WHAT WAS THE APPEAL?

I scrolled through Nanase's various social media platforms, the thought running rampant in my mind. Well, he wasn't ugly, but he wasn't all that attractive, either. Different strokes for different folks, or however that saying went.

Objectively, a 10k follower-base was pretty impressive, especially for a sixteen-year-old who attended a regular high school. From what I could recall, Nanase started modelling sometime when we were in our second year of middle school, which was when his popularity first boomed. The constant screams of his fans at school followed suit. Across his social media platforms, he followed five other people: his modelling agency and four other models he often worked with. Either he didn't have friends, or his enormous female fan-base was enough to soothe his lonely heart.

That being said, his tweets on Tweeter were by far the worst.

Bile rose to my throat to which I swallowed it back. How could somebody tweet stuff like this with a straight face? And why were thousands of girls eating it up?

Playboy love interests popped up in most pieces of fiction, but they were notoriously popular in otome games. These characters were all over the heroine from the get-go. With their cliche pick-up lines, inappropriate comments, and overly flirtatious personality, they wasted no time putting their hands on her—or they tried to, anyway. Most of the time, playboys had throngs of squealing fangirls and admirers. Likely due to that fact, they flitted from girl to girl without any regard for the trail of broken hearts they left in their wake.

Whether it was the jealous fangirls, the playboy's shoddy advances that infringed on harassment, or the heroine's own insecurities, the heroine had no time for rest in these routes.

For some reason or another, though, the heroine managed to tame the playboy's wandering heart. And from there, the playboy's character did a complete one-eighty, until she was left with a fairly loyal and devoted boyfriend despite the fact that the plot offered no rational explanation to explain why or how it happened.

Other than the fact that the heroine was "different" from other girls, of course.

I lifted my worn-down gaming console off my bed.

Since Creeper had dropped the news of my next "love interest", I'd been coping by replaying the routes of playboy characters from popular games and analyzing common story beats and conflicts the heroine would normally encounter. From doing so, I'd reached the conclusion that my chance of encountering such scenarios in real life was a mere 5%.

And, my hypothetical success rate at garnering Nanase's attention—let alone conquering his playboy heart—was zero. Actually, it'd be more accurate to say my chances stood in the negatives.

This was going to be impossible.

"So, what are you all up to this lovely Sunday evening?"

As soon as I'd answered a three-way phone call between Moe, Saeki and I, Moe immediately posed the question.

I had my trusty headphones enclosed over my ears, blocking out the noises of my primitive older brothers screeching like apes over the television downstairs.

"I'll start," Moe continued, with a huge burst of enthusiasm, "I'm baking desserts for my hunky honey bun, Sae."

"I'm planting a garden of roses for my sweetest sweetie pie, Momo," Saeki chirped back.

"Debating whether or not I should end my life by tossing myself out my window or lighting myself on fire," was my response.

A heavy silence flooded the line.

"Uh. Can you not do either?" Moe deadpanned. "You're ruining me and Sae's mood."

Although it was a three-way call, this goofy couple fully intended to utilize any and all opportunities to continue flirting. Normally, I'd brush off their sickly sweet shenanigans and let them have their fun, but tonight, I wasn't in the mood.

Especially now.

Especially today.

"Guys, I need advice." I chucked my phone and console to the opposite side of my bed, burying my face into my pillow. "How do you win over a playboy?"

"Playboy?" Moe asked after a heavy pause. "What's this about? Are you stuck in a new otome game?"

Don't remind me.

"What kind of crappy otoge is it this time?" she snorted, then hummed. "If it's about playboys, don't they usually prefer ditzy sorts of girls?"

"Ditzy?"

"No common sense. No personality. Head full of air. A girly voice. The total opposite of you."

I jolted. "I so have a girly voice!"

"Maybe for a man," she responded.

Saeki snickered.

"Hey, I heard that," I snapped.

"S-sorry," he apologized, albeit weakly. "In my opinion, game character or not, you should just be yourself. Guys prefer that. Trust me."

Even before I could respond, Moe groaned. "Sae, you don't know what you're talking about, so be quiet."

"H-huh? What do you mean I wouldn't know? I am a guy!"

