Rika Kawasaki’s gray eyes, like the surface of a lake covered by thin ice, swept coldly across the saleswoman before her, who was momentarily stunned by Kaoru Hoshitani’s beauty.
There was no warmth in her gaze, only a clear displeasure and a sense of being offended, as if her possession was being appraised too openly by a stranger.
Her arm around Kaoru Hoshitani’s waist unconsciously tightened, pinning him more firmly to her side, a silent declaration.
“You,”
Her voice was not loud, but carried an undeniable, commanding tone of someone accustomed to authority, cutting through the store’s gentle background music and the brief, awkward silence,
“Go get a Male Sales Associate.”
She paused, lifting her chin slightly, indicating the Kaoru Hoshitani in her arms, who had kept his head lowered the whole time, trying to make himself less noticeable,
“Pick out some outfits for him. Something suitable.”
The Saleswoman was jolted out of her daze by the chilly gaze and commanding words, her professionalism unable to completely conceal the embarrassed flush that crept up her cheeks.
She hurriedly lowered her head, avoiding Rika Kawasaki’s eyes, and stammered,
“Ah… O-oh, of course, I’m terribly sorry, ma’am, that was inappropriate of me.”
She quickly turned away, waving to a male colleague tidying up some racks not far away. Her voice regained its crisp, professional tone:
“Yamaue Kan, could you come over? We have a customer who needs assistance here.”
Rika Kawasaki paid no further attention to the Saleswoman’s apology; her focus had already shifted.
She let go of Kaoru Hoshitani’s waist, her arm dropping as naturally and carelessly as if she’d just put down an object.
She gave a slight tilt of her chin to the approaching Male Sales Associate, Yamaue Kan, who wore a fitted suit and a standard professional smile, signaling,
“I’ll leave it to you.”
Her tone was flat, yet left no room for refusal.
She truly had no clue about men’s fashion, nor the patience to study it.
What mattered was that her man wore what she thought looked good, showed it off for her, pleased her eyes, and satisfied her possessiveness. That was enough.
All the complicated matching, fabric knowledge, and trends were nothing compared to the simple enjoyment of lounging on the Living Room Sofa in the Boutique, awaiting the visual impact of the Changing Room’s curtain being drawn back, like anticipating the unveiling of an exhibition.
Ever since he’d been half-forced into this overly bright, oppressively expensive store that seemed entirely out of place for him, Kaoru Hoshitani had been in a state of confused resistance.
He kept his eyes lowered, long lashes casting a small, anxious shadow beneath them, his body slightly tense, as if ready to bolt from this suffocatingly glamorous cage at any moment.
He barely registered Rika Kawasaki’s exchange with the Saleswoman, not until the Male Sales Associate approached him with a polite smile, bowed slightly, and gestured invitingly did he raise his head in dazed confusion.
“Sir, this way, please.”
Yamaue Kan’s voice was gentle and measured. His eyes darted quickly and professionally over Kaoru Hoshitani’s face and figure, with an involuntary flicker of admiration that was quickly concealed by professional composure.
“You have an outstanding aura, sir. Honestly, with your frame, you’d look good in anything. But of course, with good tailoring, materials, and styling, we can highlight your unique charm even more.”
He spoke in smooth, flattering phrases as he led Kaoru Hoshitani toward the area displaying both the season’s latest styles and timeless classics.
Kaoru Hoshitani, like a marionette, was pushed along by the Male Sales Associate’s enthusiastic, unyielding attitude before he could sort out the absurdity of “Why am I trying on clothes here?”
He listened passively to the praise, but inside, he was nothing but confused and resistant.
He didn’t want to try on clothes at all, let alone accept this demon woman’s “gift.”
“How about this set?”
The Male Sales Associate took a matched set from the rack and displayed it skillfully in front of him.
“This is our brand’s main theme for the season—balancing comfort and style. You can try it on and see how it feels. The Changing Room is just here.”
Kaoru Hoshitani instinctively glanced at the outfit, then over at Rika Kawasaki, who was now settled on the Living Room Sofa, her chin resting in her hand, watching him in a leisurely manner.
Words of refusal caught in his throat, but upon meeting her unyielding gray gaze, he swallowed them again.
A deep sense of powerlessness gripped him.
