Vol 2 Chapter 12【Vol 2 – Lies and Truth】

Even Yoshisaki Nika, the famous idol, had only rated a B — and she’d at least shown Affinity. This girl didn’t even have a name on file.

What was going on?

She was still waiting for an answer. If it weren’t for the A rating hitting him like a bucket of cold water, he’d have turned her down and walked away without a second thought. Solicitation wasn’t something he had any interest in. But she was way too awkward and hesitant for someone in that line of work. Her clothes didn’t match what she was saying. Something was off.

Was this an event trigger?

He was in a game. Events happened. But traps also happened. His brain was starting to overheat. In a normal game situation, the choice menu would’ve popped up by now and made this easier:

Choice 1: Go with her. Choice 2: Go home.

Nothing appeared. Just her, standing in front of him, waiting with visible reluctance.

Play it out. Take a swing at an A-rank. He couldn’t conquer her now — but someday, maybe. And if she was inevitably on the list, early groundwork wasn’t a bad idea. He wasn’t planning actually to sleep with her. That felt too much like walking straight into whatever the game was setting up. Trap written all over it.

“How much?”

He’d meant to say something better. The word just fell out while his brain was still catching up. Not exactly the smooth opening move he’d been going for — he needed to signal yes without literally saying let’s do it — and what came out instead was a price check. Embarrassingly transparent.

She didn’t react to it at all. No expression shift. She held up two fingers.

“Twenty thousand?”

He guessed out loud. She nodded. Correct. Whether that was cheap or expensive, he genuinely had no idea. He’d never paid for this before. But it wasn’t money he couldn’t spare.

“Alright.”

She gave a small bow of her head.

“Thank you.”

The visible relief that crossed her face — exhaling slowly, shoulders dropping — sat completely at odds with what she was doing. Selling her body, yet somehow looking like the most timid, gentle person on the street. What kind of situation had she ended up in?

“I know a love hotel nearby. Will you follow me?”

“Sure.”

He agreed before his brain caught up again. She turned and started walking. He followed. Before long, they were in the love hotel district — clubs and izakayas packed around the edges of the red-light strip. She walked into a place on the corner without any hesitation. Apparently, I know a place was literal.

She was waiting for him at the front desk when he came in.

“Could you handle the room? The hotel fee is separate, so…”

The apologetic face she made almost seemed earnest. He nodded, filled out the registration with something vague, paid, and took the key. When he stepped toward her, she immediately held out her hand.

“Could I have the key?”

“Here.”

She asked so matter-of-factly that he handed it over on reflex. She checked the room number and headed for the stairs. The room had a bed and a bathroom. He’d never been in one of these before. He looked around, which apparently was visible to him.

“Something wrong?”

“No, it’s just…”

He stumbled over the words, caught off guard. She sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to her. He sat.

He studied her face. It wasn’t a good look — flat, businesslike. If that was the expression she worked with, she probably wasn’t swimming in repeat clients. Then again, wasn’t this also a service industry?

“Should we start?”

She began pulling off her hoodie. With it gone, her face and body came into view for the first time. Black hair, straight, falling to her shoulders. Something cool and distant in her expression. And her chest — larger than he’d expected under the jacket. Looked like she cleared a C-cup easily. His eyes went there before he could stop them. They met hers. He looked away fast.

That’s when he saw her arm—a large burn scar.

She caught his gaze and pulled her arm back immediately. In the same motion, she turned away — and the back of her shirt shifted enough to show faint marks along her spine. The kind of marks that came from being hit.

Something pressing on his chest.

So she did have a story. She wasn’t like this by nature. Whatever secret had earned her an A-rank — he was starting to get a picture of it.

“Did you… See it?”

The scar. If she didn’t want it seen, she could’ve asked him to kill the lights first. Stripping in full brightness with a visible scar on her arm — and then acting surprised he’d noticed. A little oblivious, honestly. He nodded. She exhaled slowly.

“It bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“Huh?”

He hesitated. She misread the pause, knitted her brow, and held up one finger.

“I’ll cut the price in half. Some people mind, but I’m good at what I do. I have regulars.”

Said without missing a beat — casually discounting herself before he’d even given her an answer. He hadn’t said anything. But the honest answer to does it bother you was no. He had scars from back in school. Scars were what you carried from hard years. There was nothing wrong with them. He shook his head firmly.

She read the headshake as rejection. She started putting her hoodie back on.

“Ah — wait. The scar doesn’t bother me.”

She froze mid-zip, hoodie halfway on, and stared at him.

“Sorry?”

“The burn and the scars — they don’t bother me. It’s just damage from something that hurt. A mark from a hard moment. Something you survived. Why would that bother me?”

