Weren’t You Only Using Me As A Stand-in? [84]

After a heated argument with Shirogane Miyuki, Shirogane Kei stormed out of the building in a huff.

“Senpai? What are you doing here?”

The moment she reached the bottom of the stairs and looked up, she saw Kitahara Takeru leaning casually against a sleek black-and-white motorbike.

Its design was bold, its curves clean—power and speed embodied in metal.
Even Kei, someone who didn’t care a bit about bikes, found it objectively cool.

“I waited forever at the store, but you didn’t show. Sent you a message, but you didn’t respond. So I figured I’d come check on you.”

Takeru said it casually—then seemed to notice something. He smirked.

“Took a shower?”

“Ah, uhm, I—uh...”

Kei stammered like a kid caught red-handed, her cheeks dusted a light pink.

She’d put real effort into looking nice—like a girl prepping for a date.
Then her senpai shows up, compliments her, and immediately points out something had changed.

Girls are emotional creatures. Details matter.

And Takeru’s attentiveness—his ability to pick up on those details—made Kei feel noticed. Valued.

A mix of embarrassment and sweetness bloomed in her chest, like tasting early-spring satsuma mandarins—part tang, part honey.

She peeked up at him, only to meet his teasing gaze. Immediately, she looked down again.

“How... how did you know?”

“Next time, dry your hair properly before you come down. I’m not in a rush.”

One look was enough—still-damp black hair and flushed skin under a light blouse made it obvious she’d just showered.

Long hair took time to blow dry. But Kei hadn’t wanted to keep him waiting, so she’d only dried it partway before rushing to put on makeup.

“Yes!”

Her voice was crisp and obedient—utterly different from the attitude she showed her brother.

People are strange creatures.

We often reserve our worst tempers for the people closest to us, and our best behavior for those more distant.

“Let’s go.”

Takeru straddled the bike.

“Wait... we’re riding that?”

Kei looked at the narrow backseat, clearly unsure.

Thanks to shoujo manga, she firmly believed the front passenger seat of a car—and the rear seat of a motorcycle—were places only girlfriends should occupy.

If she got on now, wasn’t that the same as admitting she accepted that role?

No way. No way!

A girl should be reserved!

“What’re you thinking? Don’t you have a bicycle at home?”

Takeru was giving her an odd look, as if she was the weird one.

“You ride your bike. I’ll take mine.”

“...”

Kei’s mouth fell open.

Wait—what?

Wasn’t he supposed to invite her onto the back seat like in manga?
She’d refuse, he’d get annoyed, and finally force her on?
What was this nonsense about riding separately?!

Takeru saw her stunned expression and raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me... you wanted to sit on the back?”

If he was the only one on the bike, he only needed to worry about himself.

But if he let Kei ride pillion, he had to take responsibility for her safety.
Even if the odds were low—what if something did happen?

And besides, their relationship wasn’t that close.

If he had a four-wheeler, fine. But he wasn’t old enough to drive a car.

Kei blurted, “Of course not!”

“Great. Then let’s go,” Takeru said, gesturing for her to hurry.

Kei felt a strange pang of disappointment.

She’d secretly hoped for the manga version of events...

Of course, even if he had offered, there was no way she would’ve gotten on.

Turning her head, she spotted her brother.

And instantly, her icy attitude returned. Her expression froze over.

She didn’t explain anything, didn’t greet him, just went to fetch their only bike.

Any time the two siblings fought, it was tradition not to speak for at least three days.

Miyuki didn’t look at her—his attention was locked on Takeru.

That glare of his was so sharp, Takeru half believed this guy had a murder on his record.

“Who are you?”

While Kei was off retrieving the bike, Miyuki finally found a chance to confront this punk with yellow—no, white—hair.

He glared, trying to intimidate him with sheer presence.

Back in school, he used to hate his own eyes—they were too harsh, too cold. His sharp gaze made people nervous. It lost him friends.

But today? Today, he was grateful for them.

Takeru calmly answered, “Kitahara Takeru, from Seijo.”

He’d noticed Miyuki staring daggers at him earlier but hadn’t cared.

“Seijo?”

That surprised Miyuki.

He’d assumed this guy was some deadbeat from a public school.

But Seijo was a top private high school.

He actually considered applying once, but Seijo had given its full-ride scholarships to students from Hokkaidō, and his father had gone ahead and submitted his paperwork to Shuchi'in instead.

Wait a second—

“You’re that third-place scorer in the national mock exams?”

“Yup,” Takeru said casually. “Though next time, I’ll be first.”

A vein popped on Miyuki’s forehead.

“Oh? Confident, aren’t you? You think you can beat me?”

Grades were all Miyuki had.

That was the one thing he refused to lose at.

At first, he hadn’t disliked Takeru.

If his sister was dating this guy, he might’ve accepted it—if he passed character inspection and dated under strict observation.

“You only beat me by one point, right?”

Takeru shrugged. Even without "cheats," he was sure he could beat Miyuki.

They weren’t that far apart.

Miyuki bit out, “One point is still a win.”

He said it firmly—but the confidence in his tone had cracked.

How could he not feel the pressure? Above him, Shijō Maki led by dozens of points. Behind him, Takeru was nipping at his heels.

“Let’s go, Senpai.”

Kei had returned, pushing her bike.

“Sure.”

Takeru had no desire to waste precious fishing time on this argument.
He wasn’t Connor McGregor.

Helmet on, ignition turned.

VROOOOM

The engine growled—drawing a few curious glances from windows above.

“I’ll head off then.”

