Crossover Fan Fiction ❯ My Adult University Romcom Is Wrong, As I Expected ❯ Visitor's Pass ( Chapter 5 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

 

FIVE

 

 

I spent afternoon graduate lab recording data for my co-researcher’s experiments. When I arrived home that evening, I found a short girl I hadn’t seen before pushing her way into my neighbor’s apartment. She was short, cute, dark haired with a bob cut, and determined. The pair made various squeaking noises, then rhythmic squeaking noises, and I ignored them. At one point she sounded like Komachi, which made me feel really confused, but it couldn’t have been her so I wrote off the confusion as me being tired.

 

I showered, again. Then cooked and ate nutritious foods, watched a few episodes of Love Hina out of nostalgia, all while wearing headphones. I turned in early, ignoring the repetitive noises of my neighbor getting lucky. Good for him. One thing I sincerely doubt is any college guy claiming to be unable to perform when a cute/hot girl pushes into his place with THAT look in her eye. And as a professional and expert in my field, I can see I am, once again, right.

 

It isn’t that Yukino was bad in bed, or inexpressive, or unable to find satisfaction from our time together. The problem was that her ambition was greater than her libido. Her need for attention and authority over others was greater than her need for physical love or emotional intimacy with an equal. Like her mother, she insisted on dominance, and that is where she goes wrong. Her appreciation of an equal wasn’t developed enough to understand me while she had me, and in the future she may regret this. Or more likely, she’ll marry someone her family approves of and cheat on him like all traditional Japanese women do.

 

Iroha had started texting me during the day, a mixture of praise and complaints. I refused to be baited into responding to such things, merely going with polite answers and admitting to being tired today. LINES is still a thing, of course. It’s different when you’re an adult, because it unlocks features like private picture hosting and VPN video streams for separated couples. I feel certain that Iroha will brag about this rendezvous with her friends back in Chiba, and doubtlessly, someone else from my past will show up. Hopefully not anyone unwelcome, but you never can tell. Chiba is, as Chiba does.

 

I put down my phone on the charger, brushed my teeth, and laid down to sleep. I was exhausted so the neighbors didn’t bother me at all. That’s just people being people. The last conscious thought was: once again I have gone another day without ever using the Quadratic Equation.

 

The following morning I was up early and ready for another glorious day. My third salaryman suit was clean, my hair was combed, I’d washed my face, and eaten a nutritious breakfast with protein, carbohydrates, some fats and simple sugars, and finally caffeine to pep up my step.

 

I exited my apartment clutching my umbrella, because of course it was raining, and headed down the stairs, ignoring whatever drama was taking place between my neighbors who were pretending not to be involved with each other, and the girl who’d come over and gotten thoroughly plowed, seeded, watered, and fertilized for a good crop of babies, if she had her way. I don’t care, really, beyond scientific interest. But I think I’ve pretty well understood that situation. It is not as interesting as the micro-expressions I’d been mapping and correlating around campus.

 

The walk to school under my umbrella allowed me to observe passerby, various vehicles that stopped at the lights, people waiting to cross the street, several fast box trucks which ran the lights and nearly hit some teenagers who would clearly get isekaied to another world, if all those anime clogging up my TV hours were remotely right, and eventually arrived onto campus itself.

 

“Sempai!” shouted Uzaki, as usual. I observed their embarrassing interaction and noted the outrage and jealousy by the onlookers. Her public displays of affection continued to be effective deterrence from potential rivals for her mate. As usual, he looked exhausted by her antics, and as usual he continued to tolerate her affection and attention. A strange couple, very atypical, and thus good for study. When they finally managed to get their clothes off together and actually breed, I expect to see significant changes in their behavior together, as well as public displays of affection of the more typical type rather than these loud statements or napping in public places.

 

I eventually finished classes and went to lab in mid-afternoon. I found the usual couples there, the sensei was doing curls with dumbells, and Ami was working on a paper. I opted not to distract her; her attention span being short enough as it was. She typed, I entered my daily observations in my log book, including what I remembered from the couple next door, and the latest Sakurai-Uzaki drama. There were a number of other observations during classes, of course. My logbook has a lot of entries. I had to be diligent on my data or I would fall behind. And while I respect Goodall for her long-term observations of primate behavior, her wish for annihilation of most of the human population is just spiteful childish nonsense.

