Vol3 Chapter 10: Care

Zatoichi, the manager of Takamagahara, was in his office when he heard a major figure from the Uesugi family had arrived. He couldn’t afford to be careless, so he rushed over to take charge.

In Japan, the Inuyama family ruled the nightlife industry, and no one in the trade dared cross them. Host clubs, a branch of that world, were no exception. And the Uesugi family, part of the Snake Eight Clans, was equally untouchable.

Though the underworld usually left host clubs alone, collecting protection fees with minimal interference, Zatoichi wasn’t taking chances.

He hurried over, only to find his staff failing miserably. Despite their best efforts, they couldn’t even get a smile from the Uesugi young lady, let alone stir a ripple. It was a disgrace to Takamagahara’s “art of male charm,” and Zatoichi felt the club’s reputation crumbling.

So he decided to step in himself. At the private room’s door, he peered through the gap: the cool, detached Uesugi miss sat on the sofa, one hand clutching a champagne bottle, the other an empty glass, staring blankly ahead, cheeks flushed unnaturally. She radiated a “strangers keep out, friends don’t bother me” vibe.

His prized “elite” hosts surrounded her, unsure whether to stand or sit, faces etched with defeat and confusion. On the floor lay a phone with a cracked screen—clearly her handiwork. With his keen senses, Zatoichi could faintly make out Chinese text on it.

He rubbed his shiny bald head, adjusted the oversized, rhinestone-encrusted bow tie at his chest, took a deep breath, and pushed open the heavy door.

“Ahem.” He cleared his throat, drawing attention with a polished smile blending fatherly care and top-tier host charm. “Gentlemen, well done. But our esteemed guest needs more… personalized service.” His voice was resonant, magnetic, soothing.

The hosts, relieved yet ashamed, cast grateful glances and stepped back, clearing a path to Bai Ci.

Zatoichi approached the coffee table with steady, graceful steps. Instead of crowding her like the others, he bowed impeccably, then spoke in Chinese: “Miss Uesugi, I’m the manager of Takamagahara. You can call me Zatoichi.” His tone softened. “It’s an honor to have you here. You seem out of sorts—is our hospitality lacking, or is the atmosphere not to your liking?”

Finally hearing something human, Bai Ci’s eyes shifted slowly, barely focusing on the flamboyantly dressed, burly bald man. Her gaze remained dull, tinged with alcohol-fueled haze and confusion.

“They…” Her voice was slurred, faintly nasal, pointing at the silent hosts. “Noisy.”

Zatoichi’s smile held, but his heart sank. The Uesugi miss’s two-word critique could ruin these hosts’ careers. He turned, his gaze sharp. “You heard her. Miss Uesugi needs quiet. Out.”

The hosts, as if pardoned, filed out with a mix of relief and dejection, leaving the room silent save for the faint pop of champagne bubbles and distant music.

Zatoichi turned back to Bai Ci, lowering his posture. “Now, Miss Uesugi, it’s quiet. Would you share what’s troubling you? I’m something of an expert in listening and comforting.”

Bai Ci was silent, as if processing his words or struggling through the alcohol’s fog. Suddenly, she grabbed the champagne bottle, drinking straight from it, golden liquid dripping from her lips.

“‘Oh,’” she murmured, voice soft, laced with confusion and a hint of grievance.

Zatoichi blinked. “‘Oh’?”

“Mm.” She nodded vigorously, as if finding a confidant, despite him being a stranger and a host club manager. At least he spoke Chinese. “I… took photos… sent them to him… waited… so long… just got… ‘oh.’ And he asked if I… went into the trade.” Her words were halting, disjointed, but clear enough.

Zatoichi understood instantly. Her distress wasn’t about Takamagahara but a cold response from someone important. The phone-throwing, the drowning in alcohol, the indifference to a room of handsome men—it all made sense. He quickly calculated: someone who mattered this much to the Uesugi miss was no ordinary person. Another Snake Eight Clans member? A noble from another family? Either way, it was beyond his pay grade.

But his professional instincts kicked in. He adopted a look of deep sympathy, his voice softer, soothing: “I see. That feeling—pouring your heart out, only to get a cold reply—it’s like a icy rain soaking your soul. It’s not your fault, Miss Uesugi. Perhaps he’s caught up in mundane affairs, too busy to notice? Or… maybe he’s just dense, missing the intent behind your photos?”

