The teenage boy sitting across from her had been staring at her for half an hour now. Even though he'd ordered the luxurious "699 Nostalgic Female High School Uniform Massage" package, the woman was starting to feel unnerved by his intense gaze.
But why would a high school student spend so much money just to see soone in a school uniform? Hadn't he seen enough of them at school?
At 24 years old, masseuse No. 7 had always prided herself on her ability to convincingly cosplay as a high school girl. But now, faced with the real deal—a genuine high schooler—she felt her career confidence waver like never before. This kid's face... there was no doubt about it; he'd probably dated actual high school girls. She couldn't help but wonder if he'd ask her to help him with math howork next. After all, she'd only attended vocational school—not exactly Ivy League material.
"Why do you do this?" the boy suddenly asked.
"Huh?" she replied, caught off guard.
"You're pretty. Why are you doing this job?"
"My dad got hooked on gambling when I was little," she began, reciting the well-rehearsed story.
"That's not an excuse," he cut her off sharply. "Doesn't it affect your grades?"
"I'm not a student—I'm cosplaying. I don't have grades. Just performance trics."
"But wouldn't people talk? If you ever brought soone ho, you'd have to explain it to family and friends. And then there's the stigma—you'd need a plan to clean up that black mark on your reputation."
Sweat beaded on her forehead. Was this guy serious? Such a young age, yet already harboring so kind of savior complex. Still, looking at him, maybe it wasn't entirely out of the question.
"It'll make switching careers harder later, too," he continued, his tone analytical. "Say you beco famous one day. Soone will dig up your past and comnt online: 'An entertainer once discarded by businessn, now treated like gold.' Stuff like that."
He paused thoughtfully. "If there's any upside, it's that clients might pay more for your services. But if they've got that kind of cash, why wouldn't they just book—"
"For fuck's sake, what's wrong with you?!" she snapped, losing her composure.
She felt humiliated, mocked even. Wearing the uniform was awkward enough without being ridiculed by so smug teenager.
"I quit! Screw your feet—and screw your attitude while you're at it!"
She stord toward the door, ready to leave.
"Then refund my 699," he said calmly.
"You got 40 minutes of a 70-minute service. You think I owe you anything?"
"Fine. Refund 400, and throw in a 399 coupon. I saw them at the front desk earlier." His voice carried an air of certainty.
………..
With the coupon in hand, Lin Tian stepped out of the spa into the cool night air. The streets were still damp from the recent downpour, puddles reflecting the dim glow of streetlights. He sighed, glancing at the glowing interface hovering before him: Producer System.
No luck again. Not a single suitable candidate.
Lin Tian had lived 18 unremarkable years in this parallel world until last week, when he unexpectedly bound himself to the "All-Rounder Producer" system. The catch? He couldn't activate it alone—he needed a female partner. By cultivating her into an idol adored by millions, Lin Tian could boost his own stats and unlock rewards from his previous life: novels, music, manga, scripts—the works.
The problem? Despite his handso face, which drew envy from countless n, Lin Tian's social circle barely extended beyond textbooks. Finding a girl willing to team up with him seed impossible. Desperate, he'd turned to the foot massage parlor—a place where n could et attractive won at relatively low cost. But as he'd quickly discovered, these won were entrenched in their craft. Dressing them up as idols wouldn't change the fact that they'd likely pitch bizarre hybrid services like "Handshake Event Concert Outfit Massage."
Clearly, rushing things wouldn't work. Choosing the wrong partner could doom him to a lifeti managing the Golden Foot Spa chain—or worse, training its legion of masseuses. Sure, he'd earn the title "King of Foot Massages," revered by legions of beautiful masseuses, but where was the glory in that?
Stepping onto the subway ho, Lin Tian let his thoughts drift. At 18, he wasn't particularly passionate about foot massages anyway. For now, his dreams lay elsewhere.
---
Lin Tian lived alone in a cheap rental apartnt within an old neighborhood near the city's second ring road. Though rundown, the location was perfect for a commuting student like him—just six stops from school and close to downtown. The building backed onto a quiet café owned by an elderly man nad Gan, whose white hair belied his energetic deanor. Gan often checked in on Lin Tian, offering snacks or homade wine during holidays. In return, Lin Tian occasionally bought coffee he didn't drink just to support the business—even though Gan rarely accepted paynt.
That evening, however, sothing felt different. The café lights were off, the doors locked tight. It was barely nine o'clock—far earlier than usual. Confused, Lin Tian peered through the glass door. That's when it opened.
A girl carrying a cello stepped out, her plain features frad by a neat ponytail. She wore the sa high school uniform as Lin Tian but exuded an aura of detachnt, her eyes distant and hollow.
"You need sothing?" she asked softly.
"Where's Grandpa Gan?"
"He's not here. I'm watching the shop tonight."
"And you are…?"
"His granddaughter."
"Oh."
"Mm."
Their brief exchange ended as abruptly as it began. Without another word, the girl brushed past him, her cello case grazing his shoulder. She tossed a bag of trash into a nearby bin, locked the café door behind her, and disappeared inside.
Lin Tian watched her go, puzzled. When had Grandpa Gan ntioned having a granddaughter who attended the sa high school? Then again, he realized guiltily, he'd never bothered to learn much about Gan's personal life. Perhaps asking to cut through the café tonight wasn't worth the effort—not with her icy deanor making conversation seem like a chore.
---
Climbing the stairs to his sixth-floor apartnt, Lin Tian spotted her again. This ti, she sat perched precariously on the railing outside unit 603, her legs dangling over the edge. Her cello rested beside her.
What's she doing? Trying to catch so fresh air? Or maybe searching for a lost cat? Lin Tian thought to himself and then joked inwardly. She's not thinking of jumping, is she?
The girl also noticed Lin Tian, She turned around, her expression unreadable.
"Hmm… If you are thinking about jumping, could you choose a different location? Preferably not in front of my door?" Lin Tian asked.
"Okay."
Gently, she shifted along the railing to unit 602.
"That's not much different there. How about moving to another floor?"
"If I fall from lower down, I probably won't die."
"That depends. Head-first might work." Lin Tian considered suggesting tying the cello to her head for balance—but dismissed the idea almost imdiately. Helping her would make him a murderer. Not ideal.
"Roof?"
"The roof's locked. I don't have a key."
"Oh, pull the lock down—it's fake."
Her eyes lit up with understanding. Slowly, she swung her legs back over the railing and hopped down. "Thanks."
"No problem." Lin Tian nodded, pulling out his keys to unlock his door. As he did, the girl hesitated, retracing her steps.
"One last favor—could you hold onto this for ?" She held out her cello case hopefully.
"Sorry, can't do that," Lin Tian replied apologetically.
"Alright." Disappointnt flickered across her face. "Goodnight, then."
"You too. Sleep well."
As she ascended to the rooftop, Lin Tian entered his apartnt, grabbed a stale bottle of cold brew coffee from the fridge, and flopped onto the couch. Cracking open his laptop, he settled in for a relaxing evening.
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