Can't We Skip Dating?

What's more painful than forgetting to write your manuscript because you got caught up in a novel?

Probably intending to write, but being mentally consumed by the unfinished novel you were just reading, to the point that you can't get a single word out.

After about ten minutes of slow typing and deleting, Utaha stared at the blank document, then surrendered herself to the embrace of the bed.

Because there were cats on the bed. And because she had with her the signed Monogatari series lent to her by Akira.

—"You've worked hard enough for today. Writing can wait until tomorrow."

Utaha blissfully hugged the book, then happily looked over at the cat lying on its side beside her.

Her black-stockinged legs lightly kicked upward, like a wagging tail.

According to Akira, if a cat shows you its belly, it doesn't necessarily mean it trusts you—it might just be freeing up all four paws to better pummel you. 

Only if you touch its belly and it doesn't swipe at you can it be considered a true sign of trust.

So Utaha reached out her hand.

Akira also said that living with cats means getting used to being scratched. 

For example, when the cat jumps into your lap—if your posture is bad, or you move at the wrong moment, or the cat misjudges and misses its landing—it'll instinctively use its claws to stabilize itself.

If your pants aren't thick enough, you're definitely getting a few bloody pinholes. If it fails to stabilize, expect a few red slashes.

But as long as the cat's vaccinated, domesticated, and it's not bleeding heavily or scratching a sensitive area, it's no big deal.

Utaha looked at the white scratch on the back of her hand, rubbed Shiro's head to gain some favor, made a mental note to bring some cat treats next time—and then returned to reading.

That one reading session lasted until the sky turned pitch black.

As hunger gnawed at her, Utaha reluctantly put the book down. 

Looking at the already sound-asleep cat beside her, she suddenly imagined—what if this cat turned into a catgirl one day?

But the painfully real sensation of hunger forced her off the bed. She left the room to find Akira and ask whether this place came with any food service.

...

When Utaha appeared at the doorway, leaning against the wall, Akira's first reaction was: "Heading back?"

"No, I'm staying the night. You can deduct 500 yen—wait, members get a 50% discount, so 250 yen."

After getting to know Akira, if nothing else, Utaha had definitely learned how to calculate costs clearly.

After all, under normal circumstances, it's rare for a man to charge money after a beautiful woman shows up at his door.

"You're staying again? Won't your family worry?" Akira asked.

"I'm a trustworthy person. Always the top of my year. Never caused trouble. Never disobeyed my parents."

"Well, if that's the case." Akira tapped his mouse. "Did you have something to say?"

Utaha averted her eyes. Now that she'd set her book aside, she finally began to feel the slightest bit embarrassed.

"Not really… I just wanted to ask… um… is there anything to eat?"

"Huh? What are you talking about? Of course not," said Akira, sitting next to an empty takeout box.

"What about bread, rice balls, instant noodles?"

"I buy some occasionally, but not right now."

"So you rely entirely on takeout to survive?"

"And sometimes I eat out."

Utaha was speechless—for her, a reclusive otaku living alone should rely mainly on instant noodles and convenience store food. 

If you had enough money to live like this, you were probably some kind of normie, and normies wouldn't be living like this.

A rich, socially independent, reclusive otaku who disliked cooking—this was a first.

Checking the time, she felt that ordering delivery was probably out of the question.

"I'm hungry," Utaha said.

Akira didn't move.

"It's dangerous for a girl like me to go out alone at this hour."

Still no reaction.

"I'll pay for the late-night food."

Akira picked up his phone and stood up.

...

Utaha swore she had never met anyone as "stingy" as this man.

It's not that he was completely unwilling to spend. At the very least, he was willing to expend effort to guide others. 

But beyond that, anything you wanted from him came with a price.

Conversely, if you wanted something from him, you had to pay.

For example—

"I'll take you to a nearby night stall and ensure your safety, and you buy me a bowl of ramen. That's a fair deal. So, Miss Kasumigaoka, could you not look at me like that?"

Utaha pouted and reluctantly looked away, still savoring the memory of that surprisingly delicious ramen.

"I'm not complaining about the cost of the food… I'm just curious. Mr. Ogiwara, do you calculate everything so precisely when dealing with others?"

"Not always. I'm not that rigid—not down to the last yen. 

