When he opened his eyes, the first thing that hit him was the noise—the low hum of conversations, the clatter of glasses, the bitter stench of tobacco and the heavy, oppressive reek of liquor hanging thick in the air.
For a moment, he couldn't help but be taken aback.
He wasn't dead?
That was impossible.
He could still feel it—the sharp pain of getting shot in the head after he'd just finished banging some desperate woman who thought spreading her legs would win her a shortcut into stardom.
A woman so pathetically desperate she'd still had the gall to beg him for favors, only to be fucked over—literally and figuratively—because her useless, good-for-nothing husband showed up and lost his goddamn mind.
Grabbing the nearest glass without thinking, he downed the red wine in one harsh gulp.
The mellow, bitter taste slid down his throat and grounded him just enough to start piecing together where he was.
A bar.
He was in a damn bar.
Not exactly the most graceful place to wake up after dying.
He needed to leave—get the hell out of here—but the woman sitting beside him didn't seem too eager to let him go.
"Hikaru, are you really planning to leave?" she said, her voice edged with a nervous kind of sweetness. "You know it's going to look bad for me if you take off now. My family's gonna figure out we're just pretending to be a couple, and they'll start setting me up on blind dates with other guys again."
He stared at her, unimpressed.
And what the hell did that have to do with him?
Your blind date problems are exactly that—your damn problems. He didn't give a shit about anyone else's love life, especially when it didn't offer him a damn thing in return. Why should he play pretend for a woman who wasn't even giving him anything worth his time?
Unless, of course...
She dropped the act and spread her legs for him—let him fuck her brains out and paint her pussy white—then maybe, just maybe, he could be persuaded to pretend a little longer.
But judging by how tightly she was clinging to her modesty, that wasn't happening.
So he pulled his hand away from hers, not even trying to be gentle about it.
The woman, stubborn as ever, clung onto him a second longer, making his frown deepen.
"Let go of me, woman."
"Are you really sure?" she asked, looking at him like she couldn't believe he'd just walk away from whatever fantasy she was trying to spin.
"Yes," he replied coldly, not leaving any room for argument.
Finally, she relented, sighing in defeat.
"You can go, Hikaru," she said, her tone softer now, but her eyes still wary. "But don't go home just yet. Wait until morning, okay? Let me tell my family we spent the night together at a love hotel. It'll make things easier for me."
He paused for a moment at the statement, and when he finally paid proper attention to the woman's features, he was taken aback.
What the hell?
Why was Haruno Yukinoshita standing here?
Wasn't she supposed to be a character from that anime he used to binge when he was still a bored, horny teenager?
Did he actually get transmigrated into an anime world?
And stuck inside this body named Hikaru, of all people?
"Hikaru... Hey, Hikaru... You're scaring me," the woman said, faking an exaggerated look of fear while covering her body dramatically like she was some cheap actress in a third-rate soap opera.
"Don't tell me you're thinking about forcing yourself onto me just because you find me too beautiful to resist?" she teased, flashing a smirk that only made his face darken in annoyance at her shitty joke.
"Don't make stupid jokes like that, Haruno. What if I actually was?" he shot back, his glare cold and sharp—though it didn't last long.
Because the moment he really looked at her—at her gorgeous face, those teasing eyes, those curves barely hidden under her casual clothes—his expression twisted into something a whole lot more wicked.
A raw, base hunger flickered in his gaze as he shamelessly licked his lips, drinking in the sight before him without even trying to hide it.
Goddamn.
She was absolutely fucking breathtaking.
Haruno Yukinoshita wasn't just cute like the anime had shown—she was a fucking knockout in real life.
Gorgeous, dangerous curves that practically dared a man to sin.
Honestly, it wouldn't even be a loss if he dragged her off to some sleazy love hotel and spent the whole damn night screwing her ass.
Hell, he'd call that a goddamn win.
Now it was Haruno's turn to have her expression darken like the bottom of a burnt pot.
"Your jokes suck just as much, Hikaru," she huffed, pouting in that typical bratty way that didn't match the dangerous beauty she was packing.
"Alright, alright, I surrender. Just don't go making creepy jokes again. It doesn't suit you, Hikaru," she added, shaking her head as if she was talking to some reckless little brother instead of a guy who was seriously weighing the pros and cons of throwing her over his shoulder.
He simply shrugged, completely unfazed. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Anyway, I'm leaving, Haruno. I don't see any point sticking around."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned his back on her and walked away, his interest already dead.
Why should he waste his time?
