When Kitahara Takeru started listing his hobbies, it wasn't just the girls like Watanabe Akari who were left speechless—even Ōtani Shōta and Tanaka Kōta, who had come with him, were visibly at a loss for words.
The two quietly shuffled their chairs away, as if sitting next to him might be embarrassing.
But Kitagawa Marin didn't react with confusion or disdain. In fact, she thought Takeru was cool.
To her, there was nothing shameful about openly talking about your interests.
Liking something had nothing to do with age.
While the other girls exchanged awkward glances, Takeru remained perfectly unfazed and smiled, "Alright, your turn."
Watanabe Akari raised her hand first. "I'm Watanabe Akari, first-year at Shinkawa Gakuin. I like cute clothes and pretty bags. When I'm bored, I usually flip through fashion magazines."
Takeru suddenly asked, "Do you prefer LV or Chanel?"
Watanabe tilted her head and thought for a moment. "Probably Chanel."
"What's your favorite Chanel bag?"
She'd thought he was just making small talk, but Takeru actually followed up with another question. She gave him a sideways glance.
No one else had introduced themselves yet, and somehow they were already talking about handbags?
Was he hitting on her?
Very likely!
She had plenty of confidence in her looks.
Still, out of politeness, she answered, "I like the small Le Boy."
With a calm, deliberate tone, Takeru tested the waters: "I heard Chanel raises prices every six months. That one you mentioned—if you sold it now, you'd probably double your money."
Truth was, ever since the system flagged Watanabe Akari and Kitagawa Marin as "targets," Takeru had been watching them both closely.
After all, anyone the system approved had to have some merit.
If this were an anime world, he wouldn't even need to observe—he'd just know who had money.
But this wasn't a two-dimensional fantasy, and he wasn't omniscient.
Everything he knew about these characters came from one friend of his—who was always ranting about how he wanted to be someone's loyal dog.
So Takeru had his own way of assessing family background: he paid close attention to subtle cues—personal aura, clothing, behavior, speech.
Children from elite families were often raised with care. Their parents hired professionals to teach etiquette.
In his previous life, Takeru had been a "grind student" from a no-name province, who scraped his way into a Project 985 university purely on talent and relentless effort.
One of his roommates there had been raised in a polished, elite household.
The difference between them had been stark—even just standing still, the guy gave off a different vibe.
And it wasn't that he was some arrogant rich kid out of a novel—on the contrary, he was mild-mannered, spoke calmly, treated everyone warmly and respectfully.
That was the first time Takeru had so clearly felt the gulf between people.
Later, when they got close enough to talk about things like manners, the roommate had said seriously, "If I got bad grades, my parents might nag me a bit. But if I acted rude, showed off, or embarrassed them? They'd beat the hell out of me."
From what Takeru had observed, Watanabe Akari didn't seem like someone who'd received that kind of refined upbringing. But just in case he was about to overlook a big fish, he'd floated the handbag topic.
Watanabe rolled her eyes. "That bag's way too expensive. I can't afford it."
What kind of question is that?
Can normal families afford luxury brands?
Tch. So her family's average. Never mind then.
Takeru instantly lost interest.
That brief conversation had confirmed his suspicions—and given him a decent read on her personality.
"Okay, okay, my turn!"
Now that Takeru was done interfering, the self-introductions continued smoothly.
He learned the names of the remaining two girls who hadn't been flagged by the system.
The tall, blonde one was Takamiya Saki.
The one in the oversized T-shirt, with her hands tucked shyly inside the sleeves—giving off a soft, sweet vibe—was Ōhashi Natsumi.
Of course, Takeru didn't really care what their names were.
Then it was Kitagawa Marin's turn. "I'm Kitagawa Marin, also a first-year at Shinkawa Gakuin, just like Akari. I love subcultures. I want to dress up as cute as the characters from manga, anime, and games!"
Her voice was light and clear, like a carefree lark.
No wonder so many otaku considered her their waifu.
Then again, for most guys deep in the trenches of fandom, any pretty girl was "wife material."
Ah. She does cosplay.
Hearing that Marin cosplayed made Takeru even lazier about probing further.
Not that he had anything against cosplayers—but rich ones were rare. Most had wallets emptier than their social batteries.
Their most expensive possession was probably the costume in their closet.
He'd once seen a girl starve herself on crackers for three weeks just to buy a single cosplay accessory. Lost ten pounds in the process.
He couldn't relate. But he was impressed.
Also, he might not have beef with the cosplay scene, but he wasn't blind. That world could get messy.
Tanaka Kōta chimed in with curiosity, "I heard cosplay's really expensive?"
"Yup. That's why I've always worked part-time."
Marin answered cheerfully, not the least bit ashamed of being broke.
I shouldn't have come.
Takeru regretted agreeing to this mixer. It was a complete waste of time.
He'd have been better off going fishing.
Sure, he struck out most of the time, but Takeru firmly believed that was the rod's fault.
Or maybe the feng shui at that particular spot was off.
Whatever the case, it was never his problem.
Trying to keep the mood lively, Ōtani Shōta asked, "What kind of part-time work do you do, Marin? You seriously look like you could be a model."
"I've done some reader modeling, and I've also worked as a beauty model, hand model for nail ads, photography, skincare, receptionist… a bunch of stuff," she said, counting them off on her fingers.
That suddenly caught Takeru's attention. "Wait—you do photography too?"
There's an age where a man's blood starts to awaken on its own.
Takeru used to think that was nonsense.
But then he lived it.
Before he turned twenty-five, he'd been obsessed with games, jerseys, streetwear, watches.
After twenty-five?
Suddenly, it was all goji berry tea, Phoenix Legend songs, gold jewelry, temple visits, landscape photography, and traditional medicine.
He went from questioning his parents to understanding them, then becoming them… and surpassing them.
He'd practically unlocked every single "middle-aged man" achievement.
Photography was one of them.
Marin blinked her long lashes. "Not really. I just do it for shoots. But it's really hard to take photos I'm satisfied with."
"Totally agree."
Takeru nodded with deep sympathy.
He used to think photography was just point and shoot. Press the shutter and boom—photo.
If you have hands, you can shoot, right?
But then he actually got into it—and realized just how hard it was.
Lighting, exposure, focal length, composition, shadow, coloring, editing, motion planning… there were so many technical hurdles that he honestly wanted to go back and smack his past self.
What the hell were you thinking?
You call this fun?
Do you enjoy suffering?
You want an oil cake with that disappointment?
Then, as any serious photographer would, Takeru asked the most important question:
"What camera do you use?"
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T/N: yeah... i feel so old too