"It's such a relief that you can help take care of Shunan next weekend too. This is the most crucial period of my life right now, so I’m counting on you."
Ms. Shiokawa cheerfully left her phone number with Nianzi, complaining incessantly about how busy she was, mentioning how weekends at the nightclub brought in more customers and how selling extra bottles of champagne meant bigger commissions. She even volunteered that she was currently dating a foreigner—someone she’d just met—and if luck was on her side, she might marry him and leave Japan. That was why she had no time to look after her child.
Then, as if afraid Nianzi might change her mind, Ms. Shiokawa didn’t wait for a response before pulling out her wallet and handing over 5,000 yen as amusement park funds.
"Alright, my customers are waiting. I need to get back to work. See you later—keep in touch!"
"Goodbye."
Nianzi waved farewell, but Shunan’s gaze remained fixed until the stroller disappeared into the nightclub. Silently pocketing the 5,000 yen, Nianzi couldn’t help but marvel at Ms. Shiokawa’s audacity.
Not only had she avoided getting the police involved, but she’d even walked away with money.
Sure, 5,000 yen was a bit stingy, but this outcome was completely unexpected…
The good news was that after a week of fruitless searching, she’d suddenly unlocked nearly all the romanceable characters in the "catalog" in a single day.
The bad news? None of them were normal!
Two and a half years old, four and a half, sixty, one hundred and twenty… the age gaps spanned an entire century!
She’d already analyzed the earlier ones, but the latest addition—the 120-year-old—was the most visually striking. Still, Nianzi wasn’t stupid. She could tell this guy ticked every box for being a vampire.
Nianzi didn’t think of herself as ordinary either. The things she’d seen in her dreams had to be real—likely Ms. Shiokawa’s memories. That night she took Shunan in, some force had connected them.
Ms. Shiokawa never explained why she’d had a child with that vampire, only hinting that it wasn’t by choice. Yet she’d rather work as a hostess every day than demand child support from him—a glaring red flag.
There weren’t enough clues to piece together the full story, but Nianzi had already decided to write off this hidden character.
Not out of fear—her fragmented, scrambled memories suggested she’d dealt with monsters before—but because this one was clearly high-maintenance.
In her dream, hadn’t he been into group activities? Not only did he play rough, but he’d casually drained the woman he’d just slept with. Cruelty and cold-bloodedness were baked into his nature. Compared to him, even cheating old men were paragons of morality.
Sure, Nianzi sometimes had destructive, violent impulses of her own, but she knew those thoughts were wrong and terrifying. She was fighting them with sheer willpower.
If they clashed, she worried she might lose control and outright kill him… judging by her own behavior in those nightmares.
So Nianzi decisively crossed this hidden character off her list. Too much trouble. Better to stick to the original plan.
After parting ways with Ms. Shiokawa, Nianzi took the subway straight home.
Today was a business day for Café Mikawa, where the owner was leisurely brewing coffee by himself. The shop rarely had many customers, but tonight, an elderly local was chatting with him in disjointed bursts.
Nianzi had run into the old man a few times on her way to the public bathhouse. The café’s second floor was little more than a cramped attic, previously stuffed with junk. While the bathroom was downstairs, bathing wasn’t an option—hence the communal baths.
"I’m back."
She didn’t need to explain her whereabouts. Mr. Mikawa might seem aloof, but he was decent enough. After a few days, it became clear he was just an introvert who struggled with conversation. When Nianzi greeted him, he glanced her way and nodded.
"Oh, welcome back. There’s leftover curry from today—you can take it for lunch at school tomorrow."
"Thanks, Uncle."
"By the way, I heard this kid’s some distant relative of yours? But why transfer to Tokyo in the second half of your senior year? Did something happen back home? Bullying, maybe?"
The old man eyed Nianzi curiously, unable to resist prying.
"None of your business. Stop digging into a young woman’s private affairs."
Mr. Mikawa immediately shut him down, his expression stern.
"Tch, just making conversation. No need to be so uptight."
The old man grumbled, clearly miffed, before quickly changing the subject. "Anyway, have you seen that Tanaka shopping show on Sundays lately? The host’s a real smooth talker—always going on about ‘limited quantities, act fast!’ My grandson keeps calling in to buy stuff. This time, he got some ‘scroll that lets you talk to ghosts.’ Supposedly, you can ask three questions after using it… As if that’s real! And no refunds either. What a scam!"
