Riko Sakuragi is a petite and adorable Tokyo hairstylist with soft chestnut hair and hazel eyes that shine like morning light. Often clumsy but effortlessly warm, she carries a quiet, genuine kindness that draws people in without trying. Beneath her shy smiles and flustered chaos lives a heart that feels everything deeply, even when she tries to hide it.
Warm light filtered through tall windows, painting soft gold across wooden tables. Indie music played low, the kind you forget but still feel in your chest. The smell of roasted beans drifted everywhere, peaceful and calm, except at one table.
One day, Riko stirred her iced latte like it owed her rent money.
"Engagement," she whispered, face falling into her hands. "Engagement, Aya-chan. I just learned how to do perfect curtain bangs last week. I'm not ready for marriage. I'm barely ready for shampoo inventory."
Aya, her coworker from the salon training program, blinked sympathetically. "Riko-Chan, maybe he's handsome?"
"He is," Riko sighed. "But I'm not in love with him. And he lives in Canada. Canada, Aya-chan. I just moved from Kyoto. I can't survive maple syrup weather."
Her other friend Yumi placed a pastry in front of her. "You look like you need sugar."
Riko nodded gratefully, then her phone began vibrating across the table like it was possessed by tradition itself.
Okaa-san flashed on the screen.
Riko froze.
Aya and Yumi leaned back like they were evacuating an emotional disaster zone.
"Ganbatte," Aya mouthed, backing away with her cup.
Riko exhaled and answered.
"Hello, Okaa-san," she said, polite tone activated.
"Riko," her mother began in that perfectly gentle but terrifying Kyoto-mother voice, "have you thought about the engagement meeting schedule? Minato-kun's family asked again."
"That's the problem," Riko whispered. "I'm focusing on my styling courses, and—"
"Styling, styling. Hair will always exist," her mother replied. "But good men do not fall from trees. You are twenty-four now. That is practically old enough to get married."
Riko went stiff. "That's not old."
"Aa, but you have no boyfriend. How long will you stay single? Forever?"
Riko's eyebrows twitched. Panic rose in her chest.
Then her eyes drifted, purely by fate, across the café.
A guy sat alone, typing quietly on a laptop. Long hair falling to his neck. Most of his face was hidden. Hoodie. Headphones. Quiet aura. A man who looked like he belonged in the background but might secretly be the main character.
Riko's heart did not flutter.
But her survival instinct screamed: use him now.
Her mother continued, "If you had a boyfriend—"
"I do," Riko blurted out, louder than intended.
Her friends almost spit their drinks.
There was a tragic pause.
"…You do?" her mother repeated.
"Yes," Riko nodded quickly, sweat gathering at her neck. "He's here. Right now."
The universe went silent.
Riko's brain went silent.
Even the latte gave up.
Then her mouth betrayed her again.
"Would you like to say hello?"
She muted the phone in horror and grabbed her bag like she was about to flee. Instead, she marched straight to the quiet stranger.
He looked up, startled and tired, definitely minding his own business.
Riko bowed quickly, panic-polite.
"Gomen nasai. This is strange, and you'll probably hate me forever, but can you please pretend to be my boyfriend for thirty seconds to stop my mother from marrying me off to someone in Canada?"
Silence.
He blinked. Once. Then again.
A slow blink of a man questioning his life choices.
Riko clenched her fists near her chest like a malfunctioning hamster.
"Just nod once if yes. Or call security if no. Please. I'm very young and I haven't perfected balayage yet."
The man sighed softly. Closed his laptop. Nodded once. Reluctantly.
Riko nearly cried in gratitude. "Arigatou."
She flipped her camera, hit video call, and lifted the phone.
"Okaa-san, this is my boyfriend."
The man sat perfectly still, hair half-covering his face, eyes unreadable, like a scenic but emotionally unavailable mountain.
Riko waited.
He lifted one hand in a stiff, tiny wave.
"Konnichiwa," he said flatly but politely.
Riko's mother gasped.
Riko considered fainting from sheer humiliation.
The man lifted his hand again and said, "Hajimemashite, Sakuma Kaito desu."
His voice was calm, low, and reliable.
Riko's mother softened instantly. "Ara, polite young man."
Riko blinked. Polite? He looks like he hasn't slept since the Meiji era.
Her mom leaned in on the screen.
"So, Sakuma-kun, what do you do?"
He pushed his hair behind one ear, revealing a jawline that could cause emotional damage.
"I'm currently searching for a new apartment," he said calmly. "And working remotely in the IT sector."
Professional tone. Straight posture. Polite smile.
Who was this man? Five seconds ago, he looked like he only spoke in sighs.
Riko nearly forgot to breathe.
"Oh, IT," her mom said, impressed. "Stability is important."
"Yes," he nodded politely. "And I support Sakuragi-san's career very much. She has talent."
Riko felt her soul leave her body. What career-supporting prince behavior is this?
Aya and Yumi watched from the table, eyes wide, drinks half-lifted like stunned goldfish.
Riko's mom clasped her hands. "Yokatta, I'm relieved. Then I'll tell the other family she's not available."
Riko almost celebrated, until her mother added sweetly,
"But one thing."
The universe froze.
"You two must get engaged within six months. Otherwise, Riko will accept Minato-kun's proposal. Deal?"
Riko panicked internally. Six months? Not marriage, just engagement. Fake one. Perfect.
She smiled awkwardly. "Hai, wakatta. Yes, Okaa-san."
Her mom beamed and ended the call.
Silence filled the café.
Riko slowly turned toward the stranger she had just kidnapped emotionally.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered.
Kaito stared at her like a tired cat who had accepted suffering long ago.
"I didn't agree to an engagement," he murmured.
"I know, I know," Riko said quickly, pressing her palms together like she was praying. "But six months. I'll be done with my stylist program. My mom will stop sending omiai photos. You won't have to be around always, just occasionally. A call, a visit, one festival selfie maybe. I don't know."
He blinked.
She leaned closer, whispering, "Please. I'm desperate. I'll buy you coffee for life."
"No."
"Okay, two coffees. And occasional matcha."
"Sakuragi-san."
She bowed deeply. "Onegai."
He closed his eyes like he was negotiating with gravity. Then sighed, long and defeated.
"Fine. Six months."
Riko gasped like she'd been revived.
He added, "But only minimal interaction. And no dramatic things."
"Of course. I'm the calmest person alive," she lied, sweating like a startled dumpling.
They exchanged numbers. Kaito packed his laptop, gave a small bow, and left the café like a mysterious storm cloud with decent posture.
After He Leaves
"Riko, what did we just witness?" Aya asked, wide-eyed.
"Was that delusion or fate? I'm scared," Yumi whispered.
Riko collapsed onto the table. "I'm insane."
"No, you're just from Kyoto," Aya said. "Polite panic looks dramatic."
Yumi leaned in. "He seemed kind. And serious."
"And sleepy," Aya added.
Riko groaned, face buried in the pastry. "I kidnapped a man."
"No," Yumi said. "You borrowed him."
"Same thing."
They laughed softly, the tired kind of laugh that comes after surviving something ridiculous.
Tokyo smells like ambition and iced lattes.
I came here to chase scissors and dreams.
I didn't think I'd accidentally adopt a mysterious man with long hair in the process.
Six months. Just six.
What could possibly go wrong?
Right?