Extra 5

Waking up smothered against David’s muscular chest, I give a long stretch, stark naked but stifling a physiological yawn.

Hmm… maybe I should try living with a bit more restraint.

It’s a holiday morning—er, no, afternoon, huh… well, whatever.

I got a little too carried away just because today’s a holiday… David gets really aggressive when he drinks.

I toss out a used condom that somehow missed the trash bin and catch sight of scattered underwear and clothes.

...Ugh, too much trouble. Might as well wash it all together.

Grabbing mine and David’s clothes in one big heap, I toss them into the washing machine and trust everything to the automatic mode.

Delamain’s been obsessed with home appliances lately. He’s been drawing up blueprints, building new devices, uninstalling the old ones, and setting them up all by himself.

The Delamanzu are basically just extensions of Delamain’s fingertips, so it’s essentially a one-man job… probably.

I count on the ultra-high-tech washer to sort laundry by type and wash it optimally. Meanwhile, I throw on a gray sports bra and shorts.

Clothes… sweats should do. Can’t be bothered.

Pulling on the top and bottom, I regain the bare minimum of human dignity and head to the kitchen to make breakfast—or rather, lunch.

My mouth feels gross from sleep, so I rinse it out and pour two cups of mineral water from the dispenser.

"...Phew, now this feels like I’m alive."

There’s just something about cold water—it always tastes good for some reason. Glancing into the fridge, I decide to make fried rice with leftovers.

Ever since Japan-based companies were brought in, my diet’s started to feel a lot like back in my previous life... Not that I have real memories of it.

Leftover green onions from when I over-chopped for soba, some kamaboko I use on instant ramen, and a block of chāshū that’s starting to push its expiration. That’s about it.

I’ll throw the rest together as side dishes—David’ll devour it saying it’s delicious over and over anyway.

Ever since I got this body, I haven’t had much of an appetite. I guess I’ve started caring more about things as a woman and now eat more carefully.

Though sometimes I remember my past life and binge eat.

I pour a tablespoon each of salad oil and sesame oil into a heated wok, let it coat the surface, then add beaten eggs and a microwaved rice pack.

Creating both crisped and fluffy textures, I mix the egg and rice vigorously with a ladle to that "time to make fried rice!" mood.

I toss in the roughly chopped ingredients, add seasoning, and balance the flavor.

Scooping the finished rice into a bowl with the ladle and shaping it by pressing it down, I plate the dish.

"Jug, good morniiiing..."

"Hm? You're up? Hey, I told you—no kisses right after waking up. Go rinse your mouth first."

"Fiiine..."

David turns into a child on holidays, always clinging to me like he’s sweet on his mom. I have to smack him away like this.

...Though really, it’s not just holidays. He’s always like that, huh.

I grab nimono and some dubious-date satsuma-age from the fridge and microwave them all at once.

Naturally, the microwave’s also been taken over by Delamain’s magic touch and works like a dream.

Laying out the warm leftovers on the table, I pour milk—which we finally started being able to get recently—into a glass.

I pour orange juice for David, set out utensils, and just as I finish, David finally shows up.

Looks like he also has no plans—he’s in sweats too. We match now.

He comes up behind me and gives a tight hug. I tap him, kiss his cheek, and guide him to his seat.

"The food’s gonna get cold, you know."

"...Yessir. Sorry. Thanks for the food."

"Then all’s well. Itadakimasu."

"Itadakimaaaasu. Hah—mmm, this is good. I had fried rice at a Chinese joint once, but this blows it away."

"Fufun, of course it does. You really think some restaurant food could beat this? It’s only been a few months since farm-raised ingredients came into circulation."

"That so? Mmph… then again, you’ve been feeding me since way before that."

"...Now that you mention it. Geez, what’re you doing, wearing rice like an accessory?"

I pluck a stray grain of rice from David’s chin with my fingertip and press it to his lips.

...Don’t go eating my finger along with it, idiot.

Hehehe, my ass. Now it’s all drenched in spit.

I wipe my fingers clean with a tissue and resume eating.

"Thanks for the food! Jug’s cooking is unbeatable."

"Yeah yeah, glad you liked it. You’re doing the dishes. I’m putting away the laundry."

