Chapter 16: Role-Playing Game
The next morning, Linh woke up when the first rays of sunlight were shining through the crack in the door. The fatigue of a sleepless night seemed to have disappeared, replaced by a strange clarity. She looked into the living room, Troc was sleeping soundly on the sofa, his face still marked with fatigue and pain, surrounded by empty beer cans. Last night, after staggering into the bedroom, she could not sleep. Troc’s drunken confessions kept echoing in her head, mixed with the image of Sato-san’s disgusting hand, the unpleasant feeling at the bar, all swirling together to create a fierce storm in her mind. But when the storm passed, it did not leave desolation but a chilling silence. A path had been drawn, a mission had been born from her own despair and desire.
She sat up gently, not making a sound. Her movements now had a leisurely, proactive quality, unlike the timid, confused ones of the previous days. She went to clean up the battlefield in the living room, picking up each beer can and putting them in the trash bag. The smell of beer was sour, but she didn’t find it unpleasant. It was the smell of weakness, something she decided she would never let herself taste again.
A small noise woke Troc up. He raised his hand to hold his pounding head, squinting and looking around. When he saw Linh quietly cleaning up, then looking at the neatly collected beer cans, his eyes revealed a look of confusion and extreme shame. He couldn’t remember exactly what he had said, but the feeling of being naked after revealing the most pathetic part of himself was still there. He was afraid to face Linh, afraid to see pity or contempt in her eyes.
“You… you woke up so early?” He stuttered, not daring to look her straight in the eye.
“I’m used to it. Go wash your face, I’ll make you a glass of lemonade to sober up.” Linh replied. Her voice was strangely calm, without a trace of resentment or curiosity.
Her calmness made Troc even more awkward. He expected her to be angry, to blame, to cry. But she was so calm, like a lake without a ripple, that he could not guess the hidden storms swirling underneath. During breakfast, the atmosphere between the two was extremely awkward. They only talked about trivial things like the weather and food. Troc tried to avoid any topics related to work or the night before, just hoping to bury his shameful confession in oblivion. He did not know that, for Linh, it was not a confession, but a call. It was the key that opened the door to the plan she had outlined during a sleepless night.
As soon as Troc left home for work, the small apartment fell silent again. Linh sat down in front of her brother’s old laptop. The curiosity of the day before had now turned into an urgent need. She was no longer searching aimlessly. She was researching. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, typing in more specific, practical keywords: “Japanese office culture,” “how to build a good relationship with a Japanese boss.”
The first results that appeared were quite general: articles about diligence, team spirit, bowing culture. She frowned, refining the keywords: “what Japanese bosses like”, “gifts for Japanese partners”. This time, the results began to lead her into another world. Forums, blogs sharing the experiences of girls working in bars, hostess clubs, teaching how to pour wine, how to talk, how to please difficult business guests. And from there, she was like a rabbit falling into a hole, lost in the world of sexual entertainment typical of Japan.
She opened a website about Imekura – role-playing clubs. The screen was filled with flashy images, girls in all sorts of uniforms: nurses, maids, schoolgirls. Flashing advertisements promised: “Make all your fantasies come true”, “Experience a night as a master”. She read on, and ended up on another page about Soapland – special “bathhouses”. This website had a more refined, luxurious design. The pictures were just of gorgeous bathtubs, dimly lit rooms, no women in sight, but the descriptions of the services were shockingly blunt: “body therapy”, “experience the ultimate softness and slipperiness”. She read about even more daring services, where one or more male staff would serve couples looking for something new, pushing all boundaries.
The images and descriptions made her face burn, a mixture of disgust and amusement. Her heart pounded, her breathing quickened. But she didn’t stop. She was no longer looking at them as a curious bystander. She was looking at them as a strategist studying the battlefield, evaluating each weapon, each battle plan. She was learning the rules, learning the terminology, learning how to transform her body into a tool. She was preparing for a war where her sacrifice would be worth it. This was the price. This was the investment. And the return would be his future.
A few days passed in that tense silence. One evening, Troc returned from a tiring day of work at the construction site, still smelling of sweat and dust. He seemed to have had a few drinks, his cheeks were slightly flushed. Perhaps he needed a little bit of alcohol to have the courage to do this. He handed Linh a paper bag, his voice a little hesitant:
“I… I bought this in Akihabara. It looked interesting… just for fun.”
Linh opened the bag. Inside was a Japanese schoolgirl uniform. The white shirt, the striped tie, and the pleated skirt that was so short it couldn’t be any shorter. It was cheap, the fabric was rough, but it was a symbol. Troc, in his tension and frustration, had unconsciously sought an escape in the world of fantasy, in the role-playing game. He wanted to escape from the reality of a worker who had to bow his head, to become another character with more power.
Linh looked at the uniform, then looked up at Troc. She saw no embarrassment or rejection in his eyes. Instead, there was understanding and acceptance. Troc’s initiative, albeit unconscious, had given her the perfect excuse to begin the first step of her plan.
“Let me try,” she said, her voice calm.
Her quick agreement surprised Troc a bit. He had mentally prepared himself to be called a pervert by her. But she just grabbed the clothes and went straight to the bedroom.
Inside the small room, alone facing the uniform, Linh took a deep breath. She touched the rough fabric of the dress, feeling its shortness. This was not clothing. This was a role. She began to take off her home clothes, also taking off the person named “Linh”. Linh was staying in the room. The person who came out would be a doll, a naughty schoolgirl. A doll does not know pain, does not know shame.
