The boy who looked like a high schooler had already been staring at her for half an hour.
Even though he had booked the 699-yen "Reliving Youthful Memories—High School Uniform Platinum Massage" deluxe package, the woman still felt unnerved under his burning gaze.
But seriously—this kid was clearly a real high school student. Why was he spending so much money just to see a uniform? Didn't he get enough of it every day at school?
At twenty-four, Technician No. 7 had always been confident in her ability to pull off the high school look. But now, faced with a genuine teenager, she suddenly felt her career under unprecedented threat.
Looking at his face, she was ninety percent sure he'd already had plenty of encounters with real schoolgirls.
Was he going to ask her to help him with his math homework next? She'd only gone to vocational school—did that even count as "high school"?
"Why are you doing this job?"
"Huh?"
"You're pretty good-looking. Why this?" Rin Amane asked.
"When I was little, my dad got addicted to gambling…" she began smoothly, launching into the well-practiced backstory.
"An addiction's no excuse."
Rin cut her off without hesitation.
"Doesn't it affect your grades?"
"…I'm not actually a student. I'm cosplaying one. I don't have grades—only sales performance."
"But people around you must gossip, right? If I were to take you home, I'd not only have to explain everything to my family and friends, but also figure out how to erase the negative impact of this… black history."
The woman broke into a sweat.
The way he was talking—so serious, so logical—was he actually planning to marry her?
So young, and already carrying a savior's heart.
Not that… looking at him, it wouldn't exactly be a bad deal.
"But if you want to pursue another career later, it'll be tough. Imagine you become famous, and people dig up that you used to work in a foot massage parlor. Comment sections would be filled with stuff like, 'She's just another geisha a businessman threw away, and now you're treating her like treasure.'"
Rin continued analyzing earnestly.
"The only upside might be that people would pay more to have you wash their feet. But if I had that kind of money, why wouldn't I just book—"
"You… you're insane!" she snapped, finally breaking.
She felt humiliated. It was bad enough wearing this school uniform, but now she was being mocked by an actual high schooler.
"I quit! Screw your feet—I'm not washing anything! Go wash your damn brain!"
Furious, she leapt to her feet, ready to storm out.
"Then refund my 699."
"What? This was a seventy-minute package, I've already done forty minutes, and you still want a refund?"
"Then refund me 400, and give me one of those 399 discount vouchers. I saw them at the front desk earlier." Rin said seriously.
"…."
Coupon in hand, Rin Amane walked out of the spa.
It had just rained. Puddles still lined the streets.
He sighed, gazing at the floating holographic screen before him—[Omnipotent Producer System].
Still no suitable candidate.
Born into this parallel world eighteen years ago, Rin had planned to live an ordinary, uneventful life. But last week, the Omnipotent Producer System bound itself to him.
The catch? He couldn't use the system himself—it required a female "partner" to activate.
By cultivating that partner into an idol admired by the masses, Rin could boost his own stats and gain access to a vast library of works from his previous life—novels, music, manga, scripts, and more.
But despite his face being the type that countless men would envy, Rin lived such a low-energy, bare-minimum life that he had almost no luck with girls.
Finding a partner wasn't going to be easy.
Out of desperation, Rin had come to the foot massage parlor.
After all, it was one of the cheapest ways for men to interact directly with pretty women.
But alas, foot masseuses were still just that. Even if you dressed them in idol costumes, the best they'd come up with would be a "Handshake Event—Encore Stage Outfit Platinum Massage" package.
Clearly, this wasn't something to rush.
If Rin accidentally chose the wrong partner, he'd be doomed to spend the rest of his life as a parlor floor manager.
Which manager, you ask? Naturally—Rin Amane, the legendary "King of Foot Massage," mentor to countless star technicians, who, despite having a system, chose to dedicate his life to the noble art of foot care. A man destined to be enshrined and worshipped for a thousand years after death.
Unfortunately, as a third-year high school student, Rin wasn't remotely interested in feet.
