Didn’t You Say I Was Just a Stand-In?

After sending the message, Kasumigaoka Shizuku settled into waiting mode.

Based on her understanding of Kitahara Takashi, she expected him to reply within five minutes at most. After all, Kitahara loved her deeply. He knew all her dietary restrictions, her preferences, and even remembered her menstrual cycle—things she herself often forgot. He paid attention to every detail about her, committing it all to memory. If asked who loved her most in the world besides her parents, she would answer without hesitation: Watanabe Takashi (the alias Kitahara used). No one loved Kasumigaoka Shizuku more than Watanabe Takashi did. She was absolutely certain of this.

Five minutes passed, but her phone remained silent. Kasumigaoka wasn't too concerned. She figured he was still at work and couldn't reply right away. She knew Kitahara's family wasn't well-off, and he was always busy with part-time jobs. Even when she wanted to meet him, she had to schedule it two or three days in advance. This sometimes annoyed her, but only slightly. After all, he always made time for her whenever she asked. She believed he must have canceled all his shifts just to travel two hours to see her. If that wasn't love, what was?

Kasumigaoka had even offered him money, hoping he wouldn't push himself so hard. But he always refused, saying he wanted to earn it himself.

Another five minutes passed, and still no reply. Kasumigaoka wondered, Is he really that busy today?

Yet another five minutes went by, and her phone remained silent. The message was still marked as unread. Kasumigaoka started to suspect her phone might be broken. To test it, she sent a photo to a certain blonde-haired acquaintance—a picture of Kitahara's profile, with her own fingers "accidentally" visible in the frame. She waited a moment, then quickly deleted the photo after assuming the recipient had seen it.

Almost immediately, her phone buzzed with a barrage of messages from Kousaka Kirino. The texts came in rapid succession, each one more scathing than the last. Kasumigaoka skimmed through them and thought, Wow, she's really letting loose.

Since her phone was clearly working, why hadn't Kitahara replied? Was it because he was using an iPhone? Kasumigaoka knew how unreliable Apple's messaging system could be. Sometimes notifications would pop up half an hour late, leaving you wondering why you were just now seeing a message sent ages ago.

Maybe I should buy him a new phone, she mused, instinctively opening a shopping app.

Meanwhile, in a luxurious private mansion perched on a hill in Chiba's Narita district, Kousaka Kirino—her hair disheveled and glasses perched on her nose—was fuming after Kasumigaoka ignored her messages. In a fit of frustration, she called Aki Tomoya.

Tomoya picked up almost immediately. "Hey, Kirino, what's up?"

Kirino didn't waste any time. "Didn't you say you were working today?"

"I am working!" Tomoya replied, confused.

"Stop lying!" Kirino's voice rose sharply. "You were out on a date with that old hag, weren't you? I asked you to hang out too, but you chose her over me. Is she your pick now?"

It had to be said that Kitahara Takashi, especially when dressed up, bore an uncanny resemblance to Aki Tomoya. It was why Kasumigaoka had chosen him as a stand-in in the first place. Even Tomoya himself might have doubted if he had a long-lost twin if he saw the photos. Kirino, of course, had mistaken Kitahara for Tomoya. She knew about Kitahara's existence, but like Kasumigaoka, she assumed the other woman was unaware of him. Eliminating Kitahara as a possibility, the only logical conclusion was that Tomoya had been the one on a date with Kasumigaoka.

Case closed.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Tomoya said, exasperated. "I'm busy right now. I'll call you back later."

After hanging up, Tomoya shook his head, baffled by his childhood friend's outburst. He'd been working at the store all day, saving up for his game project. Why was she yelling at him?

On the other end, Kirino stared at her phone, seething. In a fit of rage, she hurled it to the floor and tore up the half-finished drawing she'd been working on.

Back in the dimly lit karaoke room, Watanabe Hoshi held the microphone, her sweet voice filling the space as she sang Nishino Kana's Aitakute Aitakute:

"I want to see you, I want to see you, trembling all over…"

"The more I think of you, the farther apart we feel…"

"If only we could go back to how we were…"

"My heart and feelings, you don't understand any of it…"

Hoshi's voice was soft and melodic, and she gave the song a unique charm. As she sang, the others enthusiastically cheered her on, waving glow sticks, shaking maracas, and holding up signs like devoted fans. Not wanting to be rude, Kitahara picked up a glow stick and swayed it gently. He hadn't been particularly eager to attend this mixer, but now that he was here, he wasn't about to sit in the corner scrolling through his phone. That would've been impolite.

The room was lively and full of energy.

"Wooooo!!!" Ohtani Shota and Tanaka Kotaro let out a pair of exaggerated cheers, their enthusiasm bordering on primal.

Kitahara clapped politely.

When the screen displayed a score of 89, Hoshi struck a cute victory pose with a peace sign. Whether or not "Awei" was dead, Kitahara couldn't say, but Ohtani and Tanaka looked like they were about to keel over from how adorable Hoshi was. It was clear they were both smitten with her—though, to be fair, they seemed to have a soft spot for any pretty girl.

"You're amazing, Hoshi!"

"That was way above your usual level!"

"An 89? You're better than some idols!"

Takamiya Sakaki, Ohashi Natsumi, and Kitagawa Marin showered Hoshi with praise. Some chain karaoke places in Japan had scoring systems, but they usually just gave a generic score at the end of a song.

Japanese karaoke scoring systems are incredibly thorough. They offer a variety of evaluation modes, such as Simple Scoring, Detailed Scoring, and National Ranking Scoring. After each song, the system provides a comprehensive performance analysis, much like a medical check-up report. It assesses aspects like pitch accuracy, expressiveness, rhythm, stability, vibrato, and vocal stamina.

But that's not all—it also offers constructive feedback on areas for improvement! The level of detail is so meticulous that you'd think you were auditioning for a singing competition.

Watanabe Hoshi was clearly basking in the praise, her smile so wide it practically reached her ears. In that moment, she looked genuinely adorable.

Kitahara Takashi was just thinking this when Hoshi's gaze suddenly shifted to him. Her expression instantly soured, as if Kitahara owed her money.

Cute? Not a chance.

Kitahara silently retracted his earlier assessment.