SSS-Class MILFs And Their Yandere Daughters, I Want Them All!-Chapter 280: Time For Some Self-Pleasure

When Mika first stepped inside, he instinctively thought that with all those dozens of floating eyes in jars, he’d be caught instantly.

There were at least twenty of them circling lazily in the dim glow—drifting near the ceiling, hovering over piles of parchment, even tucked between open law tomes.

’Surely...’ He thought. ’...the moment I walk in, they’ll all swivel and stare at me.’

But nothing happened.

Not a single eye turned. Not one hand paused in its scribbling.

Anya was so absorbed in her work that the entire library might as well have ceased to exist outside her lamp’s circle of light.

Mika’s lips curved into a faint smile.

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen her like this. It reminded him of the countless evenings years ago when he’d call both Fauna and Anya for dinner and get no response at all.

No matter how loud he knocked or called their names, they’d be completely lost in their world of research—Fauna with her medical notes, and Anya with her papers.

It always took shaking their shoulders or stealing their pens to get their attention.

So to do the same, Mika carefully stepped into the library, doing his best not to disturb the delicate operation unfolding around him. He maneuvered between floating pages, sidestepped disembodied hands clutching pens, and resisted the instinct to flinch whenever an eye in a jar suddenly twitched in his direction.

The sight was...unnerving, even for him and he had a strange, uneasy feeling that any second one of them might turn and spot him.

When he finally reached Anya’s desk, he stood beside her chair and that’s when he noticed the ground beneath her desk—littered with empty energy drink cans and instant coffee bottles.

A dozen at least, maybe more.

’So she’s doing it again.’ He sighed softly. ’Overworking herself until her hands shake, until she forgets what time it is.’

But before he could speak any louder, Anya’s hand suddenly stopped mid-sentence. Her pen hovered just above the page, ink dripping onto the parchment.

Slowly, her head turned, her gaze falling on Mika.

Their eyes met.

For a moment, silence filled the room and Mika braced himself for the usual reaction—her high-pitched squeal, her leaping into his arms, maybe even tears of joy.

But none of that happened.

Instead, she just...stared.

Her eyes studied him with quiet curiosity, as if she were trying to solve a riddle. The silence stretched so long that even the floating hands seemed to hesitate in midair.

Then, finally, she blinked. Her lips curved into a faint smile, and she let out a small, tired laugh.

"Well..." She murmured to herself. "It seems like I’ve really overworked myself today."

Her voice was hoarse and low, the kind that came from too many sleepless nights.

"Mom did tell me to rest and get some sleep, and I kept denying it...but it looks like she was right after all. I’m even starting to see hallucinations of Mika now."

"He’s even standing right there with that confused look on his face." She let out another small laugh, shaking her head as she looked right at him. "It’s almost too real. I really wasn’t expecting this kind of symptom."

Mika blinked again, completely lost.

Hallucination?

But before he could say anything she continued muttering aloud, oblivious to the real Mika standing less than two feet away.

"Honestly, this isn’t even the first time this has happened." She went on, her tone soft and strangely wistful.

"When Mika first left the family..." She paused, smiling sadly to herself. "I used to get so lonely sometimes. I’d sit here and talk to myself, pretending he was by my side."

"Sometimes I’d even imagine his figure sitting near me, listening quietly like he used to."

Her eyes grew distant, her voice laced with bittersweet nostalgia.

"It just made me feel better...Like he was still around."

Mika’s expression turned awkward, his heart twisting a little at her words.

Guilt flickered across his face as he realized just how lonely she must have been back then.

But before he could step forward, Anya leaned back in her chair and squinted at him again, studying him closely.

"But this one..." She murmured thoughtfully. "...this hallucination is very detailed. It even breathes and moves."

She tilted her head, her lips curving in a faint smile.

"This might actually be the most realistic version of Mika I’ve seen so far."

She then reached down, picking up one of the empty energy drink cans and squinting at it.

"Mom always told me these would rot my brain." She muttered. "I guess she was right. I really should stop drinking so many of these...unless I want to go completely insane."

Mika didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but before he could, Anya’s voice carried on, half-amused and half-delirious.

"Oh wow." She said lightly, chuckling to herself. "This hallucination even moves. Not only that—he reacts too! Incredible. Not only is this Mika the most realistic one yet, but he’s also interactive."

She blinked once, then smiled dreamily.

"I guess I’ve hit the jackpot tonight."

And with that, she turned back toward her desk, jotting down a few more notes, completely convinced that the real Mika standing beside her was nothing more than another figment of her overworked imagination.

Meanwhile, Mika stood frozen, mouth half-open, brain struggling to process what he was hearing.

A hallucination.

He—real, flesh-and-blood, freshly-returned Mika—was being dismissed as an overwork-induced mirage.

He wasn’t sure if he should laugh, cry, or be offended.

Part of him wanted to shout, "I’m right here, you over-caffeinated workaholic!"

Another part was weirdly touched that even in her delirious state, her brain had conjured him for comfort.

He settled on the practical and reached out, fully intending to grab her shoulders and shake her until she realized he was very much real, when Anya’s head snapped back toward him.

Her eyes narrowed, but this time there was something different in them: curiosity, mischief, and a glint of something dangerously playful.

"Actually..." She murmured, voice low and thoughtful. "Now that I have such a realistic version of Mika standing right in front of me...why waste it?"

Mika’s hand froze mid-air. A very bad feeling crawled up his spine, while Anya herself leaned back in her chair, lips curling into a lewd smile.

"I’ve been working nonstop for three days straight." She continued, almost conversationally. "I’m exhausted. I need a break. And what better way to relax than with my favorite stress-relief fantasy?"

Mika took one cautious step back. "Anya—"

But it was too late.

With the lazy confidence of someone who believed she was completely alone, Anya hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her silky pajama pants and slid them down her long, pale legs in one fluid motion.

The fabric pooled at her ankles before she kicked it aside.

Mika’s throat went dry.

She wasn’t wearing anything underneath except a pair of thin black panties, already clinging damply to her skin.

But even that didn’t stay for long as Anya lifted her hips just enough to drag those down too, letting them fall to the floor with the pants.

Then she sat back down.

Completely bare from the waist down.

Her thighs were thick and soft, the kind that made you want to bury your face between them and never come up for air.

And between them, framed by that familiar, ethereal rainbow patch of pubic hair, was her pussy: pale, flushed pink at the edges, already glistening.

Anya then spread her legs slightly, just enough for the lamplight to catch the wetness gathering on her folds.

And before he could form a coherent thought, Anya’s hand drifted down.

Her fingers brushed her clit, slow strokes at first, then faster. A soft, breathy moan slipped from her lips as she then sank two fingers inside herself with a wet, obscene sound.

"Nngh...just like that..." She whispered, eyes half-lidded, completely lost in her own fantasy. "Mika...deeper..."

And seeing this, Mika’s brain blue-screened.

She was fingering herself.

Right in front of him.

While under the impression he was a hallucination.