Chapter 244

The next day, morning.

Kamikawa Mitsu and Kamikawa Chie took a flight to the United States.

Akihabara, Tokyo, Japan.

Akihabara, hailed as the holy land of anime and manga, is a must-visit destination for nearly every anime enthusiast who comes to Japan.

Seto Shoma, owner of a game shop in Akihabara, sells not only various games but also arcade machines, desktop gaming PCs loaded with games, and lets customers play them.

With winter break in full swing and students off school, business at the shop was much better than usual.

To capitalize on this, Seto Shoma launched a discount promotion called "Respect the Elderly, Cherish the Young"—students received discounts, and for elderly customers aged fifty and above, an additional 0.5 discount was applied for every ten years beyond fifty.

As soon as this genius promotion went live, his shop's popularity surged even further.

"Hehe." Watching customers flood in and staff busy at the register, Seto Shoma grinned like a lovestruck fool.

At that moment.

"Huh? This shop looks nice—there's an arcade machine. I tell you, arcade games are awesome; not playing is a huge loss."

A lazy, drowsy voice.

Seto Shoma, who had been standing at the door to lure customers in, instinctively turned to look.

A model?

Foreigner?

Though the street outside was crowded, Seto Shoma spotted the two speakers at once.

They stood tall and slender, dressed in ordinary clothes yet radiating nobility and charm; even with masks covering most of their faces, their aura and physique alone were enough to draw attention.

The one who had spoken lazily wore a white tracksuit, hands in his pockets, his golden hair strikingly bright under the sun.

Unlike the dyed-blond delinquents or biker gangs.

His golden hair was natural, unpretentious, enhancing his nobility like that of a noble Western prince—his smiling eyes added warmth to his regal bearing.

The other wore casual blue-and-white attire, his eyes deep as the moonlit sky—mysterious and serene. If the golden-haired man exuded nobility, this one radiated refined elegance.

As they walked down the street, heads turned.

Their aura was exceptional, their figures flawless—truly international supermodels, no, even more model-like than international supermodels.

*Thud. * A woman, staring at them, collided with a utility pole.

Others covered their mouths, whispering, "So handsome—are they models? Japanese or foreign models?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, our shop is running a promotion—come in and take a look. Even if you don't buy, feel free to play some games and relax." Seeing them approach, Seto Shoma snapped back to reality.

"Let's go in and check it out."

As the two stepped inside, Seto Shoma—standing right at the entrance—got a close look at their faces and froze.

They wore masks, yet for some reason, their faces felt familiar.

"I've seen them somewhere before…" Seto Shoma puzzled.

A nearby clerk leaned in: "Where? Boss, you didn't go to a male host club, did you? With their aura? Hmm, they're either models or male hosts."

"Shut up, get lost. I'm straight, never been to a host club, and… those two are definitely not hosts."

"Why so sure?"

"Obviously—look at their aura, their build. Even with masks, their upper faces must be stunning. If people like them worked as hosts, Roland wouldn't be Japan's top male host—they would."

Roland, Japan's number one male host, so famous even foreigners knew his name.

At this, Seto Shoma frowned, deeply confused.

"I really have seen them before, but I just can't remember where."

As he murmured, the clerk beside him chimed in softly.

"Actually, boss, I feel the same way—I think they look familiar too."

The arrival of these two extraordinary individuals made the shop even livelier; staff and customers alike kept glancing at them.

But the two paid no mind, sitting down at a King of Fighters arcade machine.

"How do you play this?" asked the elegant one.

"Just use the joystick and buttons to control the character on screen and fight," replied the noble golden-haired man. "Just so you know—I've never played before either, but I'll crush you easily."

Seto Shoma, watching them, blinked.

So they're not gamers? But that didn't make sense—this was King of Fighters, everyone knew how to play it, especially guys their age, mid-twenties. They must've played before.

Not even the noble golden-haired one—just the elegant one. He was clearly Japanese. A Japanese man in his twenties wouldn't be unfamiliar with arcade games. Even if he'd never seen a pig run, he'd at least eaten pork.

Were they pretending to be clueless?

Playing the fool to hide their strength?

Pretend they don't know how to play, then unleash a flurry of lightning-fast moves, demolish their opponent, and say, "Bro, you're so weak—I'm a beginner and I still crushed you. You're terrible."

But his fantasy was quickly shattered by reality.

As a game shop owner in Akihabara, Seto Shoma was himself a hardcore gamer—and a skilled one.

Watching their clumsy movements—no combos, just wild punches and kicks—it was unmistakably the work of absolute beginners.

Worse, they were having a blast.

As everyone knows, in any field, experts watching beginners feel a kind of inner collapse—desperate to rant, on the verge of madness.

This was especially true in gaming, like in League of Legends.

When a LoL player gets a newbie teammate, they'll complain—mild ones say, "You can't play like that; your strategy's wrong."

The irritable ones snap: "How can you not know this? It's so simple! What kind of move is that?"

The furious ones turn into full-blown trolls within seconds: "What the hell are you doing? You're not cut out for this game—delete it. Even a chicken pecking at the keyboard would play better than you."

The bystander playing beside them felt exactly this way—frustrated to the point of screaming.

But he had good manners—not a troll, just a patient type.

He watched for a few more minutes, and finally this regular customer who often came to Seto Shoma's shop couldn't stand it any longer and couldn't help but speak up.

"Um... actually, the characters you're playing have combos, and the moves are super flashy. Want to try out some cool moves? They're wickedly stylish."

He deliberately mentioned how flashy the moves were to draw their attention away, afraid the two of them would feel embarrassed about being so bad at the game.

Hearing this, the two of them looked over.

"Cool flashy moves? How do we do them?"

……