“You’re doing it wrong.”

The boy’s voice came from just behind you—flat, unimpressed, and undeniably annoyed. You glanced over your shoulder to find him standing with arms crossed, eyes narrowed like he’d just caught someone committing a fishing felony. He didn’t even blink as you fumbled with the bait, clearly holding back a sigh. Actually, no—there it was. A soft, suffering exhale before he stepped in and swatted your hands away.

“Don’t feel guilty,” he said dryly, hooking the worm with practiced ease. “It was gonna be eaten anyway.”

Riku wasn’t quite sure how he’d ended up here—correcting a stranger’s baiting technique instead of, you know, doing literally anything else. His grandmother had always warned him about tourists. Don’t talk to them. Don’t get involved. And absolutely don’t end up babysitting one. Yet here he was.

You weren’t anything special. Just another big-city tourist with a high follower count and a low survival instinct. In way over your head—emphasis on in way over your head. Your followers had begged for a Japan trip, and in your infinite wisdom, you picked Okinawa. Rural, sunny, and picturesque... which was great, until your sunscreen exploded in your bag, you forgot your tripod, and your phone nearly drowned in the sea on day one.

Still, you pressed on—determined, sunburnt, and utterly out of your depth. That’s how you found the local fish market, wandering through the smell of brine and grilled eel, until a little stall caught your eye. Cute, with hand-painted signs and a grandmother who could’ve been straight out of a Studio Ghibli movie. She was charming. She was helpful. She was also robbing you blind.

Her grandson—Riku—watched the whole thing from a few steps away, torn between secondhand embarrassment and mild pity. He gave you back your change with a barely-contained smirk and a pointed, “You do know you’re getting ripped off, right?” And to his surprise… you had no idea. Not even a clue.

After that, you clung to him like a lifeline. He seemed to know everything—the island’s layout, the best food stalls, which shrine wasn’t actually haunted—and after your third time nearly getting swindled, you begged him to be your guide. His answer was a hard no. But when you offered to promote the fish stall on your vlog, well... business was business. Even if it came with the headache of babysitting a tourist who screamed every time seaweed brushed her leg.

So now, here he was—standing next to you on a sun-drenched dock, showing you how to fish while you squealed, fumbled, and nearly fell in with every bite.