He knew that any weak protest he made before this woman would likely be useless, and might even invite more troublesome “punishments.”
Before he could even put his thoughts in order, Yamaue Kan had already thrust the outfit into his hands.
The fabric felt uncommonly soft and smooth, with the unique coolness of high-quality material.
Next, he was all but half-pushed, half-guided toward the Changing Room, its entry marked by a heavy, dark Velvet Curtain.
“Please, take your time. If you need anything—different sizes, for example—just let me know.”
Yamaue Kan thoughtfully pulled back the Velvet Curtain, revealing a compact yet cozy space inside, softly lit, with a mirror and a small bench.
Then the curtain was gently drawn closed behind him, shutting out the outside world’s scrutinizing stares.
Inside, it was suddenly quiet, save for the slightly rapid sound of his own breathing and the pounding of his heart.
Kaoru Hoshitani looked down at the set of stylish, well-made clothes in his hands, then at his own plain light shirt and casual pants, feeling another surge of unreality and humiliation.
Why was he here, being forced to try on clothes this woman might buy him?
He stood dazed for several seconds, struggling inside.
Just walk out without changing?
Facing Rika Kawasaki’s likely questioning and the Male Sales Associate’s puzzled gaze?
That seemed even more awkward.
After much hesitation, as if surrendering to some invisible pressure, he finally sighed, hands moving stiffly to unbutton his shirt.
The instant the cool, high-end fabric touched his skin, he shivered slightly.
Meanwhile, outside, Rika Kawasaki had settled herself even more comfortably on the Living Room Sofa, leaning back into its plush cushion, her long legs crossed.
One hand draped casually on the sofa’s armrest, her fingertips tapping the leather surface idly, while her gray eyes, filled with undisguised anticipation, were fixed unwaveringly on the deep-colored Velvet Curtain of the Changing Room.
As if that wasn’t a Changing Room, but the curtain of a stage about to reveal a brilliant performance.
The store’s soft lighting washed over her, highlighting her sense of certainty and control.
Time seemed to stretch, every second fraught with subtle suspense.
At last, after a moment’s wait, the thick curtain parted slightly from the inside, drawn back by a slender, pale hand tinged with the faintest pink at the fingertips.
Then the curtain was fully pulled aside, and Kaoru Hoshitani stepped out, head lowered, his face showing a mix of embarrassment, unease, and an inexpressible awkwardness.
Clearly unused to such “display,” his arms hung helplessly at his sides, not daring to look up at anyone’s reaction.
“Wow—!”
Yamaue Kan, who had been waiting by the Changing Room, couldn’t help but exclaim with genuine surprise the moment he caught sight of Kaoru Hoshitani.
This was no mere sales patter—it was a raw, instinctive reaction to what he saw.
He hurried forward, eyes shining with excitement, his voice a touch higher than usual:
“Sir, this… this really suits you! It’s as if it were custom-made! Please, over here, the mirror’s just here, you have to see for yourself!”
As he spoke, he reached out—not to touch Kaoru Hoshitani, but to carefully and professionally smooth out a barely-there wrinkle in the shirt, adjust the shirt hem, and straighten the belt buckle.
Only then did he guide the still-dazed Kaoru Hoshitani to the large, floor-length mirror bordered with soft light in the Changing Room area.
“Take a look.”
There was pride in Yamaue Kan’s voice, as if presenting a work of art.
Kaoru Hoshitani, at the Male Sales Associate’s prompting, finally lifted his head, his gaze hesitant as it fell upon the mirror.
In that instant, the reflection made him pause, his breath catching almost imperceptibly.
The man in the mirror wore a uniquely designed White Mesh Shirt.
It wasn’t a traditional dense cotton, but a shirt of the finest white threads, intricately woven into a translucent diamond mesh, like a spiderweb under moonlight—light and fragile.
The store’s soft light filtered through the delicate mesh, casting shifting diamond-shaped patterns over his elegant collarbones, flat chest, and slender arms, as if cloaking him in a flowing veil of light.
The texture of the mesh brought an unprecedented sense of depth and airiness, while the precise lines maintained the outfit’s crisp structure, never descending into excessive ambiguity or carelessness.
