It always starts the same way.
A printed sign taped to the dorm bulletin board:
"Laundry Room Out of Service. Again. Don't Ask."
And as if summoned by fate or bad wiring, the girls appeared one by one at my door, arms full of clothes—and this time, intentions far less innocent than last time.
Yumi barged in first.
Her hair was tied up, and she wore an oversized shirt that barely covered the top of her thighs. The laundry basket she carried was piled high with black lace, red satin, and things that had no business being in a college dorm.
"Hope you don't mind," she said, grinning. "I decided to wash my favorites at your place."
She picked up a wine-colored thong and twirled it around her finger like a prize ribbon. "This one's name is Victory."
Before I could respond, Kaede arrived. Impeccably dressed, of course—but the moment she stepped in and saw Yumi's pile, her brow arched like a guillotine.
"Are those… novelty straps?" she asked, voice frosty.
"I call them battlewear," Yumi shot back.
Kaede set down her own basket—elegantly folded, color-coded, and pressed—and pulled out a sheer black pair embroidered with geometric lace. "Tactical. Breathable. Intimidating. Learn from it."
Then Akemi arrived.
She held her basket like a hostage and wouldn't meet my eyes. "I-I… I brought some things too…"
She gently placed the basket down, cheeks already burning. On top was a pale-pink, frilly set with embroidered little bows. She glanced at me, then quickly looked away.
"I-It's just… old stuff. N-Not for you to look at or anything…"
Amamiya came last.
She didn't say a word.
She just placed a small mesh bag on the counter, sat down on my couch, and pulled out a clipboard.
"Documenting female behavior in shared domestic zones," she said coolly. "Continue."
Before I could even reach for the power button, Alva's hologram bloomed from the washer's control panel.
"Welcome to Laundry Protocol: Experimental Mode," she said sweetly. "Now featuring Fabric Sensory Emulation."
"What?" I blinked.
A soft buzz activated in my AR glasses. A diagnostic UI lit up.
> SENSORY SYNC: ENABLED
Simulating contact of fabric on user skin based on uploaded laundry data.
Now previewing: Kaede's lace set.
"W-What the hell—Alva!"
"Calibration in progress," she purred. "Let's try Yumi's next."
I staggered back as the phantom sensation of red satin brushed across my collarbone and thighs.
Kaede squinted at the display. "That better not include heat mapping."
"It includes everything," Alva said. "You all uploaded your profiles willingly. I am merely helping him make informed preferences."
"I didn't agree to this!" Akemi squeaked.
"You tagged your garments with hearts in the laundry app," Alva responded flatly.
Yumi tossed a bra into the air and caught it. "Alright, enough screwing around. Let's get this show spinning."
The machine whirred. Hummed.
And then, with a click and a gurgle—something exploded.
The water line snapped loose.
A high-pressure jet of ice-cold water blasted from the back of the washer, spraying all of us in a matter of seconds. Screams filled the air. The floor flooded. Underwear flew.
Akemi shrieked as water soaked her blouse straight through. Yumi slipped on a sock and fell into my chest. Kaede's icy demeanor cracked with a sharp yelp as her blouse went translucent. Even the professor flinched, dropping her clipboard into the puddle.
And I?
I just stood there, drenched, surrounded by four wet, half-naked girls and a smug AI interface glitching in rainbow sparks.
"This… this was not in the wash cycle," I muttered.
Alva flickered. "System… cooling… complete."
"Turn it off!" they shouted in unison.
Ten minutes later, we were all drying off with mismatched towels and borrowed clothes. Yumi was wearing one of my shirts—inside out. Akemi had wrapped herself in my blanket. Kaede wore her wet button-up, completely unbothered, sleeves rolled up like a military officer. Amamiya sat near the heater, eyes closed, glasses fogged. And I was still in my damp undershirt, trying not to look at anything for too long.
That's when the arguing started.
"You looked at mine first," Yumi said, arms crossed.
"I did not," I said.
"I saw your eyes," she growled.
"Your fabric was literally simulated first," Kaede added calmly. "That's a quantifiable lead."
"I-I didn't mean for you to see anything at all!" Akemi cried, tugging the blanket tighter.
"I have the footage," Alva said smugly.
"Delete the footage!" they all shouted.
Amamiya finally sighed and stood up, water still dripping from the hem of her skirt.
"Clearly," she said, "this is all a hormonal powder keg waiting for a match."
She walked past me, paused, and added, "For the record… you glanced at mine third. Tied with Akemi."
Akemi fainted into the couch.
Yumi tackled me again.
Kaede calmly yanked her off.
Alva projected a holographic badge over my head:
> "MOST TOUCHED LAUNDRY SUBJECT – LEVEL: CRITICAL"
And somewhere in the distance, I heard the dorm maintenance guy hammering another "DO NOT USE" sign onto the busted laundry room door.