"Listen to me, Anri." She ignored him. "Never be yourself. Never. Playboy characters won't even glance in your direction unless you come across as innocent and naive. Have a personality drier than a brick wall and never ever think ill of them. Shyness is key. How else do you think I won Zen's heart from Mystic Messenger on my first try and it took you multiple playthroughs?"

My shoulders slumped in mortification. Exactly as Moe implied, playboy LIs were a scar on my otoge name. Moe could conquer them in a breeze, while I typically had to search up walkthroughs for them, lest I found myself en route for a bad ending.

My first instinct was usually to diss them or ignore their advances, but those were always the wrong choices in the majority of otoge's I'd played—especially in the latter half of their routes. Unless you were actively worshipping their existence whilst ignoring their glaring red flags, there wouldn't be a "happy ending."

At the end of the day, it boiled down to a difference of opinion. Playboys had no issue getting all intimate with strangers. Personally, I couldn't wrap my head around the concept, which led to my immediate disgust of them. Their corny pick-up lines came across as harassment and rape-y more often than not, which didn't help.

It'd be one thing if Nanase at least dated his girlfriends for a while before dumping them—then I could at least study the pattern—but he usually got bored of them after a single day. Some didn't even last a day.

Getting him to agree to date me wasn't an issue—he dated any girl. The problem was, winning his finicky heart.

No girl had ever succeeded at it. Meaning, I had to be the first. I couldn't screw this up.

The last thing I wanted was to act like a brainless ditz for a boy, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

And I had just the plan for it.

"THIS SHOULD WORK. THIS, TOO."

Following a quick trip to the convenience store, I scoured the shelves, haphazardly tossing items into my basket. It was already well into the night—and the trek here was illuminated by the dim lampposts and blinking streetlights. A comfortable silence filled the store, save for the low-playing music in the background. There were also a few other customers who stopped by, grabbing an item or two, before disappearing at the speed of light.

I'd already been here ten minutes, taking my sweet time, but surely, it felt like centuries to the one employee who occasionally glanced in my direction from across the store. They might've contemplated coming up to ask me if I needed help, but to be honest, I was glad they refrained. I wouldn't be able to adequately explain why I, a minor, had journeyed here this late at night to pick out these particular items. . .

I peeked at my basket.

A cheap wig. Black shades. Duct tape. Rope.

Not that it was any of their business. But, it was still enough to raise suspicions.

The store was open for 24 hours, and it wasn't like my brothers would notice or even care that I was out past midnight, so loitering around a bit longer wasn't an issue.

Still. . .

I clutched my cute frog-shaped wallet in agony.

"Because of this, money will be tight this month. . . Guess I can't buy any new otome games for a while."

At the back of my mind, I could vividly imagine Creeper mocking me. Saying that it was a good thing I had a real-life otome game to keep me busy instead.

Considering Kanome High School had a strict policy prohibiting students from working part-time without permission—something about it hindering our academic performance or other BS-related reasons—the money I owned was limited. My older brother, Aoto, who was now in his third year, had already asked for permission to work part-time, so last year when I also visited the principal requesting the same, he refused, stating that so long as my brother was currently working, and I lived at home with my family, I wouldn't be allowed.

It was such a dumb reason, but I couldn't exactly fight it.

Dad compensated by giving a sum to my eldest brother, Azuma, every month who then decided how to split it amongst the rest of the household. Him, Azusa, and Asahi pocketed the majority while leaving Aoto and I with smaller portions. Since we were high school students, we didn't have a lot of "needs." And, if needs did arise, we could go to them directly.

Knowing Dad, he intended for them to put the money into buying groceries, or other basic necessities, but that was far from the case. I was lucky if I came home to groceries in the fridge or freezer. Azuma and Azusa were rarely home to begin with—busy with university and their respective part-time work—so they left Asahi in charge of shopping. Unfortunately, Asahi being the unemployed loser he was, did anything but that, and instead used all the money on himself.

Aoto had gotten fed up in his own right, hence his part-time job.

Since I couldn't exactly follow suit, and was stuck with whatever portion Azuma handed me every month, I tended to my own needs by saving up whenever possible.

Unfortunately, that meant that by overspending now, I'd be screwed later on in the month.

Guess it'd be cup noodles for dinner—yet again—for the unforeseeable future.

