Weren’t You Only Using Me As A Stand-in? [39]

The Tokyo sun dipped lower in the sky. Crows perched on the power lines, gazing down at the busy city below.

“Welcome.”

At six in the evening, Kitahara Takeru and Eriri arrived at the entrance of Ebisu Champion Yakiniku.

It was a mid-to-high-end barbecue spot tucked inside Takashimaya, well-established since its founding in 1996. Nearly sixty years old now, the restaurant was a Tokyo mainstay known for its premium A5 wagyu.

They’d arrived right at the dinner rush. A long line snaked from the entrance.

Fortunately, Kitahara had the foresight to make a reservation. While others waited, the two of them were led inside immediately by a server.

Once seated and the set menu ordered, Kitahara politely declined the chef’s offer to grill the meat for them. He planned to do it himself.

He took off his jacket and said to Eriri, “I’m heading to the restroom,” phone in hand as he walked off.

Inside the bathroom, one hand steadying himself and the other tapping away, Kitahara replied to messages.

This was the one hassle about hanging out with Eriri.

She was clingy—ridiculously so. His hands were never free.

And even when they were, every time he tried to reply to someone, she’d lean in beside him on tiptoe, craning her neck to sneak a peek like she was his actual girlfriend.

As he typed, someone bumped into his shoulder.

Thanks to daily runs and consistent leg training at the gym, Kitahara was built like a tree with deep roots. He barely wobbled.

“Sorry about that.”

Kitahara turned. The man who’d bumped him was of average height, dressed in a sharp suit that clearly wasn’t cheap. His hair was slicked back into a polished 3:7 part. A classic, stylish older guy.

Kitahara smiled and shook his head. “No problem.”

The man gave a short bow and, as he straightened up, his gaze passed over a certain area. His eyes went wide—then, without a word, he slinked off to a far corner.

At the sink, Kitahara patiently washed between each finger. As he dried his hands with a handkerchief and turned to leave, a tall, slender young woman walked in.

She wore a high-waisted white skirt paired with a black V-neck knit cardigan. Her silky black hair flowed to her waist.

Her appearance was fresh and innocent, with skin smooth and fair like a peeled boiled egg.

Delicate limbs, graceful and supple—just her silhouette cutting through the air seemed designed to seduce.

Beneath her full, curvaceous chest, a blue satin ribbon cinched around a tiny waist no bigger than a handful.

She was beautiful—more mature and womanly than Eriri and the other high school girls.

Kitahara stopped and called out tentatively, “Chizuru-nee?”

Hearing someone call her, Ichinose Chizuru turned and studied Kitahara’s unfamiliar face for a long moment. But try as she might, she couldn’t recall where she knew him from.

“You are...?”

Kitahara’s makeup skills were too good—even Chizuru hadn’t recognized him.

“Chizuru-nee, that’s cold. I was your first client, you know.” Seeing even she hadn’t recognized him, Kitahara’s eyes curved into fox-like crescents, mischief dancing at the corners.

“...Takeru?”

Her eyes widened in shock.

“What happened to you?”

No matter how she looked, Chizuru couldn’t reconcile this clear-eyed, refined boy with the Kitahara Takeru she knew.

Not that Aki Tomoya was ugly—far from it. In fact, once he took off his glasses, he was pretty decent-looking. (At least in the original setting.)

But everything’s relative.

You wouldn’t compare Sasuke from Naruto to Kakashi in a beauty contest, would you?

“Same as you. Makeup,” Kitahara said, slinging an arm around her shoulder and raising an eyebrow. “Pretty unrecognizable, huh?”

“This isn’t makeup. You straight-up changed your face.” Chizuru immediately grabbed his cheeks, pinching and tugging, inspecting him top to bottom.

“If you hadn’t said anything, I’d have never known it was you.”

“But seriously, why go through all that trouble?”

Kitahara pulled a dramatic cat-like pout. “Life’s tough. Pretty boys gotta hustle.”

Chizuru teased, “So? You become a host or jump into adult films? Need your nee-chan to support your business? I’ll only order the cheapest drink, though.”

Kitahara scoffed.

No sincerity at all.

Even Kamikawa Rie had at least been willing to buy him a champagne tower.

“Too young to host. AV? Doesn’t pay enough.”

Out of pure curiosity—truly, just curiosity—Kitahara had once consulted a scout.

Even starring alongside industry veterans like Yua Mikami, Aika, or Kana Momonogi, he’d earn maybe 30,000 yen a scene, tops.

And because Kitahara was too good-looking, his casting options were limited.

He’d only get roles like the innocent new hire harassed by a female boss, the student bullied by gyaru girls, or the young office worker seduced by his boss’s wife.

In the AV world, being too handsome was actually a disadvantage.

The typical viewer—the otaku buying those films—absolutely despised good-looking guys.

Kitahara’s face, which had always been his advantage, became a liability in that field.

“You actually asked?” Chizuru made a show of reaching for his ear.

“Ow, ow, ow—!”

Kitahara immediately surrendered.

“Liar. I didn’t even pinch that hard.”

As they laughed and teased, a cold voice suddenly cut in:

“What are you two doing?”

Kitahara froze.

Chizuru turned to look curiously.

Not far behind her stood a striking girl with blonde hair and ice-blue eyes, glaring daggers at the two of them.

“Having fun, huh? Am I interrupting something? Want to bring her over to your seat so you two can keep chatting?” Eriri’s voice dripped with venom.

Kitahara quickly stepped away from Chizuru, fumbling to explain. “Ran into a senpai, just chatting a bit—”

Mid-sentence, he stopped.

Damn it.

He wanted to slap himself.

Because he had just realized his words were basically gasoline on an open flame.

“Oh? You have a senpai too.”

As expected, the moment those words left his mouth, Eriri’s cold stare turned positively murderous.

Senpai—a word absolutely forbidden in her vocabulary.

“Looks familiar~” Eriri folded her arms and gave Chizuru a slow, deliberate once-over, her voice light but loaded with meaning.

Black hair, big chest, long legs—

Looking closer, Chizuru and Kasumigaoka Utaha did seem to share quite a few traits.

At least if you ignored their faces entirely.

Chizuru glanced from Kitahara to Eriri, then suddenly smiled, amused. “I think I get what kind of work you do now, kouhai~”

Are you doing this on purpose?! Why would you provoke her?! Kitahara nearly broke down as Eriri’s expression darkened by the second.

“Kouhai, we’ll chat later.” Chizuru made a phone-call gesture, then turned and sashayed away.

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T/N: heh 2 sides of the same coin ALSO KAKASHI IS BETTER THAN SASUKE DONT @ ME

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!