Kaoru Hoshitani moved so quickly that both the male sales clerk and Rika Kawasaki were caught off guard.
“Ah? Sir…”
The male sales clerk’s smile froze, clearly surprised and bewildered by the sudden turn of events.
Instinctively, he glanced at Rika Kawasaki, then at the tightly closed dressing room curtain, asking awkwardly,
“Um… Sir, do you feel the size is not quite right? Or are you dissatisfied with the style? We can immediately get you a different size, or look at other options. Our store still has many—”
He didn’t finish his words, for the dressing room remained silent, with no reply from inside.
The male sales clerk hesitated, once again turning his pleading gaze to Rika Kawasaki, his face full of professional awkwardness and confusion.
However, Rika Kawasaki simply stood where she was, her gray eyes deeply focused on the closed curtain, her expression free from the expected annoyance or impatience.
On the contrary, her lips seemed to curl into a deeper, more unfathomable smile.
She gave the sales clerk a barely perceptible shake of her head, signaling that there was no need for more words, nor to disturb.
Inside the fitting room, the light was soft, yet pressed close and stifling.
Kaoru Hoshitani leaned against the cold door panel, his chest rising and falling slightly.
He moved hurriedly to strip off the expensive, unbelievably comfortable clothes one by one.
His fingers brushed across the delicate mesh shirt, the soft vest, the crisp trousers—each touch like a reminder of the humiliation and control this “gift” represented.
He quickly changed back into his own ordinary but familiar clothes, carrying the scent of himself, as if he could reclaim a little bit of pitiful autonomy and security this way.
When he finally donned the last piece of his own clothing and neatly folded the costly garments on the soft stool inside the fitting room, his gaze inadvertently landed on the tag of one of the garments.
Pure white, stiff card stock, printed with an elegant golden logo and a clear line of numbers beneath.
His eyes lingered on that string of digits for a full three seconds. Nearly three hundred thousand yen…
A clear, cold realization stabbed into his mind.
That was almost equal to all of Aina’s hard-earned monthly salary… perhaps even more.
Yet that woman could prepare to buy it for him without even blinking, as easily and casually as picking up a box of candy.
Such a stark contrast was like a needle, piercing through any lingering, faint fondness he might have felt toward the clothes, leaving only a deeper sense of helplessness and the stinging pain brought by the glaring gulf between their classes.
He took a deep breath, as if to press down all his tangled emotions, then resolutely picked up the stack of clothes and pulled open the curtain.
Stepping out of the fitting room, his face had already resumed that docile, distant calm, his eyes lowered, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze.
He handed the clothes to the male sales clerk, who still waited by the side, looking somewhat anxious. His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible:
“Thank you.”
With that, he didn’t linger, heading straight for the store’s entrance, his steps carrying a faint, hard-to-notice urgency, desperate to escape this place at once.
“Wait.”
Just as his fingertips were about to touch the cold glass door handle, that spell-like voice rang out again, carrying an undeniable force.
At the same time, a large hand reached out from beside him, firmly and powerfully grasping his slender wrist, halting his departure.
Kaoru Hoshitani’s body tensed, forced to stop and turn back.
Rika Kawasaki stood beside him, and with her other hand she pulled out a black credit card with a subdued metallic luster from her small wallet.
She didn’t even glance at Kaoru Hoshitani’s suddenly wide, questioning eyes.
She simply handed the card to the hurriedly approaching male sales clerk, her tone as calm as if giving the most ordinary of instructions:
“Wrap up this set of clothes for me, thank you.”
“Y-Yes! Please wait just a moment, I’ll be right back!”
Although the sales clerk had yet to fully grasp the sudden divergence of the customers’ opinions, his professional instincts kicked in.
He took the card respectfully with both hands, his face once again breaking into an enthusiastic smile as he hurried to the register.
“You…!”
Kaoru Hoshitani glared at Rika Kawasaki, unable to contain the anger boiling in his chest at her arbitrary actions, ignoring his wishes completely.
He tried forcefully to shake off her hand, but it was futile. All he could do was widen his beautiful eyes, their corners tinged red from agitation and anger, his voice rising despite himself,
“Didn’t I say I didn’t want it?! Why did you buy it?! Who said you could?!”
Rika Kawasaki was utterly unfazed by his anger, instead finding his puffed-up, wide-eyed expression especially lively and interesting.
Her grip on his wrist remained firm, and her gray eyes curved slightly with a mocking, mischievous smile.
