The King of Tokyo Freeloaders [76]

September 2, early morning.

Kuroba Akira woke first.

Despite going to bed extremely late—or rather, very early this morning—his internal clock remained accurate, waking him promptly before six.

He opened his eyes and immediately faced that large, pale symbol of femininity. He’d spent the night with his cheek resting against it—a softness superior to any pillow.

Though he’d only gotten less than three hours of sleep, it had been exceptionally restful. No wonder infants slept best in their mother’s embrace; with a pillow like this, one might indeed feel as if returning to the womb.

And so he’d ended up spending the entire night embraced by Tashiro-san.

Now the question was: what next?

Could he sneak away without waking her?

He certainly couldn’t just wait until she woke up on her own—who knew how long a drunk person might sleep? Besides, he still had school.

Akira decided to first try and remove Tashiro-san’s arm, which was tightly wrapped around his neck, to free himself.

But the moment his hand touched her forearm, she murmured softly.

“Mmm…”

Frowning slightly, Benika instinctively tightened her embrace even more.

“Ugh!”

Akira let out a muffled groan, suddenly unable to breathe.

His nose was pressed deep into that soft, deep valley, cutting off his airflow entirely. His brain screamed internally, “I can’t breathe!”

Was he about to be suffocated by breasts?!

Of course not.

Humans were versatile creatures, capable of breathing not just through their noses but also through their mouths. Thus, Akira parted his lips and took a deep breath.

Though Akira escaped immediate suffocation, his actions caused another problem: Tashiro Benika began to stir awake.

The sensation of hot breath against her chest, like a molten heat radiating into her skin, pulled her slowly out of sleep.

She opened her eyes to see a clump of black weeds…wait, no, hair.

Her brain still fogged by alcohol, Benika curiously grabbed at the hair in front of her.

“Uhh…”

The hair made a noise, amusing her further. Playfully, she began kneading it with both hands, using the same movements as a hairstylist shampooing a client’s hair.

Only after amusing herself for a bit did she realize that these “weeds” seemed attached to a much larger object—and that her own body was closely entangled with it.

The tactile sensations gradually brought her to full consciousness. Suspicion crept into her mind, a possibility she neither dared nor wished to accept. Her trembling hands slowly parted the hair obstructing her vision.

Kuroba Akira’s helpless face appeared clearly before her eyes.

“…!!!!!”

When a person reached peak terror, they lost all control of their vocal cords—unable even to scream, instead passing out on the spot.

Benika opened her mouth in a soundless scream, eyes rolling back as she fainted.

With that, Akira was finally freed from her hold.

He rose up from her body, scratching his head. Looking down at the twin snowballs that had pressed against his face all night, still held in place by a bold red bra…

Red lingerie, huh? Who would’ve guessed she’s secretly bold… He was mildly curious if the panties matched. After all, not everyone could pull off bright red underwear.

Of course, he wouldn’t actually check—Akira wasn’t that kind of man. Still, even though he’d done absolutely nothing wrong, the scene in front of him looked suspiciously like an attempted assault.

Perhaps it was lucky she hadn’t screamed. If she had, everyone in the Kobayashi house would’ve come running, and then Akira would never be able to clear his name.

But would fainting like this pose a serious problem?
Words like heart attack, cardiac arrest, and brain hemorrhage flashed through Akira’s mind, causing genuine worry.

He recalled hearing news of people dying from excessive drinking. Combined with the memory of his previous self’s sudden death, he knew how fragile humans could be.

Thus, under the completely legitimate guise of “checking her physical condition,” Akira reached out and pressed his hand against the “pillow” he’d rested on all night.

He could’ve checked her pulse at the wrist, but his instincts as a man made him overlook that more modest option.

The moment his palm settled, feeling only two heartbeats, Benika stirred awake again, brows furrowing.

“Ah…”

This time, she opened her eyes quickly, immediately noticing Akira’s suspicious hand placement.

Now he’d really been caught red-handed…

Flustered, Akira instantly lifted his hands in a classic surrender pose, his face sincere as he hurriedly explained:

“Tashiro-san, please don’t misunderstand! I was just checking your heartbeat—I was genuinely worried about your health! I promise I had no other intentions!”

Benika quickly shielded her chest with her arms, hiding the dangerous sight. Then she shot Akira an amused glance, smirking teasingly:

“Heh…little pervert.”

“Ugh…”

Such a mature Onee-san energy!

It was like she’d become an entirely different person.

But Akira wasn’t surprised. This was typical of Tashiro-san—her personality was unpredictable. At night, she was timid, like a socially anxious girl, fleeing at the slightest greeting.

Yet during the day, she occasionally showed maturity befitting her age, exuding warmth, approachability, and a captivating charm.

Every capable working adult wore multiple masks—toward bosses, colleagues, friends, and parents, everyone revealed a different face.

Indeed, every corporate slave eventually learned, through bitter experience, how to act according to the situation.

Remembering Benika’s drunken rambling and heartfelt pleas last night, Akira sighed internally. She must’ve been under immense workplace stress.

But now those vulnerabilities were carefully hidden again, and she resumed her composed façade.

Still, the effects of her hangover were clearly intense. She clutched her head, letting out a pained groan:

“Ugh…my head hurts… I really shouldn’t have drunk so much…”

Shaking her head, Benika reached over to grab her discarded shirt, draping it loosely over herself. She then gave Akira an apologetic look.

“Akira-kun, thank you… I must’ve troubled you last night.”

“Not really. But, Tashiro-san, why did you drink so much anyway?”

She smiled wryly.

“Well…it felt like I couldn’t go on anymore, so I wanted to numb myself with alcohol. I thought I’d be fine…but apparently, it affected even me…”

Did Tashiro-san mistakenly think she had a good tolerance for alcohol?

That couldn’t be right. Given how flushed she became after drinking, she clearly had no tolerance whatsoever.

Did she not even know her own limits?

Surely this couldn’t be her first time drinking…

What a strange Onee-san.

—

This is a fan translation of 东京软饭王 by 夜幕下的鬼 All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!