Prologue

“So, like, today’s horoscope said Aquarius was the luckiest sign.”

In a custom-renovated 3LDK apartment room,

TL/N: A “3LDK” apartment in Japan refers to an apartment with three separate rooms (typically used as bedrooms) and a combined living room, dining area, and kitchen.)

“It specifically mentioned something about getting super close with someone you like.”

A recording booth, bookshelves, a PC desk—various items catch the eye in this stylish Western-style room, where a stunning girl with long, straight black hair, Karasuma Chikage, sits next to me, talking with an unusually serious expression.

“If that horoscope’s true, doesn’t that mean I, sitting right here, could be the girl you like, Kei?”

Chikage’s birthday is February 19th, making her a Pisces. Mine’s January 28th, so I’m an Aquarius. You get the picture, right? That’s how it works.

Checking my horoscope instead of her own is so very Chikage.

“That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

At my reply, Chikage narrows her sharp, almond-shaped eyes in dissatisfaction.

“Hmph… a stretch, huh? You could at least say you like me, even if it’s a lie. Every girl wants to hear that from the guy she likes, you know.”

Her blazer slips off her shoulders, revealing the blouse and tie underneath, swaying like gentle waves. Taking utmost care not to let her emotional tide overwhelm me, I glance at her hands.

“I’m curious about something. What’s that voice recorder for?”

“Oh, this? It’s for recording, you know,”hitori E”* stuff—emotional, precious moments? I thought it’d give me a daily boost.”

TL/N: “Hitori E” This is the core of the joke. ひとり means “alone” and the エ is a self-censored sound, likely for a word like エッチ (ecchi/lewd) or something similar.

Wait, did she just say “hitori E”?

“I’m not using it for anything weird, I swear. All you have to do is say ‘I like you,’ Kei. I’ll listen to it for my daily dose of energy. That’s fair for a job, right?”

“Uh, well… yeah.”

She might have a point. If it’s part of the job, maybe I can’t argue.

Switching gears, I lean toward the voice recorder and say, “I like you, Chikage.”

“Hehe, not bad at all. Your feelings totally reached me, Kei.”

It’s just part of the job, right? …Or so I tell myself, sweating internally. Meanwhile, Chikage’s replaying the recording over and over, one hand on the recorder. It’s a little—no, very—chilling to watch.

“Pfft, hilarious. You’re totally trapped now, Okei-han!”

“Trapped? This is just part of the job, isn’t it?”

“For a job, you sure whispered ‘I like you’ with a lot of passion, didn’t you?”

There’s only one person in the world who calls me, Kyosaka Kei, “Okei-han.”

At the edge of the sofa, messing around with a Wacom tablet, is a flashy, gal-like beauty, Tsu-chan—aka Ono Tsukasa—who’s been calling me that since the day we met.

With rule-breaking, bright blonde hair tied in a half-up style, blue contact lenses, glittery nail polish, and heart-shaped earrings, she’s like anarchy personified.

Her uniform’s worn loose and casual, with her skirt shortened to the absolute limit, boldly showing off glossy, egg-smooth legs. To put it bluntly, she seems like a bit of an airhead.

I’ve grown enough to think that—or maybe I’ve just built up a tolerance.

“Of course I put some effort into it. It’s work, after all.”

“Okei-han, you’re so bad at dodging stuff, huh? You’ve been sneaking peeks under my skirt, and you can’t even hide your wandering eyes!”

That’s unfair. I glanced, sure, but not that much. Besides, in today’s world, where women increasingly ignore TPO, I can’t help but feel a chill at society’s tendency to pin all the blame on guys.

In times like this, it’s best not to get sucked into her pace and just brush it off.

“If you saw fresh yatsuhashi at a souvenir shop, wouldn’t you stare? It’s the same thing.”

“Oh, sure—wait, no way! Don’t compare my best panties to yatsuhashi!”

“Haha, but if you flip yatsuhashi upside down, it kinda looks like string panties, right?”

“It does not… and you don’t need to narrate what I’m wearing!”

I think it does, though.

Maybe it’s just because I’m from Kyoto.

“By the way, why are you wearing battle panties anyway, Tsu-chan?”

“W-Well, duh! It’s only natural for a gal to wear cute panties just in case!”

“Just in case of what? …I think I can guess, though.”

“N-No, not like that! It’s not like I want to hook up with Okei-han or anything, just, you know, being prepared for… mumble mumble.”

Tsu-chan’s blushing all the way to her ears. Was she a tomato in a past life or something?

“Ugh, whatever! Don’t you get a maiden’s heart, Okei-han?”

“I get that you’re shortening your skirt to show off those battle panties.”

“If you put it like that, it sounds like I’m just some floozy who wants to flash her panties!”

