A short while later, a heavily disguised Eriri descended the stairs.
The sight of her left both Masao and Sayuri Sawamura speechless.
Eriri was still in her signature green tracksuit.
Her blonde hair was bundled up and hidden beneath a baseball cap, while a large white face mask and a pair of black-framed glasses obscured her features entirely.
Striking a pose with her hands on her hips, she announced with pride, "Well? Perfect disguise, right? Absolutely unrecognizable."
Masao gave a slow nod.
"Unrecognizable is one word for it. Most people would just call you a stalker or a pervert."
Eriri huffed, her indignation clear even through the mask.
"Says the guy who looks like he just wandered out of a 'how to spot a creepy otaku' handbook!"
"Now, now, let's not fight," Sayuri Sawamura interjected, playing the peacemaker.
"While Eriri's choice of attire is... unconventional, it's actually quite standard for a visit to a doujinshi shop."
Masao had to concede the point. He had seen similar getups during his own forays into those stores.
"Sayuri-san," he asked, "would you happen to have an extra cap and mask for me?"
If he was going out with Eriri while she was dressed like a wanted felon, they were guaranteed to attract attention.
She might be hidden, but he was completely exposed. Disguising himself was the logical choice. So what if he looked a little strange?
The important thing was that no one would connect this eccentric figure to Tanaka Masao.
"Of course, I'll fetch them for you right away," Sayuri said, gliding off to retrieve the items.
Meanwhile, Eriri puffed out her chest, triumphant as a winning gamecock.
"See? I told you. This is the proper dress code for a serious collector."
—
Soon, Masao was also similarly incognito, and the two of them set out together. Sayuri had excused herself, claiming other engagements, and sent them on their way.
The moment they stepped onto the street, they became the center of attention.
There was no avoiding it; their outfits were simply too conspicuous. Masao even noticed a few people reaching for their phones, perhaps contemplating a call to the authorities.
Eriri shrank slightly under the scrutiny.
"Miscalculation," she muttered under her breath. "We should have changed in an alley near the store. Disguising ourselves right at the doorstep was a tactical error."
She glanced over at Masao, whose posture was surprisingly relaxed.
"How can you be so calm with everyone staring? Doesn't it bother you?"
"Bother me? Why would it?" Masao replied perplexed. "I might look ridiculous, but no one knows it's me. Right now, I'm not Tanaka Masao. I'm... Takeda."
A spark of understanding lit up Eriri's eyes. She met his gaze and gave a single, sharp nod. Instantly, her postures changed…
"You're right! And I'm not Eriri Spencer Sawamura right now. I'm Eri Kashiwagi. If Eri Kashiwagi wants to dress like a phantom of the night, that's her business. It has nothing to do with me!"
Instantly, her confidence returned. Shoulders squared, they both began to walk with a purposeful, almost theatrical air.
Their lack of furtiveness actually made the stares lessen; people began to assume they were just eccentric rather than threatening.
The fact that Eriri's disguise couldn't completely conceal her slender, graceful figure led some to speculate she might be a minor celebrity avoiding the paparazzi. Masao, trailing beside her, was naturally cast in the role of a long-suffering manager.
—
They arrived at the familiar doujinshi shop where their paths had first crossed.
"This is it," Eriri declared, pushing the door open with practiced ease.
Masao followed her into the unique atmosphere of the store. It was a haven of quiet focus.
Patrons moved through the aisles in a silent, respectful ballet, each absorbed in their own world. No one spoke above a whisper; no one disturbed another's browsing.
At the checkout counter, the shopkeeper provided plain, opaque paper bags with a discreet nod, a small ritual to protect everyone's privacy.
Eriri led Masao to a secluded corner.
"Over here," she whispered. "From this vantage point, we can see the performance of your masterpiece."
Following her gaze, Masao saw his doujinshi displayed prominently on a featured shelf. A healthy stack of copies sat in a prime location, impossible to miss.
In the few minutes they watched, several people paused, their eyes scanning the cover. A look of interest would flash across their faces, they'd snatch up a copy, and then quickly make their way to the register.
Although "Takeda" was an unknown name in the doujinshi world, the shopkeeper's placement of the book was a vote of confidence—a signal of perceived quality.
Even through the protective plastic seal, the cover art was compelling enough to draw readers in. Masao also knew that a segment of these buyers were here specifically because of Eri Kashiwagi's glowing online recommendation.
"Sales look solid," Eriri assessed, a critical eye on the dwindling stack. "The numbers should pick up even more tomorrow."
Noting her confident tone, Masao asked, "Is that the voice of Eri Kashiwagi's professional experience?"
"Something like that," she nodded. "Our community is built on word-of-mouth. When people find a gem, they talk about it online. That's how unknown but high-quality works find their audience. Of course, that only works if the content is actually good. Shallow stuff might sell with hype, but it never earns a lasting reputation."
"Everyone's just running on passion, then," Masao mused, reminded of the dedicated creators from his past life.
"Running on passion..." Eriri repeated the phrase. "That's a good way to put it."
She, after all, came from a family where money was no object. For her, creating doujinshi was, and always would be, a labor of love a hobby.
—
After observing for nearly half an hour, they left the shop.
"Is my book sold only in this one store?" Masao asked as they stepped back onto the bustling street.
"Of course not," Eriri said, shooting him a look that questioned his naivety. "It's in several stores. But this one is the biggest, right in the heart of Akihabara. It gets the most traffic. And because it stocks a deep catalog, even really niche stuff, it draws otaku from all over, not just Tokyo."
"Niche stuff?" The term caught Masao's interest. "Would your... 'particular genre' be considered niche?"
"Hah?!" Eriri reacted as if he'd just insulted her life's work. "The themes I explore might be... an acquired tastes, but they are hardly some obscure footnote!"
She crossed her arms defensively.
"It sounds like you've never ventured into the truly dark corners of doujinshi. Consider yourself lucky. Those works..." A visible shudder ran through her. "They're just twisted. I can't even imagine what kind of person enjoys that."
Watching her genuine discomfort, Masao got the picture. This 'niche' category was clearly the literary equivalent of a horror show—stuff well beyond the pale.
He had zero desire to scar his own psyche and swiftly changed the subject.
"Hey, Eriri-san, how about we find a place to get a bite to eat? I could use a break."
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[email protected]/Raven_scroll (30+ Advance Chapters)