"Aye aye."

We divvy up the chores pretty loosely. Delamain-made appliances are so efficient we don’t have to run around flustered anymore.

If we’re really busy, Delamain just pops in and takes care of the entire household on his own.

Still, while I do appreciate him making dinner sometimes… could he stop serving me something fit for a banquet while David just gets salt, rice, pickles, miso, and hot water?

At least turn it into an onigiri and miso soup for him.

Every time, David ends up begging for my side dishes.

...Don’t tell me, Delamain—you’re doing this just so you can see me feeding David by hand???

A mystery solved on a peaceful afternoon. I bask in the sun while folding laundry, soaking up the tranquility.

"I’m comin’ iiiin~"

A corrupted meme from my past life echoes faintly in my brain from that direction, but I ignore it.

Seems like Gloria-san came through the door that connects to David’s new family-run gun shop.

"Hello. Did something happen?"

"Aha… you can tell? Our receptionist and half of our gunsmith team are dying of dehydration and sleep deprivation, so I closed the shop and came over."

"…Again, huh. Got it. I’ll hand you a live-recording BD of David whispering my name while we make out during grossly sweet sex next time."

"Could you not kick her deeper into the bottomless pit?"

"...I mean, it’s just nice to know there’s a backup plan in case something happens to me."

"Yeah, but maybe don’t make it some shady, heavy darkness insurance? You can’t say stuff like that anymore. You know what they say—illness starts in the mind, right?"

"...Yeah. You’re right."

I'm not the kind of person who can fully trust someone to the very end, so the fact that I'm a clone feels like an invisible ticking time bomb.

Part of it is probably that nagging feeling from all the subculture stuff crammed in the back of my head—clones usually come with some fatal flaw, don't they?

...Worst case, Delamain might just turn me into a memory trace.

Well, if that happens, then it happens. Honestly, a memory-traced version of me wouldn't be me anyway.

That new me, turned into a trace, will probably do just fine on their own.

"I'm really grateful to you, Jug-chan, for getting along with my child... a bit too well, actually. So I hope you'll let me keep watching over you two for a long time."

"Ahaha... I’ll do my best."

"Haa. Well, I suppose it’s fine. David will figure something out anyway. What about that kid?"

"Looks like they moved on from doing the dishes to cleaning the bathroom. It’s a huge help having someone to split the chores with. Is that thanks to your training, Mother-in-law?"

"Ah—well, you know? When you're tired, you just... end up falling asleep, right? Ahaha..."

She’s a paramedic and a single mother on the surface, but behind the scenes she was running a little side business fencing scavenger goods. No wonder the stress and fatigue piled up.

Without digging too deeply, I let the topic flow naturally, and we chatted like a casual neighborhood meeting about recent events.

I’m the owner of the gun shop, and Gloria-san is the manager, so communication about the business is incredibly smooth.

Honestly, at this point, it’s like a rich person’s hobby.

What started out as just a way to scrape together some startup cash somehow ended up sprawling out into a whole little town—so even if we ran a deficit every day, it wouldn’t be a problem.

But Gloria-san is a serious, earnest type, and she seems determined to keep us in the black.

"Well, Night City’s been pretty peaceful lately. About the only customers we get are kids from Dragon Tail, buying stuff for self-defense."

"Maybe we should start selling mock bullets. Emphasize their use for riot control and the like. Or maybe lean into our custom shop side a bit more. If people are carrying guns for self-defense, there’s a fashion aspect to it too, right? We could ride the trend of decorating them—it might catch on."

"That might not be a bad idea. Mock bullets for kids might be going a bit far, but it's still better than real rounds, I guess."

And so the conversation continued with topics like business, or the delicious cake shop over in the Zipang district—nice, heartwarming stuff.

Ah, right. I need to tell her about the spaceship launch David and I are secretly working on at our hidden base.

It’ll be piloted remotely using a cyberbody for safety, but the launch itself should be pretty impressive to watch.

Once all the inspection items are cleared, maybe we can all head to the moon for a little trip.

Here’s hoping these sunny, peaceful days go on forever.

With a prayer sent skyward to nowhere in particular, I savored the peace.