Didn’t You Say I Was Just a Stand-In?

The mixer lasted until 8 p.m. before everyone finally called it a night. When it came time to pay, they split the bill evenly—standard practice in Japan. Even on dates, couples usually go Dutch, with the guy occasionally covering a bit more. But for a first meeting like this, splitting the cost was a no-brainer.

"It's pretty late now. Let us walk you home," Ohtani Shota suggested as they stepped out of the karaoke bar into the darkened streets.

"Sure!" Takamiya Sakaki agreed without hesitation.

Shibuya was a district that never slept, and by nightfall, it transformed into a chaotic, neon-lit playground. The streets were alive with all sorts of characters, and the atmosphere was far from pristine. The ground was damp, littered with cigarette butts and fast-food containers, while fat rats scurried around overflowing trash bags in the shadows. Drunkards lay sprawled on the sidewalks, ignored by passersby.

Along the streets, young women dressed as maids, nurses, or even wearing animal ears enthusiastically waved signs, trying to lure customers into bars. If you weren't careful, you could easily find yourself dragged into one of these places, only to watch your wallet shrink dramatically by the end of the night. Compared to the daytime, Shibuya at night felt like an entirely different world.

Even though Sakaki and the others were gyaru, they weren't immune to the unease of walking through such an area at night. Having the guys accompany them was a welcome safety measure.

"Where does everyone live?" Ohtani asked.

"I'm in Takadanobaba, 3-chome," Sakaki replied.

Ohashi Natsumi turned to Kitahara Takashi with a hopeful look. "I live in Nerima~"

Kitahara, who had already put his mask back on, met her gaze with a neutral expression. "Too bad. I'm in Bunkyo."

Watanabe Hoshi turned her head sharply, surprised. "You live in Bunkyo too?"

"Yeah, I rent a place there," Kitahara confirmed.

Bunkyo, whose name literally means "Capital of Culture," was Tokyo's educational hub. Ever since the University of Tokyo relocated there during the Showa era, the district had become a gathering place for scholars and writers, earning its reputation as Japan's premier academic center. It was home to numerous prestigious institutions, including the top-ranked University of Tokyo, as well as Ochanomizu Women's University, Juntendo University, and Tokyo Medical and Dental University, among over 20 others.

In Japan, Bunkyo was often referred to as the "King of School Districts," comparable to Beijing's Haidian District. Thanks to its concentration of elite educational facilities, Bunkyo boasted the lowest crime rate and the best public safety among Tokyo's 23 wards—which was exactly why Kitahara had chosen to live there.

"Do you live alone, Kitahara?" Natsumi asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Kitahara sensed danger immediately and lied without missing a beat. "No, I share the place with someone."

No way was he going to admit he lived alone. If he did, he was certain Natsumi would invite herself over tonight. He wasn't about to underestimate the power of his 9/10 charm rating.

Kitahara Takashi's looks were practically at the upper limit of what a human could achieve. Any more, and he might as well stop being human. He wore a mask not just out of habit from the pandemic but also to avoid unwanted attention. If he were a bit older, he could easily outshine even the most famous hosts in Kabukicho, like Roland or Takeru. Honestly, he didn't think most hosts were all that good-looking anyway.

"Oh, okay…" Ohashi Natsumi's face fell, but just as Kitahara thought the conversation was over, she tugged on his sleeve and motioned for him to lean in. After a moment's hesitation, he bent down to listen.

"We could keep it quiet at night. I won't make a sound," she whispered.

Kitahara: "???"

Something's wrong with you!

"Bye, Kitahara! Make sure to message me, okay?"

"Sure."

At the subway station, everyone went their separate ways, heading in different directions. Natsumi looked reluctant to leave, but eventually, they all said their goodbyes.

Kitahara, Kitagawa Marin, and Watanabe Hoshi were heading the same way, so they boarded the train together. Kitahara and Marin kept chatting, their conversation shifting from cameras to bead bracelets. Marin was outgoing and cheerful, the kind of girl who made conversations easy and enjoyable. She responded to every comment, never letting the discussion lag or turn awkward. Being around someone like her—a little ball of sunshine—was refreshing. You could tell that spending time with her would make every day brighter.

While Kitahara and Marin chatted away, Hoshi was left out. She sat quietly, glaring at her phone as she tapped the screen with enough force to crack it.

"Oh, this is my stop," Marin said as the train pulled into her station.

"I'll walk you home," Kitahara offered, following her off the train. He didn't feel comfortable staying behind with Hoshi, so he figured he might as well make sure Marin got home safely and catch the next train back.

"You don't have to. It's really close—just a five-minute walk from the station."

"It's no trouble. I promised the others I'd make sure you got home safe," Kitahara insisted.

Marin didn't argue further, and the two walked out of the station together, chatting as they went. It didn't take long to reach her apartment.

"I'm home. Thanks, Kitahara-kun," Marin said, waving from her doorstep.

"Next time you need photos taken, hit me up," Kitahara joked.

"I'll work hard and save up for your fees," Marin replied with a grin, her hands clasped behind her back.

"Good luck with that. See you later," Kitahara said, giving a casual wave before shoving his hands into his pockets and heading back downstairs.

"Bye!" Marin waited until he was out of sight before closing the door.

As Kitahara stepped out of the apartment building, he spotted Hoshi standing nearby. She must have followed them off the train. Next to her was a middle-aged man with thinning hair and round glasses, who seemed to be harassing her. The man's face was flushed, likely from alcohol, and his words slurred as he spoke loudly.

"Come on, it's 30,000 yen. You're standing out here at night—you must be waiting for customers, right?"

Hoshi tried to step around him, clearly annoyed. "I already told you, I'm not that kind of girl. And my boyfriend's on his way, so back off!"

"40,000 yen. That's my final offer," the man persisted, refusing to give up.

Kitahara wasn't surprised. Contrary to popular belief, street harassment in Tokyo wasn't limited to young men. Plenty of older men were just as bold—or worse.

He walked over and tapped the man on the shoulder.

"What do you want?" the balding man snapped, turning around. When he saw Kitahara towering over him, his bravado faltered. There was something intimidating about facing someone a head taller than you.

"Takashi, you're here!" Hoshi exclaimed, rushing to Kitahara's side and clinging to his arm like a relieved girlfriend.

The man's face paled. He'd assumed Hoshi was a street worker, but it seemed she really had been waiting for her boyfriend.

Kitahara raised an eyebrow but didn't correct her. Instead, he fixed the man with a steady gaze. "Do you need something from my girlfriend?"