Beneath Momoka's strong facade, she had always carried an inferiority complex.
She believed she was useless—no education, no accomplishments. After three years struggling in Tokyo she still had nothing to show for it. She even harshly branded herself "society's trash."
From a utilitarian perspective, she wasn't wrong. But Rinto hated that way of thinking.
No matter how much Momoka denied herself, Rinto affirmed her, called her his idol.
And the more he affirmed her unconditionally, the more humble she became.
It was a perpetual motion machine of self-negation. Ordinary methods really couldn't solve it.
"...So, I think I want to cut back on my street lives."
Momoka leaned against Rinto's chest, the two of them sprawled on the couch, chatting idly.
They had just finished the lover's duck-blood soup Momoka had cooked; the dishes were still dumped in the sink unwashed.
To be honest, it hadn't tasted great, a bit burnt even. Momoka's cooking really wasn't much.
But Rinto ate it happily—happier than any meal he'd cooked himself.
In this lazy after-dinner time, Momoka hadn't picked up her guitar as usual, nor gone back to her room to write music.
Instead she clung to him, resting her head in his neck:
"I want to set music aside for now, not think about debuting anymore."
"While you're at school, I'll just work part-time jobs, do the housework. At night I'll cook... I know I'm bad at it now, but I'll learn. You'll teach me too, okay?"
"And at night, we can find shifts we can take together, or just stay home curled up. If there's nothing to do, you can hold me... I-I mean normally, like this! Don't smile so dirty! (〃>目<)"
"Actually, Momoka, even without explaining, I wouldn't misunderstand."
Rinto really loved this silly onee-san.
He buried his face into her neck, scattering light kisses along her slender throat, deliberately making her let out muffled hums.
After last night and this morning, Momoka seemed to have fully accepted her place as his lover, and felt that was enough.
Rinto had some issue with that. He didn't want her to reduce herself like this.
But he couldn't help it—she didn't know about the Metaverse, after all.
From her view, he was just a high schooler, and she was an unemployed wannabe musician.
And he had "official girlfriends."
So of course she could only call herself "mistress."
Her guilt and sense of taboo swelled together—rock and roll in its own way.
This wasn't something words could fix. Rinto hoped to take it slowly:
"So you want to put some distance from music? That's fine. I'll support you."
He stroked her beloved long legs, feeling satisfied in body and soul:
"You've worked hard long enough. You deserve to rest. From now on, don't force yourself. Sing when you feel like singing, play when you feel like playing."
"I'll always support you, and wait for you. You can think about recruiting bandmates again—slowly gather people who want to join, start once more as an amateur band gigging everywhere."
"Rinto..."
Momoka's voice choked, brows lowering as if she might cry again.
Her state of mind was fragile to the extreme, held up only by Rinto's love.
She grabbed his face and kissed him hard; he returned it just as fiercely.
New lovers, only a day old, completely inseparable.
Ah, but before her hand could slip under his shirt, Rinto caught it:
"I have a shift tonight. I have to go. I'll be back by 11."
"...Mm."
The life of a worker—tears.
Momoka pouted, reluctant, but still looped her arms around his neck:
"When you come back, come straight to my room. Don't knock—I'll leave it unlocked."
"Momoka-san... Do you realize how lethal a line like that is?"
Rinto loved her to death. How could there be such an adorable girl in the world?
All the more reason to work hard—Rinto wanted to get home quickly to be with Momoka.
His destination: Shimokitazawa.
The hub of youth subculture in Tokyo—the heart of rock and pop.
He was heading to a live house, tucked underground in an unassuming apartment block.
Down a steep outdoor staircase, past crooked neon signage, he entered the venue: STARRY.
It was still early; no guests yet.
He greeted every staffer he passed and made his way to the back, where a familiar face waved at him from afar.
A lively girl with bright blond hair tied in a side ponytail—Ijichi Nijika.
"Rinto-kun~! Good evening! You really came! I thought when Ryo said you'd work here it was just a joke!"
"Good morning, Nijika... No, should I say Boss Ijichi?"
Rinto teased, high-fiving the super-sunny rock girl.
Nijika burst out laughing:
"Stop~! You know the boss isn't me. This place is my sister's—she's the owner."
"Hey, Sis~! Ryo's referral came—he's super handsome! With him here, we'll definitely get more female customers. He can be our poster boy!"
At the bar, the owner turned to look—eyes half-lidded, cool rocker vibe.
Of course, Nijika's sister had the same beautiful blonde hair—she was basically a scaled-up Nijika.
Rinto recalled what Ryo had said: she was twelve years older than Nijika... so, twenty-nine?
But whether her body that could rival Momoka's, or her face—eighty percent Nijika, but colder and pricklier—she didn't look like she was nearing thirty. At most she looked like a college student.
Rinto stepped forward to greet:
"Hello, Ijichi-san. I'm Rinto. Yamada Ryo referred me here for part-time work. I've got plenty of experience in service and reception, and I can handle any dirty or heavy job. Please use me as you like."
The owner nodded: "Hm... I'm Ijichi Seika. Around here, just calling me Ijichi would be confusing. Remember to call me Seika-nee."
Cool Seika-nee picked up a drink from the bar—strawberry juice in a cup with a cutesy animal print.
She sipped through the straw, gaze dull and drifting:
"Where's Ryo? Go get that brat—she should say it herself."
"By the way, you're weird. Didn't Ryo tell you my conditions? I only hire connections. The pay here's lower than anywhere else. If you're used to working jobs, this is the last place you should come."
This big-sis owner, blunt about only hiring through connections, suddenly sharpened her gaze.
While her cheerful little sister went off to fetch Yamada Ryo, the almost-thirty (well, twenty-nine) rocker onee-san's aura flared—her eyes stabbed into Rinto like blades:
"You brat. You're not using part-time work as an excuse to hit on my sister, are you? If that's your plan, drop it. If I catch you, I'll smash your balls with a guitar."
Oho... as expected of a real rocker big sister. Punk to the core!
Rinto's heart lit with joy; he kept smiling unfazed:
"Rest assured, Seika-nee. I'm here solely to work. And yes, it's true—I'm not here for the pay. The wages are way too low."
Tch... Seika clicked her tongue.
She'd said it herself, but hearing someone else say the pay was bad made her mad. Middle-aged women (?), so troublesome.
Rinto said plainly:
"I came here to work mainly to ask Ryo... or more precisely, Yamada Ryo-sensei, to teach me bass."
"She said if I become her underling—fetching tea, running errands, working like a mule—and on top of that hand over all my wages, then she'd teach me bass. She even said she'd throw in a bass for me. Truly such a generous person."
Pfft—!
Seika-nee spat her mouthful of strawberry juice straight out, coughing over and over.