Vol 1 Chapter 1 – There’s No Way a Guy Like That Exists

We’re lame.

I get that you can sum us up with just that one phrase.

In a way, we girls are just trying to find some kind of joy in our school lives.

We make friends, find common hobbies, and—if possible—we’d like to have boyfriends, too.

We know it’s impossible.

In this crazy world of carnivorous women with a 1:20 gender ratio, there’s no way ‘lame’ girls like us could ever get a boyfriend.

Talking about stuff on the internet or our hobbies in manga and anime is fine.

We can get by talking about that stuff.

It’s accepted as a normal hobby.

The subculture that was persecuted back in the Showa era has now become a respectable part of the main culture.

But when you get into card games, TTRPGs, non-social online games, and light novels—an industry that has completely withered away—then you’re back in subculture territory.

And if you’re not just a passive consumer happily gobbling it all up, but have actually dipped your toes into the creative side, then you’re a complete otaku.

It’s a huge pain to find like-minded people who share these different, subcultural interests.

Even if we do manage to find our brethren, we’re still otaku.

We’re niche.

We’re not accepted as having normal hobbies.

Within the strict caste system of school society, there’s no way we can be at the top. We’re what you call nerds.

A person with an obsessive interest in one genre and a wealth of knowledge about it, but who is out of touch with trends and not particularly attractive.

That’s how we’re treated—as members of a low caste.

I’ll say it again: we’re lame.

We can’t get boyfriends.

We’re not popular.

We’re the kind of nerds who can’t even make proper eye contact with a guy, able to do nothing more than laugh subserviently like, “ehehe.”

The problem is this:

What if—and this is a truly extraordinary hypothetical—there was a guy who actually liked that subculture?

What if he was searching for like-minded people who shared those different, subcultural interests, and to that end, he tried to join our ‘Modern Culture Research Club’? How should we handle that?

That was the question our second-year Club President Takahashi suddenly posed at the start of the new school term.

I said there’s no way a guy like that exists.

Hey, are you finally so desperate for a man that you’ve lost your mind?

There’s no way that’s going to happen.

Have you lost the ability to distinguish between fiction and reality?

Has your brain been polluted by virtual reality?

It’s gonna be a while before the world is ready for simulated boyfriends, you know.

I have a vivid memory of the club members all chattering back at her like that.

In response, President Takahashi looked extremely troubled and replied, “So it’s not like you’d say no to him joining, right?”

This girl is hopeless.

President Takahashi had completely lost it.

She was so desperate for a guy that her brain had gone haywire.

“Do whatever you want.”

With that one-line dismissal, everyone turned to their liquid-crystal tablets to work on their manuscripts for the doujinshi convention.

It was the very next day.

The day President Takahashi brought a simulated boyfriend back with her from the world of virtual reality.

No, wait, let’s get a grip on ourselves.

He’s a real, living person.

A first-year student.

“I’m Ichirou Kajiwara from Class 1-A. I’m a new student. I’d like to join the club, but would it be a problem for a guy to intrude on an all-female space? If it’s not okay, please don’t hesitate to tell me. I’ll understand.”

It’s not a problem.

It’s not a problem at all.

It’s absolutely not a problem, but…

If that’s what was happening, you should have explained it properly, President Takahashi!

You shorty, four-eyed, big-breasted, bob-haired…!

We can’t make eye contact with a guy.

Instead, we glared at President Takahashi.

President Takahashi glared right back as if to say, What’s with you wenches? I’ll kill you.

For a shorty, she’s got a strong will.

She’s like a chihuahua.

“Aaalright, time for a vote. Not that I’m listening to your answers, anyway! You artificial insemination kids!”

Since you’ve never even properly talked to a guy, you can’t give a straight answer anyway. And since you don’t have fathers, it’s probably hard for you to talk much at all, right?

She was telling us she was going to be a little forceful.

You could even feel a sort of kindness in President Takahashi’s words.

I took a quick peek.

Not at President Takahashi, but at the face of this Kajiwara-kun.

“Um, I would appreciate it if you would listen to their answers…”

I snuck a look at Kajiwara-kun’s face as he furrowed his brow.

He had a men’s short haircut, and his features were less like a prince’s and more like those of a rugged, fine figure of a man.

He looked like a samurai commander out of a historical simulation game.

The kind where the gender was flipped from female to male, of course.

I looked at his build. He was tall with long legs and, more than anything, long arms.

Is he 180 cm tall?

His physique was like that of a pin-up model, completely overturning the image of the slender, willowy men at our school.

He’s so muscular.

Or rather, he has a clearly solid build, like a pro wrestler clad in armor of fat and muscle.

Not that pro wrestling for men exists in this world; it’s a women’s sport.

In any case, he was toned.

I looked below his face, at his neck, and thought so.

His neck was thick.

Compared to the one or two guys in my class, the way he trained was on another level.

He had a thick neck, incredible height, and even through his school uniform blazer, you could see he was covered in dense muscle.

“Oh, you’re curious about his muscles? I also asked him if he shouldn’t be doing a men’s sport…”

Standing next to the 180 cm tall boy, the 40 cm shorter President Takahashi scratched her cheek.

So you did ask.

Anyone could see he was suited for it.

“I’m not interested in sports. Oh, and I train my body for self-defense. So I’ll be okay even if I get stabbed in the stomach.”

“You were stabbed in the stomach?!”

“Ah… it’s a figure of speech. An example. It’s not like a woman actually stabbed me with a kitchen knife or anything.”

Kajiwara-kun lightly deflected President Takahashi’s shock.

Well, self-defense makes sense.

You see people like that sometimes.

There are a few men out there who train to protect themselves from women.

Men are a rare commodity—and perhaps because of that, when they train, their muscle mass is far greater and stronger than a woman’s.

We’re certainly aware of that fact.

But, well, that knowledge isn’t very realistic.

Not in a world where almost every man is willowy and many of them are shut-ins.

“I see. Well, Kajiwara-kun, you look like you’d be just fine even if you got stabbed in the stomach! Now then, let’s take that vote. All you wenches who think he should be allowed to join our ‘Modern Culture Research Club,’ raise your hand!”

President Takahashi took the lead.

Of course, it’s a yes.

There are all sorts of reasons.

First, there’s no doubt he’s a kindred spirit, one of our own.

He passed President Takahashi’s screening.

He’s definitely an otaku.

The kind of shallow wench who just casually says, “Oh, like, I kinda like manga,” isn’t allowed into our ‘Modern Culture Research Club.’

It’s not about spouting knowledge.

It’s about love.

You’re tested on how much love you’ve poured into your otaku genre, and if you can answer, you’re allowed to join.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve figured it out, but he took my screening, too.”

“…What does he like?”

President Takahashi spoke.

I asked.

It wasn’t the president who answered, but him.

“Card games. Oh, but I also like manga, anime, and light novels. I don’t have any experience creating things, but I was thinking of maybe taking this opportunity to give it a try.”

He was an otaku.

An unmistakable otaku.

In that case, we had no reason to refuse.

Timidly, we raise our hands.

All three of us club members.

We can’t reject a kindred spirit.

And more than that, more than anything…

“Thank you very much. I look forward to being a member.”

We watched him bow his head politely.

Wait, could this be it? Did I just get my one chance?

Don’t you laugh at us for thinking that.

Don’t you dare laugh.

It’s just a woman’s nature.

Don’t you laugh at us for misunderstanding a small gesture or a bit of kindness as a sign that he might be into me.

We were the outcasts of the world.

And at the same time, we were adolescent girls.

We were the fatherless children of artificial insemination, always reaching for something we could never have: the springtime of our youth.