Takeru gave Miyuki a polite nod, then rolled off.

Kei, puzzled that her brother didn’t try to stop her, pedaled off soon after.

Study. Now.

Takeru’s words had reignited Miyuki’s drive.

His mind was already deep in exam prep mode.

As for stopping Kei?

Now that he knew her companion was Kitahara Takeru, he lost the will.

They were from different schools, sure—but Takeru had a good reputation.

Even students from Shuchi'in who’d met him had praised him.

Even Shinomiya Kaguya once said, “He’s... decent.”

That alone said enough.

Kaguya was rarely wrong about people.

But mostly, Miyuki knew this: the more he objected, the more Kei would rebel.

Of course, Takeru didn’t really make Kei bike all the way to the fishing spot.

They rode to the nearest train station, parked, and took the subway to the same riverside location as last time.

Takeru glanced around—no sign of the old man who usually fished here.

“Which rod do you want?”

“Anything’s fine.”

Takeru handed her his new Ichigeki Sakura—a beginner-friendly rod—and helped her prep the line and bait.

They settled in.

“Fought with your brother today?” Takeru asked casually, eyes on the water.

Kei and Miyuki’s place was nothing like his.

It was cheap. Not much more than a shelter from the elements.

Cheap meant... you got what you paid for.

Even from outside, Takeru had heard some of their shouting.

Kei bit her lip and gave a soft hum of affirmation.

When Takeru didn’t press, she hesitated—then spoke up on her own:

“My brother’s great and all, but he always treats me like a kid!”

Takeru chuckled. “You want his approval, right?”

Kei stared at him, surprised. “How did you know, Senpai?”

He always gets me.

Takeru didn’t look away from the lake. “I was your age once. I know exactly what that feels like.”

“Whose approval did you want, Senpai?” she couldn’t help but ask.

Takeru reeled in slightly and answered, offhanded: “My dad’s.”

Getting your mother’s approval meant you’re ready to support the family.
Getting your father’s meant you’re strong enough to carry it.

Every man, at some point, craves their father’s approval.

“My whole life has been chasing that.”

The relationship between Chinese fathers and sons might be one of the most complex in the world.

They’re rulers and subjects. Enemies and friends.

They’re only truly father and son when one of them is lying in a hospital bed.

“...”

Kei stared at him in silence.

“When my mom cooked my favorite dish, she’d keep piling it into my bowl. My dad? He wouldn’t even touch it.”

“I used to have a temper like him. But unlike him... I wasn’t strong.”

Takeru hated his father’s temper. But unfortunately, he inherited it.

“I couldn’t endure what he did. Couldn’t support what he held up.”

“I looked down on that rundown house... but I didn’t even have one.”

A bitter smile tugged at his lips.

“Sorry. Got carried away.”

Kei’s fight with her brother had triggered something in him.

Kei asked softly, “But you’re amazing now, Senpai. He must be proud, right?”

“No.”

He paused. Then added, “Probably never will be.”

The father-son dynamic is like a final exam.

No practice test. No retakes.

“I’m sorry.”

Kei looked genuinely remorseful.

“I’m used to it.”

Takeru shook his head, brushing it off.

“You’ve got a bite!”

“Eh?!”

Kei whipped her head toward the lake.

“I don’t see it—”

“I meant your rod.”

“AH!”

...

One hour later.

Takeru looked into his tackle box.

For the first time ever—it was full.

Not that he’d caught a single fish.

Even after switching rods and spots with Kei, he hadn’t reeled in a single bite.

Meanwhile, Kei had caught over twenty.

He was beginning to doubt reality.

Is she... some kind of river goddess?

At this point, he suspected she might be the daughter of the Dragon King.

“Senpai, quick! I’ve got a big one!”

Takeru jolted to attention.

“Coming!”

They grabbed the rod together and tried to pull the fish in.

It was huge—both of them struggled to reel it in.

Takeru began coaching her through the technique.

After a long tug-of-war, they finally hauled it in.

“It’s huge!”

Kei’s eyes sparkled at the sight of the massive, fat fish.

“How many meals could this feed?!”

“How big is it, Senpai?”

She was so excited, she completely forgot to play it cool.

Takeru weighed it. “Let’s see... Whoa—ten pounds!”

“Wait a sec... that looks more like eight.”

Kei peered closer.

“Fishing rule number one,” Takeru said solemnly. “We round up.”

Every angler knows: one pound becomes three. Four becomes six.
He once saw a guy call 1.5 pounds “three easy.”

“Oh.”

Kei nodded in half-understanding.

“Come on, help me take a photo!”

Of course he was posting this. Time to flex.

He handed her his phone, lifted the ten-pounder, and beamed his brightest, whitest grin.

As Kei took the phone, a stream of message notifications popped up—

[Kasumigaoka Utaha]: If you’re unhappy, don’t come. I didn’t force you to do anything.
[Shijō Maki]: Takeru!! Tanuma invited me out this weekend. What kind of outfit do you think I should wear?
[Sawamura Spencer Eriri]: Takeru! There’s a con this weekend. You’re coming with me!
[Kashiwagi Nagisa]: I’m really looking forward to our date~ 😊
[Katsura Kotonoha]: Takeru, how was the lemon water this morning? Hope it suited your taste.
[Kitagawa Marin]: Kitahara-kun 💕 Don’t forget you promised to take my cosplay pics this weekend 😘📸

Kei’s smile vanished.

Her expression turned ice-cold as she stared at Takeru like he was human trash.

---

T/N: wow that looks bad

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!