The girl in the faux–high school uniform felt a chill crawl up her back.
The teenage boy in front of her had been staring—no, examining—her for nearly half an hour. And even though he ordered the ₱699 "Relive Your Youth – Premium High School Massage Package," this was still a bit much.
He looked like a real high school student.
Which was the problem.
Why would an actual student pay extra just to stare at a uniform? Doesn't he see them every day?
She was 24 this year. Normally, she had full confidence when playing the "cute student" role. But facing a genuine high school boy… she suddenly felt like her entire career was being challenged.
This kid probably knows what real students look like. Great… now I'm self-conscious.
"Why do you do this job?" the boy suddenly asked.
"Huh?"
"You're pretty. Why this line of work?" he pressed.
She immediately went into her standard tragic-story spiel.
"When I was younger, my dad fell into heavy gambling—"
"Addictions are bad," he said, cutting her off casually. "Doesn't matter if it's cards or video games."
"…What?"
"And won't this hurt your grades?" he added.
"I'm not a student. I'm cosplaying one. I don't have grades—just work performance."
"But people talk, right?" he continued seriously. "If I bring you home, I'd have to explain everything to my relatives. And if someday you want a different career, people online will dig up your history. Imagine you become famous and the comments say stuff like, 'Bro is idolizing a girl a businessman already discarded.' That'd be brutal."
The girl stared at him, stunned.
Was… was this kid planning to marry her?
"And sure, maybe the bright side is that some guys will pay more to have you wash their feet," he added thoughtfully. "But if I have that kind of money, why wouldn't I just book—"
"Are you crazy?!" she exploded.
She stood up abruptly, her face completely flushed.
"Forget it! I'm done! Go wash your own damn brain!"
She stormed off.
"Then refund my ₱699," the boy said calmly.
"You're insane," she muttered. "You already got forty minutes out of a seventy-minute massage. Why would you get a full refund?"
"Then just give me back ₱400," he said. "And an additional ₱399 voucher, the blue one. I saw it at the counter."
Her jaw dropped.
…
A few minutes later, Sebastian walked out of the spa holding a ₱399 discount coupon.
Rain had just stopped. Puddles reflected the neon lights.
He sighed as the translucent interface of the All-Around Producer System hovered in front of him.
Another failed attempt.
Sebastian had been reborn into this parallel world for 18 years. He originally wanted to live an ordinary life—until last week when a system suddenly bound itself to him.
A system he couldn't use unless he bonded with a female partner.
Only by training that partner into a widely beloved "idol" could he receive attribute boosts and rewards like bestselling novels, hit songs, scripts, comics, and more.
But despite his ridiculously handsome face, Sebastian's real-life high school life was extremely low-energy. He barely interacted with girls.
Which made finding a potential partner ridiculously hard.
…Hence today's disastrous attempt at the foot spa.
Maybe he was being desperate, but honestly, the spa was the lowest-cost place where men could directly interact with pretty women.
Unfortunately… no matter how good they were at foot massages, their "idol potential" was basically zero.
If he chose the wrong partner, he might spend the rest of his life as a spa lobby manager, known as "The Foot Spa King"—mentor of countless golden-ranking masseuses.
He shuddered.
No thanks.
After leaving the spa, Sebastian took the subway home.
He lived alone in a cheap old apartment. The building was ancient, but the location was decent six stations from school, a short ride from downtown, perfect for a commuting senior student.
The first floor of his building was a cozy café owned by an elderly man named Mr. Gunn. White-haired, energetic, and unusually kind.
Mr. Gunn often gave Sebastian pastries or homemade fruit wine during holidays. Sebastian always appreciated it.
Even though he didn't like coffee, he'd buy a cup whenever he passed by though half the time, Mr. Gunn refused to take his money.
But tonight, something was off.
The café was dark. Closed. The gate locked.
At only 9 p.m.?
Sebastian frowned.
The café normally closed past 11:30 p.m. and honestly, he'd even seen it open at 3 a.m.
Weird. Something must've happened.
He leaned forward to peek inside
The door suddenly opened.
A girl stepped out, carrying a large cello case on her back. She froze when she saw him.
She had a clean, gentle face.
The same high school uniform as his.
Her hair tied into a simple ponytail.
But her eyes… looked completely lifeless, like still water.
"Something wrong?" she asked quietly.
"Where's Mr. Gunn?" Sebastian asked.
"He's not here. I'm watching the shop tonight."
"And you are…?"
"His granddaughter."
"Oh."
"Mm."
That was the end of the conversation.
She brushed past him, the cello case lightly bumping his shoulder. After dumping a trash bag into the bin, she returned inside and locked the door.
Sebastian blinked.
Mr. Gunn has a granddaughter? In my school? Since when?
But then again… Mr. Gunn always asked about his life. He had never asked about the old man's.
He originally wanted to ask if he could cut through the café to save time.
But judging from that cold aura, he changed his mind.
He didn't have the energy to deal with someone like that tonight.
He entered the building and climbed the stairs to the 6th floor where he lived.
As he reached the landing…
He saw her again.
The cello girl—Astra—sitting on the short balcony wall in front of his door.
Her legs dangled over open air, completely suspended.
…She's not seriously trying to jump, right?
Astra turned her head and saw him.
"Can you not die in front of my door?" Sebastian asked dryly.
"Oh." Astra scooted over… to the railing across from door 602 instead of 603.
"No difference," he said. "If you want to jump, at least pick another floor."
"If I go lower, the fall might not kill me," she replied calmly.
"Then go headfirst."
"…Headfirst requires tying the cello to my head," she said softly. "I can't do that alone."
He imagined helping her strap a cello to her head and seeing a giant "1–0–0" shape every time he looked in the mirror afterward.
"Try the rooftop," he said.
"It's locked."
"That lock opens if you pull down on it."
"Oh."
She stood up, climbed down, and dusted off her skirt.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
Sebastian unlocked his door.
Astra paused, turned back, and approached him again.
"Can you keep this for me?" she asked, lifting her cello case.
Sebastian answered immediately, "No. Sorry."
"…Okay." Her voice dimmed a little. "Then… good night."
"You too."
She walked up toward the rooftop.
Sebastian went inside.
He grabbed a bottle of cold brew from the fridge, lay on the couch, turned on his computer, and prepared to enjoy a quiet moment before showering.
A minute later…
Something felt wrong.
…Wait.
She's not actually going to jump, right?
.