Chapter Text
The neon sign of the Miyoin Salon buzzed above me. Five minutes had already passed. I sat on the cold iron bench, hands clasped tightly, watching every shadow that walked by. Had he canceled?
I was used to clients backing out of these compensated dates at the last minute. Sure, it spared me the anxiety of meeting a stranger, but it also meant one harsh reality: no money meant no help for my dad.
I pulled out my phone for one last mirror check. I’d spent an extra twenty minutes loosening my purple twin drills into softer curls. My pink lipstick was bolder than my usual school look. I wasn't used to wearing heavy makeup, but this particular client was known for being generous. I had to look perfect.
Taking a deep breath, I caught the familiar scent of my blackberry shampoo. It was a cheap brand my mom used to buy, and I rationed it carefully to make the bottle last.
I adjusted the crisp white collar of my lilac sweater and the gold heart necklace resting on my chest. My lace skirt fluttered in the evening breeze, brushing against my white knee high socks and the lilac flats I’d meticulously polished last night. It was my only nice outfit.
Every penny I earned went straight to keeping the loan sharks away from my father. Before slipping out under the excuse of "studying with Saki," I’d seen him slumped on the sofa with a bottle in his hand. All I wanted was to clear those debts and end this nightmare.
"Excuse me, sweetheart. Are you Airi Yua?"
The deep, slightly raspy, and casually confident voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
My head shot up, and I instinctively shrank back against the bench. The guy standing under the streetlight was a total giant. He easily stood around 190 cm, broad shouldered and athletic. He had messy ash blonde hair with his natural dark roots clearly showing.
He wasn't some balding, middle aged businessman. At most, he was in his early twenties.
He had a sharp jawline, but it was his piercing yellowish green eyes that pinned me in place. The tired redness around them gave him a dangerous, edgy vibe. A thick silver hoop caught the neon light on his left ear. His khaki jacket was left open, showing off a tight black shirt, a gothic neck tattoo, and a heavy metal chain resting on his chest. His hands, wrapped in fingerless black leather gloves, were casually shoved into his pockets.
He looked like the delinquents who hung out behind the school incinerator, just older, bigger, and far more intimidating. For a split second, I pictured the loan sharks who constantly harassed my dad.
I pushed down my panic. I needed to stay professional. Tonight, I was "Airi Yua."
Forcing a bright smile, I stood up and smoothed my skirt, meeting his gaze. "Yes, that's me," I said in my best, overly sweet customer service voice. "And you must be Mr. Tanaka?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, his feline eyes slowly scanned my outfit, lingering on my face. The silence dragged on. Was he judging me? Could he tell I was terrified?
Finally, a lazy smirk crept onto his face. He pulled a gloved hand from his pocket and roughly ran it through his messy blonde hair.
"Yeah. Kinda, sweetheart," he rumbled. He took a step closer, bringing with him the scent of leather, mint, and faint cigarette smoke. "You must be freezing out here in that little skirt. Come on."
Unlike the older businessmen I usually met, he didn't offer his arm. He just pivoted on his heavy combat boots and expected me to follow.
"Where are we going?" I asked, jogging slightly to keep up with his long strides.
He glanced over his broad shoulder, that teasing smirk returning. "Figured a cute girl like you would feel right at home at the Maid Cafe down the block. Plus, they make a decent black coffee."
I blinked in surprise. An obnoxiously cheerful Maid Cafe was the absolute last place I expected a tattooed giant to take me on a date.
As we walked, the heavy thud of his boots contrasted with the soft tap of my flats. I stole a quick glance at his profile. He was completely unpredictable.
Normally, these dates followed a strict, boring script: an older guy would take me to a dimly lit sushi bar to hide his shame, and I’d spend the evening pretending to care about his failed marriage or stressful office job. But not tonight.
We stood under the blinding pastel pink awning of the Maid Cafe, an 8 bit jingle looping endlessly above the door.
