I can’t believe I agreed to this, Aki thought, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt.

All he’d wanted was a liter of milk. Instead, Denji and Power came back with a flyer from a “weird stray kid.”

Do you have a lonely single friend in Tokyo who needs company?

They’d smirked, shoved a pen in his hand, and tricked him into signing what turned out to be a blind date show application. By the time he realized, producers were already calling his name.

Now here he sat—powder on his face, lights blinding, a microphone clipped to his lapel—trapped on a plywood stage decorated with crooked hearts and cheap tinsel.

The host waddled out in a corduroy suit that had survived the 70s, his toupee trembling under the heat. He introduced the other bachelors: first, a nervous man who couldn’t stop mentioning his mother; second, a slick-haired braggart oozing arrogance in a wrinkled white suit.

“And now, our third bachelor!” the host boomed, thrusting the mic at Aki.

“My name is Aki Hayakawa,” he said evenly, posture stiff in the oversized heart-shaped chair.

“And what do you do, Aki?”

“I’m a public safety officer Devil Hunter. The work is demanding, but I take it seriously.”

“And for fun?”

“I read. Cook. Quiet things.”

The audience chuckled. Aki pressed his lips together, wishing he could disappear.

The host clapped, turning to the glittery wall. “And now—the star of tonight’s show!”

Canned drumroll blasted. The spotlight brightened, revealing a silhouette behind the glowing heart.

“She loves karaoke, too much convenience-store ice cream, princess treatment, and says her dream man can cook, listens carefully, and—” a wink—“isn’t afraid of romance!”

The shadow shifted, hand lifting in a shy wave. The audience gasped and cheered.

For the first time that evening, Aki’s chest tightened—not with dread, but something warmer, unfamiliar.

“Tokyo!” the host roared. “Give it up—for our lady of love tonight!”