Of all the places we could have chosen for our date, why did it have to come to this...?
I scrolled through my phone with the dedication of a scholar researching ancient texts, desperately searching for the perfect spot among several candidate locations. After what felt like an eternity of deliberation—during which Mochizuki-san waited with the patience of a saint—we finally settled on the game hall located on the fourth floor of the mall.
At least here I can show off a little... right?
The moment we arrived at our destination, both Mochizuki-san and I dove headfirst into what could only be described as an epic battle against the mechanical overlords of entertainment. We conquered claw machines with the precision of master strategists, dominated music games like seasoned rhythm warriors, and collected lottery tickets as if we were ancient treasure hunters gathering sacred artifacts.
"Ginjo-san, your reflexes are incredible!" Mochizuki-san exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with genuine admiration as I nailed another perfect combo on the arcade machine.
Well, at least my gamer reflexes haven't failed me yet...
After switching between several machines with the enthusiasm of caffeinated teenagers, our hands were so full of lottery tickets that we looked like we'd just robbed a paper factory. The sheer volume was almost comical—we could barely carry them all without looking like walking origami disasters.
We had no choice but to shuffle over to the front desk like pack mules, ready to exchange our hard-earned spoils for prizes. But just as we were about to approach the counter, Mochizuki Haruka's attention was suddenly captured by something tucked away in the corner.
"That's a mini karaoke room, right, Ginjo-san?" she asked, her voice carrying that unmistakable tone of someone who'd just discovered buried treasure.
Oh no.
"Let's go and give it a try! I've never been in one before." Her eyes were practically glowing with excitement, like a child who'd just spotted the world's most amazing toy store.
This is bad. This is very, very bad.
"Um... well... actually, I'm not very good at singing..." I managed to stammer out, feeling heat creep up my neck like a guilty confession.
Understatement of the century, Ginjo. You're about as musically gifted as a broken washing machine.
"Eh? Is there actually something that Ginjo-san isn't good at?" The surprise in her voice was so genuine, so innocent, that it made my chest tighten with a mixture of embarrassment and something warmer.
Great. There goes my carefully constructed image of competence...
"Uh... yes..." I admitted reluctantly.
If someone were to catalog the merits of one Ginjo Sosuke—and trust me, I'm not trying to brag here—they could probably fill a decent-sized novel. Decent looks? Check. Reasonably fit physique? Check. Generally considerate personality? Check. Above-average grades? Check. Athletic ability that doesn't completely embarrass me? Check.
I was the kind of guy who could pick up new skills relatively quickly, adapt to unfamiliar situations without making a complete fool of himself, and generally coast through life without any major catastrophes.
But singing? Singing was my kryptonite.
When it comes to vocal destruction, I could probably give that famous elementary school detective from Beika City a run for his money. In fact, I'm pretty sure my singing voice has been classified as a potential weapon of mass destruction in several prefectures.
In karaoke establishments across the nation, the mere sight of a microphone in my hands was enough to make seasoned veterans drop to their knees and beg for mercy. I was like the final boss of terrible singing—except instead of defeating heroes, I defeated eardrums.
"Hearing what Ginjo-san said just makes me even more curious! Haha, let's go—it's not like we're entering a singing competition or anything."
Mochizuki Haruka grabbed my sleeve and gave it a playful shake, and for the first time since I'd known her, I caught a glimpse of her acting... well, almost like she was being spoiled. The gesture was so unexpectedly adorable that my brain temporarily short-circuited.
"Okay, okay... then let Mochizuki-san experience the full horror of my terrifying singing voice," I declared with the resigned expression of a man walking toward his own execution.
I followed her into the mini karaoke room with all the enthusiasm of someone about to undergo dental surgery without anesthesia.
The space was compact and surprisingly well-designed—everything painted in soft shades of pink with an array of cute decorations adorning the walls. It looked like someone had taken a teenage girl's bedroom and optimized it for maximum adorableness. The aesthetic was so aggressively feminine that I felt like I'd accidentally wandered into some kind of kawaii wonderland.
