Futaro stood in the kitchen, gripping the countertop as if it were the only thing keeping him from losing his mind. He stared at the clutter of half-opened snack bags, bottles of strange sauces, and random fruits covering every inch of the counter. His brain, which had once expertly navigated the complexity of tutoring the Nakano quintuplets, now struggled to process the sheer chaos of their pregnancies.

Five pregnant wives. Five sets of cravings. Five distinct personalities—each amplified by mood swings that could change on a whim. Futaro had read every pregnancy book he could find, but nothing had prepared him for this.

Before he could collect his thoughts, Nino’s sharp voice pierced through the house. “Futaro! Where are my sour pickles and vanilla ice cream?! If you don’t bring them soon, I swear—”

---

Nino had always been demanding, but pregnancy had taken it to a new level. She craved the strangest combinations—tonight, it was sour pickles with vanilla ice cream.

Futaro quickly scanned the fridge, his heart racing. Where did I put them? He found the pickles, but the ice cream was nowhere to be seen.

“Nino, I swear I bought it this morning,” he muttered to himself, panic creeping into his voice. He closed the fridge and opened it again, hoping the ice cream would magically reappear.

But Nino wasn’t going to wait. “Futaro!” she called again, her tone a mix of impatience and warning.

Racing into the living room, Futaro found Nino lounging on the couch, her belly prominent, her arms crossed. She narrowed her eyes at him, tapping her foot. “If I don’t get that ice cream in five minutes, you’re going back to the store.”

He sighed, holding up the pickles in surrender. “I’ll… I’ll find it, I promise.”

---

Just as he turned to escape back into the kitchen, Ichika’s laughter rang out from the next room. He paused, unsure if she was laughing or crying—these days, it was hard to tell. He poked his head into the dining room, where Ichika sat in front of the TV. A baby commercial was playing, showing tiny newborns in pastel-colored onesies.

“They’re so cute, Futaro,” Ichika whispered, her voice breaking slightly. Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were now glistening with tears. “Look how small they are. We’re going to have tiny babies like that, aren’t we?”

Futaro froze, unsure of how to respond. Do I comfort her or let her cry it out? he wondered, remembering how Ichika’s mood swings had been unpredictable. One moment, she’d be her playful, teasing self, and the next, she’d be an emotional wreck over the smallest things.

“They’ll be adorable,” he finally said, cautiously stepping closer. “Just like you.”

Ichika sniffed, looking up at him with a wobbly smile. “I know I’m being silly. But I can’t help it, Futaro. It’s just… overwhelming sometimes.”

He nodded, offering her a gentle hug, even as his brain screamed about Nino's pickles and ice cream waiting in the other room.

---

As if the universe could sense his growing distress, a quiet voice called from the hallway. “Futaro…?”

He turned to see Miku standing by the doorway, her dark pink hair framing her delicate features. She held a thick book in her hands, her soft eyes brimming with curiosity. “I was thinking…” Miku began, shifting her weight as if nervous to bother him. “Could we try making Edo-period sushi tonight?”

Futaro blinked, his brain failing to comprehend the request. “Edo-period… what?” he stammered.

Miku opened the book and pointed to a faded recipe, her tone filled with quiet excitement. “It’s different from modern sushi. The rice is fermented longer, and the fish is cured in a special way. I’ve been researching it all day. I think it would be really interesting to try.”

Futaro ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on him. He admired Miku’s passion for history, but right now, he could barely handle the present, let alone recreate something from centuries ago.

“Sure, Miku,” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic, though he doubted they had the ingredients for such an obscure dish. “I’ll see what we can do.”

Miku’s face lit up with a soft smile. “Thank you, Futaro. I know it’s a bit complicated, but I appreciate it.”

Futaro nodded, his mind spinning. Complicated didn’t even begin to describe it.

---

Just as he turned to head back to the kitchen, Yotsuba came bounding into the living room, her orange hair bouncing with her usual energy. Despite being several months pregnant, she still moved like a whirlwind, never slowing down.

“Futaro!” she called, a wide grin on her face. “I’ve been thinking… We need to reorganize the nursery!”

Futaro groaned inwardly. They’d already rearranged the nursery twice this week, but Yotsuba’s nesting instincts had kicked into overdrive. She was determined to make everything perfect for the babies, even if it meant repainting the walls at 2 a.m.

“But Yotsuba,” Futaro began, trying to reason with her, “didn’t we just—”

“No, no, no!” she interrupted, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s not right yet. We need to move the crib to the other side of the room. Trust me, it’ll look much better. Come on, let’s do it now!”

Futaro looked at the clock, feeling the exhaustion creeping up on him. “Can we maybe… wait until after dinner?”

Yotsuba pouted, her big eyes full of determination. “But Futaro, the babies are coming soon! We have to be ready.”

He sighed, knowing there was no arguing with Yotsuba when she got like this. “Okay, okay. Let’s finish dinner first, and then we’ll move the crib.”

---

As Futaro finally made his way back to the kitchen, he heard a quiet sniffle from the doorway. There stood Itsuki, her bright red hair pulled back in a braid, her face a picture of determination… except for the chocolate bar she was holding.

“I know I’m supposed to be eating more vegetables,” she said, her voice wavering, “but I just really wanted chocolate today.”

Futaro walked over to her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Itsuki. A little chocolate won’t hurt.”

Itsuki shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “But what if it does? I want to be the best mom I can be, Futaro. I’ve been reading all these articles about proper nutrition, and I feel like I’m already failing.”

Futaro smiled softly, pulling her into a gentle hug. “You’re going to be an amazing mom. A bit of chocolate won’t change that.”

She sniffed, resting her head on his shoulder. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he whispered, giving her a squeeze before finally stepping back to face the disaster zone that was their kitchen.

---

As the sun set and the house finally settled into a calm lull, Futaro found himself collapsed on the couch, his head resting against the cushions. He had managed to appease Nino’s cravings, comfort Ichika’s emotional swings, promise Miku they’d attempt Edo-period sushi, assure Yotsuba that the nursery would be perfect, and calm Itsuki’s worries. But as he closed his eyes, the reality of the situation sank in.

Five pregnant wives. Five babies on the way.

Before he could drift off to sleep, a voice called out from the kitchen.

“Futaro? Can you come here for a sec?”

He groaned, rubbing his eyes. It seemed his job was far from over.