Didn’t You Say I Was Just a Stand-In?

"She's asleep."

Yozakura Hitomi looked as if she had just woken up. Her eyes were still drowsy, and she lightly covered her small, cherry-like mouth with her hand as she let out a yawn.

"Hey, don't just sleep at someone else's place," Kitahara Takashi said, looking at the strikingly beautiful girl in front of him, his tone filled with helplessness.

"I'm not sleeping at someone else's place. I'm sleeping at my own place."

Yozakura Hitomi leaned casually against the doorframe, her sleek silver hair tied into a playful ponytail that swayed gently. Her delicate, oval-shaped face was pure and captivating.

"I'm still renting here, right?" Kitahara muttered, a hint of dissatisfaction in his voice.

Yozakura, however, ignored his complaint and said, "Kitahara-kun, don't you think the rent is a bit low?"

Kitahara, who had no pride to speak of, knew when to back down. He quickly conceded, "Well, it's not like I'm afraid of seeing something I shouldn't."

Damn it, if it weren't for the fact that she was his landlord and allowed him to keep his dog, Kitahara would have definitely taught her a lesson.

Seeing Kitahara's defeated expression, Yozakura laughed. When she smiled, dimples appeared on both sides of her cheeks, making her look especially adorable.

The first time he saw her, Kitahara had been completely lost in her smile. But now, he was used to it.

"Here, a thank-you gift."

Kitahara handed her a small cake he had bought from a dessert shop. He had bought it specifically for her.

Lately, the increase in his dating activities had left him with less time to walk his dog, Koharu. To prevent the dog from destroying the house, Yozakura had been taking care of walking it for him.

He liked ice cream but wasn't fond of desserts.

Yozakura didn't stand on ceremony and took the cake, eating it while asking, "You've been coming back late recently."

"I have to make a living, you know."

Kitahara started changing his shoes at the entrance.

"Not everyone is like you, living without a care in the world at such a young age."

As a transmigrator, he was still struggling to save up to buy a house, while the woman in front of him already owned an entire building and lived off the rent.

That's right!

An entire building!

The whole building Kitahara was currently renting belonged to her.

Truly, heaven is fair.

While she was blessed with beauty, she was also spared the worries of money.

"Is making money really that hard? Just save 100 million yen and live off the interest from overseas investments," Yozakura said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Great advice. So, where do I get the 100 million yen from?"

Kitahara's tone was flat, devoid of any emotion.

He didn't even feel like吐槽 (making a sarcastic remark).

"People really shouldn't be this poor," Yozakura said, biting her spoon and tilting her head slightly.

So cute.

So cute that Kitahara Takashi felt like punching her.

"Sorry, but I'm just one of those struggling folks who can't even scrape together 100 million yen," Kitahara said, rolling his eyes as he walked into the house. He tossed his bag aside and plopped down on the sofa.

Koharu glanced at him briefly before turning his attention back to the TV.

Kitahara looked at the channel—it was Crayon Shin-chan.

Could the dog even understand it?

"You're not bad-looking. Have you ever thought about becoming a host? I hear hosts make a lot of money," Yozakura Hitomi suggested, sitting down next to him.

Kitahara petted the dog's head. "I'm already a host."

He felt like what he was doing now wasn't much different from working at a host club.

The only difference was probably that he didn't play with girls' feelings, and those girls didn't like him either.

Unlike hosts these days, who would do anything for the sake of their业绩 (performance metrics).

He'd heard that in Japan, many girls would go to extreme lengths to support their favorite hosts—some even resorting to adult film work or "daddy activities" (a term referring to transactional relationships with older men). It was terrifying.

"Really?"

Yozakura's eyes lit up with excitement.

She leaned in, her stunning face magnified in his vision. "Which club? I'll go and order a champagne tower to help boost your业绩 (performance)."

Kitahara pressed his index finger against her smooth forehead and gently pushed her back. "I was just joking. Why are you so excited?"

Yozakura pouted in disappointment and went back to quietly eating her cake.

[Mission completed. Calculating rewards...]

[Player has received: 5,000 points.]

[Number of dates: Shiji Maki · 1]

As Kitahara watched TV with his dog, the system notification chimed.

He perked up.

His points had finally reached 100,000.

Finally, he could allocate his points. Come on, system.

Let me see your limits.

Just as Kitahara was about to spend his points to increase his Intelligence by +1, he suddenly remembered Yozakura was still there.

What if he suddenly passed out?

That's how it always happened in the novels he'd read.

After some thought, he decided to wait until Yozakura left before allocating his points.

There was no rush, after all.

Ten minutes...

Fifteen minutes...

Half an hour...

Kitahara turned his head and saw Yozakura sitting as comfortably as if she were in her own home, legs crossed.

Her slipper dangled precariously from her toes, looking like it was about to fall but never quite did.

It was then that Kitahara noticed Yozakura wasn't just beautiful—her feet were exceptionally pretty too.

Her legs were fair and smooth, long and slender, with toes that curled slightly inward, each one exuding the meticulous quality of an intellectual woman.

Her feet were just the right size—not too wide, not too narrow—like white plum blossoms in the snow, radiating purity.

If leg enthusiasts saw these legs, they'd probably drool.

Kitahara suddenly recalled a friend of his once saying, "A woman's body is truly nature's masterpiece, the pinnacle of beauty in this world!"

"And the jewel of that pinnacle is a woman's feet!"

He hadn't understood it back then. What was so special about feet?

But now, he was starting to get it.

As Kitahara lost himself in thought, he suddenly felt a foot press against his face.

Expressionless, he moved her foot away. "What are you doing?"

Yozakura blinked. "You were staring at my feet, so I thought you liked them."

"I was zoning out. And where did you get the idea that I'm some kind of foot fetishist?"

"You play Arknights."

Kitahara: "F*** (a type of plant)!"

So in your eyes, playing Arknights = being a foot fetishist, huh?

Wait...

Now that you mention it, that's not entirely wrong.

Hearing Kitahara swear, Yozakura burst into laughter, clutching her stomach.

"Alright, I've finished the cake. Time for you to leave."

Kitahara started shooing her out.

"Fine."

Yozakura stood up, stretching her arms overhead and arching her back gracefully like a cat.

Her white nightgown accentuated her perfect curves.

Seeing that Kitahara hadn't moved and showed no intention of walking her out, she pouted. "It's so late. Are you really going to make me go back alone? Aren't you going to walk me?"

Kitahara didn't even look at her. "You live next door. Why do I need to walk you?"

"I still want you to. What if something happens to me at the door?"

Yozakura grabbed Kitahara's arm and forcibly pulled him up from the sofa.

She dragged him all the way to her doorstep.

The entire distance was less than five meters.

"I'm home. Thank you, Kitahara," Yozakura said with a smile, standing at her door.

"Heh." Kitahara forced a dry laugh and turned to leave.

"Wait."

Yozakura called out to him.

"What now?"

Kitahara was starting to get annoyed.

"Here, a thank-you gift for the cake." Yozakura pulled something out of her pocket and shoved it into Kitahara's hand.

"No need, it's not—"

Kitahara stopped mid-sentence.

"Use it well."

Yozakura gave him a playful wink and then slammed the door shut with a loud "Bang!"

Kitahara looked down at the object in his hand—a pair of white stockings, smooth in texture but clearly worn—and fell silent.

If it weren't for the fear of disturbing the neighbors, he really wanted to shout, "I really don't like feet!"