She responded unhurriedly,
“I’m using my own money to buy things—do I need your permission for that?”
She deliberately paused, her gaze lingering on his flushed cheeks before she lowered her voice, her words meant for only the two of them, laced with a certain implication,
“Unless… you’re my husband? In that case, you’d indeed have the right to say so. So, do you want to be?”
Kaoru Hoshitani was left speechless by her shameless and ambiguous words, his cheeks flushing even redder—half from anger, half from the implication buried within her words.
He couldn’t muster a stronger retort, and could only try once more to break free from her grasp, turning his face away to avoid her infuriating smile.
Seeing his embarrassed and angry look — like a little cat with its tail stepped on — Rika Kawasaki’s own earlier displeasure at his rejection faded considerably.
Suddenly, she leaned in, almost brushing against his ear, her voice unusually gentle, imbued with a strange, coaxing tone as she whispered,
“Alright, enough.”
Her breath caressed the curve of his ear, sending a ticklish shiver through him.
“I truly believe that outfit suits you very, very well. It looks wonderful on you—and I can tell you like it, too.”
She paused, her tone taking on a certain firmness, almost a promise,
“When you’re with me, you don’t have to suppress or hide any of your desires. As long as you want something, as long as I can see it and can provide it… I will make sure it’s in your hands.”
Her words sounded almost like a heartfelt confession or vow, but combined with their twisted relationship and Rika Kawasaki’s forceful manner, they only made Kaoru Hoshitani feel all the more confused, uneasy, and… a strange, inescapable sense of being seen through.
He did, in fact, like that set of clothes. That was undeniable.
And for her to point it out so plainly, cloaked in the phrase “satisfy your desire,” left him feeling utterly exposed, stripped bare, and filled with shame.
He didn’t know whether it was anger or the complicated emotions inside him, but his face flushed deeper still, even his ears and neck tinged pink. All he could do was bite his lip and fall silent.
Just then, the sales clerk returned with the package, holding a thick, cream-colored shopping bag bearing the brand logo in both hands, and respectfully returned the credit card and bag to Rika Kawasaki.
“Ma’am, your purchase has been wrapped. Here is your card and your clothes. Please take care, and we hope to see you again soon.”
Rika Kawasaki stuffed the card back into her wallet without even glancing at it, then handed the shopping bag containing nearly three hundred thousand yen worth of clothes straight into Kaoru Hoshitani’s empty hand.
The handles pressed into his tender palm, bringing a heavy, tangible reality.
“Take it.”
Her tone was as casual as ever, as if she were handing him a bottle of water.
Then, she once again reached out and, with an irresistible strength, wrapped her arm naturally around his waist, pulling him close as she turned to leave the store.
Kaoru Hoshitani kept his eyes lowered, forced to follow her steps, the shopping bag in his hand feeling like a hot potato.
He did not struggle again, nor try to discard the bag, but simply kept silent, allowing her to lead him out.
His thoughts were in turmoil—anger, humiliation, instinctive fondness for beautiful things, shock at the extravagant expense, confusion and unease at the woman’s “promise”…
All these emotions tangled together, plunging him into silence, unsure how to cope with this bizarre situation.
For the rest of the morning, Rika Kawasaki seemed to enter “shopaholic mode,” cheerfully keeping her arm around Kaoru Hoshitani as she led him through all the lavish luxury boutiques in the heart of Ginza.
From top-tier menswear boutiques to bespoke shoemakers, from designer accessory shops to high-end beauty stores that carried even men’s skincare and cosmetics…
She took him to every place that could possibly make him “shine brighter.”
The number of shopping bags in their hands grew, and so did the weight.
Starting with just one, they soon added bags holding tailored wool coats, soft cashmere sweaters, well-cut jeans, uniquely designed leather shoes, and even a few bottles of exquisitely packaged but shockingly expensive men’s fragrances and skincare products…
Kaoru Hoshitani’s hands were soon completely full, his fingers reddened by the weight of the handles.
Rika Kawasaki carried plenty herself, but she clearly reveled in it.
All the while, Kaoru Hoshitani maintained a sort of passive resistance.
He didn’t want this woman—who had forcibly entered his life and brought him so much pain—to spend money on him, nor did he want to accept these gifts, which so clearly marked him as “owned.”
Each time he was pushed into a fitting room, each time the sales staff surrounded him with praise and expectation, he felt awkward and repulsed.