 

Lab passed and Ami came home with me for our usual dinner and exercises together. Relaxing in post-nut clarity afterwards, sticky with our combined efforts and various fluids, Ami drifted off to sleep. Unusually, I felt awake so slid out from under her, showered, and stepped out to enjoy the evening rains on my balcony, thinking.

 

“Hey,” said my neighbor.

 

“Evening,” I answered, polite.

 

“Umm. Sorry about the noise last night. I mean, it’s usually you, but well, you know, right?” he managed to convey a general apology.

 

“She seemed determined. How is your other neighbor taking it?” I asked him. I’m not oblivious, even if I’m not particularly interested in details beyond my own research.

 

“Eh.. I’m not sure how to talk to her about this. I mean, it’s complicated there,” he answered, sounding embarrassed and confused.

 

“You have a girlfriend, and a lover, and they aren’t the same person. Isn’t that about it?” I asked him. It was too dark to see his flush but the flinch he made was obvious.

 

“Harsh. Aren’t you studying human sexuality?” he asked.

 

“That’s simplified, but sort of. I’m studying complex non-vocal and vocal communications as part of the mating process. This includes tiny muscles, unconscious actions, voice changes, assertions, lies, bluffs, and various other cues to either signal intent, ownership, dominance, or repel other interested parties. I’m being published in Neuromechanics, New England Journal of Medicine, New Scientist, and the Lancet.”

 

“Those are some big name publications. Aren’t we the same age?” Kazuya asked.

 

“Probably,” I answered.

 

“So is this talent or motivation?” he asked me.

 

“Motivation. Same as you and fish. Are you going to work in an aquarium or one of the National Fisheries agencies?” I asked Kazuya.

 

“I’d love to work in an aquarium, even though the money is terrible. My parents keep telling me I need to make a living, so they want me to be an inspector for the wholesale markets,” he answered. “It’s not glamorous, but the money is supposed to be good. Inspect tuna for parasites before it gets sold to a sushi restaurant, grading based on inspection, all of that. But I like exotic tropical fish, and I want to work in an aquarium. I’ve learned how to survive on almost nothing, and working a second job to keep a roof over my head. I might do an internship first, to make sure I can actually make this work.”

 

“This is your choice as a man. You can do what you love, and most aquariums struggle to survive. On the other hand, having money is sensible. Especially if your new lover is pregnant. You’ll need every single yen you can hang onto. No more frivolous expenses.”

 

“Eh? That soon?” he asked.

 

“She had all the signs of ovulation. Highest fertility. You’re probably a dad by now. So think extra hard about how you’ll care for your new family.”

 

“How am I going to tell Chizuru?” he asked himself out loud.

 

“She’ll probably wish you well. Her night job seems to require the daytime disguise. I teased her about it the first time we actually spoke. She didn’t like that.”

 

“She’s an actress in training. Her job lets her practice,” he explained vaguely.

 

“Well, now you both have an excuse to uncomplicate your friendship into something more platonic. Your little wife is going to be coming with news in around three to five weeks. Decide whether you go with your heart and poverty, or come up with a strong argument why you should or should not choose money or happiness. And be able to convince her. Best you be prepared,” I suggested.

 

“What if I tell her I can’t stand being a market inspector and she turns down a life of poverty with me? What if she decides to visit the clinic and aborts the baby?” he asked.

 

“What if she refuses and goes to a lawyer to get you for child support payments instead, making your dream job impossible and you on the hook for her living expenses and 20 years of child support payments and college fund for a child you’ll never see?” I countered.

 

“She could do that?” he asked me, concerned for obvious reasons.

 

“Happens every day. Hundreds of times every day. The average Japanese has four marriages and four divorces. Eighty percent of divorces are filed by women, and they get half your assets in nearly all judgements. People escape in the night to avoid those penalties, and the government doesn’t pay too much attention when a new person with flimsy records turns up in some rural prefecture as the latest rice farmer or delivery driver. That won’t be working in an aquarium either, but do your best to convince her.” I slid open the screen and wished him good night.

