Weren’t You Only Using Me As A Stand-in? [50]

“I’ll take two servings of fried tofu, two sukiyaki pouches, two beef tendons, two kelp rolls, two eggs, and two chikuwa—please pack them separately. Thank you.”

Kitahara Takeru ordered everything in one breath.

When it came time to pay, he casually handed over a single 1,000-yen note.

What truly stunned Shijō Maki was that, despite how much Kitahara had ordered, the total didn’t even come close to 1,000 yen.

The old lady running the place even gave him change.

“Here you go, young man. Take it carefully.”

The shop owner, a kind elderly woman, scooped the ingredients into two small bowls and ladled in a few spoonfuls of sweet broth before passing them over.

“Thanks.”

With both bowls filled to the brim, Kitahara brought one over to Shijō Maki. “Itadakimasu,” he said cheerily, then bit into a sukiyaki pouch, devouring half of it in one go.

Shijō Maki took the bowl in both hands, examining it skeptically.

It’s this cheap—am I going to get food poisoning from this?

No one had ever taken her to a dive like this.

Most people who hung around Shijō Maki were either rich or powerful. Even someone like Tanuma Tsubasa, who she considered to come from humble roots, would never stoop to a place like this.

After all, Tanuma might be from a modest background, but he wasn’t poor.

If even Tanuma wouldn’t be caught dead here, there was no way Shijō Maki would have come.

It was only because Kitahara Takeru brought her that she didn’t immediately turn on her heel and walk out.

Anyone else, and she would’ve considered it an insult.

Only Kitahara could get away with bringing her to a place like this.

Because Kitahara was poor.

Ordinary people lived ordinary lives. The rich had their own way of living.

In Shijō Maki’s eyes, this was probably just a slice of Kitahara’s everyday routine. If he tried to bring her to a fancy place, she would’ve assumed he was just trying too hard to save face.

Still cradling the bowl, Shijō Maki hesitated for a long while. From the corner of her eye, she watched Kitahara eat.

He was wolfing everything down with such gusto, you’d think he was eating a gourmet feast.

Watching him, Shijō Maki couldn’t help but swallow.

Is it really that good?

He was eating so happily that it made her stomach growl.

She picked up a skewer of beef tendon and took a dainty bite.

The tendon was melt-in-your-mouth tender, and the sweet-savory broth brought out the flavor in full. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she covered her mouth with one hand.

“It’s… actually really good!”

She hadn’t expected such a run-down shop in an alleyway to serve something this tasty.

“Right? Right?” Kitahara grinned smugly.

He never came back to places that tasted bad—much less bring someone else.

“It’s probably not as healthy as what your family’s private chef makes, but it’s delicious.”

For Kitahara, he'd rather eat something delicious and live a little less than suffer through health food and live long.

Junk food made him happy.

“Mmhmm.”

Shijō Maki picked up a sukiyaki pouch and bit in. To her surprise, it was stuffed to bursting with beef, and the flavor was juicy and rich.

Of course, it wasn’t premium beef.

But hey—it was only 150 yen. What more did you expect?

This was the most enjoyable meal she’d had in a long time.

By the time she set down the bowl, she realized—she’d eaten everything.

An entire bowl of oden, gone.

Even she couldn’t believe it herself.

Yes, it was her first time eating oden, and yes, she admitted it was pretty good. But it wasn’t that amazing.

She’d eaten all kinds of fine cuisine growing up.

No matter how tasty something was, she usually didn’t eat this much.

And yet now… she had.

What happened?

Just as she was puzzling it over, Kitahara stood up. “Come on, next stop—bakery!”

“More food?” Shijō Maki looked up in disbelief.

We just ate…

“You’ll digest it as you walk.”

Not waiting for her answer, Kitahara grabbed her by the hand and headed off.

Passing by a small food shop, Kitahara spent another 300 yen on a fresh-ground soy milk—so thick it was almost like paste.

They drank as they walked, brushing past elderly people on the street.

Eventually, they arrived at the bakery Kitahara had mentioned.

The owner was a grandfatherly man, working the shop alone.

The storefront was plastered with posters and photos of him posing with celebrities from decades past. He seemed to have had his moment of fame.

The confident man in the photos had now gone completely white-haired.

The store hadn’t changed much since those glory days.

Faded molds, peeling price tags—everything spoke of the passing years.

The shelves held five types of bread, each at a different price, but the most expensive was only 300 yen.

Kitahara bought two of each.

Even so, he only spent about 1,500 yen.

The two of them now had soy milk in one hand, bread in the other, eating as they walked.

It was May in Tokyo.

The sky looked as though someone had poured blue ink into it—vivid and clear.

Clouds floated above like fish scales, and the warm sunshine bathed everything in gold. Maybe it had rained last night, because the temperature today was cooler than the past few days.

A soft breeze blew, lifting the boy’s tousled hair and making the girl’s skirt flutter.

The breeze brushed their skin as they strolled down one of Tokyo’s forgotten streets.

Passing time in peace.

...

“Takeru, that doll you made is so ugly.”

As they stepped out of a small doll workshop, Shijō Maki was laughing as she cradled the crooked little figure Kitahara had made.

“That’s weird. I used to be a pro at sculpting clay in kindergarten. Must be the crappy materials they gave us!” Kitahara deflected, business as usual.

“Yeah right, cheap stuff is never good.”

Shijō Maki rolled her eyes. “Face it, you just suck.”

They were still bantering when a sleek black rental car pulled up with a low hum, stopping right in front of them.

Its hood was polished so perfectly there wasn’t a speck of dirt, and a golden flying fish ornament gleamed on the grille.

The back windows were tinted, hiding the interior.

From the driver’s seat stepped a sharply dressed young man, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six.

“Miss Maki, it’s time to return,” the man said politely, bowing first to Kitahara before turning to Maki.

