"That is messed up son, who the fuck keeps their hentai game in their flashdrive? What else do you have in that flashdrive?"
I paused at his statement, my eyes darting to my laptop settled on the counter from previous night. I was a serious porn addict who had millions of porns streamed on porn sites and my personal flashdrive was my only source of healing. It had millions of porny videos of women in showers , women bent over, doggy, missionary, lots of lemons and squirts, women bent over desks, skirts lifted, panties remove with teeth, skin flushed red from spanking. Women riding cowgirl with hair sticking to their sweaty cheeks. Women screaming in missionary, breasts bouncing with every thrust, their eyes rolling back in orgasmic delirium.
It was everything a list junkie will call a kingdom . Every moan, every squirt, every lemon-scented drop of wetness, every forbidden pose captured and stored. Thousands upon thousands of women, immortalized in pixelated bliss all shoved into one folder that could ruin my existence if plugged to Japan's main server. My chest tightened, understanding the gravity of the issue.
Kenshao Company could collapse overnight if the media caught wind of its CEO's "presentation" being nothing but doggy-style loops and squirting compilations. My boss would drag me through the mud. I wouldn't just get fired—I'd be blacklisted, humiliated, exiled. And jail? Forget jail. Life imprisonment would be merciful compared to the shame of being remembered forever as the man who broke Japan with hentai.
"Damn, how many minutes left till 6 p.m.?" I muttered, wiping sweat from my forehead. My life was already a mess before it even became a mess. I always knew my flashdrive was going to get me into troubles but didn't know it was going to be today.
Okada squinted at the clock through his rusty glasses, the kind that always slid halfway down his nose. "Ten more minutes, dude. But seriously, I'm dying to know… how much porn do you even have in that thing?"
A bitter laugh escaped my throat, my lips curling into a smirk I couldn't suppress. "Two thousand, two hundred and fifty."
Okada froze. His eyes widened like he'd just been told the meaning of life, then narrowed with disgust. "Two thousand two hundred and fifty?!" he hissed. "What the hell, man? Kids of this era are just so invested in naked women shaking their boobs and asses on social media. Get a life, you pervert!"
I leaned back in my chair, shoulders slumped. "Boobs and asses are my life," I shot back, half-joking, half-dead serious.
Okada slapped his palm to his face and groaned. "Let me guess, you've never fucked?" I slowly nodded my head and he burst into laughter. "Bro… you're gonna die a virgin with nothing but lotion bottles and a porn collection for company. Mark my words."
A faint blush of embarrassment surfaces on my cheeks. I didn't need him to remind me of my predicament of being a virgin in my twenties. If only he knew the truth. That porn wasn't just a distraction for me—it was survival. It was the only thing that kept my overclocked body from self-destructing. Without it, I'd already have drowned in my own hormones, consumed by my useless disease.
"What are you going to do?"
"Um, what else? I'm going to be at all odds and rush to the presidential suite, save my addiction from coming to limelight. The fastest route to Tokyo is through Shibuya Crossing." At the mention of the name, even Okada flinched. He slowly lowered his rusty glasses, his eyes narrowing like a man staring into hell.
"Shibuya?" he muttered. "You'd spend hours just on that road. That's the heaviest traffic street in all of Japan. Cars crawling like snails, buses stacked bumper-to-bumper, people flooding the crosswalk like ants. It's madness."
I already envisioned a day I would resort to passing through Tokyo's most busiest cities just to get to the presidential suite. Okada leaned back with a sigh. "But… it's also your cheapest and best bet if you don't want to switch between a dozen buses and lose yourself in the detours. Shibuya is direct. Brutal, but direct."
My palms clenched into fists. Brutal was better than hopeless.
I rose from my chair, straddling my bag on my back after pushing in my headphone, phone and laptop into it. "I'll take Shibuya," I muttered, my voice grim. "If traffic wants to bury me, then I'll claw through it. I don't care if I have to run on rooftops or tear through taxis. I'm not letting this be the end."
"Then may the gods of porn protect you, my friend. Here's ¥100—it should be enough for your transport."y
My chest warmed at the gesture, unexpected from a man like Okada. "That's so sweet of you, old man! I really appreciate it!" Before I knew it, I lunged forward, arms spread for a hug. But quick as lightning, Okada whipped out a wooden stick from under his desk, leveling it at me like a sword.
"Don't do that," he warned, eyes gleaming behind those rusty glasses. "Unless you want some spanking on your ass." For a split second, the room was silent—then both of us broke into laughter. "Alright," he said between chuckles, lowering the stick. "If you're serious about Shibuya, take the Keio Bus. It's the fastest one that goes straight through the crossing and right into Tokyo. If you're able to run like crazy, you might just snatch a place to stand. But sit? Forget it. By the time you get there, that bus will be packed like sardines."
"Standing's fine. I don't need comfort—I need speed"
*******
'If I miss this bus, everything's over.'
"Wait!" I shouted, my legs burning as I sprinted, shoving past suits and backpacks, slipping between skirts and briefcases. Just as the doors began to seal, I wedged my shoulder in, forcing myself through that the conductor had to stop the bus from moving. He gave me a stern look, sighed and kept the bus in motion. I didn't care. I was in and that's all that mattered. Inside was hell. Heat, sweat, perfume, and cigarettes blended into a suffocating haze. People pressed in from every angle, their shoulders digging into mine, their breaths hot against my ear.
Imagine a thirty-two seater bus accommodating hundred people at once. I gasped, my eyes darting desperately for air, for balance, for something—anything—to hold onto. And then I saw it.
One free pole and I guess I wasn't the only one that saw it, because everyone lunged for it. But I was faster, squeezing through gaps smaller than my frame, brushing past a grumbling old man and a girl with earphones who shot me a glare sharp enough to cut. My hand stretched, fingers trembling, until—grab.
I got hold of it!
But the moment was short-lived.
"Asshole!" a man barked from behind me, his briefcase slamming against my back.
"Selfish Goddamn Prick!"
"Fuck you all!" I shouted, my voice rising above the clamor. "The pole is mine!"