Tokyo—
a city of contradictions.
A metropolis built on order, yet overflowing with absurdity and romance.
Absurdity: here, you could find people in every kind of clothing from every corner of the world. Fourteen million souls packed together, the city blazing like wildfire against the night sky—drawing in countless fireflies who couldn't resist its heat.
Romance: this city birthed culture almost to the point of madness. The island's ancient traditions—its samurai, its cherry blossoms, its shrines and tea ceremonies—had melted into the modern current, reforged into an irresistible feast of pop imagination.
Here, no matter how strange you were, Tokyo would swallow you whole and make you ordinary.
Under moonlit torii gates and neon skies, in Akihabara—the shrine of otaku culture—Tokyo Tower still stood like a quiet sentinel, shining over a civilization forever shedding petals.
It was a city more outrageous than any heaven or hell mankind had ever dreamed of. But life was still life.
Even the greatest emperor must eat, drink, and sleep; and so must Tokyo. Beneath all its chaos and wonder, it was still held together by the smallest things—rice and salt, oil and tea, the quiet heartbeat of ordinary days.
Dou Tang and Huaiyin changed their shoes at the door and stepped out into the world. Truthfully, Dou Tang wasn't looking forward to the trip. He'd agreed to meet Kume Chinatsu
mostly so Huaiyin could get some fresh air. Spending a day with someone her own age would surely be better than tagging along with him.
Whether Huaiyin felt the same—he couldn't say.
He'd chosen a simple white dress for her—light, airy, modest. On her small frame, it made her look even softer, almost ethereal. With her ponytail tied by two yellow hair clips, she looked utterly out of place in this steel jungle.
Yes—out of place.
Dou Tang thought she simply didn't belong here at all.
She belonged somewhere else—perhaps a quiet town nestled between green mountains,
where fireworks bloomed above a summer festival, and she'd be the girl in a yukata, smiling shyly over a candy apple.
She was the heartbeat of a fleeting youth: the girl by the window as summer wind lifted the classroom curtains, idly doodling in her notebook. You turned your head, and just as she looked up, the curtain fell between you. When she pulled it aside, her eyes met yours with mock annoyance—and in that instant, you knew you were lost.
That was Huaiyin.
And that was why Dou Tang never wanted her too close.
Every cold word, every sharp deflection—it was all to keep her safe, to make her stay away from what he truly was.
Because what he represented was death. Resentment.
The unseen dark of Tokyo.
For him to walk beside her… that was the real mismatch.
Today, Dou Tang dressed casually—nothing like his usual tracksuit. He didn't want Kume Chinatsu recognizing him at first glance.
Lu Zizhen had once dragged him out for an entire day of shopping, insisting she'd be his personal stylist—his Tomoyo to his Sakura. She'd wanted to film him exorcising spirits in "cool" outfits.
She'd eventually given up; no matter how sharp the clothes, they vanished the moment he transformed.
Still, he'd kept the outfit she picked: a black T-shirt under a sleeveless vest, loose cropped samurai-style pants, and custom black-and-gray Nike Black Bamboo sneakers she'd ordered online. Her words still echoed in his head:
"Do you even know what a universally wearable techwear shoe is?"
He'd even worn long black sleeves to complete the look—all deep, shadowy tones from head to toe.
When Huaiyin saw him, she rummaged around and handed him a pair of black UV-protection arm covers.
He raised a brow but slipped them on obediently.
She stepped back, studied him, and nodded in satisfaction.
Black from head to toe, gray and white accents breaking the monotony—the layered cut of the pants and vest gave depth to the outfit.
The two of them—one in black, one in white—left home and boarded the train to Ikebukuro.
At the heart of Toshima Ward, Ikebukuro pulsed like a living organism—just as youthful and restless as Shinjuku.
If Shinjuku and Ikebukuro represented Tokyo itself, it was because they embodied everything people imagined the city to be: stylish, frenetic, theatrical.
Everywhere you looked, a hundred stories seemed to be unfolding—each one stranger and more vivid than any drama ever written.
And countless stories had begun here.
The roar of the Headless Rider's motorcycle still echoed through these streets.
Ikebukuro had become the counterpoint to Akihabara's subculture—thriving on otome and BL
fandoms.
Step out from the south exit of Ikebukuro Station, and you'd see it instantly—the convenience store plastered with posters of the latest otome releases, the window displays glittering with handsome 2D men.
Huaiyin gazed at them curiously, then at Dou Tang's broad back as he walked ahead with hands in his pockets. She shook her head quickly and trotted to catch up.
Their meeting place was a patisserie near the south exit—bou'ange, a popular dessert café.
But before they could get close, they noticed a crowd gathered outside. A ring of onlookers stood at the door, phones raised, murmuring excitedly.
Dou Tang didn't bring Huaiyin into the crowd. Instead, he stopped a short distance away and sent a message through SNS.
[Dou Tang]: Kume-san, we're at Ikebukuro. Where are you?
A moment later, the reply came:
[Kume Chinatsu]: Got it! Is little Huaiyin with you?
[Dou Tang]: Yeah. We're doing some shopping first. Hope you don't mind.
[Kume Chinatsu]: Not at all! I can't wait to meet her! But, um… could you wait a bit? I've got something to take care of—just a tiny thing!
She was busy?
Before he could reply, Huaiyin tugged his sleeve.
"Brother… you said we could splurge a little today, right?" "That's right," he said. "Did you have somewhere in mind?"
She pointed toward the very café they were supposed to meet at.
"That place… I saw it on Twitter before. Their croissants looked really good…" He glanced at the crowd again, hesitated—then nodded.
Huaiyin rarely asked for anything. If she wanted it, he'd make it happen. "Alright then. Let's take a look. We're meeting there anyway."
Hand in hand, they approached the patisserie.
About a dozen people stood outside—mostly young women, not customers but spectators. Each one was glued to her phone, snapping photos through the window.
Huaiyin hesitated, shrinking a little at the commotion, but Dou Tang strode forward without concern, gently pulling her along.
The girls outside parted instinctively as the pair entered.
Inside, half the shop floor was taken over by cameramen and sound crew—equipment everywhere.
Huaiyin whispered,
"Brother… maybe we should leave. I think they're filming a variety show…"
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