Didn’t You Say I Was Just a Stand-In?

Shinjuku, one of Tokyo's urban cores, is a bustling commercial district known for its vibrant entertainment scene.

Of course, when people think of Shinjuku, the first thing that comes to mind isn't its commercial prosperity but the world-famous red-light district—Kabukicho.

Located in East Shinjuku, Kabukicho is home to over 3,000 bars, clubs, hotels, and other entertainment venues. Walking through the streets, you'll encounter tourists of all nationalities.

It's not just a paradise for heterosexuals; Nichome is renowned as a hub for the LGBTQ+ community, particularly gay men, while Sanchome is popular among lesbians.

Exiting Shinjuku Station, Takashi was immediately struck by the sheer number of people.

Groups of men and women, each dressed in unique styles, filled the streets, making the area lively even during the day.

"Takashi! Over here!"

Standing at the subway entrance, Takashi was searching for his friends when he heard someone call his name. He turned to see Ohtani Shota, a muscular guy with a headband, a tank top, and an overall "rebel" look.

Takashi stared at him in disbelief. "What are you wearing?"

Ohtani looked down at his outfit, confused. "What's wrong with it? I read online that Shibuya girls love this style."

"Shibuya girls…"

Takashi massaged his temples, feeling a headache coming on.

"They don't even dress like normal people. Why would you trust their fashion sense?"

The Shibuya girls you imagine are stylish, cute, and fashionable.

The reality? Heavy makeup, buck teeth, and awkward poses—more like rural rebels than trendy urbanites.

It's best not to confuse real-life Shibuya girls with their anime counterparts.

Ohtani looked uneasy. "Is it really that bad?"

As a high school student, Ohtani didn't care much about fashion. His parents bought his clothes, and he wore whatever they gave him.

This outfit was something he'd found on Google.

It was like searching "what to buy for girlfriend's birthday" on Taobao—clueless and desperate.

"A little," Takashi admitted, then added, "But that's just my opinion."

For all he knew, Japanese high school girls might love Ohtani's look.

Speaking of which, Japanese beauty standards could be pretty bizarre.

He still couldn't understand the appeal of dewy skin, wet hair makeup, or why people found pigeon-toed walking cute.

"By the way, which school are we meeting for the mixer?" Takashi asked.

"Kamiya High," Ohtani replied.

"Kamiya High?" The name sounded familiar. "Is there a guy named Watanabe Toru at that school?"

Ohtani scratched his head. "Who's that? Is he famous?"

"Just a handsome guy from Tokyo," Takashi said dismissively, changing the subject. "Where's Tanaka?"

"He's already at the karaoke place. He sent me to pick you up because he thought you might get lost," Ohtani explained as they walked.

"It's so hard to get you to hang out. Every time we ask, you're either working or on your way to work."

"You're not even short on money. Why do you work yourself to death like some corporate drone?"

"At our age, shouldn't we be enjoying sweet campus romances and making the most of our youth?"

"God gave you such a handsome face, and you're wasting it on part-time jobs? If you don't know how to use it, give it to me!"

Ohtani grew more frustrated as he spoke.

If he looked like Takashi, he'd have a harem spanning all twelve zodiac signs.

Takashi listened to Ohtani's complaints, popping a couple of gum pieces into his mouth from the pack he'd bought at the convenience store.

"I just don't want to suffer the pains of love. What's wrong with that?"

Economic stability was the foundation of any relationship.

Without a solid material base, love was nothing more than a castle in the air. To put it bluntly, high school romances were often driven by hormones.

Out of 100 high school couples, maybe one would make it to marriage.

Takashi wasn't about to waste time on a relationship destined to fail.

His current plan was simple: study, work, save money, get into the University of Tokyo, and either take the civil service exam or join a major corporation after graduation.

Even though he had a system like most transmigrators, there was no guarantee it would last forever. What if it disappeared one day?

Takashi didn't believe in putting all his eggs in one basket.

He needed a backup plan—a way to ensure he could live comfortably even if the system vanished.

"Takashi! Shota! Over here!"

Before Ohtani could say more, a voice interrupted him.

The two looked over to see a group of five—one guy and four girls—standing in front of a karaoke bar.

The girls were dressed in bold, revealing outfits, showing off plenty of skin.

But they were undeniably attractive, far surpassing the average Shibuya girl.

The guy, on the other hand, had a buzz cut, a tall, athletic build, and tanned skin—clearly a sports enthusiast.

As for his looks… well, let's just skip that.

Tanaka Kota walked up and punched Takashi lightly in the chest. "You're late."

Takashi glanced at his watch. "I'm 15 minutes early. What's the rush?"

"You should've come earlier! The girls are already here. How can you keep them waiting?"

Perhaps because of the pretty girls nearby, Tanaka's usual brashness was replaced by an attempt at being a gentleman.

Takashi raised an eyebrow. "Did I tell them to come early?"

Tanaka shot a glance at the girls behind him and pulled Takashi aside, whispering, "Dude, please, just play along."

He'd gone all out for this mixer, even dyeing his hair green the day before.

If he didn't manage to impress at least one girl today, all the money he'd spent on clothes, cologne, and haircuts would be wasted.

Plus, he was tired of being single.

He didn't want to spend another day as a lonely dog.

Ohtani chimed in, half-joking, half-serious, "Yeah, Takashi, don't make us beg."

"Fine," Takashi relented, seeing how desperate they were.

Both Tanaka and Ohtani were athletes, full of energy and hormones at this age.

At their age, most athletes would be in a hotel room, pedaling hard on a stationary bike. But these two? They're still in their room, playing a silly game with tissues, trying to see who can make the most "descendants" disappear.

While other parents cradle their children in their hands, theirs are all stuck to their fingers.