Weren’t You Only Using Me As A Stand-in? [117]

After catching a real whiff of something sweet on Kitahara Takeru, Kitagawa Marin couldn’t help leaning in even closer.

The nearer she got, the better he smelled. That fragrance clung to him like an invisible magnet, making her want to close the distance even more.

“Hey, what are you doing!”

Takeru, looking at Marin standing on tiptoe in front of him, seemed ready to kiss him. He knew she’d probably still miss his lips even if she jumped—but just in case, he leaned back strategically to widen the space between them.

“Gomen, gomen!”

It wasn’t until he spoke that Marin snapped out of it, bowing hard in apology.

Thud!

The two of them had been standing way too close. As Marin bent forward, her head smacked straight into Takeru’s chest with a solid thump.

Takeru hadn’t dodged, nor was he being careless. It was just that in this shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, packed tight like sardines, he literally had no space to move.

Marin rubbed her forehead. “Takeru, are you okay?”

“Was that payback for me charging you for your cosplay shoot?”

“No way! I really did smell something super nice on you just now.”

“What are you even saying… I didn’t put on any cologne today.”

“It wasn’t cologne. I think it was your natural scent!”

“Body scent? Seriously? What, have you been reading too many romance novels?”

Nearby, Gojo Wakana watched the pair playfully bicker in front of him. Takeru was tall and striking, with a straight-backed posture. His vintage Americana butterfly-print polo and ivory casual slacks were styled so sharply, even someone like Gojo—who didn’t care about fashion—had to admit it looked good.

Marin, with her fair skin, beautiful features, and tall figure, looked perfect beside him. Just the two of them standing there already made for an eye-catching couple.

And Gojo wasn’t the only one who thought so. The people around them clearly noticed too.

“He’s so hot. Wonder if he’s got a girlfriend?”

“Forget it. Guys like that don’t stay on the market.”

“You think if we ask for a selfie later, he’ll say yes?”

A few girls in cosplay whispered among themselves, heads nearly touching.

“That’s weird. I wore that outfit last year—it looked terrible. How come it looks amazing on him?”

A nearby guy couldn’t make sense of it. Why didn’t he look that good when he wore the same clothes?

“Ever consider the issue might be your face?”

“Trust me, with that face and body of his, he could wrap himself in a potato sack and girls would still call him hot.”

“If I looked like him, I’d go shirtless and just walk down the street.”

“Yeah? You wanna get arrested?”

“I thought this was an anime con! What’s a damn normie doing here? Normies shouldn’t come and desecrate our sacred otaku haven!”

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s here to collect ‘stamps.’ Once he’s picked his target, he’ll cozy up to them, and next thing you know, he’s dragging them to a hotel.”

“Tokyo pretty boys are all like that, right? Flash a smile, crack a joke, then sneak a hand under some poor girl’s skirt. And the worst part? The girls let them.”

Not everyone had kind things to say about Kitahara Takeru.

In fact, a lot of the otaku guys were starting to hate his guts just by looking at him.

The anime scene these days wasn’t what it used to be.

Back then, if someone accused you of being an otaku, you’d vehemently deny it—at best, you’d admit to watching a bit of anime. But now? People practically tattooed it on their foreheads.

And it wasn’t just that. The community now had its own hierarchy.

If you didn’t buy merch, didn’t cosplay, didn’t spend money on your favorite series, you weren’t a real fan.

Even spending money wasn’t enough. If your cosplay wasn’t accurate or you couldn’t answer trivia questions, they’d still kick you out of their little club.

If you were a newbie who got into anime through Attack on Titan or Chainsaw Man, and accidentally mentioned it, they’d laugh and call you a trend-chasing normie.

Sure, there were people using the anime fan label to sleep around.

To these guys, Takeru was exactly that sort—pretending to be into anime just to score with cosplayers.

“Isn’t that girl beside him already his girlfriend?”

“Didn’t she come with that other guy, though?”

“Yeah, the other guy’s not bad-looking either, but… come on. Look who he’s standing next to.”

“Don’t judge people by appearances, guys.”

“Okay then—between the dude in the baseball cap and the one in the purple kimono, who would you pick?”

“Duh, the baseball cap guy! Wait—don’t get me wrong, I just really like baseball!”

“Bullshit! You don’t even know the rules!”

Gojo Wakana listened to the chatter around them, growing more and more uncomfortable. The bitter feeling churning in his chest was his alone to bear.

What stung the most wasn’t that he couldn’t talk back—it was that even he thought Kitahara Takeru and Marin looked good together.

It was like shipping your own girlfriend with another guy—and being into it.

Gojo didn’t want to think like that, but faced with someone like Takeru, who even he found ridiculously handsome, it was hard to summon the will to compete.

And truthfully, it wasn’t just him. Most boys Gojo’s age were sensitive and insecure.

“Kitagawa-san, aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Noticing Gojo’s constant glances, Takeru smiled warmly in his direction.

Gojo reflexively smiled back.

“Oh, right!” Marin lit up. “Takeru, this is Gojo Wakana. He’s a super talented designer—he made this outfit I’m wearing right now. What do you think?”

She lifted her skirt slightly and twirled.

Takeru studied it for a moment and praised sincerely, “It’s really well made. Your craftsmanship is impressive.”

He’d taken Home Economics too, but barely scraped a passing grade.

“Th-thank you.”

“Gojo-kun, this is Kitahara Takeru—you’ve probably heard his cover of ‘Lemon’, right? It was everywhere a while back. Even Yoru-san, the original songwriter, liked the video.”

“I spent a whole month’s allowance to book him for today!”

The doors are open.

Before they could exchange any more greetings, the convention hall doors swung wide.

At the moment the gates opened, the people at the back were fine—but the ones at the front? They surged forward like zombies who’d caught the scent of fresh meat.

Takeru, Marin, and Gojo were near the front, and immediately got swept up in the crowd.

“Takeru!”

Marin, wearing thick platform heels, stumbled when someone bumped into her from behind. About to fall, she instinctively reached out for him.

Takeru, though already being pushed forward, reached his hand back.

The second his palm found hers—soft and warm—he grabbed it tightly.

Once inside the hall, the crowd began to spread out. Panting, Takeru turned back and said, “Kitagawa-san, you… Who are you?”

He stared, dumbfounded, at the girl beside him. She was dressed in a deep crimson loungewear-style outfit, a unique badge pinned to her cap, and a mask covering her face.

Doma Umaru sighed in exasperation. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”

Guys… who gets it? I came to this convention and got randomly yanked away by some stranger.

And where did he even get that grip strength? No matter how hard I pulled, I couldn’t break free!

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T/N: gremlin

This is a fan translation of 不是说只拿我当替身的吗？by 雪碧加冰. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!