Dude’s basically the captain of the SS Shut In, trying to navigate an ocean of daytime TV and snack wrappers, but his ship is getting boarded. On one side, we’ve got Nami, his childhood friend who’s loves to corner him with flirtatious and lewd teases, “let’s see how flustered we can get Naoki.” She’s coming at him with more enthusiasm than a facing a final boss in a video game, ready to take their relationship more seriously. His willpower is shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.
Bro’s is doing the mental equivalent of the blue screen. It ain’t that he’s not ready. He’s stuck between a rock and a… well, another rock, and both are crazy hot.
And then, plot twist of the century. Enter Mizuho, Nami’s mom, who’s apparently decided that Naoki is her own personal stress-relief toy. This isn’t some subtle flirtation; this is a five-alarm fire in a fireworks factory. She’s coming in hotter than a stolen tamale. One minute he’s trying to politely decline Nami’s very persuasive offers, the next he’s hiding in the bathroom only to find Mizuho there, putting the “mom” in “moment of panic.” She’s not just hinting at things, she’s writing a whole novel.
Naoki’s life has officially become a sitcom. He’s playing a game of Twister with two players who don’t know they’re on the same mat, and the spinner is rigged. But every time he tries to tap out, someone turns up the heat, and let’s just say his resolve has a lower melting point than a popsicle in Phoenix. Dude is in deep, and the shovel to dig himself out is nowhere to be found.