Silence.

She studied him for a long moment. The kind of look that was almost a glare.

“…All the other misters said the same thing.”

Then she started taking the hoodie back off.

She’d processed his words as just another line — filler before getting to the point.

He ran the list:

— A-rank.

— No choice menu.

— She’d approached him.

— And yet she acted nothing like someone in this line of work — hesitant, oddly gentle, clearly carrying something.

— The looks. The figure.

— And the scars.

He’d had no intention of going through with this from the start. The longer he looked at the situation, the more of a trap it reeked of. Nothing handed over freely was ever worth what it cost. If he slept with her now, the game would probably come back around and collect in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

And honestly — paying for this had never sat right with him. If it had, he probably wouldn’t still be where he was in terms of experience.

“Leave the clothes on.”

“Sorry?”

He reached over and gently caught her arm as she was pulling the hoodie off. She looked at him like he’d started speaking another language.

“Did you change your mind? You just said the scar didn’t—”

“It’s not that. Here.”

He opened his wallet and counted out two ten-thousand-yen bills into her palm.

“I’m not here to sleep with you. Don’t read that wrong — it’s got nothing to do with the scars. You’ve actually got a great figure, for the record—”

“Mister… are you maybe…” She raised an eyebrow slightly. “…E? D?”

It took him a second.

“My equipment works fine, thanks. If anything, I’ve got the opposite problem.”

“Then why are you just handing me money?”

She pushed the bills back toward him and stood up from the bed.

“If you feel sorry for me because I’m selling my body — keep it.”

She’d offered him a discount two minutes ago. She’d been visibly relieved when he said yes. And now she was refusing money out of pride. The more he talked to her, the less he understood her. Sakurai Ami came to mind unbidden — a woman who’d committed murder over a few hundred thousand yen. The contrast was almost funny.

“That’s not what this is. How about this instead?”

“What?”

She squinted like she was bracing for something unreasonable. The expression said here it comes. He went ahead and said the last thing she was expecting.

“Come eat with me. I haven’t sat down to a meal with anyone in a while. For a girl like you to do that — I think it’s worth at least that much.”

Half cover story for someone who clearly needed money. Half genuinely true. He felt a little embarrassed by the latter part and made it out the door before she could respond, heading back to the lobby. He waited by the entrance—footsteps on the stairs.

“You just walked out without waiting for an answer.”

“Did you bring the money I left in the room?”

“…Yes, for now, but—”

“Then you’ve already accepted it. You owe me. Come on, let’s find somewhere to eat.”

He walked out of the love hotel. She followed, with the air of someone who’d run out of better options. The roles had completely flipped from ten minutes ago, when he’d been the one trailing her toward this place.

The red-light district had no shortage of restaurants. His problem was that he had zero experience having a meal alone with a woman. He had no idea where to start.

“Anything you want to eat?”

“Huh? Then… over there!”

She seemed more flustered than he was. She scanned around them and pointed at a sign.

“That ramen place — I mean, if that’s okay—”

The word ramen came out with a split second of something — a little flash in her eyes — before her voice dropped back down again. Ramen? Even he, with zero dating experience, sensed that ramen wasn’t exactly the move. His brain had been picturing somewhere with tablecloths.

But then again — this wasn’t a date. And she was already walking toward it. He followed and let it go, and they sat down at a table.

“Are you sure I don’t need to give the money back? Getting paid twenty thousand just to eat with someone — I’ve never heard of that.”

“Things happen. Forget about the money.”

She studied him for a moment, then gave in with a small nod. But the look in her eyes still hadn’t cleared.

“You’re a first for me. You see the scar and don’t flinch. You won’t sleep with me, but you still hand over the money. All you want is to eat together. Something’s wrong with you.”

“More importantly — stop calling me mister. I’m twenty-five.”

He said it while flagging down the server to order two bowls of miso ramen. She stared at him.

“Twenty-five?? Really?”

“What?”

“I thought you were in your thirties.”

The hand pouring water into the glasses began to tremble.

That was blunt. Brutally blunt. Water sloshed off the rim and puddled across the table.

“I — I’m kidding. But you’re six years older than me, so mister works, right?”

She’d caught herself, but too late. If his Affinity score were visible right now, it would be around -1000, and he’d want her to know it.

He gave up. A silence settled. He couldn’t think of anything to say. So he tried the obvious.

“What’s your name?”

“My name?”

She paused. Thinking it over — whether to tell him or not. Getting a name out of a woman was apparently an ordeal in itself. Especially one who looked like her. He was almost ready to drop it when she opened her mouth.

“Kusora Yurea.”