A few minutes later, the bedroom door opened. Linh stepped out.
For a moment, Troc held his breath. In front of him was a Japanese schoolgirl straight out of an adult movie . She had the top button of her white shirt deliberately undone. Her short skirt barely covered her plump butt. She wore knee-high socks, making her thighs look even longer and more inviting.
The role-playing that night was more natural than the last. They were no longer shy. Troc easily played the role of the strict teacher, while Linh played the role of the naughty, inviting schoolgirl. The lovemaking was a combination of authoritative commands and lustful submission.
But tonight, Linh had another thought in mind. While moaning under Troc, she was asking herself. Can I do this with another man? Can I maintain this control, this separation between body and soul when it’s not Troc? This game was no longer just for escape. It had become a rehearsal. A test for the greater challenges to come. She realized that when she submitted perfectly, she was the one who held absolute power over Troc’s emotions and desires. I need to learn to control my moans, learn to pretend as honestly as possible. With Sato-san, with Suzuki-san, I won’t have the chance to do it again. She was ready for the final test.
On one of the last days of the trip, Troc spoke to Linh in a very serious tone.
“There’s a very special type of massage therapy here… It’s for couples who want to explore new boundaries. I saw it advertised online… with a male therapist to help enhance the experience. It’s quite expensive, but I want to try it once. Do you… do you dare?”
He was testing her. And she knew it.
“I dare,” Linh replied without hesitation.
Troc led her to a luxurious, discreet building in Shinjuku. Unlike Yoshiwara, this place was more upscale and secretive. The room they were shown into was more luxurious than a five-star hotel room. But what caught Linh’s attention most was a large massage bed in the middle of the room, next to a Jacuzzi and a glass-enclosed sauna.
They had just finished changing into their bathrobes when a man walked in. He was wearing loose black silk pants, revealing his muscular, toned upper body. He was about thirty years old, his face handsome in a cold, professional way. He bowed and introduced himself as Kenta, their therapist today.
Linh glanced at Troc. She saw his jaw tighten slightly. Even though he was the one who suggested it, when faced with the reality – another man, young and muscular, about to touch his woman – Troc’s possessive and jealous instincts still arose.
Kenta motioned for Linh to lie face down on the massage bed. He began his work methodically. His fingers slid over her back, strong but technical, like a physical therapist. It was that professionalism that made the atmosphere even more stuffy and sexual.
Linh turned her head and looked at Troc sitting on the armchair in the corner of the room. He was staring at the scene before him. A strange man’s hands were massaging her bare back. Linh saw Troc’s eyes darken, a mixture of anger, helplessness, and a sick curiosity. He was being put into the same role as her husband, Duc Anh. The role of a man who enjoyed watching his wife being possessed.
Kenta turned Linh over. He began massaging her front. Linh felt her nipples harden. Kenta noticed. He glanced at Troc, as if in silent request. Troc said nothing, just nodded slightly, an almost invisible nod.
That was the signal. The barrier was broken. Kenta’s hands began to move lower. He caressed her lower abdomen, then her inner thighs. Linh closed her eyes, trying to separate her mind from her body. This was the mission. This was just a test.
She opened her eyes and looked at Troc. He was breathing heavily, his cock hard under his robe. He was no longer jealous. He was aroused, with voyeuristic arousal.
Kenta bent down and began to service her with his mouth. Linh was startled. Having a stranger do that to her was different from Troc. It was raw, it was transactional. But she forced herself to relax, to moan. She was acting. And she had to be a good actress.
She looked at Troc, her eyes were like an invitation. Troc staggered to his feet and walked over. He didn’t look at Kenta, he only looked at her. He bent down and kissed her lips hungrily while Kenta was still working hard below.
That was the moment Linh knew she had passed the test. She was between two men. One was her brother, her lover, her accomplice. The other was a stranger, a tool. And she was the center, the one who controlled it all. She moaned, for real this time. But it was not a moan of physical pleasure, but a moan of power, of satisfaction at knowing she could control the desires of both men.
Troc pulled her up, making her face him, and then inserted his cock into Linh’s mouth. At the same time, Kenta moved back, using his hands and mouth to continue stimulating her ass and back. Linh threw her head back, taking the attack from both sides. She no longer thought about anything. She had completely let go. She had become the embodiment of lust itself, a goddess of depravity, served by two devoted followers.
On the way back, they walked in silence. But this silence was deeper than the previous one. It was the silence of two people who had gone to the depths of their sickness and returned together. Troc was no longer her brother. He was the one who had witnessed, allowed, and participated in her being possessed by another man. He was an accomplice, the first audience in the play she was about to perform.
As she neared home, Linh suddenly spoke, her voice deep and clear in the quiet night.
“What will we be after this?”
Her question wasn’t about love. It was a question of role. Are you willing to stand by while I do what needs to be done? That was the real implication.
Bald stopped. He looked at her with a complicated gaze filled with desire, shame, and resignation. He couldn’t answer. He knew he was caught in a game he couldn’t escape from. He was disgusted with himself, but he couldn’t deny the excitement he had just experienced.
“We’ll see when we get home.” That was all he could say.
Linh did not ask any more. She knew the answer. The contract had been signed, not on paper but with flesh and the most naked desires. He had passed her test. He would be a loyal spectator, a willing accomplice in her mission. The path ahead was clear. And Linh was ready to give.