If he couldn't touch her, couldn't kiss her, couldn't even taste that perfect body—then what the fuck was the point?
To "gain her goodwill"?
Please, bitch.
If sweet-talking a woman for a couple of hours could make her fall for you, every pathetic loser would've been swimming in pussy by now.
That's not how the real game worked.
Every second you wasted chatting and simping, thinking you were making progress, she was mentally filing you under "pathetic"—and lining herself up for the guy who actually knew how to take what he wanted.
It wasn't misogyny.
It was fact. Cold, ugly fact.
If he really wanted to win a woman like Haruno, it wasn't going to happen by chatting her up like some simpering idiot desperate for a pat on the head.
Women weren't swayed by talking.
They fell for power. For presence. For that gut-punch attraction that left them breathless without even knowing why.
And none of those were in play right now.
As he walked around the bar, his eyes caught sight of a girl with striking purple hair, sitting alone, seemingly drowning in her own sorrow.
There were stars in her eyes, but they were hollow, empty—her expression was blank, dazed, as she mechanically downed glass after glass of red wine without even tasting it.
Hikaru's eyes lit up immediately.
Opportunity.
His instincts practically screamed at him—this one's easy. Vulnerable, broken, right on the edge.
All he had to do was push the right buttons, whisper the right lies, and she'd be naked in his bed before sunrise.
He didn't give a single shit that he still hadn't inherited the memories of this new body or figured out who he really was in this world.
One thing was certain—getting pussy was a universal language.
And he knew her.
Ai Hoshino.
His scumbag instincts howled in delight.
Target acquired.
Without missing a beat, he calmly approached her, not hesitating for even a moment. Playing the part of a gentleman to the letter, he asked for her permission with a smoothness that almost felt natural.
"Mind if I join you, pretty girl?" he asked, voice low and easy, a charming smile playing on his lips, his face the perfect mask of calm.
She barely glanced up at him, the faintest flicker of recognition flashing in her eyes before she returned her gaze to her drink, as if the world around her didn't even matter.
"I'll take that as a refusal, then?" he said, feigning a wounded tone, just enough to be playful.
She shook her head slowly.
"You can take your seat, Mister," she murmured, her voice soft, almost too fragile for the noisy bar.
"Hikaru. My name's Hikaru. And you, pretty girl? What's your name?" he said as he slid into the seat beside her, his tone gentle, almost affectionate.
"Ai. Ai Hoshino," she hiccupped, her voice trembling.
Unlike the bright, sparkling idol he remembered from his previous life—the girl who shone on stage like the sun itself—this Ai was nothing like that. No fake smiles, no bubbly laugh, no forced sunshine.
Just a broken woman, crumbling quietly in the corner of a dim bar.
And, by the looks of it, she wasn't even an idol yet.
Not yet.
Lucky me, he thought, his heart pounding with an intoxicating mix of lust and opportunity.
"Rough night, huh?" Hikaru asked softly.
She nodded weakly, but said nothing, choosing instead to drown herself deeper in the bitter comfort of her wine.
"Same here," he continued, lowering his voice as if confessing a deep personal wound.
"See that woman over there?" He pointed a finger casually at Haruno, who was sitting alone in another corner, nursing a drink of her own. "We've been dating for three years—since high school. And guess what, girl? She dumped my sorry ass today. Turns out, I was nothing but a pawn to her, just a prop to keep her parents off her back about arranged marriage and blind dates."
He let out a dry, humorless chuckle, one that spoke more of bitterness than amusement.
"I never dated anyone before her. Never kissed anyone. Never even knew what love was supposed to feel like until her. And I gave her everything—every piece of me I had to offer. But to her, I was just a tool. Nothing more. I meant nothing."
He paused, letting the weight of the words hang heavy in the air.
"Pathetic, right?" he said, a self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips.
Hikaru lowered his gaze, letting his expression twist into something genuinely miserable.
His eyes even reddened slightly, as if trying to force out tears.
In truth, he was thinking back to his past life—to the absurd wealth, the endless influence, the unimaginable power he had once wielded. All of it gone, wiped clean by one stupid, meaningless death.
The grief, the rage, the loss—all of it was real enough to bleed into his performance, making it heartbreakingly genuine.
Even Ai, shattered as she was, cast a soft, sympathetic glance toward him.
"You're not pathetic, Mister," she said quietly, almost whispering, her voice trembling with something like sincerity. "I believe... you'll find another love someday."