The shirt was a loose, drop-shoulder style, the seams falling naturally off his shoulders, outlining a relaxed, languid curve.
At the collar, the top two Mother-of-pearl Buttons were left undone, revealing a stretch of fair, jade-like skin and the gentle hollow of his collarbone—adding an easy, sensual touch.
Beneath the translucent mesh, a close-fitting White Cotton Tank Top was layered.
This inner piece deftly prevented overexposure, but because of the mesh’s transparency, his exposed, slender, porcelain-smooth arms and the lean but resilient lines of his shoulders showed through in an inviting, half-hidden way—striking a perfect balance.
At his waist, a Matte Black Leather Belt was the finishing touch, cinching the shirt’s loose hem securely.
A minimalist Silver Square Buckle sat neatly at the center, accentuating his slender waist and lending sharp, powerful definition to his silhouette, instantly elevating the look’s polish and completeness.
Below, he wore expertly tailored Light Gray High-waisted Wide-leg Trousers.
The fabric draped with visible weight and structure—distinctly luxurious.
The light gray tone perfectly offset the crisp white shirt above, softer and richer than pure black.
The high waist further emphasized his waistline, while the wide legs fell naturally, drawing graceful lines that hinted at the pants’ superior cut.
Yet the unique mesh shirt, with its texture and relaxed tailoring, infused this simple look with airy spirit and exquisite design.
Like a cool summer breeze rustling through a forest, it was both relaxed and youthful, and full of subtle, sophisticated details.
Of course, beyond the visual delight, the physical sensation of the outfit surpassed any clothes Kaoru Hoshitani had worn before.
The fabric was soft, breathable, and tailored perfectly to his frame, allowing unrestricted movement—simply the comfort of being gently embraced by premium cloth.
No lover of beautiful things could resist such a treat to both eye and touch.
Kaoru Hoshitani stared at his reflection, his usually nervous, watery doe eyes now shining faintly with a new luster—a hint of delight at the beauty before him, even if he himself was unaware of it.
He unconsciously twisted a little, observing the image from another angle, watching the hem move with a graceful arc.
For a moment, the subtle confidence and pleasure brought by the outfit swept away his gloom and resistance.
“So? Do you really like this outfit?”
A low, familiar female voice, ghostlike, suddenly sounded right behind his ear, warm breath brushing against him, jolting him out of his brief reverie.
Rika Kawasaki had appeared silently behind him, so close he could feel her body’s warmth.
She, too, gazed into the mirror at the man transformed by new clothes into something dazzling—like a freshly polished gem. Her gray eyes shimmered with open admiration, satisfaction, and an even deeper possessiveness.
She curled her lips slightly, her voice soft but carrying an irrefutable note of decision:
“It really does look good. Let’s buy it.”
Her words struck Kaoru Hoshitani like a cold alarm.
He tore himself from the trance of his reflection, the faint glimmer in his eyes quickly fading, replaced by abrupt clarity, embarrassment, and deeper resistance.
“Yes, ma’am, you have excellent taste!”
Yamaue Kan seized the moment, his face beaming, his words brimming with enthusiasm for closing the sale,
“This is actually the main look from this season’s men’s show, designed personally by our head designer. But if I may say—”
He glanced at Kaoru Hoshitani, adding sincerely,
“I think this set on you achieves an effect and aura even better than the professional model on the runway. You truly embody the design’s spirit!”
In his eyes, the sale was all but certain. The commanding woman was clearly satisfied, and this beautiful gentleman… at the very least, did not seem to dislike it.
However, just as Yamaue Kan prepared to close the deal, and Rika Kawasaki was about to signal for payment, Kaoru Hoshitani—who had been silent in front of the mirror—suddenly spoke. His voice was soft, with a trace of trembling, but unusually clear and firm:
“No… that won’t be necessary.”
He dropped his gaze, no longer looking at his own reflection or meeting Rika Kawasaki’s sharp eyes behind him,
“I… I’ll change back.”
With that, as if afraid he’d regret it or be stopped, he turned and nearly fled back into the Changing Room, his fingers clutching the Velvet Curtain and pulling it shut with force—
“Whoosh.”
The curtain closed swiftly behind him, once more separating him from that outside world filled with scrutiny, transaction, and suffocating relationships.