Chapter 101: The Male Host Club

The heavy security door swung open, and the lively music gradually drifted into their ears.

To prevent disturbing the neighbors, Takamagahara wasn’t just an isolated venue—it was lined with imported soundproofing foam.

Generally speaking, Takamagahara Nightclub’s primary clientele were women.

To help weary urban women—corporate CEOs, full-time housewives, white-collar OLs—achieve mental relaxation, Takamagahara operated a standardized service model, distinct from the vulgar, flashy male host clubs outside.

In simple terms,

it was male host service without sex.

“It’s really noisy,” Xiao Yan said.

Countless men and women swayed in the dance floor, the ground vibrating rhythmically.

“Indulging in pleasure, a wild party,” Zhongli remarked. He’d seen scenes like this on his phone; he felt neither fondness nor aversion, merely observing this world’s form of entertainment.

“Uh…” Norton hesitated. “I should clarify—I’m not interested in male beings.”

“Relax, neither are we,” Kleen said, scanning the surroundings with interest. A server led them toward the circular sofas and private booths. “We’re just here for fun.”

Su Lin and Kleen exchanged a glance and shared a knowing smile.

“Ladies, please wait a moment.”

To the server’s eyes, they were just a group of ordinary urban women—using illusion techniques to conceal their true faces and gender.

“May I ask what the princesses would like tonight?”

The young man handling in-venue service was cut off mid-sentence.

“Grilled skewers, fried chicken, sushi, fried rice…”

The server had never seen anyone come to Takamagahara as if it were a restaurant. Still, to enhance guest experience, even the chefs were carefully selected, including several retired hotel chefs.

Every princess who came here deserved respect—they were customers, the stars of the night—so even if their style was eccentric, the server said nothing.

“And five bottles of champagne—the best. No host needed for now.”

“Understood. Please wait a moment.”

Su Lin leaned back against the soft sofa, humming a Japanese song: “Sakura, sakura, I want to see you~.”

As a good friend, a good boss, a good group member, a good admin, Su Lin had to show support for his staff and group members.

“What are Lu Mingze and Old Lu up to?” Su Lin asked. “They seem to have gathered tonight.”

“They’re discussing splitting the family assets. After lunch, they brought their own ‘lawyers’ and started negotiations.”

“Come to think of it, didn’t you guys skip paying for ramen at lunch? He called Lu Mingze to send someone to pay.” Xiao Yan said, frowning at a figure in the center of the dance floor.

“I suggested using a historical projection to fake it, but he insisted on eating real food. What could I do?” Su Lin watched the main performer on stage, his expression grim. To him, this scene was still too early.

To the beat of a samba tune, a massive man—nearly two meters tall, weighing at least 100 kilograms—danced in the center of the stage, wearing custom high heels size 47 or larger and a tight, ultra-short skirt with a waistline over 1.5 meters, his entire body rippling like waves of fat with every movement.

“This guy’s a heavyweight!”

Xiao Yan recalled sumo wrestlers he’d seen in newspapers back in his past life—never imagining one could become a male host.

“Demand creates supply,” Zhongli said. “Makes perfect sense.”

As the group chatted while waiting for drinks and food, a chorus of female shrieks drew their attention.

As the samba ended, a solitary classical melody began to play automatically.

Above the stage, cherry blossoms drifted down; the musical notes of gong, shang, jiao, wei, and yu formed a melancholic backdrop.

A handsome man danced with a blade among the falling petals, his movements fluid and precise—not mere showmanship, but genuine martial sword technique. Though such combat-style swordplay lacked visual flair, women occasionally screamed in excitement, drawn not by the technique but by the man’s muscle definition as he swung the blade.

His lean, powerful frame had the sinewy grace of bamboo stalks, perfectly suited to embodying the lonely beauty of a young warrior.

“I feel like I’ve seen this guy before,” Lao Tang tapped his head, straining to recall—but the memory was too vague. He wasn’t important, yet here he was, in this strange place.

“His name is Chu Zihang. He’s Lu Mingfei’s senior,” Su Lin said. He’d seen Chu Zihang and Caesar at Genji Heavy Industries, and he’d seen their faces in Lu Mingfei’s phone.

“Is he working a winter break job here?” Lao Tang was puzzled. “He came all the way from America.”

“I’ll bring you a copy of Dragon Clan in a couple days. Drink first.”

Just then, the server arrived with the champagne.

A black-clad, masked server pushed a two-meter-long cutting board onto the stage, covered in ice, atop which lay a whole tuna.

Amid screams and cheers, Chu Zihang wielded his long blade like a master butcher, slicing the tuna into neat rectangular blocks—dark red back meat and pink belly meat separated and arranged in wooden compartments.

A dish you could eat with your eyes.

Of course, a few saw the artistry; the majority of guests here saw something else.

Before the performance ended, bidding had already begun—guests were raising prices to win Chu Zihang’s hand-cut sashimi.

“One million!” Su Lin bid.

Staff gasped—this was the highest bid ever for tuna sashimi since the club opened!

“This newcomer’s incredible.”

“The manager really scored a gem this time.”

Su Lin bought the most expensive and finest cut outright—someone else was footing the bill anyway.

He didn’t even need to pay—the club now belonged to Lu Mingze.

“Ogi Kyo! Ogi Kyo!” All the female guests chanted and cheered for Chu Zihang.

Then came the irrational fan spending: buying flower tickets.

“Hey, waiter,” Su Lin called out to the server bringing out dishes. “Do you have a host named Little Sakura?”

Su Lin planned—if Lu Mingfei ran away—he’d project Lu Mingfei’s historical image onto the stage to dance samba, giving him a new stage name: “Little Chrysanthemum.”

Lu Mingfei, don’t blame me. This is all to protect your fate with Hui Liyi. Your Su brother has no choice.

“Yes, sir. Would you like Little Sakura to come over?” The server beamed—this meant these guests weren’t just here to skip performers; once they called for a host, tonight’s spending would soar.

But then he looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, guests, but Little Sakura is booked for tonight. He might be available later…”

“Perhaps you could…”

“No, thank you.”

Su Lin waved him off, declining the recommendation.

“Let’s wait for our Little Sakura. Let’s eat first.”

(End of Chapter)