A ghost-communication scroll? What kind of TV shopping show sold stuff like that to viewers?
Was it a tabletop RPG prop? No way it was the real deal… Nianzi perked up, tempted to check out the show. But just as she was about to head upstairs, the system notification popped up.
Tonight’s schedule?
A: Watch the shopping show and go to bed early. (PS: Energy boost the next day.)
B: Help out at the café. (Reward: Slight increase in dexterity proficiency, 10 EXP, 1,000 yen.)
Seriously? Was this even a question?
Of course, she’d help! Who went to bed early? Every minute had to be optimized for self-improvement—only then could she become an all-rounder before finals.
This option only appeared on Sundays. Normally, Mr. Mikawa prioritized her studies, meaning work and TV shopping were mutually exclusive. But more importantly, Nianzi glanced at her stats—clearly mismatched with this game’s design. Just 20 more EXP, and she’d hit Level 2.
Leveling up meant new skills and stat points. Hesitating would be an insult to herself. Without a second thought, Nianzi turned back to the café counter, tying on an apron just like Mr. Mikawa’s.
"Let me help out tonight."
"Oh, you sure?"
Mr. Mikawa gave her a surprised look, as if he hadn’t expected her to actually volunteer.
"Absolutely. Just tell me what to do."
Though she had lost her memories, Nianzi found that she could pick things up with surprising ease. At Mr. Mikawa’s café, they served not only coffee but also curry and set meals. The ingredients were prepped in advance, but if she had to cook, it wasn’t a problem at all.
"Let’s start with the basics," he said.
So Mr. Mikawa took some time to explain the job to her and demonstrated the workflow. Aside from greeting customers, taking orders, and clearing tables, she’d also be handling some cooking—though it mostly involved reheating pre-made dishes. For example, the tonkatsu in the set meals just needed a quick refry before plating with the café’s homemade pickles.
…It didn’t exactly sound appetizing.
The fridge also held a massive pot of curry, which didn’t seem like leftovers—more like it had barely sold at all.
This place’s future looked bleak. Nianzi quietly closed the fridge, wondering if Mr. Mikawa’s books were in the black or the red. Still, since he was a decent man, she’d do her best for him. Just then, the chime above the door jingled—another customer had entered.
It was already quite late. The trip back from Sendai had taken a while, then there was the meeting with Ms. Shiokawa and her son, followed by Mr. Mikawa’s training demo. With less than fifteen minutes until closing, who would show up now?
"Ah, I should be heading out," muttered an elderly regular as he grabbed his coat and left.
"Take care," Nianzi said flatly before turning her attention to the new arrival.
"Welco—me!" she called, though the timing was far from ideal.
The unwelcome visitor was a boy in a green school uniform, around her age, with shockingly bright red hair. A long fringe covered most of his forehead, but he didn’t look like a runaway delinquent—just eerily blank-faced and sullen. For some reason, the moment she saw him, an odd sixth sense flared inside her, making her tense up instinctively.
Mr. Mikawa, absorbed in polishing glasses, motioned for her to handle it.
Uncertain but trusting her gut, Nianzi casually palmed a knife from the cutting board, hiding it behind her back as she approached the boy in green.
He ignored everyone else, expressionless as he took a seat at the center of the counter. Then, slowly, he lifted his head and fixed her with an unsettling stare.
"What can I get you?"
Nianzi kept her tone friendly, gesturing to the chalkboard menu. "Today’s options are up there. Pick something. If you’re lucky, you might just make it in time for the last meal of the day."
"No rush."
The boy’s lips curled into a strange, icy smile as he leisurely scanned the room. His voice was slow, almost drawling. "What I need isn’t on the menu. I’d like it specially prepared."
"We don’t do special orders," Mr. Mikawa interjected, eyeing him.
"Is that so?"
The boy placed a cherry on his tongue, rolling it around as if he’d rehearsed this moment. His gaze, brimming with malice, grew colder, his grin widening. "I want 'the blood of the Joestar family' as an offering to that person. If the shop won’t provide it… then I’ll just take it myself."
