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The northern part of Tokyo was considered relatively remote, devoid of any high-end hotels. Even the best hotel in the area charged only ten thousand yen per night—a price that was remarkably cheap by Tokyo standards.
After checking in at the front desk and obtaining the room key, Fujihara Toru supported the heavily intoxicated Hirasaka Shizuka as they made their way to the upper floor and entered the room.
The hotel room was small, a fact that Fujihara had always criticized. He often felt that Japan's accommodations were too cramped, even in expensive hotels where the rooms still seemed overly modest to him.
"Miss Hirasaka, we're in the hotel room now. Shall I help you lie down on the bed?" Fujihara asked politely.
Despite being alone with her in the room, Fujihara remained a perfect gentleman. He gently supported her slender waist without making any inappropriate moves. His actions were almost awkward, as if he were shy or unused to such situations.
"I... I want..." Hirasaka mumbled incoherently, her words slurred from the alcohol.
"What do you want?" Fujihara asked patiently.
"I feel like throwing up..." she groaned.
Fujihara frowned. Even beautiful women weren't immune to vomiting, which would undoubtedly be unpleasant. He quickly guided her to the bathroom, helping her kneel in front of the toilet while gently patting her back.
Hirasaka clutched the toilet bowl, dry-heaving repeatedly but failing to vomit anything. Seeing this, Fujihara carefully helped her back to the bedroom. After removing her coat and high heels, he laid her gently on the bed.
Lying there with hazy, half-closed eyes, Hirasaka still seemed somewhat conscious. She fumbled through her pants pocket and pulled out her phone, pressing it against her forehead.
"Fujihara-kun, can we exchange Line contacts? I'll pay you back later," she said faintly.
Earlier, when paying for the room at the front desk, Hirasaka had been too drunk to handle the transaction herself, so Fujihara had covered the cost for her.
With trembling fingers, she opened the Line app on her phone, displayed her QR code, and then tossed the phone carelessly onto the bedside table.
Seeing this, Fujihara picked up her phone and added his contact using his own device.
"Miss Hirasaka, I'll head back now. Will you be alright here by yourself? I've placed a trash bin next to the bed. If you feel like vomiting, please use that," he said considerately.
As he spoke, Fujihara retrieved the small trash can from under the desk at the foot of the bed and placed it beside her pillow.
Hirasaka lay there with one arm covering her eyes, murmuring a faint "Mmm" in response.
Fujihara tucked a light blanket over her before standing up and quietly leaving the room, leaving her alone on the bed.
Just as Hirasaka began to wonder why Fujihara hadn't turned off the lights or closed the door, he reentered the room holding a carton of milk. Earlier, while escorting her inside, he had noticed a vending machine in the hallway selling milk.
He placed the milk on the bedside table and said, "Drink some milk when you sober up. It'll help with the hangover. If you need anything, just message me on Line. Goodnight, Miss Hirasaka."
Without waiting for a reply—assuming she was too intoxicated to respond—he turned off the main light, leaving only the dim glow of the foyer light on. This way, if she woke up in the middle of the night, she wouldn't stumble in the dark in an unfamiliar place.
Having taken care of everything, he exited the room once more, closing the door softly behind him.
Back in the hallway, Fujihara bought a sugar-free drink from the vending machine and drank half of it in one gulp. His expression was calm and composed, devoid of the awkwardness he had shown earlier in front of Hirasaka, nor did he display any eagerness typical of men around attractive women.
"This woman clearly drinks regularly; her tolerance shouldn't be this poor. When I was helping her earlier, though she seemed unguarded, she subtly avoided letting my hands touch any sensitive areas," Fujihara mused to himself.
"Moreover, a twenty-six or twenty-seven-year-old woman who has never dated or had a boyfriend—and is still a virgin—wouldn't casually check into a hotel with someone she just met. If she were that careless, she'd have gone through boyfriends faster than flipping pages in a book. Sigh… People these days are insincere—all about tactics!"
Fujihara sighed deeply.
Of course, he wasn't exactly innocent either. There was a saying: "A true hunter approaches his prey disguised as prey." Sometimes, instead of actively pursuing, it was better to pretend to be vulnerable bait and let the other side come to you.
Upon realizing that Hirasaka Shizuka was likely one of the "heroines" from Oregairu—characters who could potentially provide him with skill points and stat boosts—Fujihara knew he had to tread carefully.
His golden system was strict when evaluating emotional connections. For instance, over a year ago, when he saved Vermouth, she developed feelings for him. However, the system didn't grant him any rewards until recently, after more than a year of genuine mutual affection between them, resulting in valuable skill points.
In other words, obtaining stats and skills required sincere emotional investment from both parties—not mere deception.
Seducing someone physically was easy, and fooling emotions wasn't particularly difficult either. But fostering genuine feelings from both sides? That was far trickier.
Emotions, after all, were priceless.
Thus, Fujihara wasn't interested in merely taking advantage of Hirasaka's body. He needed to play the long game.
"Who doesn't love the sweet-and-sour thrill of romance? But these days, even relationships are filled with schemes and drama. Women especially tend to create unnecessary complications—it's exhausting."
Fujihara sighed again.
Now that he had been given a second chance at life and another opportunity to attend university, what he truly desired was a vibrant, youthful experience—not the endless monotony of office worker life.
However, at the moment, Fujihara wasn't thinking about romantic pursuits. The girl in the white dress he had seen earlier on the street corner lingered in his mind.
"Should I go check it out, or just head home?"
After a brief hesitation, Fujihara decided to investigate.
If it was meant to be trouble, there was no escaping it. That girl in the white dress might very well be connected to something supernatural—"ghosts" or similar phenomena. Simply running away wouldn't solve anything; facing the issue head-on was necessary.
He touched the handgun hidden in his pocket. For the first time, the weapon failed to bring him a sense of security.