"I don't believe it," Hikaru said, the mistrust clearly showing on his face. "You just wanted to comfort me, didn't you, girl? I knew it."
She stayed silent, because deep down, she knew he was right. She only wanted to ease his pain when she saw that heartbreaking look on his face. She didn't want to see him sad, didn't want to see him crushed like that.
"And what about you, girl?" Hikaru asked, his voice quieter now, almost tentative. "Have you ever loved someone in your life?"
"Love?" She let out a long sigh, the weight of her life etched all over her expression. "That's a luxury word, even for someone like me, Mister."
"Then we're the same, girl," Hikaru said with a crooked grin, wiping away a few fake crocodile tears from his face. "We're just two people who've never had anyone truly love us."
He leaned in closer, his eyes sparking with a sudden idea. "I've got something in mind. What about it, girl? Why don't you become my heroine?"
"Isn't this a little too fast, Mister?" Ai Hoshino looked at him with a gaze full of doubt and hesitation.
Hikaru blinked, then gave a look like he suddenly understood what she was thinking. He chuckled softly and replied, "I'm not talking about that kind of heroine, girl. I'm talking about making a movie—our movie. You'll be the heroine on the big screen. I may look like some reckless young guy, but trust me, I'll make sure you become a star, someone loved and adored by thousands, by millions."
He cast his gaze into the distance, his voice carrying a quiet conviction. "We might not have gotten love from the ones we wanted it from... but we can still win the love of others. The love of future audiences who will cheer for us, cry for us, remember us."
"I don't think I'm fit to become a star, Mister," Ai said, shaking her head, a flicker of regret flashing across her face.
And right at the moment when she was at her lowest, when her heart was full of doubt and fear, Hikaru didn't hesitate. He reached out and grabbed her hand firmly, the warmth of his touch grounding her.
"Don't say that, girl," he said with quiet strength. "And stop calling me Mister. Just call me Hikaru."
He tightened his grip slightly, as if to anchor her to his words. "You do have the potential to become a star. I believe in your future, in your talent, in your beauty. I'm not just saying this—I mean it. You're the most gorgeous girl I've ever laid eyes on."
He had no money. No influence. No reputation to speak of. Nothing tangible to offer.
But that sheer, unshakable confidence he carried—as if he already had the world in the palm of his hand despite having nothing at all?
That was what made Ai Hoshino listen to him.
That was what lit a tiny spark inside her, making her start to believe in herself again.
Then, as if realizing something a little too late, her face flushed a deep red at his close contact, but she didn't pull away.
Maybe she was affected by his confidence, maybe she was simply too nervous to move, caught up in thinking that he really was a genuine director who had already shot countless movies.
Now, facing this supposed big shot right in front of her, how could she not feel nervous?
"Um... Director Hikaru?" she finally spoke, her voice a little shaky.
"Ah... Yes, I apologize. I was being too forward, Ai-chan." Hikaru withdrew his hand from her gently, offering an apology as if he hadn't meant to be that intimate in the first place.
"I just got a little too excited seeing the potential in you. If you don't mind, could you share your phone number with me? Let's talk again tomorrow—it's already midnight, after all."
"Yes, Director." Ai Hoshino obediently recited her phone number, while Hikaru pretended to type it into the smartphone he pulled from his pocket.
In truth, he didn't even know the damn password to unlock the phone—the original owner of this body had left him nothing but scraps—but appearances had to be kept.
Confidence was everything. Strength was everything. If he wanted to truly win her over, he couldn't afford even a single crack in his act.
He smirked faintly as he slipped the useless phone back into his pocket.
Extending his hand toward her with a bright, charming smile, he said, "Thank you, Ai-chan. Thank you for being willing to become my heroine."
She hesitated for a moment, then accepted the handshake, though a small frown tugged at her lips. "But, Director, I haven't agreed yet to become your heroine."
"That's not a problem. There's no need to rush things." He chuckled lightly. "Goodnight, my heroine."
"Goodnight, Director Hikaru." She smiled back at him, but it was a bitter smile, as if she had already given up trying to convince him otherwise—that she wasn't ready for the role he was forcing onto her.
As their handshake ended, Hikaru reached out and gently brushed her hair with his fingertips, the gesture casual but lingering. "Next time, smile more, Ai-chan. A heroine should always shine brightly for her fans."
Leaving her with those words of advice, Hikaru turned around and walked away without so much as a backward glance.
Ai Hoshino stood there, staring at his retreating back, dazed and confused, her heart pounding with emotions she couldn't even begin to comprehend.