The King of Tokyo Freeloaders [170]

The warped side of Aizono Momo’s personality was deeply rooted in her family environment.

Not that her home life was particularly complicated—rather, it embodied the stereotypical Japan-traditional household to an almost exaggerated degree.

In typical Japan families, there’s usually only one breadwinner, the husband, while the wife stays at home, devoting herself entirely to childcare and domestic chores. With this structure deeply ingrained in society, women become exceedingly submissive to their husbands after marriage. Serving men and maintaining a perfect household is viewed as an unquestionable duty—hence the romanticized ideal of the “Yamato Nadeshiko,” the epitome of Japan’s traditional womanhood.

Momo’s mother was precisely this type of classic traditional woman. Every day, she’d meticulously attend to her husband’s needs, from changing his shoes and clothing to tying his necktie. She would personally greet him at the door whenever he returned home, her behavior gentle and respectful, both publicly and privately.

In Momo’s memories, her mother tirelessly maintained the household, never once asking her father for help or uttering a word of complaint. She always spoke softly, quietly affectionate toward her husband, and never once strayed from the rigid rules she imposed upon herself.

A model of conservative propriety, she prioritized her husband above everything else—even above her own child. Her entire life revolved around pleasing him and meeting his expectations, making her the idealized “perfect wife” so many Japanese men dreamed of marrying—and the model mother in many children’s eyes.

This was the influence shaping Momo into the introverted girl she had become—but she also knew her mother harbored a hidden, entirely different persona.

At night, her mother became alluring, uninhibited—put bluntly, extremely perverted.

When Momo was little, she’d sometimes wake up needing the restroom, only to hear strange cries from her parents’ room. At first, she’d thought her father was bullying her mother. As she grew older, she understood clearly: it wasn’t her father bullying her mother—it was her mother begging to be bullied.

It may have sounded bizarre, but in truth, this lively and adventurous nightlife was precisely what held Momo’s family firmly together.

Japan-traditional women were conditioned to tolerate anything their husbands did, even domestic violence or infidelity. They were quick to blame themselves first, believing it was their inadequacies driving their husbands away, and desperately sought to correct their flaws to win them back. Divorce was never a quick or easy option, and these women would even reluctantly accept affairs, something nearly unthinkable in most cultures.

This wasn’t simply because Japanese women lacked financial independence—it stemmed from a deeply entrenched societal hierarchy that placed men above women, essentially socializing women into obedience through lifelong indoctrination.

But such long-term repression took a heavy toll, causing tremendous mental stress. After all, not everyone could bear the crushing weight of being a Yamato Nadeshiko forever—perfect wives, perfect mothers, endlessly patient and forgiving, yet never receiving the same compassion in return.

This imbalance led to Japan having one of the highest rates of extramarital affairs globally. Especially for women left home alone as their husbands spent most days at work, emotional neglect often resulted in affairs, making cuckoldry (NTR) a persistently popular genre in adult entertainment.

Thankfully, the Aizono household remained peaceful, and Momo’s mother had no reason to stray.

Raised within this profoundly traditional framework, Momo naturally absorbed similar beliefs. Yet as she studied illustration and anatomy, she inevitably came into contact with various “unnecessary knowledge.”

(Though it might disrupt your reading experience, I genuinely don’t want to elaborate further on these uncomfortable topics. To summarize briefly: Momo’s mother, seemingly prim and proper during the day, becomes dramatically different at night, enjoying an enthusiastic and intense married life. The full, unedited description is available elsewhere if you must know.)

(Upon discovering this other side of her mother, Momo was initially confused by the stark contrast. Only later, through health and biology lessons, did she realize the reasons behind her mother’s dual nature. Inevitably, this understanding influenced Momo deeply, igniting a similar subconscious desire—to find someone who would fully embrace her own flaws, just as her father embraced her mother’s.)

Thus, when Momo internally referred to Kuroba Akira as “Master,” it was essentially the same mindset traditional Japananese women held toward their husbands—though Momo herself hadn’t consciously recognized this parallel yet.

Though emotionally she had already submitted to Akira, her slow grasp on romance prevented her from realizing she was falling in love.

Meanwhile, Akira, noticing how obediently Momo responded to direct orders, found instructing her easier than ever.

“Anyway, don’t worry—I won’t tell anyone about your color weakness. But from now on, you need to color exactly the way I instruct, understand?”

“Yes! Ah… um… Kuroba-kun, earlier your arm touched my… um… I’m really sorry! I got your arm dirty…”

Despite her own disastrous state, she still worried more about the minor inconvenience she’d caused Akira.

“Relax, I’m not a clean freak. Getting a little dirty isn’t going to kill me.”

Suddenly, Akira posed a curious, seemingly unrelated question:

“By the way, earlier, when you saw your own pee on the floor—what color did it look to you?”

“Um… like a pale beige, I guess…”

“And what about your nosebleed?”

“Sort of a dark purple…”

Pale yellow appears beige, and dark red appears purple to her, huh?

Clearly, her color weakness leaned toward red, making the world look as though filtered through a grayscale lens.

“Got it. Actually, your pee was pale yellow, meaning you didn’t drink enough water today.”

Concentrated urine turns darker yellow—holding it in makes it even worse.

“So remember to drink plenty of water, Momo. And don’t hold it in; it’s unhealthy. Whenever you feel the urge, just go immediately. Understood?”

“Yes… I understand… I’ll definitely remember!”

Akira intentionally adopted this instructional tone to ease her embarrassment.

But in Momo’s ears, it simply became another absolute “command” she needed to fulfill.

By this point, she’d already become an unquestioning devotee of Akira—what internet slang might call an absolute “Akira fanatic.”

Whatever he said was correct. Whatever he commanded, she would obey.

—

T/N: I LOVE NTR!!!!!!!! anyway that note in the middle of the chapter is from the author not me

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!