“You’re not?”

“No way! The point is, it’s for you, Okei-han!”

…So, she’s doing it on purpose. Yeah, I figured.

“It’s not for crude reasons like Tsukasa’s, but I’m wearing them too.”

An unexpected confession comes from a studious-looking girl with blue-light-blocking glasses, Sakura—aka Daigo Sakurako—who looks up from a thick encyclopedia to speak.

“To take the next step with Kyo-kun, that kind of preparation is necessary.”

Her short, cherry-blossom-pink bob and refined demeanor make her seem like a sheltered noblewoman. Her blouse is buttoned to the top, her tie neatly knotted, tucked into a light pink sweater and blazer. Her almond-shaped, double-lidded eyes, peeking from behind her lenses, always carry a calm intelligence.

“That said, I don’t condone Tsukasa’s approach. She needs to have more emotional restraint.”

The one place where Sakura seems to lack restraint, though?

“Don’t worry, Kyo-kun. I’ll respect your pace.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

It’s her chest. Those twin peaks, to be precise.

Two melon-sized, nutrient-packed bombs are practically bursting out of her uniform, as if they’re still growing.

Should I pity Tsu-chan’s flat board, or call Sakura’s bountiful fruit a miracle? It’s a tough call. I like both, though.

“Kyo-kun, are you… talking to my chest?”

“Sorry, I got a little distracted.”

I bow my head honestly. Boobs are a force of nature.

Sakura looks at me and flashes a refined smile.

“No need to apologize. If you want to stare, go ahead and stare.”

“N-No, Sakura, you can’t just say that as a girl!”

“There’s a 180-degree difference between a leopardess flaunting her chest and a girl appealing to the one she likes. I’m the latter.”

“Got it. That makes sense.”

As I’m overwhelmed by Sakura’s passionate speech, whoosh! Chikage blows a warm breath in my ear. What a shameless prank!

“Hehe, such a cute reaction. So, Kei, you do prefer them big, huh?”

“…S-Stop with the blowing! And I don’t care about size!”

I insist firmly, but Chikage wraps her arms around mine like a koala clinging to a eucalyptus tree, grinning wickedly. The soft swell pressing against my elbow is incredibly awkward.

“My chest is begging to be touched by you, Kei. It wants to grow even bigger.”

Have mercy, please.

Normally, my brain would function rationally, but Chikage’s whispery voice and upward glance hit me like a hypnotic spell. Does touching make them grow? I almost ask, caught off guard.

Danger, danger! Fans would never dream that this devilishly seductive girl is the voice behind Otowa Tenshi, the rising star of the VTuber world.

By the way, Tsu-chan and Sakura are no less impressive. Tsu-chan’s a godly artist with over 300,000 SNS followers, and Sakura’s a light novel author whose Yozakura Killing series has sold over 500,000 copies.

And then there’s me, Kyosaka Kei, getting tossed around by these three genius beauties—er, classmates.

Just your average high school boy with no particular talents, that’s all I’ll say.

That’s the gist of everyone’s background, summed up briefly.

“Yo, boom! Magical Girl Sorashido! What’s with you two getting all cozy?”

“Hey, don’t butt in. Could you not interrupt my time with Kei?”

“Kyo-kun’s main wife position is still up for grabs. From here on, it’s my turn.”

“G-Guys… it’s cramped, so can you back off? H-Hey, don’t touch weird places!”

Even so, this surreal scene doesn’t fully explain itself.

One guy and three girls on a four-person sofa: Chikage on my left, Sakura on my right, and Tsu-chan clinging to me from behind. Surrounded in a triangle by these gorgeous girls,

“Uh, um… what’s going on here?”

I can’t help but mutter, and—

“‘The duties of a kept man,’” the three voices reply in perfect unison.

Sigh.

The reason I agree to their every whim without hesitation? Because I’m their ‘special’ guy, and this is my ‘job.’

A gig where I get to flirt with beautiful girls for 5,000 yen an hour—guys everywhere would probably cry tears of envy.

That’s right.

Part of my duties includes fulfilling—or rather, satisfying—the desires of my employers. A man who’s financially supported by women in exchange for staying by their side, taking care of their needs, or keeping them happy…

In common terms, that’s called a himo (look up “ama himo” if you’re curious about the origin).

Yes, I’m a himo. But not just any himo.

I’m a three-star—no, a three-braid-level himo, supported by the school’s three most beautiful super idols. Yup.

Now, let’s recap.

How did a hard-mode, mob-like high school boy like Kyosaka Kei end up in this kind of relationship with girls considered the pinnacle of perfection?

Let’s take a moment to look back on how this all started.

It all began about a month ago—