He could not escape—his wrist or waist would always be held fast by her—so all he could do was be her doll, changing into outfit after outfit, standing stiffly before the mirror to be judged by her or the clerks.
Yet, gradually… even Kaoru Hoshitani himself failed to notice that a subtle change was occurring.
When he put on those finely tailored, top-quality clothes that perfectly complimented his figure, the comfort and pleasure of being wrapped in such garments was real.
And when he saw his own reflection in the mirror—sometimes cool, sometimes gentle, sometimes refined or carefree—the visual enjoyment and faint sense of satisfaction from being appreciated was also real.
Though Rika Kawasaki was forceful, in matters of “shopping” she never made him wear anything clearly unfit or obviously to his dislike.
Most of the time she had him try things on, then made her own decision about what to buy.
That process, in a way, stripped away some of the earlier humiliation of being “forced to accept gifts,” and became more of a… twisted kind of “being cared for” and “being dressed up.”
His mood, before he realized it, was not as terrible or desperate as when they started.
Rika Kawasaki’s pleasure, on the other hand, became more and more obvious—almost unabashed.
She thoroughly enjoyed the experience.
Watching this already stunningly beautiful young man, gradually being “polished” under her hands like a raw gem, shining even brighter, this feeling of “cultivation” was both fresh and intense.
Every item she bought and dressed him in was like an invisible stamp, bearing her mark, declaring her ownership.
The more he shone, the more her eye for value and her sense of “possession” was validated.
Such satisfaction far exceeded the thrill of simple shopping.
Time flew by in a cycle of trying on clothes, showing them off before the mirror, swiping cards, and packing up.
When neither could carry another bag, and both their arms ached, the sky outside had already brightened to noon, sunlight streaming through the shopping mall’s huge glass dome, bringing a touch of warmth.
The hours-long “shopping expedition” was finally at an end, and the most basic protest of the body—hunger—hit both of them at once.
Rika Kawasaki glanced at the slightly weary yet still flushed and lively profile beside her and decided it was time to eat.
She kept her arm around him as they returned to the wide, somewhat empty underground parking garage.
All the varied and dazzling luxury shopping bags were stuffed into the sports car’s limited trunk.
Once the car was locked, they took the elevator back up.
The crowds on Ginza’s streets were even thicker than in the morning, and the scent of food was starting to mingle with the perfume of luxury.
Rika Kawasaki’s gaze swept casually over the rows of restaurant signs, looking for somewhere to eat.
Very soon, her eyes landed on a ramen shop—not particularly large, but with a striking sign.
Red lanterns, a wooden noren, and two familiar black kanji on the curtain—“Quansheng.”
At that sign, a flicker of an unreadable emotion flashed through Rika Kawasaki’s gray eyes, the curve of her lips deepening.
“This one.”
Without hesitation, she steered Kaoru Hoshitani toward the ramen shop.
He followed her passively, his eyes brushing somewhat blankly over the sign.
“Quansheng”… These characters felt vaguely familiar.
He furrowed his delicate brows, searching his memory.
Ah… That’s right, wasn’t the company where Aina had recently interviewed also called “Quansheng”?
Was it a coincidence? Or the same company?
The thought flashed through his mind, stirring a faint, Aina-related ripple, but was quickly washed away by the reality in front of him.
Inside, the ramen shop was bustling, full of steamy heat and the tempting aroma of rich broth.
They lifted the noren and entered. A server immediately greeted them with enthusiasm.
Rika Kawasaki picked a booth that looked solid and relatively quiet, seating Kaoru Hoshitani inside and taking the outside seat herself, as if naturally assuming the role of a guard.
She picked up the menu from the table, her eyes skimming quickly over the pictures and descriptions of various ramen dishes.
Just as her slender finger was about to point to an item and she was about to tell the waiting server her order—
A deliberately sweet yet, in that moment, slightly startled and oddly familiar female voice—like an out-of-place note—suddenly cut through the noisy, savory air, clearly ringing in her ear:
“Eh…? Sis?”
The voice paused, as if to confirm, and then with just the right touch of probing hesitation,
“It really is you, sis? What are you doing here, eating out?”
The owner of the voice seemed to step closer, her eyes not only landing on Rika Kawasaki, but also—openly curious and appraising—fixing on Kaoru Hoshitani, who was sitting inside the booth and had just looked up at the unexpected interruption.
That gaze swept over him like a searchlight, then the voice, now tinged with an even stronger sense of surprise and amusement—as if she’d just discovered an interesting secret:
“And… who’s this…?”