 

I returned to my bed and Ami, who curled up against me as soon as I laid down with her once more. She didn’t wake. I drifted off in her arms. I remain surprised Ami isn’t pregnant with all the sex we have, but maybe we’re just not that compatible. Twenty five percent of all couples are childless, and it’s due to genetic incompatibility or reproductive damage, like having had an abortion. Fun fact, Japan’s birth rate collapsed once on-demand abortion became the de-facto solution to unpunished rapes in the country. Make it the girl’s responsibility to abort, and don’t tell her that scarring on the cervix during the procedure would cause miscarriage and drastically lower fertility, often to zero. Don’t tell her, because Japan’s legal system is criminally corrupt. I drifted off to sleep.

 

The following morning was showers, breakfast, and going our separate ways. Ami went to work at her coffee shop and me to an early class session. We were doing observations and practicing interviews for psychology laboratory. Asking questions and maintaining a neutral expression is the entire objective. This is hard with my eyes messing with the other student’s mental state. They see the eyes and either laugh or cringe. Eventually results were tabulated and analyzed by the professor, who used it as an example of types of bias and how scientific-looking experiments can be flawed and produce garbage results. I knew this, but I could see this was news for many of my classmates.

 

It is possible I am too advanced for this class. No, I think I was too advanced for this class back at Soubu, maybe by the third day of Service Club. The real world is a fantastic teacher of bias and its many misleading problems. Bias is why most of the world’s problems happen. Well, bias and resource wars. But that’s directly related to bias: some country thinking they deserve a particular resource over the population of other countries. This describes Japan’s actions during World War Two, and the world’s response to them. Learning that the leadership of Japan was utterly addicted to meth-amphetamines during the war was not something taught in most educational programs. I had to learn that from a few papers I’d read in the Lancet and New England Journal of Medicine. It was… eye opening, and this is ME saying this. Suddenly, so much of popular media makes more sense. The anime industry tries to blame half-bloods near military bases as the cause of its Yankee problem, aptly named, when it was actually domestic meth abuse responsible for the behavior and criminal activity that continues to this day. With my ugly face I just have to remove my sunglasses and my usual glare is enough to make those pricks run with their tails between their legs.

 

By lunchtime it was sunny and the wind was whipping around the buildings, blowing drops of water around in surprising ways. They still obeyed gravity, but they were getting in all sorts of places and the gusts made using an umbrella impossible.

 

“Sempai!” shouted Uzaki as she jogged up to Sakurai. He cringed at the noise. If Hana ever works out that being quiet and affectionate works better than shouting, they’ll probably be married within a month. It would also be a relief for the students, who cringe at the noisy displays and deal with their own jealousy. She has an astonishingly huge pair of boobs for a virgin, what you’d expect on a nursing mother of twins, honestly.

 

“Sempai!” shouted an annoying familiar voice. I turned to regard Iroha. “Surprise!”

 

“Ah, Iroha. Nice to see you today. Care to join me for lunch? I just finished class,” I offered at a normal volume. She piped down, looking at the curious people in the quad shifting from the usual theatre of Uzaki-Sakurai and herself.

 

“Slow day?” she finally asked at a normal volume, taking my arm. “I made you lunch. Come on, let’s find somewhere to eat.”

 

I joined her. Why not? I’m sure she’ll want to spend the night and milk me dry again. Probably trying for a baby, knowing her. The Japanese preference for unprotected sex is well understood by Japanese who are desperate for any measure to stop depopulation, even if it means single mothers are raising kids without support, and the Japanese government policy of single mother support varies a great deal by prefecture. Some paid to poverty level support. Some required proof of work, but offered subsidized housing and childcare. Others handed the expectant mother a map to the nearest abortion clinic without another word. It had a lot to do with finances of the prefecture in question. Charity is expensive, after all, and public assistance means roads aren’t getting paved and jobs that could be pouring money back into the economy aren’t lost because some woman couldn’t get a ring before she lifted her skirt. And to be fair, the number of cases where a girl thought she could nail down a guy with pregnancy and then failed to do so was pretty high. More than a few single moms via a cheating spouse got no child support from government or the biological father who’d expected a nice distraction and instead got demands for money. It isn’t nice. And I wonder if, just maybe, I was being stupid here.

 

And knowing that being stupid is a possibility is only the first part of the battle.