Chapter 40: Let's Get a Room

Kitahara glanced at Senkawa Ryoka, who was happily eating, and felt a touch of speechlessness. The system had gone haywire, issuing such a bizarre mission; the version of her thirty-five years in the future was hardly the same person as the girl sitting before him now.

Besides, taking her to a hotel was one thing, but what on earth was a "lesson"? Was this some sort of BDSM game? Kitahara pondered the feasibility. It would be easy enough to take Senkawa to a hotel. She was so obedient to him now that even if he took her to a room, she would likely just follow him inside, weeping little pearls of tears the whole way. If he went a step further and told her to undress, she would probably do the same—tearfully and resentfully stripping down.

The problem was that "teaching a lesson" felt like going too far. Disciplining a hardworking, decent girl versus disciplining a woman of loose morals—no matter how he looked at it, the latter felt more appropriate. If he actually went through with it, his conscience would trouble him.

Of course, beauty was an asset, and Kitahara wanted it. While true attraction always stemmed from one's mind—the height of one's intellect defining their charm—a beautiful face could, to an extent, make people overlook the mind and provide a fleeting pleasure. After weighing it all, Kitahara didn't bother masking his intentions; he really wanted this beauty optimization card. Who wouldn't want to look better? An advantage in appearance was an advantage nonetheless; since there was a benefit to be had, why not take it?

However, Senkawa Ryoka was a good girl. He couldn't discipline or threaten her in the usual ways. Kitahara still had that much of a conscience. Perhaps, then, there was a way to game the system.

Just as he was thinking, his phone suddenly rang. Kitahara answered it casually.

"Hello, may I speak with Mr. Kitahara Yoaki?" A pure, pleasant female voice came from the other end.

"I am he. What is it?" Kitahara frowned.

"I am the manager at Citibank, my name is Imai Aya. You just deposited forty million yen into our bank..."

Kitahara had his phone on speaker. Consequently, Senkawa Ryoka, sitting across from him, heard every word. When she heard "forty million yen," her eyes widened, and she stared at Kitahara in shock. They were both human, so why was the gap between them so vast?

Senkawa Ryoka’s family was destitute. A gambling mother and a critically ill father. The weight of the household finances rested almost entirely on her shoulders. Senkawa pinched every penny, navigating the abyss day by day, feeling as though the world were a prison, relentlessly punishing her for her misfortune. Many times, she had been tempted to fall into depravity, but she had gritted her teeth and survived until now. Her father still needed money for medical bills. She couldn't die. So, when she heard that Kitahara had so much money, her first reaction was silence.

Then, she felt a profound sense of inferiority.

"Our bank can offer you a favorable interest rate, provided you are willing to keep this money in a fixed-term account..."

"Save it?" Kitahara glanced at Senkawa and shook his head. "I don't need to. There's something I've been wanting to buy lately."

The highest interest rate a bank could offer was six percent. Saving it for a year would yield two hundred and forty thousand yen—barely the monthly salary of an average office worker. It wasn't worth the effort.

The female manager’s tone remained gentle. "Are you planning to purchase some financial investment products?"

"Does a Maybach count?" Kitahara said nonchalantly.

"..."

The manager's expression stiffened. She had nothing to say to this wealthy, capricious young master. However, her professional training was excellent, and she didn't lose her patience. "If you have any investment plans in the future, please feel free to contact our branch. I will personally handle your account..."

The call didn't end. The manager continued to rattle off information about their financial products. Too lazy to hold the phone, Kitahara simply left it on the table and looked at Senkawa. "How are you planning to get home later?"

"I... I'm walking."

"Aren't your family worried?"

"My father is in the hospital, and my mother doesn't care about me..." Senkawa lowered her head. At school, they were classmates; there was no obvious difference in status. They wore the same uniforms and ate the same food. But once outside the school gates, the chasm between their social classes was as deep as the heavens. Now, in front of Kitahara, her sense of inferiority was beyond words.

Kitahara paused, hesitated for a moment, and whispered, "In other words, it doesn't matter if you don't go back tonight."

"Yes, if you need me to..."

"Hm?" Senkawa blinked. Who was that speaking?

Kitahara and Senkawa both froze, looking at the phone simultaneously. The Citibank manager, Ms. Imai Aya, had finally returned to their attention.

"You haven't hung up?" Kitahara asked, bewildered. It was so late; he didn't know what to say about the dedication of these bank employees.

"The customer is God. If you have a need, I can leave my home to see you. Of course, regarding the deposit..." The manager's laughter remained constant. Judging by her voice, the manager wasn't very old—certainly not forty. To hold such a position at around thirty, she was clearly someone who knew how to handle people. Even after being ignored, she had remained patient. Impressive. She deserved to earn that money.

Kitahara couldn't help but chuckle. "Forget about coming out, let’s exchange contact information instead. If I have any needs, I'll reach out to you." Since the lady was being so proactive, it would be rude not to give her a chance, right?

"Of course! I'll add you right away!"

After the call ended, Kitahara’s phone chimed. A new contact had been added: the manager.

[Ayako]

Kitahara added her with interest. She didn't shy away, getting straight to the point by sending a photo. It was a picture of Imai Aya in a swimsuit. She had a sweet, lovely face; while she wasn't tall, she was well-endowed, and her smile was infectious. Kitahara stared at her assets for a while, critiquing them, until he noticed the gaze from across the table. He looked up to see the girl’s complex expression.

"She... she's quite pretty."

Senkawa Ryoka looked at the photo on Kitahara’s phone, her sense of inferiority deepening. She was dressed in glamorous clothes, led a happy life, and had a sweet, smiling face. Any man would surely like someone like that, right? Yet, such a woman was so eager to please Kitahara.

"She’s alright, I suppose. Among the people I know, she’s not bad." But she wouldn't even make his top five.

Even though his little girlfriend was wearing a ragged school uniform, dressed in a dowdy fashion, and looked quite shabby, if she were to dress up properly and apply some makeup, her true charm would bloom. Kitahara said offhandedly, "Don't pay any mind to women like that. I get three or five of them coming after me every day."

"That many?" Senkawa Ryoka was flustered. Three or five girls, actively pursuing Kitahara—that meant the competition was far greater than she had imagined, and they were all so aggressive. The ambiguity in the manager's voice on the phone had been clear even to an outsider like her.

There was no doubt. This manager, a woman of standing in society, was willing to go to a hotel with Kitahara just for his money. And she, upon hearing Kitahara's subtle suggestion earlier, had thought of refusing.

"What do I have to compete with them..."

The inferiority completely crushed Senkawa Ryoka. She couldn't think of a single reason why she deserved to be with Kitahara... No. Actually, she did have something. Didn't Kitahara like her body?

She bit her lip, her eyes dead, and finally whispered, "Let's go to a hotel."

"Just don't see her, okay?"