That's not discipline, that's illness. The closer the relationship, the fuzzier the calculations. I might even go out of my way to give, depending on how I feel."

Akira lit a cigarette. Since they were outside and there was a bit of night breeze, there was no need to be as careful as indoors.

"Think of it like saving money. Every time I follow my rules, it's like skipping a small expense.

And when I've saved enough by being stingy, I'll have money to spend when I want to—and I'll spend it freely."

Utaha thought about it and understood what he meant.

"So, in your eyes, Mr. Ogiwara, I'm still a stranger. Maybe even less than that."

Akira: "Well, that's awkward. How'd you figure it out…"

Utaha kicked a stone in frustration. "Why?"

"It can't be helped, Miss Kasumigaoka," Akira said, turning back toward her with a wide smile.

"After all, I'm still dealing with the pain of being rejected by you. I may not be prideful to a fault, but I'm not completely without pride either. At the very least, I don't want to end up like you."

On first hearing, his words might sound pitiful and guilt-inducing. 

But Utaha, a professional in the art of words, snapped out of it after a brief moment of confusion.

"Wait! That was a rejection of a physical transaction, not an emotional one! And about my state—"

"You looked like a stray dog back then."

Utaha clenched her teeth.

Akira smirked mockingly and continued.

"Because I was the one who had desires and wanted to make a deal, I made some concessions. 

Like promising not to let Prince Asai trouble you as long as you stayed hidden, or offering you some advice. That's all fine. But that's as far as it goes, Miss Kasumigaoka."

As if to emphasize, Akira repeated, 

"Those concessions didn't get me the deal I wanted, nor did they yield any return. So that's the end of it. 

No more freebies—not even a little. All that's left between us are transactions, including this bowl of ramen."

Utaha didn't speak. She kept her head down and walked for a long while, lost in thought.

Even though she had started to understand him better, she had to admit—she still didn't fully grasp what made Akira such an outlier. 

She also had to admit, apart from gratitude, she hadn't really given anything back.

"What could I possibly offer in return?"

"Your body."

"..."

Maybe it was because Akira said it so naturally—or perhaps because it was just so matter-of-fact. Plus, she wasn't worried about him doing anything forceful.

Utaha merely felt a headache upon hearing it.

"By the way, you're still willing to accept a deal from me, right?" Utaha asked. "Is there any kind of deal you can't make?"

"Of course there is. Depends on what it is."

"Happiness?"

Akira glanced at her.

"In dealings with people like me, if you want something, you have to pay the price. Most things can be measured and paid for in money. 

But there are exceptions. The most typical one is this—if you want to trade for happiness, you'll receive equivalent misfortune."

"So happiness isn't something you can get through deals. You have to earn it yourself. Otherwise, the result will be even more painful than never having had it in the first place."

Utaha nodded in understanding. That wasn't what she really wanted—just a random question she'd thought to ask.

"Then… What about helping me finish the game faster?"

She didn't have high hopes. It was kind of a ridiculous request.

But Akira didn't reject her outright. Instead, he asked, "By finishing the game, you mean the script you're responsible for, right?"

"Uh? Yes…"

"If it's about finishing faster, I might actually be able to help. But the price is hard to define. After all, I only lust after your body—your money doesn't interest me."

Akira exhaled a puff of smoke, eyeing Utaha with interest. "Mind if I ask first—why do you want this?"

Utaha looked him in the eyes. Her wine-red irises held a sharp, determined glint.

"I want to repay it all. Quickly."

Just from that look, Akira understood one thing.

Utaha had finally awakened.

They say girls in love are blind. It's not just emotional—it's also a matter of perspective. 

Like when a close friend does something wrong, even if you know they're wrong, you still can't stand by and watch others beat them up—even if they deserve it.

That's why Akira had analyzed Tomoya with a neutral stance instead of attacking him head-on.

The latter would have triggered a clash of beliefs and exposed weaknesses. The former let Utaha think, make her own decisions, and slowly awaken from her blind state.

And anyone who awakens will realize—this twisted relationship, and Tomoya himself, are deeply flawed.

"Let's head back for now. Regarding that deal, I'll need to take a look at your script first. Then we'll discuss compensation."

Maybe, just maybe—he could get a little reward in advance.

___

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