and hard. "That concludes the morning session," she announced, walking back to the table and picking up her tea. "You passed the stress test."
She took a sip, her eyes twinkling over the rim of the cup. "However," she added casually, "your endurance needs work. We will address that later."
Just then, the front door opened. Ayane walked in, still sweating and panting from her run. She wore tight leggings and a sports bra, a towel around her neck.
"Whew!" she exhaled, wiping her forehead. "It's hot out there." She looked at Makoto, red-faced and disheveled, and Mika, who looked cool as a cucumber but had a glint in her eye.
Ayane grinned. "Did I interrupt something?"
"We were just finishing up," Mika said smoothly and handed Makoto a stack of papers. "Here are your homework assignments: three medium coding challenges, due by dinner."
She walked past him, pausing to whisper in his ear. "If you get them all right, I might let you take these glasses and stockings off me tonight." She walked to her room, and the door clicked shut behind her.
Ayane walked over to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and chugged half of it. Then she looked at Makoto. "She's terrifying, isn't she?" Ayane laughed.
"She's amazing," Makoto admitted, looking at the papers.
"Yeah," Ayane agreed, leaning against the counter. She grabbed the jar of pickles from the fridge and a fork. "So, coding challenges? Sounds difficult, boss!"
"Yes, very challenging, indeed!" Makoto smirked and nodded.
Makoto walked back to his room, brought his laptop to the living room, and started typing. The code flowed more easily than it had in weeks. His mind was clear. The anxiety about money was still there in the background, but it was quieter now, replaced by the image of Mika's intense pink eyes and her unwavering belief that he could be better.
Ayane sat on the couch behind him, munching on a pickle. "Hey," she said, her voice muffled. "Are you gonna eat that apple?"
"Go ahead." Makoto nodded
"Thanks, boss." Ayane grabbed the apples, and the sound of crunching filled the room.
===
That evening, the atmosphere in the house was different. It wasn't the frantic chaos of the cosplay crunch or the heavy gloom of the previous day. It was focused like a war room.
Mafuyu, feeling slightly better but still pale, sat on the couch, folding laundry.
Yuna was at the dining table, glaring at Makoto's suit jacket. "This stitching is garbage," she muttered, ripping a seam with a seam ripper. "Who made this? A blind raccoon?"
"It was cheap, I got it in a fire sale for our university networking event," Makoto said from his desk, where he was debugging his code.
"It shows," Yuna huffed, then grabbed a needle and thread. "I'm fixing it. You have broad shoulders, but this cut makes you look like a box. We need to taper the waist."
Yuna worked with furious efficiency, her hands a blur. "Stand up," she commanded every ten minutes. She would drape the jacket on him, pin it, poke him with a needle, and then rip it off again. "Stop slouching!" she yelled.
Mika was noting down the script for tomorrow's mock interview while reviewing Makoto's work over his shoulder. "You're not supposed to use Google or StackOverflow during the real test, darling," she pointed out, tapping the screen. "And absolutely no AI or ChatGPT."
"Right, I forgot," Makoto said, fixing it.
Ayane was in the kitchen experimenting. "Okay, so if we can't afford Wagyu this week," she called out, "What if we make really fancy egg-fried rice? I saw a video on TikTok."
"Just don't burn the house down," Yuna shouted back.
"I won't! Probably!" Ayane winked and rushed back to the kitchen.
At 9 PM, Makoto submitted his code to the online platform. All tests passed with green checkmarks across the board. "Done," he sighed and leaned back.
Mika nodded. "That was good. We will continue until you can finish them under 90 minutes." She handed him a glass of water. "Drink, darling. Hydration is essential for your mind."
Yuna threw the fixed jacket at him. "Try it on, big bro. Final fit."
Makoto put it on. It felt different, snug in the right places and loose in the others. He looked in the mirror. The boxy, cheap suit was gone. He looked taller and broader, like someone who knew what he was doing.
"Wow," Mafuyu whispered from the couch. "You look so handsome, Makoto-kun."
Yuna blushed and looked away. "It's passable. At least you won't embarrass us."
Ayane walked in with a bowl of steaming rice. "Dinner is served! Ayane's Mystery Fried Rice. It has things in it."
They sat around the table. The food was surprisingly good, salty, savory, and filling.
"So," Ayane said, pointing her chopsticks at him. "What's the plan for tomorrow?"
"More applications and mock interviews," Makoto said. "And Mika found a networking event online."
"I have also updated your LinkedIn profile," Mika added. "And removed the photo of you with the katana."
"Hey! That was cool!" Makoto protested.
"It was a deterrent to employment," Mika stated.
As they ate, Makoto looked around the table. These women, his partners and his headaches, were rallying around him. They weren't just dependents waiting for him to bring home the bacon. They were his team.
Mika caught his eye and gave him a small, secret smile. She touched her glasses. "You are doing great," her eyes seemed to say.
Later that night, as Makoto was getting ready for bed, Mika walked into his room. She was wearing her glasses again and the blazer, with nothing else underneath.
She locked the door. "You completed all three coding challenges," she said, walking toward him. She pushed him onto the bed. "I believe I promised you a reward," she whispered, straddling his waist.
She took off her glasses and set them on the nightstand. Then she shrugged off the blazer. "Class is dismissed," she purred. "Time for me to collect my fee for tomorrow's lesson."
It was a long night. And for the first time in days, Makoto didn't dream about bank accounts. He dreamed about brown-pink eyes and the promise of a future they were building together.