Chapter 16: Housewife

As a qualified housewife, the intensity of this “job” far exceeded Nakano Risa’s initial expectations.

On the surface, it was nothing more than managing household chores and preparing three meals a day—seemingly leisurely and carefree.

But once she truly immersed herself in it, she began to understand the endless trifles and frustrations hidden within.

This two-story detached house had a usable area of nearly 200 square meters combined.

Just giving it a thorough cleaning—vacuuming, wiping, organizing—was enough to consume an entire morning.

What made her complain the most were the tatami mats spread across multiple rooms.

With the Japanese-style living habits, these tatami mats doubled as beds at night, meaning she couldn’t just mop them like ordinary floors.

She had to kneel on the ground, holding a slightly damp clean cloth, and wipe them inch by inch with effort.

By the time she finished the whole process, not only were her knees aching, but her back and waist felt sore and stiff, as if they had been taken apart and reassembled.

“Damn it… this is even more exhausting than going to work…” she muttered, sprawled on the living room sofa, staring at the ceiling.

Time dragged on amid her aches and pains. It wasn’t until 5:30 in the afternoon, when the sound of a key turning came from the entrance, that Nakano Nobuhito returned home.

Risa immediately sprang up as if wound by a spring. She quickly smoothed out the slight wrinkles in her loungewear and tidied her somewhat messy hair, putting on a gentle, composed smile—what kind of proper mother would let her child see her collapsed like a heap?

“Nobuhito, you’re back,” she greeted him, deliberately softening her voice. “How was school today?”

The boy glanced at her, gave a brief “Mm,” and headed upstairs with his schoolbag, leaving behind a distant, unapproachable silhouette.

Risa had long grown used to this indifference. She let out a breath of relief, only to feel a new headache coming on.

Burdened with the duties of a “virtuous wife and good mother,” she had no choice but to raise her voice toward the stairs: “Nobuhito, what would you like for dinner tonight?”

She silently prayed: Please don’t pick anything too complicated.

From upstairs came his reply: “Anything’s fine. I’m okay with whatever.”

“Such a… considerate son,” Risa murmured under her breath.

She recalled that while tidying the fridge earlier, she had found a bag of frozen meat buns in the freezer.

If… if her husband didn’t come home for dinner tonight, then she could just steam the buns.

That would solve dinner and let her slack off a bit—killing two birds with one stone!

Her mood instantly brightened.

Humming an off-key tune, she leisurely turned on the TV, switched to a channel airing a new anime, and curled back into the sofa with a cushion.

The lively world of anime temporarily drove away her physical fatigue and inner tension, making her almost forget the strange situation she was in.

However, this brief comfort didn’t last long.

Click—

A clear sound of a key turning came from the entrance, followed by the soft noise of the door opening.

Risa froze, instinctively glancing at the wall clock—the hour hand had just reached six.

No way…

Her heart skipped a beat.

That “fake husband” was back this early again?

From the fragmented memories of the original owner, Japanese office workers—especially ordinary company employees like Nakano Masao—were supposed to be trapped in “overtime hell” and after-work drinking sessions.

It was normal not to see them until late at night or even early morning.

So why was this guy coming home right before dinner two days in a row?

If you clock out on time every day, won’t your boss give you trouble?

Or… are you just not valued at all?

She couldn’t help but rant inwardly, though she didn’t dare show it on her face. She quickly adjusted her expression, putting on the mask of a gentle wife.

She walked to the entrance just in time to see “Nakano Masao” bending down to change his shoes.

Naturally, she reached out to take his suit jacket and slightly heavy briefcase.

“You’re home early today,” she said gently, with just the right hint of surprise.

“Mm, finished my work,” the man replied, straightening up as he loosened the tie he’d worn all day and walked into the living room.

His gaze seemed to casually sweep over the still-lit TV screen, where the ending credits of the anime were playing.

Damn it… him coming back this early meant she’d have to spend more time alone with him.

And it also meant her lazy “steamed buns for dinner” plan would probably fall through.

“Um… honey, what would you like for dinner?” she asked resignedly.

“Hm,” the man thought for a moment. “Let’s have tonkatsu rice. I liked the taste last time.”

“Alright.” Risa secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

Although tonkatsu required frying pork cutlets on the spot, the steps were relatively fixed and didn’t take too long. Compared to dishes that required slow stewing or delicate preparation, this was already a “considerate” choice.

Half an hour later, steaming hot fried pork cutlets, rice drizzled with sauce, shredded cabbage, and miso soup were set on the table.

The three of them once again occupied their own spaces in silence.

As usual, Nobuhito buried his head in his food, as if another world existed inside his bowl.

The husband ate with the same elegant, unhurried manner, carrying a kind of overly standard etiquette that felt out of place at this ordinary family dining table.

Risa took small bites, but the corner of her eye never stopped observing.

She noticed that although her “husband’s” expression remained plain as ever, something subtle had changed.

It wasn’t a smile, nor his words, but the intangible aura around him—there was less of the faint, cold scrutiny she had sensed in previous days, and a hint of… relaxation?

Like a beast that had temporarily sheathed its claws, resting after confirming its territory was safe.

The change made her wary, yet also slightly puzzled.

At that moment, the man set down his chopsticks, gently wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, and spoke as if mentioning something casually: “Risa.”

“Yes?” She immediately looked up, adopting an attentive posture.

“We’re going to the zoo tomorrow. No need to prepare a bento.”

“Huh?” She froze. “Why? I’ve already prepared the ingredients—”

“We’ll eat at the restaurant inside the zoo,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for objection. Then he added a piece of news that would delight any housewife: “I got promoted. Starting next month, my salary should increase by about 30%. No need to be overly frugal in these matters.”

Earlier that day, through unseen “eyes,” he had already watched her moving between the supermarket and convenience store, filling the once-empty fridge to the brim. She had even been writing and sketching in a notebook, probably planning the bento menu.

That level of earnest preparation felt… somewhat unnecessary to him.

Since the identity he currently inhabited had gained more resources, giving a bit of convenience and leeway to the nominal “wife” of this body seemed perfectly acceptable.

After all, she had other qualities worth “appreciating”—like the well-maintained pair of feet he had touched the previous night.