“Teach… me?” Her quiet voice made the seasoned Zatoichi’s heart skip.

Teach? Teach what? Teach the Uesugi miss how to chase a man? Sweat beaded on his bald head. His skills were for charming women—now she wanted him to teach her to pursue a guy?

Zatoichi lowered his head, pondering. He could list a thousand ways to make a girl smile, but a guy? He had no experience…

The art of male charm wasn’t for pleasing men!

The room’s air thickened, the champagne’s sweetness mixing with an invisible pressure. Zatoichi’s signature smile faltered, his mind racing for a way to navigate this drunken Uesugi miss, the watchful woman outside, and the mysterious “oh” guy.

Outside, Sakura’s ice-blue eyes peered through the door’s gap, taking in everything. She saw Zatoichi’s frozen smile, the sweat on his brow, and Bai Ci, fixated on the manager, awaiting an answer.

Sakura’s fingers brushed her knife’s hilt unconsciously.

She hesitated.

The Young Master said to “watch” Miss Bai Ci and let her “have fun.” Now, she was in a host club, drunk, asking the manager for love advice. Did this count as “watching”?

Should she drag her out?

But Bai Ci seemed… invested, in a mix of alcohol and grievance-fueled obsession.

Sakura’s brow furrowed slightly. She decided to keep watching.

Zatoichi scratched his bald head, visibly troubled. “Miss Uesugi, everyone’s different—there’s no universal method. Those hosts’ performances would sway many girls, but you didn’t react. That’s just individual differences.”

“How to chase someone can’t be taught. The best way is practice—finding what makes them happy.” He adopted a wise, experienced tone.

“Any other way?”

Zatoichi paused. “Then you’d analyze their specific likes. Do you know what this person enjoys?”

“Gaming, anime, snacking. His favorite character is Mikuru Asahina…”

Zatoichi froze. A… nerd? How did these two even meet?

“Anything else?”

“He talks behind people’s backs, has sneaky thoughts sometimes, likes ogling girls’ legs from the academy chairs, super timid, kind of a loser.”

“?”

What? Why him?

Sweat glistened on Zatoichi’s bald head under the lights. His decades-long understanding of “male charm” and “female pursuit” crumbled before this mystery guy’s “tastes.”

Gaming? Anime? Mikuru Asahina?

He pictured a big-chested maid girl—worlds apart from his “art of male charm” elites!

And the rest—gossiping, scheming, leering at legs, “timid and loser-ish”?

This… wasn’t someone worth the Uesugi miss drowning her sorrows over or throwing her phone for! He sounded like a punk needing a lesson!

Zatoichi’s breathing hitched. He wiped his sweaty head again, his rhinestone bow tie quivering with his chest, reflecting a panicked glow. He opened his mouth, throat catching, letting out a confused: “…Huh?”

The room fell dead silent, only the faint hiss of champagne bubbles rising. Bai Ci’s alcohol-hazed eyes fixed on him with stubborn intensity, awaiting a revelation from a “professional.”

He thought for a moment, then raised his voice with exaggerated, epiphany-like passion to break the stifling silence. “He’s a very… unique individual! Such… distinct tastes! Such unpretentious authenticity! In our flashy industry, he’s… a breath of fresh air! Yes, a breath of fresh air!”

“This kind of man!” Zatoichi straightened, voice confident, as if he hadn’t just stumbled. “His heart is pure! Like… an anime protagonist! Seemingly ordinary, but with unique inner brilliance!”

Bai Ci listened intently.

“To win him over, you need sincerity, shared happy memories. Fancy tricks are just baggage. His ‘oh’ reply? Maybe his mind blanked. He didn’t get why you’d be in a place like this, so he didn’t know what to say—maybe a clumsy… concern.”

Bai Ci squinted, processing his words slowly through the alcohol’s haze. She tilted her head, dark hair sliding to one side, revealing a flushed ear.

Zatoichi felt he’d nailed it—she was smiling.

…

Lu Mingfei glanced at his phone, seeing no new messages, and put it away.

Mad?

He could tell it was staged. Her smile in the photo was fake—she didn’t look happy. Her real smile wasn’t like that.

Her pose was stiff, awkward, like a lamb in a wolf’s den.

He was a bit annoyed too.

You left without telling me?

And that was a forced kiss—you initiated it!

A sly, petty thought crept in…