Chapter 69: The Modern-Day Matchmaker

I’m clueless about makeup and fashion, but even I can tell Ryu-san’s got style. She pulls off “cute” without breaking school rules, so imagine how she’d look in private without those lame restrictions. Basic logic, right? Anyone with half a brain could figure that out.

“Hey!”

Will she go full gal-mode with glitter and platforms? Or maybe punk with chains and combat boots? Or—god help me—the dreaded “landmine” pastel nightmare? Honestly, she could rock anything. What’s her play here?

“Why’re you ignoring me?!”

Or… maybe she’ll go full-on pure maiden? She’s way slimmer than Momiji, so that fragile, innocent look might work. That sharp glare doesn’t scream “modest,” but hey, opposites attract, right?

“Hey! Where’re you going?! Why’re you speedwalking?!”

Seriously, Ryu-san’s late. Some creep’s causing a scene over there—hurry up already!

“Hey! Quit playing dumb!”

The owner of the voice darts in front of me. Not bad for someone dressed like that.

“Oh, Ryu-san? That you?”
“Uh, duh? You’ve been ignoring me this whole time!”

I prayed it was a case of mistaken identity, but the universe hates me.

“Sorry. Didn’t notice you.”

More like refused to notice. Ryu-san’s my date today, and she’s out here looking like… this.

“W-what, my outfit’s too cute for your brain to process? Bold move, flirting right out the gate.”

Love the delusional confidence, but that’s not the issue.

“…Sure. It’s… unique.”

Unique as in “I’d rather walk into traffic than stand next to her.”

“Heh, right? This T-shirt’s my lucky charm!”

Lucky charm? It’s a trainwreck of gambling junk—rock-paper-scissors, mahjong tiles, racehorses drawn like they’re in a ’90s shounen manga. Do I laugh? Cry? And why is the horse giving me a JoJo pose?!

Ryu-san’s confidence is adorable, but this outfit’s a war crime. That T-shirt’s beyond saving. Maybe wearing nothing else would somehow make it better?

“…Aren’t you baking in that knit cap?”
“Huh? I’m a gambler! Gamblers wear knit caps!”

Since when? Then again, girls wear miniskirts in blizzards, so sure, why not?

“But the pastel leather jacket?”
“Gambler. Aesthetic.”

Ah, right. “Gambler aesthetic”—aka “I raided a clown’s closet.” The jacket’s pepto-bismol pink clashes with the neon chaos of her shirt. At least her jeans are normal… ish.

“…Aren’t there too many chains?”
“Pfft, duh. Denim’s gotta have wallet chains! Some say it’s outdated, but whatever.”

Outdated’s one thing, but this is excessive. At this point, she looks like a superhero who fights using chains.

“If you’ve got a pouch, why not just put your wallet in there?”
“Uh, excuse me? This is a pochette.”
“…Right.”

I don’t know the difference between a “pouch” and a “pochette,” but maybe answer the question first? Who stuffs a wallet into their back pocket instead of just using the bag hanging off them?!

“Wallet’s best kept in the back pocket!”

She yanks hers out with a jingle of chains. I don’t get the logic, but more importantly…

“Is… the camo print on the wallet part of the ‘gambler aesthetic’ too?”
“Huh? Nah, that’s just my personal taste.”

Of course that’s where she draws the line. The wallet looks like it came from a dollar store. Is that Velcro?! Wait, is this some gambler taboo—spending money on something meant to hold money?

Ugh… How did I miss her sandals until now?

“It, uh… really suits you. The sandals too.”
“Oho, you noticed? Fancy ladies’ sandals are in right now!”

Sure, stylish sandals exist for yukatas, but hers look like the plastic ones my kindergarten handed out for free.

“W-well! It’s our first d-date! I went all out!”

“All out” in the worst way. Is this an upgrade from her usual look or a downgrade? I’m scared to ask.

“I agonized over whether to rip up the jeans!”

Thank God you didn’t. You’d look like you survived a grenade blast.

“If I went for a tanned look, I’d have paired it with denim shorts!”

…Okay, that’s almost normal. Surprising.

“The bedazzled disaster here’s already bold enough.”
“Bedazzled? Oh, the sequins? I actually toned it down!”

Toned it down?! You look like a disco ball threw up on you. What’s the “full power” version—a literal glitter bomb?

“My usual shoes have sequin bears on them.”

…Somehow, that’s worse.

“C’mon, Sakamoto-kun! Feast your eyes on this perfect outfit I put together just for you! Lick me with your gaze! …N-not literally! We’re not there yet!”

She spins around dramatically, chains clattering. Yeah, this would’ve been funnier if she weren’t dressed like a rejected anime villain.

Oh god—the back of her jacket has a dragon embroidered in pastel pink.

“I call this the ‘Dreamy Cute Gambler’ look! Ha! Bet I’ll get scouted mid-date!”

As a comedian? I bite my tongue. My self-control deserves a medal.

“Scouted… like as an idol?”
“Or a model!”

A cautionary tale model, maybe. Her face could pull off normal clothes, but this outfit’s a crime. Even her necklace and watch are cursed—since when do watches have dice inside?!

“Y-yeah… modeling’s totally your calling.”
“Hah?! You think I’d sell myself like some brainless doll?! Men who chase models are all horny creeps! You’re scum, you know that?! Trying to pimp me out before our first date?! I knew you were twisted, but a human trafficker?! Ha! Guess I was right to fall for your crazy ass! But at least pretend to care before dumping me! What, was my outfit not slutty enough?! Fine! Let’s go shopping—I’ll strip right here! Naked’s easier to dress anyway! We’ll start at the lingerie—”

“R-RYU-SAN!”

“What?! You wanna undress me yourself?! We’re not even dating ye—”

“DON’T STRIP! NO ONE ELSE GETS TO SEE YOU BUT ME!”

“…W-was that… a p-proposal? Ha… I-I’ve got a boyfriend… hic… I’ve got a… sniff…”

…Great. She’s now convinced we’re engaged. How do I explain this was a misunderstanding without breaking her snot-covered, tear-soaked face?