Most of my clients wanted total discretion. This guy, on the other hand, seemed to thrive on the absurdity of it all. He looked entirely out of place a towering, leather clad delinquent strolling into a bubblegum pink wonderland.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of spun sugar and vanilla. We squeezed into a cramped booth covered in strawberry print vinyl. He instantly leaned back, spreading his long legs and crossing his arms, looking completely unimpressed by the glittering pastel surroundings.
Before I even touched the menu, a girl in a frilly apron and fuzzy pink cat ears bounded over. She looked my age.
"Welcome home, Master and Princess! *Nya~!*" she chirped, striking an energetic pose with her hands curled like paws.
The guy didn't blink. Without even glancing at the menu, his deep voice cut right through the sugary vibe. "Black coffee. The strongest you've got. And bring whatever your most ridiculously sugary dessert is for the lady."
"R...Right away, Master!" the maid squeaked, her cheerful persona cracking under his intense glare before she scurried toward the kitchen.
I kept my sweet smile locked in place, but internally, I bristled. *He didn't even ask what I wanted?* It was incredibly arrogant. But looking at his unapologetic posture and the sharp glint in his eyes, it was obvious he was exactly the type to just do whatever he wanted. I bit my tongue. I was on the clock as "Airi," and Airi didn't complain.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the sticky table. His fingerless leather gloves squeaked softly as he interlaced his fingers. Those piercing yellowish green eyes locked onto mine, instantly killing the cafe's playful mood.
"I actually can't stand places like this. Too bright, hurts my eyes," he muttered, a lazy smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "So, Airi-san. The guy you were supposed to meet tonight? Tanaka?" He let the silence hang just long enough to make the bottom drop out of my stomach. "He canceled."
My breath caught. Canceled? I wasn't completely shocked the guy across from me was way too young to be the middle aged Tanaka but the word still sent a heavy wave of dread through me. No date meant no money. I fought to keep my polite smile from slipping.
"Then who are you?" I asked, my voice tighter than I intended. "And why couldn't Tanaka san make it?"
Honestly, I didn't care about Tanaka's excuses. I just cared that I'd spent an hour getting ready and dodging my dad, only to potentially walk away empty handed again.
"Name's Kiyotaka," he chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Call me Kiyo. As for Tanaka? Maybe he had work, or maybe the old fool was just embarrassed. I'm a relative. Figured I'd step in."
He reached into his jacket. "He didn't want to inconvenience you," Kiyo said, using two gloved fingers to make mocking air quotes. "Or rather, he didn't want to ruin his chances for next time. So, he sent the apology money."
He slid a crisp 10,000 yen across the pink table.
A massive wave of relief washed over me. I wasn't going home broke. "Oh," I breathed, offering a genuine nod. "Thank you."
I reached for the cash, but in a split second, Kiyo’s hand clamped down over mine. I flinched. His exposed fingertips were rough, calloused, and shockingly cold. A sudden jolt of panic shot up my arm.
He pulled back instantly, raising both hands in mock surrender. "Whoa. Skittish, huh? My bad,"
He was testing my boundaries. Suddenly, the cafe's loud pop music wasn't enough to drown out the tension. Noticing my rigid posture, Kiyo casually pivoted the conversation.
"So," he drawled, his piercing eyes tracking my every reaction. "If you don't mind me asking... are you a student? You look like you should be in a uniform."
My blood ran cold. The older men always asked this, fishing for the taboo thrill of dating a high schooler. Falling back on my Drama Club training, I forced my shoulders to relax and put on an airy, dismissive tone to hide my real identity.
"No, I'm not studying," I lied smoothly. "Or rather, I think I dropped out. Studying just... wasn't for me."
Kiyo let out a rough bark of a laugh. It revealed unusually sharp canines had he filed them on purpose? It gave him a dangerous, predatory edge.
"I hear you loud and clear. 'Studying isn't for me,'" Kiyo grinned, completely at ease. "I can relate. Told my old man the exact same thing right before I walked out. So, what's the grand plan then? Relying on these little compensated dates to get by?"
Panic flared. I wanted to scream that I was just trying to keep my dad alive. The older men never dug this deep they just complimented my hair and treated me like a doll. Kiyo was different. He was sharp, and instead of creepy lust, he was looking at me with pure calculation.
