It's 10:30 p.m., and Luke stands alone in the heart of Shinjuku's Kabukicho district.
This place is a neon jungle—movie theaters, arcades, bars, and those shady spots you don't talk about in polite company. From midnight to dawn, the crowds never thin out. It's the ultimate city that never sleeps.
Earlier tonight, Luke sat through a standard Japanese dinner at the Tokyo Imperial Hotel. No sushi served on scantily clad women like he'd secretly hoped for—just bland Japanese cuisine with a bunch of old guys. Real snooze-fest.
When three master swordsmen asked him about his fighting style's name, he nearly blurted out, "Let's just call it the Flying Sword Style." That's how bored he was.
Safe to say, those kinds of formal gigs aren't his scene.
The second the dinner wrapped up, Luke, who knows Japan like the back of his hand, hopped in a cab and slipped away to this place he's been dying to visit.
Dressed casually with a pair of sunglasses perched on his face—because he's not exactly a nobody anymore—Luke's got a bit of a reputation. Getting recognized here wouldn't be ideal, so he's gone for a low-key disguise.
Does it work? Eh, it's better than nothing.
As he weaves through the flashy, booze-soaked streets, he's surrounded by middle-aged salarymen, drunk off their asses but still chasing a good time, glamorous women in tight skirts with flawless makeup, and rebellious teens with yellow-dyed hair puffing on cigarettes.
After turning a few corners, Luke moves quickly, navigating like he's been here a million times before.
In reality? This is his first time setting foot in Kabukicho.
But in his past life, playing Yakuza, he spent countless hours roaming these streets in the game, controlling Kiryu Kazuma or Kasuga Ichiban. Every alley, every hot spot—he knows them like his own neighborhood.
Passing a shop with a red-and-white sign that reads "Free Information Center," he can't help but smirk. Gotta hand it to Japan—guys here have it good.
No need to play the hopeless romantic or shell out a fortune for a dowry. A few thousand yen, sometimes less, and you can buy a night of "heartfelt" love.
Just then, a girl in a JK sailor outfit steps in front of him.
"Excuse me, sir. Interested in some… panties?"
"What the—?"
"Three thousand yen for one, five thousand for a set. I can take 'em off right now if you want," she continues.
"Man, this is Japan. Shinjuku's nightlife doesn't mess around," Luke mutters to himself.
[Note to readers: Bookmark our site at 101kan.com!]
He shakes his head, signaling he's not interested, and keeps walking.
A bit further, he spots small groups of girls lingering on the street corners, some wearing sunglasses to hide their faces.
Luke knows who they are: "Kami-machi shoujo"—literally, "girls waiting for God."
Translation? Girls waiting for a "godly" man to swoop in and offer them a place to stay, food, or cash.
And the price for being "saved" by these gods? Well… you get the picture. If you don't, you're probably pretending not to.
Years later, young people back home would talk about "lying flat" to opt out of the rat race. But here, these Neon Girls are literally lying flat to make a buck.
Luke can only marvel at how the Japanese have a knack for wrapping harsh realities in a warm, fuzzy veneer to make them seem less grim.
In most places, "gods" are divine beings with epic powers. Here? It's just a fancy term for sleazy middle-aged dudes.
Talk about dark humor.
What's wilder is that some pros out here pretend to be these "God-waiting girls" to rake in bigger profits.
You think you're the hunter, but the best hunters always disguise themselves as prey.
That hunter-prey rule? It's universal.
But all this glitz and grit doesn't concern Luke tonight. He's here for one thing: a bowl of beef rice.
To be precise, a totally ordinary bowl of Matsuya beef rice, from a shop just thirty meters around the next corner.
Why's he so set on this? Simple. In Yakuza, he's "eaten" that same bowl as Kiryu Kazuma countless times. This is about crossing a personal goal off his list.
People are weird like that. Sometimes, it's not about how great the thing itself is—it's the emotions you've poured into it that make you willing to go the extra mile.
Take that high school crush you could only admire from afar, daydreaming for years about winning her over.
Miracles don't happen. She was never yours, just a piece of your lost youth.
Then, years later, you bump into her. She's not as stunning as she was back then, but she's still got that charm.
Suddenly, those old feelings flood back, and some guys would pay a steep price just to fulfill that teenage fantasy.
But here's the kicker: younger, prettier girls are out there, ready to offer "temporary love" for a fraction of the cost.
Is it worth it?
Thinking of his own little quest, Luke chuckles to himself: "Yuffie? Totally worth it."
Thud!
Lost in thought, he's suddenly bumped into by a girl who smells faintly of perfume.
"Can I go with you?" she asks, her voice tinged with urgency.
Luke blinks, surprised, as he takes in the girl—maybe five-foot-two, dressed in a JK sailor outfit, twin tails, and oversized sunglasses.
Hold up. From what he knows, Japan's "God-waiting girls" aren't this forward. Don't they usually just stand there, waiting for guys to make the first move?
And those huge sunglasses? Good luck closing a deal when no one can see your face.
Still, her voice sounds… familiar. Have they met before?
"Sir, can I go with you?" she presses again, more desperate this time.
"Sorry, I don't have a place to offer you," Luke replies honestly. He's staying at a hotel, after all.
"That's fine! Just take me with you, please!"
This desperate? This bold?
Before he can say no again, he notices four yellow-haired punks in the distance, shouting as they sprint toward the girl.
Panicked, she turns to run but doesn't get far before slamming right into a massive guy—six-foot-six, 250 pounds, face full of scars, and arms covered in tattoos.
"Ah!" the girl screams as the hulking dude grabs her arm. She struggles, but there's no breaking free.
"Got her!" the guy growls. "Let's take her back and teach her a lesson for running!"
Her sunglasses fall off, revealing her face.
Luke freezes. It's her.
A golden message from the system flashes before his eyes:
[Save the future Neon Idol Wife. Help her escape her current predicament, and you'll be rewarded with skills based on your success.]
[P.S. If she's destined to be tangled up with a guy whose name includes "," why can't that guy be you?]