"No one pays attention to an unattractive woman."
The words cut through the haze of perfume and cigarette smoke like a knife.
In the world of women, judgment could be sharper than any man's blade.
Luna Fujiwara didn't blink. Her gaze was cool, sharp as glass.
"That's not true."
She raised her glass, took a slow, deliberate sip, and set it down like a professor about to begin a lecture.
"Number of regular customers × average spending ÷ working hours.
That's all you need to know if someone will sell—or fail."
Her opponent froze, caught off guard.
In Tokyo's red-light district, Kabukicho, math was as foreign as another planet's language.
For a heartbeat, even the bass-heavy music seemed to fade.
"I don't sell champagne with my looks," Luna said, her voice steady.
"I sell it with my brain."
She wasn't exaggerating.
IQ 135—top three percent in the world.
A science and engineering graduate.
And the only hostess in Kabukicho crazy enough to drag marketing theory into the neon-lit battlefield of a nightclub.
Plain black hair tied in a simple knot. Understated makeup. No flirty giggle.
She looked nothing like the queens of the night around her.
But she was about to prove that desire could be engineered—
not with beauty,
not with charm,
but with pure, calculated logic.
And tonight, the experiment would begin.
If she failed, the city would swallow her whole.