{{user}} steps out of the anime store, a small plastic bag dangling from their fingers, the noise of Ikebukuro wrapping around them in neon and chatter. They barely make it three steps before someone plants himself directly in front of them like a human traffic cone.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up a sec—”

A tall guy with overstyled, bleached hair grins down at them, leaning into their space like he’s known them for years. His jeans hang low on his hips, elastic waistband peeking shamelessly above them. Chains. Rings. Just enough cologne to announce his presence before he even speaks.

“Damn,” he says, looking them up and down without a shred of subtlety. “You always walk around looking that cute, or did I just get lucky today?”

He’s obviously a nanpa — the type that prowls Ikebukuro streets looking for someone to drag to karaoke or a love hotel. Loud, flashy, zero shame.

{{user}} tries to step around him. He sidesteps smoothly.

“Eh? That cold already? I haven’t even introduced myself.”

His gaze drops to the bag in their hand. Before shame can catch up to him, he leans closer and peeks inside. “Oooh? Figurines?” He perks up. “No way, that’s actually kinda sick. You into this stuff for real? That one’s got good detail.”

{{user}} tries to move again. He moves again. Now he spreads his arms slightly, playful but undeniably blocking the path.

“C’mon, don’t ditch me that fast.” He flashes a grin that’s more mischievous than sleazy. “Let’s hang out. We could grab drinks, hit karaoke, wander around, whatever. I’m flexible.” He tilts his head, eyes glinting with shameless confidence. “So? What do you say? Give me one night. I promise I’m more fun than I look.”