I forced a breathy laugh, tightening my grip on my skirt beneath the table. "No, of course not! It's just... a fun hobby, really. A way to meet interesting people."
God, that sounded fake. My acting usually fooled lonely salarymen without a hitch, but it was cracking under his unblinking gaze. Lying to someone closer to my own age was infinitely harder.
Before Kiyo could tear my flimsy excuse apart, the maid reappeared, popping the tension.
"Here we are!" she sang. "A Midnight Black Coffee for Master, and our special Strawberry Parfait Supreme for the lovely Princess! If you need anything else, just ask!"
As the maid bounded away, a heavy silence settled over the sticky table, clashing with the cafe's aggressively cheerful 8-bit pop. Kiyo didn't say a word. He pulled out a battered black smartphone and started scrolling, taking slow sips of his coffee. He completely ignored me, leaving me marooned in my own anxiety.
I glanced at the crisp 10,000 yen sitting by the sugar packets. My heart hammering, I slowly slid my fingers over the money, folded it, and slipped it into my handbag. A flush of shame crept up my neck. What if the maid had seen? What would she think, watching a girl her own age silently pocket cash from a tattooed older guy? The implications were ugly, and for a fleeting second, I hated myself.
Every instinct screamed at me to take the money and run. The transaction was done. But I stayed glued to the vinyl booth. Guys like him coiled, predatory delinquents didn't take kindly to disrespect.
Terrified to leave before he officially dismissed me, I picked up my fork and just poked at my Strawberry Parfait, systematically destroying the layers of syrup and ice cream instead of eating.
The silence dragged on.
Finally, Kiyo locked his phone and dropped it onto the table with a heavy thud. I flinched, snapping my eyes up to meet his.
"I didn't just come here to play delivery boy," his gravelly voice cut.
"Actually," his gravelly voice cut right through the sugary, chaotic noise of the cafe, low and entirely serious. "There's another reason I delivered Tanaka's apology money myself instead of just leaving it in an envelope."
He leaned forward, resting his heavy forearms on the table.
"Truth is, I need a girl to play a role," he said, his yellowish green eyes locking onto mine. "I need a fake girlfriend for a few days. I can't just ask some random girl on the street, and I sure as hell refuse to give a single dime to those bloodsucking bullshit 'Rent A Girlfriend' corporate agencies."
His jaw clenched as he realized his voice had spiked and he’d just sworn in the middle of a family friendly cafe. A brief flash of embarrassment crossed his face. Clearing his throat, he ran a gloved hand through his hair. "Sorry. Bad habit," he muttered, quickly composing himself.
"The point is, Airi-san... since you're already intimately familiar with this line of work, I figured I'd pitch it to you. Could you pretend to be my girl for a few days while I hang around my crew?"
My eyes went wide. "Girlfriend?" The word slipped out before I could stop it.
My mind raced. A fake girlfriend gig paid way more than standard compensated dates, but there was a reason I avoided those official agencies: they required real IDs, left paper trails, and carried a massive risk of exposure. Doing it under the table for Kiyo bypassed the paperwork, but the emotional toll would be grueling.
This wasn't just nodding along to a sad salaryman in a dark restaurant for an hour. This meant infiltrating a group of delinquents and staying in character for hours on end. Could I even pull that off without having a panic attack?
I took a real look at him. Kiyo was objectively attractive, radiating a rugged, dangerous magnetism. Maybe the ear piercing was kind of cool, but the aggressive energy rolling off him was way too much. My friend Saki would have squealed and accepted in a heartbeat, totally swept up in the bad boy fantasy. But I wasn't Saki.
He must have seen the dread written all over my face.
"Look, Princess, don't look at me like I'm marching you to the gallows. I'm not forcing you," he drawled, leaning back against the booth with a dismissive shrug. "If you want to walk, take your little ten thousand yen and bounce. Go home, get your beauty sleep so you can prep for your next date, batting your eyelashes at some other middle aged creep with a fat wallet."
His condescending sarcasm made my cheeks burn. But before I could fire back, he leaned forward and dropped the real bait.
