Honestly, Fuyukawa Tetsu's appeal to women was undeniable.
With his handsome looks and fitness routine, he cut a tall, striking figure with an air of confidence. But the real clincher? His career success. In Japanese culture, where status and presentation matter, a man who carries himself well and thrives professionally stands out.
As the saying goes, even a Buddha needs gold to shine, and a person relies on their attire. A dress shirt worth half a month's salary for the average worker wasn't something just anyone could afford.
A few flashy delinquent girls plopped down at the counter nearby, giggling as they tried to strike up a conversation with him.
One maid-costumed girl, eyeing Fuyukawa's chiseled, V-shaped torso and dashing silhouette, offered, "Just 10,000 yen, and I'll make you feel like you're in heaven!" But that was just the appetizer. When Fuyukawa ignored them, a yellow-haired girl upped the ante, boasting, "Since you're so handsome, big brother, all three of us for just 20,000 yen!"
The vibe was pure Shibuya sleaze.
But Fuyukawa wasn't interested.
Sure, the idea of a three-on-one "party" was tempting, especially with cute girls, but…
Glancing at the trio, he couldn't even tell if they were high schoolers or middle schoolers based on their figures. Nah, not his thing.
He preferred curvy, mature women.
His eyes flicked to Kawauchi Sayoko, who was grilling meat nearby, her hips swaying slightly.
Ever since the three delinquents sat down, Sayoko had inched closer to him. Every now and then, as she reached for ingredients, their bodies brushed, delivering a soft "peach-like collision."
A subtle reminder. A teasing temptation.
Sexy, beautiful, gentle, and just a touch playful—Mrs. Kawauchi versus the scrawny delinquent trio?
No contest. Fuyukawa flashed a polite smile and declined their offer.
Sayoko, clearly pleased with his response, "accidentally" brushed her hand across his abs while grabbing an egg, her touch lingering just a bit. The three girls, failing to score a customer, looked a little miffed.
Amusingly, perhaps because their price was low, two drunk older men at the next table tried chatting them up. After some back-and-forth, the delinquents scoffed.
"Salarymen making 200,000 yen a month should stay out of it!"
"Trashy uncles from Hokkaido, go back to work!"
"Old man, with your looks, you'd need to pay extra!"
Ouch, straight for the jugular. The "uncles" were so hurt they practically cried. One wailed, "You're too harsh! I'm only 23! I'm just a coder!" before covering his face and running off.
"What a circus," Fuyukawa muttered, watching the "uncle's" dejected retreat, his lips twitching. He kept stirring the pan.
Soon, the fragrant aroma of tomato and egg stir-fry filled the air.
It looked and smelled amazing, drawing curious glances from other customers, including the delinquent trio. But restaurants are a dime a dozen in Japan. Much like anime and gaming culture, Japan has been heavily influenced by cuisine. Smaller, hole-in-the-wall spots serving food are everywhere too.
That said, most of these places adapt their dishes to Japanese tastes—think non-spicy mapo tofu or dumplings fried into a crispy lump. Compared to Fuyukawa's authentic tomato and egg stir-fry, they were worlds apart. Still, it was just a plate of stir-fry, so it didn't draw too much attention.
After a few curious looks, the other customers went back to their own business.
Fine by him.
Fuyukawa wasn't keen on chatting with strangers. He spooned the stir-fry over a bowl of white rice, grabbed chopsticks, and dug in at the counter. But after a few bites—
Gurgle.
A loud rumble came from Sayoko's stomach as she bent over grilling yakitori.
The sound was unmistakable. Her face flushed—she hadn't eaten dinner either.
"There's some tomato and egg stir-fry left. Eat up," Fuyukawa said, polishing off his rice bowl and stepping aside.
Sayoko wiped sweat from her forehead with her elbow. "No, no, I'm fine. Just one more hour until—ah!"
She tried to decline, but mid-sentence, Fuyukawa wrapped an arm around her soft, slightly plump waist, gently moving her aside like a doll.
"I don't want you missing our first day of work tomorrow because of a stomachache," he said.
"But—"
"No buts."
"…Such a bossy man."
Watching Fuyukawa skillfully flip the skewers in his apron, Sayoko put her hands on her hips and pouted playfully, but her eyes softened with growing affection.
After a moment, she scooped some stir-fry onto a bowl of rice, mimicking Fuyukawa, and began eating in small, delicate bites.
The izakaya, located near Kabukicho, had waves of customers. Peak hours were usually 7 to 10 p.m., when office workers and hostesses or hosts who hadn't yet found clients flocked in. From 10 p.m. to 2 a.m., business slowed until karaoke bars closed, and tipsy hostesses who hadn't secured "full-service" clients stumbled in for a meal.
As an office worker, Sayoko couldn't stay that late.
Around midnight, the grandma who owned the place emerged from the back to take over.
"Thank you so much for your help," Sayoko said, removing her apron and bowing gratefully—a common show of respect in Japan.
Grandma handed her a stack of bills with a warm smile. "No, thank you. Your charm brought in plenty of male customers."
"Grandma!" Sayoko blushed.
"Haha, just telling it like it is!" Grandma chuckled mischievously, then glanced at Fuyukawa, who had just put on his suit jacket and was heading for the door. "That man's a catch, you know. Handsome, capable, and thoughtful. But his face… he's got that peach-blossom luck. You'd better hold on tight."
Sayoko's cheeks reddened at the first part, but she fidgeted at the last bit. "Grandma, we're not—"
"Oh, please. I saw all those little moves you two were making at the counter," Grandma teased. "What, you just want to sleep with him?"
"…"
"You'd better act fast. Men his age are hungry. If you don't satisfy him, he'll find someone else."
Shinjuku, dubbed the "sleepless city," was still ablaze with lights at midnight. Okubo Park, in particular, was lined with women on their phones.
"Okubo Park lives up to its reputation," Fuyukawa remarked, hands on the steering wheel, curiously eyeing the long legs outside his window.
Many know Kabukicho, but Shinjuku's real "paradise" is Okubo Park.
Under Japan's Anti-Prostitution Law, only those who solicit, advertise, or organize sex work face penalties. The participants themselves? At most, they give a statement—no legal consequences. As a result, most organized groups shut down, but "freelancers" thrived.
Okubo Park was their hub. From schoolgirls in JK uniforms to office ladies and struggling housewives, the street had it all.
Fuyukawa, visiting for the first time, was intrigued. His curiosity made Sayoko's face flush.
Tetsu-kun's such a perv!
"Men his age are very hungry, you know."
She mentally grumbled, embarrassed, but Grandma's words echoed in her mind. Her eyes unwittingly darted to below the steering wheel.
A red apple.
Her face turned scarlet. After a moment's hesitation, she made a bold move.
"Hm?"
Fuyukawa felt something cool and soft against his right hand.
Still gripping the wheel with his left, he glanced over. Somehow, Sayoko had guided his right hand to her thigh.
A tight skirt, no stockings, her pale legs impossibly soft.
What was happening?
The car fell silent. Meeting Sayoko's glistening, almost dripping eyes, Fuyukawa froze. Then, shyly, she said, "I'm right here, and you're still looking at other girls, Tetsu-kun. Isn't that a bit rude?"