Weren’t You Only Using Me As A Stand-in? [16]

The train zipped forward beneath a crisscross of power lines.

Half an hour later, Kitahara Takeru arrived in Tokyo’s Ginza district.

Following the GPS, he located today’s date spot: Cafe Yolum — a dessert café.

A sign that read “Soft Opening” hung outside, decorated with charming cartoon illustrations. Creative. Quirky.

“This should be it.”

Takeru double-checked the location.

Once confirmed, he pulled out a compact mirror to check his makeup.

The angular, sharp-edged face from before was gone — replaced with soft, gentle features that gave off a refined and slightly delicate air.

It didn’t even feel like makeup. It looked like he’d swapped faces.

“Perfect.”

He inspected himself top to bottom one last time, confirming that his appearance had at least 70–90% resemblance to Tanuma Tsubasa, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.

---

Inside the European-style café, Shijō Maki sat quietly scooping bites of Black Forest cake into her mouth.

Spoon, mouth, chew. Repeat.

Her movements were mechanical. Her mind was elsewhere, looping thoughts of Kashiwagi Nagisa and Tanuma Tsubasa.

Did they walk home together? Did they hold hands? Hug? Maybe even ki—no, no, no. No way.

Kissing is sacred. That’s for your wedding day, obviously.

Even if they’ve only been dating a month?

Then what’s the difference between her and a bitch?

Sixteen years old and still utterly clueless when it came to that kind of thing, the high-society heiress began to mentally soothe herself.

The cake melted on her tongue — sugary, rich — something she used to love.

Today, it tasted bitter.

Her stomach felt a little off too.

Did the café swap out their ingredients or something? Is this a leftover slice from yesterday?

She’d have her people look into it.

If this cake gave her a stomachache, she’d make sure the café learned what capital power really meant.

Oblivious to how her own mood was affecting her tastebuds, Maki started projecting the problem onto others.

“Excuse me.”

Deep in her thoughts, Shijō Maki didn’t even register that someone had approached.

Without lifting her head, she replied impatiently, “No phone. Not giving out my contact.”

She might’ve been a total loser in love, but truthfully, she got a fair bit of attention.

Plenty of classmates chased after her, and she was often hit on outside school too.

But she could never tell if people liked her face, her background, or her.

And you never forget your first genuine, uncalculated, all-in crush.

Unrequited love is the hardest to let go.

The older Maki got, the more she found herself nostalgic for those innocent days, glossing over Tanuma’s flaws.

What made someone your white moonlight wasn’t how noble or perfect they were — it was that they showed up at the exact moment when you were soft, open, and ready to fall.

“Miss Shijō, nice to meet you. I’m Watanabe Takeru. But you can call me Takeru.”

Kitahara Takeru didn’t flinch at her cold tone. Life post-graduation had beaten all the hypersensitivity out of him. He knew how to stay cool.

He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, offering a calm introduction.

“Takeru?”

At last, Shijō Maki deigned to glance at him.

One look — and her pupils blew wide. Disbelief flooded her face.

Then, like her seat had springs installed, she shot upright, knocking over her drink in the process.

It was very improper.

If this were the Shijō estate, her parents would’ve scolded her for breaking etiquette.

But Maki ignored every manner she’d ever been taught, her voice cracking in surprise and delight: “Tsubasa?!”

Takeru was quite pleased with the reaction.

Guess the makeup job paid off.

Of course it did. He’d planned this down to the detail.

This was the exact effect he’d aimed for — and he got it.

“Tsubasa?”

Takeru blinked, acting confused. He touched his face.

“Do I really look that much like him?”

Only then did Maki remember — he had introduced himself.

Watanabe Takeru, not Tanuma Tsubasa.

“Sorry. You look just like someone I know.”

Maki slowly sat down again, though her gaze stayed glued to his face.

So similar.

Unbelievably similar.

Why does he look so much like Tsubasa?

“Miss, is everything alright?”

A server had noticed the spilled drink and rushed over.

“I’m fine. Sorry. Could you please help clean this up?” Though she was a proper ojō-sama, Maki wasn’t arrogant — she was always polite to staff.

“And… one more slice of what I ordered, please.” Maybe feeling bad for the trouble she’d caused, she added another order.

Only then did she remember Takeru was right there. She turned toward him. “What about you? My treat.”

“No need. I don’t really like sweets. Just a cup of oolong tea would be great.”

He didn’t even reach for the menu, just smiled and shook his head.

Just like Tsubasa. He doesn’t like sweets either.

Maki noted it silently.

They really are alike.

They changed tables. Once their orders were brought over and the server left, the two sat across from each other — silently.

Neither spoke. The mood turned awkward.

It felt like meeting an online friend in real life.

Online version: witty, shameless, smooth as hell.
In person: deer in headlights, completely mute, nervous wreck.

Takeru finally forced out a stiff line: “Uh… have you eaten?”

Maki looked down at the half-eaten dessert in front of her, then back at him. Suddenly, she turned away, shoulders shaking.

She was definitely holding back laughter.

Takeru saw it too — her barely contained grin. His face started to flush red, the heat creeping down his neck.

“You’re laughing, aren’t you?” he said, embarrassed and annoyed.

“Nope.”

Maki answered without missing a beat.

She was a Shijō. Trained in elegance from birth.

She never laughed unless she chose to.

...Unless she really couldn’t help it.

“You’re definitely laughing!”

“Told you I’m not.”

“Then look at me.”

Maki turned around.

One look at that red, flustered face — so painfully similar to Tanuma Tsubasa when he got embarrassed — and she lost it.

Just like she always laughed at Tsubasa, she burst out, “Ahahaha!”

So alike.

Uncannily alike.

Can’t talk to girls. Turns red the moment they make eye contact. Wasn’t this literally Tanuma Tsubasa?

Too many similarities. Coincidence?

As Maki laughed, Takeru’s mouth curled into a subtle smile.

Coincidence?

Please.

Shijō Maki thought fate was playing tricks on her — but every detail had been carefully crafted by Kitahara Takeru.

Thanks to the system’s detailed profile on Tanuma Tsubasa, he knew everything: his preferences, habits, way of speaking.

All he had to do was play the part — and Maki would take the bait.

Landing her was as easy as hooking a bigmouth bass.

---

T/N: heh ez moiney

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!