By the time he left the parlor, night had already fallen. Rin boarded the subway home.
He lived alone in a cheap rental apartment in an old neighborhood. The building was run-down, but the location was excellent—within the city's second ring, six subway stops from school, and just a few kilometers from downtown. Perfect for a commuting student like him.
His apartment block sat right by the street. On the ground floor was a small, artfully decorated café.
To save a few steps, Rin usually cut through the café on his way in.
The owner was an elderly man named Kan, full of energy despite his head of white hair. Knowing Rin lived alone, the old man always greeted him warmly, asking after his life. On holidays, he'd send pastries or homemade wine.
Rin was grateful for his kindness.
Even though he wasn't much of a coffee drinker, he often bought a cup at night just to support the man—though many times Kan wouldn't even take his money.
But tonight, when Rin arrived, he was surprised to find the café already dark and locked.
It was only a little past nine. Closing this early?
He frowned. Usually, the café stayed open until 11:30 p.m., sometimes even later. Once, Rin had come back at three in the morning and found it still open.
Must be something going on.
Peering through the glass, Rin leaned closer.
Just then, the door opened from inside.
A girl stepped out, carrying a cello case on her back. She nearly bumped into him.
She had a clean, plain face, wore the same high school uniform as Rin, and her sleek black hair was tied into a simple ponytail.
But her eyes… were lifeless, like a stagnant pool.
Seeing Rin, her lips trembled slightly.
"Something you need?"
"Where's Grandpa Kan?"
"He's not here. I'm watching the shop tonight."
"You are…?"
"His granddaughter."
"Oh."
"Mm."
That was the end of their short exchange. The girl brushed past him, her cello case brushing his shoulder, tossed a bag of trash into the roadside bin, then turned back inside and locked the door.
Watching her retreating figure, Rin frowned.
Kan had a granddaughter? And she went to the same high school as him?
He'd never known. Then again, the old man had always been the one asking about Rin's life—he'd never thought to ask about the man's family.
He'd originally wanted to ask if he could cut through the café.
But seeing her cold expression, Rin decided against it.
She didn't look like someone easy to talk to.
Rin entered the apartment complex and climbed up to the sixth floor—his unit was 603.
By regulation, buildings taller than six stories had to install elevators. These older blocks had six floors, no more.
When Rin reached his floor, he stopped.
That girl was sitting on the railing outside his door, cello still strapped to her back.
Her pale legs dangled into the empty air.
What was she doing? Catching a breeze? Looking for a lost cat?
She couldn't possibly be thinking about—
Suicide?
She turned, meeting Rin's gaze.
"Can you not die in front of my door?" Rin asked.
"Okay."
She shifted over, moving from his 603 railing to sit in front of 602 instead.
"…That's no different. Maybe try another floor?"
"If it's lower, I might not die."
"Headfirst would work." Rin thought aloud. She'd need to strap the cello to her head, though—and she couldn't do that alone. He'd have to help.
Which meant every time he looked in the mirror, he'd see a headstone with 1-0-0 carved on it.
"Why not go to the roof?"
"It's locked. I don't have the key."
"That padlock opens if you pull it down. It's not actually locked."
"…Oh."
Her eyes widened with realization.
She slowly turned, lowered her legs from the railing, and jumped lightly to the floor.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Rin nodded, pulled out his keys, and unlocked his door.
But before he could enter, the girl seemed to remember something. She walked back down a few steps.
"By the way, could you hold onto this for me?" She slipped the cello case from her back.
"I'm afraid not. Sorry." Rin refused.
"…Alright." She looked a little disappointed. "Then—good night."
"Good night."
With that, she headed up toward the roof, while Rin entered his apartment.
He opened the fridge, pulled out a forgotten bottle of cold brew, and sprawled on the sofa with his laptop, ready to enjoy a little downtime before his shower.
But after a minute passed, something began gnawing at him.
Wait.
She's not actually… planning to do it… right?