A plush double sofa dominated the center of the room, facing the main attraction: a karaoke machine connected to a large screen that would soon become the stage for my vocal crimes against humanity.
"Ladies first," I announced gallantly, picking up a microphone and offering it to Mochizuki Haruka like I was presenting her with Excalibur itself.
At least I can delay my own humiliation for a few more minutes.
She accepted it with a radiant smile, took a moment to browse through the song selection on the screen, and then made her choice. The gentle prelude began to fill the room, and then...
Holy...
Beautiful, crystalline notes flowed from her lips like liquid music. She'd chosen "First Love" by Utada Hikaru—a classic from over twenty years ago that had somehow managed to remain timeless. Even someone as musically challenged as myself recognized this legendary piece.
Mochizuki Haruka sang with the kind of focused intensity that made the rest of the world fade away. Every note seemed infused with genuine emotion, every lyric delivered with the weight of personal experience. It was as if this particular song resonated with something deep in her heart, allowing her to pour her very soul into the performance.
When the final notes faded into silence, I could swear I saw the faintest glimmer of unshed tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. But the moment she turned to face me, that brilliant smile was back in full force, as if she'd simply flipped a switch.
"How was my singing, Ginjo-san?" she asked with the eagerness of a student awaiting their teacher's approval.
"It was genuinely amazing—like listening to a professional performer," I replied without a trace of exaggeration.
Seriously, she could probably make a career out of this.
"That's maybe a little over the top, but I appreciate the sentiment! Haha..." she laughed, but I could tell my praise had made her genuinely happy.
"This is actually my favorite song," she continued, her voice taking on a more thoughtful tone. "I listen to it on repeat when I'm alone sometimes."
"Though if today's college girls heard me singing something this old, they'd probably think I was some ancient lady who time-traveled here from the previous century!"
She laughed at her own joke, but there was something wistful in her expression.
"Well... now it's Ginjo-san's turn..." she announced, holding out the microphone like she was passing me a live grenade.
I accepted the device of my doom and reluctantly scrolled through the song list, eventually settling on "Truth" by Two-Mix.
Hey, if I'm going down, I might as well go down swinging. At least this song has good memories associated with it... even if I'm about to utterly butcher it.
That's right—the opening theme from a certain elementary school detective anime. My logic was simple: surely, with a comparison point set by fictional elementary school students, I couldn't possibly sound that bad.
But the moment the music started and I opened my mouth, I realized I had vastly, catastrophically overestimated my own abilities.
Fortunately, my only audience was Mochizuki Haruka, contained within these mercifully soundproof walls. If anyone else had been subjected to this auditory assault, they probably would have assumed some kind of dark summoning ritual was taking place in here.
I sound like I'm trying to communicate with demons. Or maybe I'm accidentally summoning them.
By the time I managed to struggle through to the final note, I collapsed onto the sofa like a marathon runner who'd just crossed the finish line. The experience had been so physically and emotionally draining that I felt like I'd just played an entire football match in the summer heat.
"Wonderful!" Mochizuki Haruka burst into enthusiastic applause, her face glowing with what appeared to be genuine delight.
"Hey, Mochizuki-san, even when you're trying to be supportive, you don't have to go this far..." I said with a wry smile, still trying to recover from my vocal ordeal.
"No, I mean it! I thought it was genuinely great," she insisted with startling sincerity. "Sure, maybe the pitch was a little... creative... but it let me see the real side of Ginjo-san."
Creative. That's certainly one way to put it.
"I used to think you were this impossibly perfect, super handsome guy without any flaws—like you were some unreachable character straight out of a manga or something."
Well, that's... oddly specific.
"But now you feel more... human, I guess? More approachable. And honestly? I really do love Ginjo-san's singing!"
The sincerity in her voice was so pure, so genuine, that it made my chest feel warm despite my lingering embarrassment.
"Okay, I'll trust Mochizuki-san's judgment for now," I conceded with a grateful smile.
"Great! Now let's sing a duet!"
Wait, what?
"Eh? We're... we're still going?"
Someone please save me.
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