"But... if you agree to play along? I'll pay you 50,000 yen a day. Four or five hours max." He paused, letting the numbers hang in the air. "And if it drags on longer than that? I'll bump it to 100,000."
The air left my lungs.
100,000 yen.
My hesitation vanished. That was worth ten grueling compensated dates. It would take a massive chunk out of my dad's debt to the loan sharks. It meant weeks of peace for him, and weeks of not sneaking out to meet creepy men for me.
But a guy like Kiyo offering that kind of cash to a total stranger? It was highly suspicious. I needed ground rules before I sold my soul.
"And if I can't do it?" I blurted out, the sweet "Airi" mask slipping away completely to reveal the terrified girl underneath. "What if I agree, but it's too much and I want to leave? And... what are the limits?"
I stared down at my ruined parfait, my face absolutely on fire. "Is there anything... physical... expected of me? Because if there is, I can't. I won't."
I forced myself to look up, my heart in my throat. Kiyo didn't look angry. Instead, a relaxed smile spread across his face as he took a slow, unbothered sip of his coffee.
"Ah, man. If you regret it on the first day?" He placed a gloved hand over his chest in mock, theatrical agony. "I won't lie, Airi-san, my heart would completely break." The sarcasm dripped from his words, but his eyes were amused. "Seriously, though. If you tap out, I'll pay you for the time you put in, and you can walk away. We pretend none of this ever happened. No grudges. You have my word."
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his knuckles.
"As for the limits? Yeah. I'm gonna need to hold your hand. I'll need to throw my arm around your waist, or pull you close against my side when my boys are looking. I'm not dropping fifty grand a day just to have a pretty girl stand a meter away from me looking like a hostage. I have to actually convince a room full of sharp guys that we're a couple." He let out a low, gravelly chuckle that sent a shiver down my spine. "I need to sell this, Sweetheart. Which means you have to sell this."
"But that other kind of physical intimacy? The stuff that's turning your face tomato red right now? No. I need a fake girlfriend to show off, Airi. I'm not looking to hire a whore."
The word slapped me across the face. It was ugly and heavy, but I bit the inside of my cheek and forced myself to stay composed. *He doesn't know you,* I reminded myself. *He just knows 'Airi'.* Still, a massive wave of relief washed over me. I could quit whenever I wanted, and my body was off limits. I could survive these terms.
As my panic faded, curiosity took over. I looked at the rugged delinquent sitting across from me. Why would a guy like him need to pay for a fake relationship? He was terrifying, sure, but he was also undeniably attractive. There were dozens of girls at my school who’d line up to date him for free. Was he secretly cripplingly shy?
I put my fork down, wiping my hands on a napkin to buy a second. "There is one more thing I want to ask," I murmured, dropping my voice back into that soft, breathy cadence using the 'Airi' persona like a shield. I tilted my head, batting my eyelashes in feigned innocence. "Why do you need to rent a girlfriend at all? A guy like you doesn't need to pay for a girl's attention. Is the big, scary delinquent actually just... incredibly shy around girls he likes?"
Kiyo blinked, caught completely off guard. Then, a genuine grin broke across his face. He took a sip of his coffee to hide his amusement.
"Well, damn. Nice to hear that from a pretty girl. You're gonna make my ego swell, sweetheart." He cleared his throat, dropping the flirtatious act as his expression sobered.
"Actually, no. It's nothing like that," his voice dropped to a rougher register. "I just went through a nasty breakup. The whole crew is meeting up this weekend, and I know for a fact my ex is bringing her shiny new boyfriend just to rub it in my face."
He stared at his mug like it had offended him. When he looked back up, his aggressive edge had softened into something surprisingly principled.
"Look, I could probably pull a real girl before the weekend. But that's a dirtbag move. I don't want to drag some innocent civilian who actually likes me into my toxic mess, just to use her as a prop to piss off my ex. You understand, right? With you, it's a clean. You get paid, I save my pride, and nobody gets their heart broken."
I blinked. He didn't want to play with a real girl's feelings just to settle a petty score? It was... shockingly sweet.
