Her brother’s shameless counterattack left Ayaka speechless.
She couldn’t comprehend it. The gloomy, spineless, socially-withdrawn brother who used to avoid even meeting her eyes, How had he suddenly become so glib, so quick-witted, that talking to him now didn’t even feel like she was talking to her brother?
This was practically the back-and-forth flirting of a couple.
Thinking of the popular shoujo manga her classmates were obsessed with, Ayaka—hiding in a corner of the school building with her phone—pressed her heated cheeks with both hands.
“With skin that thick, are you planning to run for Parliament or something?”
“Ahem, no, I just figured that if I kept living like before, it’d be no good. So, if I kept living like before, it’d be no good.”
If you keep living like before, it’d be no good… so if you keep living like before, it’d be no good?
She puzzled over it for a good while before finally untangling the strange logic.
“…Fine. I’ll lend you the money.”
“In the cabinet by the kitchen wall, first drawer, inside the black notebook, you’ll find two hundred thousand yen.” She paused, her tone flaring back up, sharp as a whip: “That’s money for you to turn your life around. If you dare waste it on anything else, I’ll… I’ll…”
“I’ll burn all that gross stuff of yours! Pervert sis-con!”
“Don’t underestimate my resolve to reform myself—and to date an actual high school girl.”
In truth, Harutaki had already planned to get rid of the piles of otaku junk his old self had left behind.
Why waste youth on plastic fantasies when cuter, more dazzling heroines walked in flesh and blood? Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭·𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦·𝘯𝘦𝘵
Though his words had emphasized “reforming,” Ayaka’s attention locked squarely on the second half.
Dating. With a high school girl!
She couldn't help but recall the time Harutaki had tried recommending her a light novel titled The Tsundere, Sharp-Tongued Little Sister Falls for Useless Me. He’d shouted with sparkling eyes:
“Little sisters are the best! If true love has a color, it has to be Kirina’s pink!”
He even pointed at the cover, at the pink-haired heroine who happened to share her hair color, and muttered: “Why can’t you be more like Kirina, Ayaka? What a shame.”
“You sis-con freak! You sewer rat stuffed with dirty thoughts! Seaweed brain rotted by too much saltwater!”
Her verbal barrage came like a CIWS firing depleted uranium shells, each word punching through the phone to stab Harutaki in the chest.
Thank goodness this was only over the phone; face-to-face would’ve been fatal.
Even so, her sheer venom made him wince.
It was clear: the old Harutaki had left a terrible impression on his sisters.
Listening to the busy tone once Ayaka hung up, he sighed, slipped his phone away, and went to fetch the money as directed.
Ayaka, the eldest, undoubtedly had the highest “girls’ power” in the family. Even with their parents absent most of the time for work, she managed the Hoshikawa household perfectly. Thanks to her meticulous organization, Harutaki had no trouble finding the neat black notebook in the drawer.
Inside was a thick wad of ten-thousand-yen bills. Beside them—pages of neat handwriting in black and red pen, logging expenses line by line.
One look told Harutaki: this household ran entirely on Ayaka’s shoulders.
From his inherited memories, he knew his other sisters well enough, too—
Chiaki, obedient and responsible, but only within limits. Quiet as a clam, she rarely left her room unless forced by trouble. Beyond being clean, punctual, and academically excellent, she was just as introverted an otaku as her brother.
And the youngest, Fuyuno…
If one word described her, it was “little devil.”
If not for her impending entrance into high school, her small, grade-schooler-like frame might have justified the nickname “bratty gremlin(mesugaki).” Mischief was her only specialty; no point expecting help with housework.
Because his shopping list was far too long, and because blowing all the money at once would crush the family budget, Harutaki only took out one hundred thousand yen. Enough for essentials now, the rest was saved for later.
Still, although his school didn’t require students to stay in uniform after class, he went out dressed in his Nichiya High uniform.
It wasn’t that he liked it. His other clothes simply couldn’t be worn outside.
A t-shirt with “Little Sisters are the Best!” across the chest? A plaid shirt and sweatpants combo screaming “shut-in otaku”? No way.
Worst of all were the endless anime-themed clothes. Honestly, he’d look better in jeans, flannel tucked in, and a bandana than that.
Which meant… the school uniform was his only wearable option.
At 4:13 p.m., he transferred from the Nanboku Line to the Hanzomon Line and got off at Shibuya. Dialing the salon’s number to book a haircut, he stood at the famous scramble crossing, waiting for the light.
Skyscrapers loomed overhead, neon signs and billboards flashing, the orange-red dusk sky squeezed into a narrow strip above the concrete jungle. He preferred looking up; at least that view offered breath. Looking down, the black wave of people pressing together threatened to smother him.
When the light turned green, the crowd surged. He crossed with them, and once he reached Center Street’s stone pavement, he wondered: how do so many people walk in sync without disaster?
Pressed on all sides, shoulder to shoulder, he was terrified of stumbling and being trampled.
Exhaling, he glanced at the countless clothing stores lining the street, debating where to start.
He still had ninety minutes before his haircut—plenty of time.
Browsing every little shop would be like going shopping with a girlfriend. Torture, even if the purchases were for himself. Better to save that pain for when he actually had a girlfriend.
So he made a quick decision: head straight to Shibuya 109. The iconic department store was the fastest way to get a proper outfit.
SITRY black jacket + white shirt + black harem pants = 19,160 yen
Levi’s black belt = 2,289 yen
Shoes: one pair of black high-top Dr. Martens, one pair of casual Nike Air Force 1s = 31,200 yen
Two cheap silver-colored necklaces
Carrying his bags, he next stopped at MUJI on the east side: bedding, underwear, loungewear, toiletries—all purchased and shipped home with his old uniform bundled in.
By the time he left the hair salon at Azabu-Juban, his wallet was down to just two ten-thousand-yen bills.
And that was after carefully penny-pinching at MUJI.
“…Guess I’ll need a part-time job. Something that won’t mess with school or rest.”
Muttering to himself after being harshly reminded of the cost of living, Harutaki fumbled with his keys and unlocked the front door.