— — — — — —
"Leftover mapo tofu again?"
Oikawa Tōru stared at the nearly empty bento shelf and sighed.
Mapo tofu was one of his favorite dishes.
But for some reason in this life, it was… awful.
Complaining aside, food was food. Starving wasn't an option.
Life was hard. Oikawa sighed again.
He grabbed two mapo tofu bentos for himself, then loaded the remaining unsold ones into a basket and placed them in the disposal area.
In Japanese convenience stores, expired items had to be personally destroyed by the manager.
Around 10:05, the manager shuffled in, dragging his feet. He glanced at the bentos in Oikawa's hands, frowned slightly, and dropped into the seat behind the register.
Oikawa didn't bother greeting him. He packed up and walked out.
Another day of part-time work finished.
3,280 yen earned.
Zero spent.
Before transmigrating, he'd seen a short video claiming that saving four hundred thousand dollars meant financial freedom.
Converted to yen, that was about sixty million.
At a rate of 3,280 yen per day, he'd only need 18,292 days.
Roughly fifty years.
Which meant he was just forty-nine years and eleven and a half months away from financial freedom.
Perfect.
Oikawa strolled toward his bike, debating whether to write more tonight. A single volume of a light novel usually started at 100,000 words. He still had a long way to go.
Then he spotted a familiar figure.
"Kawasaki? Why aren't you home yet?"
"Did you need something?"
Saki Kawasaki worked from five to nine every evening. Oikawa's convenience store happened to sit between her workplace and her house.
So most nights after nine, she'd drop by, sit for a bit, and have him tutor her.
Oikawa didn't mind.
Originally, he'd planned to find a tutoring job anyway. Unfortunately, the previous owner of this body had consistently ranked near the bottom of the class. No parent would've trusted him.
What a legacy to inherit.
"Oikawa… I want you to be my private tutor."
She hesitated.
"But… I can only pay 1,000 yen per hour. Is that okay?"
She looked nervous. If he refused, she'd have no choice but to attend one of those outrageously expensive cram schools.
She'd checked.
The cheapest one-on-one classes cost 100,000 yen a month for a single subject.
Kawasaki had been working part-time since starting high school and had saved a few hundred thousand yen.
But that wasn't nearly enough to guarantee acceptance into the university she wanted.
That was why she'd turned her attention to her deskmate.
Half a month ago, she'd noticed something shocking.
Oikawa, who used to skip school constantly, suddenly started attending every day. And when solving problems, he moved with effortless precision.
She'd tested him with several difficult questions.
He'd answered all of them with ease.
"Are you good at cooking?" Oikawa asked suddenly.
"Huh?"
Caught off guard, she blinked. Then she answered seriously.
"My little brother and sister say I cook well."
"I'll agree to tutor you for 1,000 yen per hour."
He paused.
"On one condition. You bring me a homemade bento for lunch."
"Deal!"
Her face lit up. She hadn't expected him to agree so easily. A rare, sweet smile bloomed across her features.
"You know, you look pretty good when you smile," Oikawa teased. "Why act like some street gang boss all the time?"
He regretted it immediately.
Deeply regretted it.
Kawasaki clamped his head under her arm in a swift headlock.
At first, it was soft.
Pleasant, even.
Then oxygen became a luxury.
Oikawa flailed, patting her shoulder frantically in surrender.
This woman was dangerous.
He made a solemn vow. From now on, even if he snuck a peek, he'd do it discreetly.
---
Next day
Back row by the window. Known as the king's territory.
Oikawa was demonstrating his supreme desk-sleeping technique, dreaming of becoming a bestselling author.
Then a furious shout exploded beside his ear.
"Oikawa!"
"You. Explain the meaning of that classical poem I just read!"
He jolted awake.
At the podium stood Shizuka Hiratsuka, glaring at him with blazing fury.
Snickers rippled through the classroom.
Oikawa blinked in confusion.
Wasn't he sleeping in math class? How had it suddenly become Japanese literature?
He shot a pleading look at Kawasaki.
She subtly pointed to a line of text.
Oikawa was sure he knew nothing of what was even written. He couldn't explain a single word.
"..."
"Sensei, I was wrong. I shouldn't have slept in class."
It was only the first semester of his second year. Shizuka would still be his homeroom teacher for at least another year and a half.
He had no desire to make his life miserable by trying to act tough.
"Come to my office after class."
"Sit down."
She shot him one last glare before continuing the lesson.
A moment later, a small note landed on his desk.
"Sorry. I forgot to wake you."
He smiled faintly.
After scribbling a reply, he flicked the paper back.
"If you're that sorry, can I see your panties?"
Kawasaki's head snapped toward him.
Her glare could've killed.
From the shape of her mouth, it clearly said, 'You're dead.'
But what even she didn't notice was the faint blush creeping across her cheeks.
.
.
.