The smile vanished from Shijō Maki’s face. A chill descended as she slipped into her usual aura of authority.

Her voice went cold. “Understood.”

She turned to Kitahara. “Takeru, I have to go.”

“It’s getting late anyway.”

Only then did Kitahara notice—the sky had turned a deep reddish brown.

“Did you have fun today?”

Shijō Maki hesitated. A genuine smile tugged at her lips, though she said aloud, “It was… passable.”

Yeah. She’d had a good time.

Kitahara had known her long enough to speak fluent tsundere.

“Ordinary life is more interesting than I thought.”

Kitahara just smiled faintly. “Is that so?”

He didn’t take her words too seriously.

To someone used to a life of wealth, a taste of the common life could seem novel.

But live like this for real? She wouldn’t last six months.

A fish born in freshwater couldn’t survive in the ocean.

“I’ll come find you again.”

Shijō Maki said it softly before ducking into the car.

Once she was inside, the man gently closed the door.

She rolled down the window to wave.

“See you.”

Kitahara tore off a piece of bread and was about to wave back when something made him pause.

“Hey, Maki—are you sure you can’t give me Kashiwagi Nagisa’s number?”

He still wanted to try.

Shijō Maki blinked. Her lips parted, but instead of what she had been about to say, she changed her mind.

“I’ll send it to your Line later.”

This time, it was Kitahara’s turn to freeze.

He hadn’t expected her to actually agree. She didn’t even ask why.

“Thanks.”

This time, his gratitude was sincere.

“Friends help each other, don’t they?” Shijō Maki tucked a strand of windblown hair behind her ear, her tone uncharacteristically gentle.

She didn’t understand why Kitahara was so fixated on her best friend’s number.

But if he wasn’t willing to explain, she wouldn’t press.

Kitahara's mood turned somber. “Mm,” he murmured.

“I’m off.”

“See you.”

The car’s quiet engine started up, and it pulled away smoothly, disappearing around the corner.

Kitahara stood there for a long time.

Until a system chime rang out:

[Mission Complete. Calculating rewards…]
[You have received: 5,000 points.]
[Date Count – Shijō Maki: 2]

Only then did he finally move, heading toward the station.

It was time for the next date.

---

In the car, the driver spoke cautiously. “Miss Maki, perhaps we should look into that boy first…”

“You’re teaching me how to do my job?” Shijō Maki’s voice went cold.

“Perish the thought!”

Her gaze shifted to the seat beside her.

The dolls they made—one boy, one girl—sat neatly side by side.

A faint smile tugged at her lips as she tore off a piece of bread and popped it in her mouth.

Then her brows knit in a frown.

Strangely… it didn’t taste quite as good anymore.

---

At Toyosaki Private, in an unused classroom, a bespectacled boy stood at the lectern, pitching his game idea with dramatic flair.

“The setting is a remote island about an hour south of Tokyo by plane...”

“The island’s school, suffering from depopulation, is merging with a prestigious girls’ school from the mainland…”

“The protagonist, disguised as a girl, will enroll—oh, and he must have a space-queen roommate from the moon!”

The setting sun stained the empty classroom a deep crimson.

Outside, the rowdy cries of the sports clubs echoed through the halls.

Even on holidays, Japanese high schools—especially the sports clubs—still held practice.

Most schools remained open on weekends.

“I’m leaving.”

Eriri had had enough. She grabbed her bag and made for the door.

“Wait, Eriri! I haven’t finished explaining!”

The boy hurried off the podium to stop her.

“You’ve been ranting for over thirty minutes about your weird delusions, yelling like a maniac. Spending time here makes me feel like a total idiot. What a waste.”

Eriri folded her arms, glaring at her childhood friend.

“You’d be better off just being a regular otaku like always. Suddenly deciding to make a game when you have zero skills? Do you think the world is that easy?”

“You think just getting a few people together means you’ll make it big? People like you are what we call ‘doujin grifters.’ The kind you claim to hate the most. Got it?”

Her words were razor-sharp, cutting straight into Aki Tomoya’s pride.

“That’s not fair! I’ve got passion—double anyone else’s! Without me, this project wouldn’t even exist!”

“Exactly. It’s nothing without you.”

“Hey, say what you want, but don’t throw away my proposal! I spent all night writing that!”

“All you wrote was a title, a date, and ‘Concept for a Doujin Bishoujo Game (TBD)’—how did that take all night?”

“I slept for eleven hours, okay? That didn’t leave me much time!”

As their bickering spiraled yet again, Kasumigaoka Utaha glanced at the time, closed her notebook, and stood up. “I’m heading out.”

“Wait, senpai! Not you too!” Tomoya wailed.

“I really do have plans,” Utaha said honestly.

She had arranged to meet Kitahara Takeru—to gather material for her writing.

And to give him a new phone.

So he’d stop losing signal all the time.

“Is it for your new novel? What’s the theme this time? Another youthful school romance?” Tomoya perked up.

“I haven’t decided yet. That’s why I need inspiration,” she said, not bothering to lie.

“Want me to come with you? I need inspiration too—and you could give me advice.”

“Not today. I’m meeting someone else.” Utaha’s tone held a trace of regret.

In hindsight, maybe she shouldn’t have asked Takeru.

It was a long trip for him from Tokyo. He must be tired.

“Was it the guy you went to the bookstore with last week?” a quiet girl suddenly spoke.

Utaha looked at her in surprise, her expression saying: How did you know?

“I was there buying study materials. I happened to see someone who looked a lot like Aki—walking around the store with you,” said Katō Megumi softly.

“A guy?”

“Looked like Aki!?”

Tomoya and Eriri both froze.

Then, in perfect sync, shouted.

---

T/N: UHOH EXPOSED???

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!