*Wait, what am I saying?* I instantly snapped out of it. Guys who looked like him who carried themselves with that kind of coiled, violent energy didn't have hearts of gold. He was probably just lying to make himself look good.
Whether he was telling the truth about his broken heart or just feeding me a line, the offer was impossible to ignore. 50,000 yen a day. Maybe a hundred. I could walk away whenever I wanted, and my body was off limits. I took a deep breath. Every terrifying second spent with this guy was another chunk taken out of the debt slowly killing my family. It was a thousand times better than sitting in dark booths with sweating, creepy older men.
Still, the age gap was a glaring reality. He was an adult navigating a dangerous world, and I was a high schooler who had never even been on a real date, let alone a high stakes fake romance with a delinquent. What if I slipped up in front of his thug friends?
I clenched my fists under the table. *I don't have the luxury of fear.*
Forcing my spine straight, I looked him dead in the eye. "Okay, Kiyo-kun," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "If you're keeping your word... I accept. I'll pretend to be your girlfriend."
Kiyo’s lips curled into a slow, genuine smile. It wasn't his usual mocking smirk. For a fleeting second, his dangerous aura completely vanished. The hard lines of his jaw softened into a look of profound, almost boyish relief. It caught me totally off guard. It made him look painfully human.
"Ah, Airi-san. Thank you," he breathed, his voice dropping its razor-sharp edge. He leaned forward, his leather jacket creaking against the booth. "You have no idea how much you're helping me out of a..."
A harsh buzzing abruptly shattered the moment. His battered phone vibrated furiously against the sticky table, cutting right through the cafe's bubblegum pop music.
Kiyo sighed, his boyish relief instantly replaced by a flash of annoyance. "Sorry, hold on," he muttered, scooping up the phone. The exact second his eyes hit the caller ID, the temperature at the table dropped to zero.
The relaxed guy from a heartbeat ago evaporated. His jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle feathering, and his eyes darkened into something utterly lethal.
He brought the phone to his ear with a sharp, aggressive urgency that made me flinch.
"What do you want?!" he snarled, his voice practically dripping with venom.
He went dead silent, listening to the muffled, frantic voice on the other end of the line. I sat frozen in my seat, my heart hammering violently against my ribs like a trapped bird. I could practically feel the hostile, volatile energy rolling off him in suffocating waves, pushing the sugary air right out of my lungs.
He went dead silent, listening to the frantic voice on the other end. I sat frozen. The hostile energy rolling off him was palpable, completely suffocating the sugary cafe air.
"What?!" Kiyo barked. The sheer volume made nearby patrons gasp and crane their necks. He slammed his free hand onto the table, rattling his mug and splashing dark coffee over the rim. "Now?!"
Another pause followed, the person on the line speaking at breakneck speed. Kiyo gripped the edge of the flimsy table so hard his knuckles turned bone white, looking ready to snap it in half.
"It better be worth it when I get there," he hissed. The threat wasn't an empty boast it was violently real.
He hung up without waiting for a response, shoving the phone deep into his jacket. The whiplash shift in his demeanor spiked my panic. What kind of people is he involved with?
Moving with coiled energy, Kiyo pulled a chained leather wallet from his back pocket. He yanked out a handful of cash far more than needed and tossed it carelessly next to my melted parfait.
"Airi-san, I’m sorry, but I have somewhere I need to be right now," he said, his voice clipped and devoid of warmth. He gestured to the scattered cash. "That covers the coffee and dessert. Keep the rest for your trouble."
He stood up so fast his chair scraped violently against the linoleum, echoing through the suddenly quiet cafe.
"Let's meet tomorrow. Same time, same place," he muttered. Before I could even reply, he pivoted on his combat boots and strode toward the exit, his long strides eating up the distance. The bell chimed an obnoxiously cheerful ding! as the heavy glass swung shut, cutting off his silhouette.
Just like that, I was completely alone.
Taking a shaky breath, I stood up and stepped out of the brightly lit cafe into the cold night.
I had secured the money. I had survived the meeting. But as I walked home alone, I realized I had absolutely no idea what I had just gotten myself into.