Chucking said cup noodle flavour into my basket, my shoulders slumped. That should be good enough for tonight.

As I made my way to the front counter to pay, the magazine rack caught my attention from the corner of my eye. New manga editions, the latest news, sports issues, fashion magazines.

I reached for one specific magazine before I could process it, eyeballing the cover a second longer than necessary.

Upon closer inspection, and a quick survey of the page footer, my hunch proved accurate.

The boy on the right of the page—that was Nanase.

I recognized the other three from his following list: the other models from his agency. He frequently posted them across his social media.

Kirisame Agency, albeit relatively unknown, has grown exponentially ever since they started featuring these four models. Hence, they utilized each and every opportunity to slap their faces onto their magazines and other promotional content. I imagine they all were paid rather handsomely for it, too.

Truthfully, I didn't understand the industry that well. As much as I adored juicy gossip, I didn't exactly keep tabs on the entertainment or fashion industry. I ate up messy celebrity drama like nobody's business whenever it arose, of course, but it wasn't like I actively sought it out.

We went to the same school, so Nanase was at least familiar to some degree, but whoever those other three were was beyond me.

I leafed through the book, skimming the brightly-coloured outfits—designed by some popular fashion designer named Noir Nakatani—as well as their individual interviews. Objectively speaking, it was filled with a decent amount of information and trivia their fans would eat up. I snuck a glance at the price. It was fairly cheap, too. Maybe I should take this with me, for research purposes. The more acquainted I was with Nanase, the higher the success rate for my plan.

I needed all the countermeasures I could muster. Failure was not an option.

"I noticed you were having some difficulty choosing—were you perhaps looking for something in particular?"

I avoided looking at the cashier, merely dumped all my items onto the counter. "Nope, these are fine."

As expected, the rope, wig, duct tape and shades didn't look any better laid out. Consequently, it left him stunned for words.

Plopping the magazine down last sealed the deal: his fingers twitched.

He definitely was imagining the worst-case scenario, like I was an obsessive fan on a mission to stalk and even murder her favourite celebrity.

"Just to clarify, I'm only interested in that blond one on the right," I spoke in haste. "My goal is to make him mine—but not in the way you're imagining. There'll just be. . . problems if he doesn't look my way."

Okay, somehow, that made me sound crazier. Note to self: never bring up celebrities in public again.

I shifted my weight between my legs, nerves at an all-time high. What was this stupid cashier doing? Hurry and scan them so I can pay and be on my way!

In a fit of exasperation, I hitched my chin upwards, fixing them a glare as I did. "Hey—"

The beautiful face that greeted me was not what I expected.

The visor he wore couldn't remotely conceal the long, golden strands of hair, or eyes the shade of wisteria in bloom. Despite his ashen pallor, he carefully picked up the items to scan one by one, pretending not to notice my now, beady stare.

I glanced, long and hard, at the magazine. Then, at him.

Then, the magazine. Then, him.

The store was quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Clearing his throat, he lowered his visor in an attempt to further conceal his face.

"Your total is—"

"Uh. . ." I rubbed my glasses lenses against my sleeve to clean them, and put them back on. Nanase's striking features didn't disappear. No hat could dare hide it—not that face. "Excuse me if I'm wrong—"

"You're wrong."

"I. . ."

"You're wrong."

My jaw remained slacked.

A smiling old man appeared from around the corner. "Oh, Nanase," he called out, completely oblivious to the tension swirling in the air around us. "Thanks for the hard work today. Leave ringing up that customer to me. You just call it a day—"

Nanase booked it to the back room before he could even finish his sentence.

Stupefied, the manager blinked away the afterimage. "He must've been exhausted." He brushed the oddity aside with a chuckle and approached me. "Have you paid yet? Would you like a bag?"

By the time I returned to my senses, I was outside the store, plastic bag in hand. The automatic doors slid shut behind me.

A chilly wind blew through the night. Goosebumps rose along my forearms.

. . .What just happened?

___________

Happy Valentine's Day!

I'm so sorry for keeping you all hanging. It's been a rough couple of months 🥲

How are all of you doing, though?

I'm slowly working my way through the next chapter but I'm suffering from a bad case of writer's block atm. That's why I hope this chapter was okay. Let me know your thoughts!

Vote & Comment! <3