Tokyo – Same Afternoon
Kaito stepped out of the café, the door chime fading behind him. The city air felt cooler than the sudden chaos he had just survived inside.
He stood there for a moment, staring at nothing in particular, trying to process the last fifteen minutes like a system error log.
"A stranger appointed me as her boyfriend. Her mother approved. I am now apparently engaged if conditions are not met."
He exhaled through his nose, the calm, defeated kind.
Kaito Sakuma rarely gets surprised. He wrote software that anticipated system failures before they happened. But this? No firewall could have blocked Riko Sakuragi's panic-attack logic.
He looked down at his phone. Her number was saved as:
Sakuragi-San
He didn't remember typing all those question marks, yet there they were. His fingers must have auto-generated emotional confusion.
Tch, he muttered, tucking his hair behind one ear.
He needed a haircut. He also needed a nap. And probably a guidebook titled How to Avoid Becoming Accidentally Engaged in Tokyo.
Work Mode On
Kaito walked toward a nearby real estate agency, laptop bag slung over one shoulder. Tokyo's late-afternoon rush had begun, suits, briefcases, and silent urgency filled the streets.
He blended right in, except for his hair, which made him look like a tired indie guitarist who also knew C++.
He pushed open the agency door and bowed lightly.
"Irasshaimase," the agent greeted with a practiced smile.
Kaito explained simply:
"Remote software developer. Stable income. Looking for a small but quiet place. Preferably near good coffee and good Wi-Fi. Starting a small freelance hub soon."
The agent nodded politely, trying not to stare at his hair. Long hair combined with a serious tone was confusing to most people.
He had money. Plenty of freelance projects. A reputation in niche circles.
And yet, apartments in Tokyo remained elusive creatures.
Find a home. Set up an office. Build a team, he reminded himself. That was the plan.
Kyoto was home. Sakuma Mochiya was a legacy. But Tokyo was an opportunity.
His parents sold mochi. He built systems. Sometimes he wondered which one was sweeter.
As the agent scrolled through listings, Kaito's mind flickered back unwillingly.
Riko bowing at a forty-five-degree angle, eyes wide like a guilty squirrel. Her voice was shaking but determined. Her panic was oddly sincere.
Six months. Temporary. Minimal interaction.
He should have said no.
But she had looked like she might politely self-destruct if he refused.
And so here he was — apartment hunting while being someone's boyfriend-for-defense-purposes.
He rubbed his forehead.
Why did I agree?
Because she seemed desperate? Because he pitied her? Because Kyoto's politeness was genetically embedded in his bones?
Or maybe because the way she whispered onegai had sounded like someone trying very hard not to cry in public.
And Kaito, despite everything, was not heartless.
Annoyed, yes.
Cold, sometimes.
A jerk, occasionally.
But heartless? Never.
Phone Buzz
A message appeared from an unknown name.
[Sakuragi-san]
"Thank you again. I owe you so much T-T. Please ignore everything I said if you regret it. We can pretend we never met. Sorry again. (｡>﹏<｡)"
Kaito stared.
There were emojis. Multiple. And one looked like it had emotional trauma.
He typed back slowly:
"Understood. I don't regret it. It was a situation."
He hit send.
Three dots appeared instantly.
"THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. I will treat you to coffee someday. As a thank you. Not a date. Just to be clear. Unless you— Wait no I'm shutting up. Bye."
Silence.
Kaito blinked.
This woman was a buffer overflow waiting to happen.
He locked his phone.
She had good eyes though.
He frowned at his own brain for thinking it. He didn't have time for chaos. Especially not chaos with curtain bangs and a salon certificate.
He bowed politely to the agent as he left, pamphlets in hand. Tokyo lights flickered as the evening crowd swelled.
Kaito blended into the city — tired, resigned, but oddly not irritated.
Just quietly curious.
And slightly concerned about future accidental wedding invitations.