Alexandra Ivanovna Romanova
'Wait, does this mean this is an event from the original story?'
Something was off.
If she was supposed to appear at this exact moment, the protagonist, Sakamoto Ryuji, should have been here in Akihabara.
From what I'd observed so far, the introductions to events from the original story seemed to happen no matter what.
But I was the one who met her first, and the protagonist was still nowhere in sight.
In that case, it was safe to assume this was before her first appearance in the original story.
'So the main heroine of the original story is being chased by fellow Russians.'
To be honest, I still didn't fully grasp the situation.
The men I saw earlier all had formidable builds; they looked like they'd had proper combat training.
Sasha probably wouldn't last long on her own.
Not knowing the future, I couldn't decide whether to leave her be or protect her.
I was pondering this with a serious expression.
Sasha, who had been watching me cautiously, took out the wad of cash I'd seen earlier from her handbag.
"I'll hire you as my bodyguard. You just have to protect me until 7 PM tonight. I'll even pay you upfront. What do you say? It's a pretty good deal for a job that only takes about six hours, right?"
I felt my heart pound at the bundle of cash suddenly placed before me.
Whoa, hold on.
Calm down. This has to be a trap.
She's offering a stranger she just met a huge sum of money for a job like this?
Trying my best not to show how flustered I was, I asked Sasha in a calm voice.
"You're going to hire me with this?"
At that, Sasha narrowed her eyes and pulled out another wad of cash from her handbag.
"Fine. So one million yen isn't enough for you? Then if you succeed in protecting me until 7 PM, I'll give you another million yen. I can't go any higher than that."
I was trying to talk things out calmly, but the amount instantly doubled.
My head was spinning.
W-with this kind of money, I could forget about manga; I could buy the power rack I'd only ever dreamed of because it was so expensive.
It was enough money to build a home gym, one of the ultimate dreams of every fitness enthusiast.
Without realizing it, I grabbed the bundles of cash on the table.
"I'll do it."
"Hehe, then we have a deal."
What's the big deal? I just have to last for about six more hours, right?
I shared a firm handshake with Sasha, who was smiling knowingly.
***
Alexandra Ivanovna Romanova.
The Russian girl, usually called Sasha by those close to her, smiled triumphantly.
'I got lucky.'
She had come to Japan under the pretext of being an exchange student, a rare opportunity.
But her worrisome Papa and his underlings were far too overprotective.
That was why she had snuck out of her hotel in Shibuya with cash she'd secretly withdrawn from her card.
However, pursued by bodyguards with some of the best combat skills in Russia, her little escapade was about to end in vain just an hour after it began.
It was then that she ran into the Korean man before her, Kim Yu-seong, in an alley.
'This man is strong.'
Having grown up with her Papa, known as Russia's God of Destruction, Sasha could roughly sense the strength of others.
And among all the people from the underworld Sasha had met, this man, Kim Yu-seong, ranked in the upper-middle tier of strength.
A fighter of this caliber could buy her a good amount of time, even against Boris, the man her father had personally assigned to guard her.
To run into a fighter this strong in a foreign land while fleeing her bodyguards—it could only be described as a stroke of heavenly luck.
"Two bowls of tonkotsu ramen! Enjoy your meal!"
As she snapped her chopsticks apart to taste the Japanese ramen that had finally arrived, Sasha calculated the remaining time.
'Six more hours… that should be enough time to do some sightseeing in Akihabara, right?'
If she went back after having a reasonable amount of fun, Papa probably wouldn't be too angry.
And so, with that meticulous calculation, their time together began.
***
After finishing our ramen, we returned to Chuo Dori.
This was purely because of Sasha's outfit; her original black blouse and long, frilly skirt were quite restrictive.
She ducked into a random clothing store, bought a pair of jeans and a baseball jacket, and quickly changed in the fitting room.
Since she was naturally beautiful, she looked like a model in whatever she wore.
After asking the clerk to ship her original clothes to a certain hotel, she pulled on a baseball cap and strode over.
"So, do I look like a local now?"
"Honestly, more like a tourist than a local."
Even though this was a manga world with all sorts of colorful hair, her silver hair, which was almost blue, was quite unique.
It was the kind of color that screamed "plot device to emphasize the heroine's individuality."
"Tch, you have high standards."
Tying her long, waist-length hair into a ponytail while looking in a mirror, Sasha asked me.
"Are there any good places to check out around here? This is my first time in Japan."
"Aren't you on the run from kidnappers? I don't think we have time for leisurely sightseeing."
"It's actually better if there are more eyes on us. No matter how reckless they are, they won't be able to make a move so easily among a crowd of civilians."
I wasn't thrilled about it, but I decided to go along with her plan for now.
If things went south, I would just have to protect her.
"Then let's get moving. If we stay in one place for too long, they'll find us."
"By the way, who are these people trying to kidnap you that you're so cautious?"
As she opened the store door to leave, Sasha glanced back and answered.
"Former elite agents of the KGB."
…KGB? What's that? The only KGB I know is a lemon-flavored vodka.
***
I'll be honest.
In 21st-century Tokyo.
In the bustling heart of the city, no less, I never expected the kidnappers targeting Sasha to start a fight so brazenly.
"You said they wouldn't dare make a move with so many people watching!"
I yelled urgently as I dodged a fist that grazed past my head. Sasha, who was holed up in a phone booth fending off men in black suits, shouted back.
"I didn't think they'd be this reckless!"
"Dammit!"
I quickly kicked away a beefy guy in front of me, then grabbed the scruffs of the ones trying to force open the phone booth and threw them aside.
"Gah!"
The foreign men passed out with agonized groans, probably because their carotid arteries were momentarily compressed when I grabbed their collars.
But I had no time to spare for them; I had to swing my fists at the next wave of beefy guys rushing in.
'They're definitely on a different level from your neighborhood thugs.'
A normal person would break with just a little force, but these men in front of me could actually take a hit.
It was probably due to their incredibly developed muscles, which were obvious even through their clothes.
But the situation could only be described as them picking the wrong opponent.
It might seem unfair from their perspective, but in a romantic comedy, the one with the bigger muscles always wins.
"Монстр!"
After nearly ten minutes of fighting one against many in the same spot, it was clear they were the ones being pushed back. One of the Russians surrounding me scowled and shouted.
It was Russian, so I didn't know what it meant, but it was obviously not a compliment.
Words shouted in a situation like this are usually curses.
As the battle lulled and the beefy guys just hesitated, eyeing each other, unwilling to attack rashly, I counted the remaining numbers.
One, two, three, four…
Fighting frantically while surrounded by men in black suits, I realized the original group of nearly twenty had been reduced to less than half.
'I think I can handle this.'
Just as I thought that and clenched my fists.
"Все отступите."
A deep, heavy voice suddenly came from behind the foreign men blocking our path.
"Капитан Борис!"
He must have been their superior, as they quickly stepped aside to the left and right, saluting with sharp precision.
I consider myself pretty tall, but the foreign man, who was nearly two meters tall, strode forward and glared at me.
'He's strong.'
I had never met him before, but I could feel it instinctively.
The Russian before me was a born fighter.
As my eyes met with his—he had no eyebrows—my muscles, already warmed up from taking down the grunts, surged with vitality.
It was as if my body was rejoicing.
At finally meeting an opponent worthy of a fight.
I had no idea how things had gotten to this point, but I was left with only one option.
'Fight.'