Weren’t You Only Using Me As A Stand-in? [55]

On the bench by the fountain, Kitahara Takeru waited for Katō Megumi to finish her phone call before asking, “Senpai’s line didn’t go through?”

After dinner, Katō Kei had suggested the four of them walk around a bit.

As they strolled, Megumi had ducked into a shop to look at hair ties and scrunchies. In the meantime, Kei had winked at Takeru, then clamped a hand over his little cousin’s mouth and—like some kidnapper out of a crime drama—hoisted her onto his shoulder and broke into a hundred-meter dash.

By the time Megumi looked back, the two of them had vanished without a trace.

Credit where it’s due—calling Kei “senpai” wasn’t a waste. He really delivered.

If Kei had shown up right now, Takeru would’ve had no problem calling him oyaji.

“No,” Megumi replied softly, shaking her head. Then she bent forward slightly and began massaging her calves, her slender fingers pressing lightly over the black mid-thigh stockings hugging her pale legs.

Stockings came in many types.

The kind that reached just above the calves but not quite to the knees—like what Katō Megumi was wearing—were called mid-stockings or chuusoku.

Takeru’s eyes were involuntarily drawn to her legs.

Long and slender, they made up nearly a third of her frame. The skin was smooth and fair, the line from knee to ankle curving in an elegant arc. By all accounts, these were textbook manga legs.

“Kitahara-kun, what are you looking at?” Megumi suddenly asked.

Was she imagining it?

She could’ve sworn he was staring at her legs.

Takeru straightened his face. “Analyzing the stockings.”

“Uh... pretty sure you were looking at my legs.”

No doubt about it now. He was absolutely looking at her legs.

“No, I was studying the stockings. Megumi-san, did you know? My dream is to become a fashion designer.”

After a moment’s thought, Takeru added solemnly, “A women’s fashion designer.”

Who wants to design clothes for guys anyway?

Three outfits in rotation, and they spend more on skins in games than on real clothes.

No money to be made off men, seriously.

Megumi wasn’t even remotely moved by his career aspirations. “You were staring at my legs.”

“Megumi-san, can we not talk about this?”

One more word and I swear I’m gonna lose it.

Megumi replied calmly, “Then could you stop staring?”

Takeru looked away, muttering under his breath, “Fine, I wasn’t that interested anyway.”

Megumi rewarded him with a Byakugan-grade side-eye.

“I’m going to get some ice cream. Want one?” Takeru asked, eyeing a nearby shop. His sweet tooth had kicked in.

“Sure.”

As he stood, Megumi made to rise too, but a hand gently pushed her back down.

“Mm?”

Megumi looked up, confused.

“I’ll go. Just tell me what flavor you want,” Takeru said.

He glanced briefly at her legs.

Clarification: he wasn’t checking them out this time.

He just figured she must’ve walked a lot today.

Megumi followed his gaze to her legs, then seemed to understand.

She smiled.

Her lips were soft and delicate like cherry blossoms, the gentle upward curve casting a glow that felt like it bathed the world in sunlight.

Then she spoke—and made Takeru irrationally angry.

“Kitahara-kun, I didn’t take you for a nice guy.”

Takeru’s face darkened. “Megumi-san, that was an incredibly sophisticated insult.”

So what if he stared at your legs for a second?

Did she really have to go there?

“Nice guy” — like, not even as good as a dog?

Too far. ヽ( `д´)ノ

“Hm?” Megumi tilted her head, confused why Takeru looked so offended after she’d complimented him.

“Nothing. What flavor do you want?”

Megumi didn’t press. “Matcha, I’ve heard it’s the shop’s specialty.”

She’d read the reviews. Out of five stars, most ratings were nearly perfect.

“Is that so? I’ll get the same then.”

Takeru stepped into the ice cream shop.

The owner was a middle-aged man with a very full head of hair—not like the younger generation, balding before thirty.

It’s one reason Takeru refused to pull all-nighters.

Protect the hair.

“Welcome~”

“Two matcha ice creams, please.”

“Cone or cup?”

“Cone.”

“Got it, one moment.”

The shop was small and the tables were full, so Takeru paid and stood off to the side.

Fortunately, the service was quick. In less than five minutes, both cones were ready.

“This place is weirdly generous. Look how much matcha powder they dumped on this thing.” Takeru turned one of the cones in his hand. The top was absolutely coated in green powder.

So much so that the moment he took one, powder began pouring off.

A real gem of a shop.

But then he took a bite—and instantly transformed into a matcha fire extinguisher.

“Cough—cough!!!”

A cloud of matcha powder exploded from his mouth like a compressed blast.

“Cough!!”

It took a full minute of wheezing for him to recover.

“Five-star reviews? Seriously?”

He pulled out his phone and searched the place.

Well, what do you know?

Nearly all glowing reviews.

“There are traitors among the people.”

Takeru now suspected that all the reviewers were malicious trolls conspiring to get others choked on powder.

Reminded him of that one movie he saw that was a total dumpster fire—but somehow had near-unanimous praise online.

Back then, he couldn’t figure it out.

Until he saw a comment: “Everyone who’s watched it rated it 5 stars. The goal is to bait more victims.”

That’s when it clicked.

So that’s how fake praise works.

And in the end—he did it too.

Can’t let me be the only one who suffers.

Takeru stared at the spoon that had come with the ice cream, then tossed it away. After wiping his mouth clean, he walked back over to Megumi.

“Here.”

He passed her the other cone, acting as if nothing had happened.

“Thanks,” Megumi said, taking it. She noticed he’d already taken a bite and asked, “So? Is it good?”

“Mm. Delicious. Clean and hygienic.”

Takeru even gave a thumbs-up.

To reinforce the lie, he pretended to take another bite—carefully avoiding any powdery parts.

“Lots of matcha powder. Oh—didn’t they give you a spoon?”

Takeru didn’t miss a beat. “It’s a cone. Why would they give a spoon?”

Megumi tilted her head and then smiled. “Fair point.”

Under Takeru’s watchful gaze, Megumi took a light bite.

Then—“Pffft!”—a stream of matcha powder blasted straight into Takeru’s face.

Takeru: “…”

Seriously? How’d she get that much distance?

“Didn’t you say—” Megumi began, clearly intending to scold him. But then she saw his face—literally green, like someone had dipped him in paint—and had to turn away, shoulders trembling.

“You’re laughing,” Takeru said, deadpan.

He was genuinely offended.

Don’t think he had no pride.

“I’m not,” Megumi said quickly.

“Look me in the eyes and say that.”

She turned her face toward him—but the moment she saw his now-green front teeth, she finally broke.

She burst out laughing.

“Unbelievable.”

Takeru was furious. But what could he do?

He had wanted her to experience the same thing.

He’d just misjudged the range of her spray.

In frustration, he pulled out his phone and angrily left a glowing five-star review, muttering internally:

No one gets out of this.

While the two of them were playing around, Kasumigaoka Utaha, Aki Tomoya, and Sawamura Spencer Eriri exited the restaurant.

With a little “guidance” from the two girls, Tomoya ended up catching a very specific scene:

Katō Megumi, gently dabbing matcha powder off Kitahara Takeru’s face with a handkerchief.

Tomoya’s expression froze in place.

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This is a fan translation of 不是说只拿我当替身的吗？by 雪碧加冰. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!