Otaku and gyarus were like oil and water—two groups that were never supposed to mix.
And yet, here we were—the otaku and the gyaru—facing off over a busty bishoujo figure from Breast-Kyun.
Actually, if we’d just happened to run into each other, there might have been some saving grace. If I, the otaku, had been the one targeting this figure, running into Ichinose would have simply ended with her calling me "seriously gross," and that would have been the end of it.
But the moment Ichinose saw me, the first thing out of her mouth was, "Hey, you! That’s the machine I was using!" Effectively, she’d admitted that she was the one playing it.
In other words, she had backed herself into a corner where she couldn’t talk her way out of the fact that she was trying to win a figure of a girl with massive breasts.
"W-Wait... don't tell me you're here to get dirt on me..."
Her face was beet-red with agitation as she leveled a finger at me.
(Here we go again. Otaku-prejudice time.)
Miyama had been the same way, but it seemed gyarus truly believed otaku were creatures who lived for nothing but leverage over others.
(Even if an otaku like me had dirt on someone, it's not like I have anyone to tell. I couldn't do anything with it anyway.)
Truth be told, if I were allowed, I’d much rather bury my face in Ichinose’s soft, massive chest and thick, fleshy thighs.
"Hey... why don't you say something?"
As I stood there silently, watching the situation unfold like a distant observer, Ichinose spoke in a trembling voice.
"You’re planning to spread rumors at school about how I was trying to win a f-figure, aren't you? You're going to try and ruin me!"
"I need you to calm down. That’s not why I’m here."
"Then why are you here? This is the next town over!"
She had me there.
I couldn't exactly tell her that I’d gotten a tip from Miyama just so I could ask her about what happened this morning. If she found out I was in league with Miyama, the secret about the busty figure would only become a much heavier burden.
(In that case... I'll go with the Sympathy Tactic.)
"A-Actually! I came here to get this figure too, or something like that!"
A perfect retort. With this, I could hide the fact that I’d followed her here because of Miyama.
"Wait, you were after Milk-tan, too...?"
Milk-tan was the name of the girl the figure was based on. She was a beautiful, white-haired girl with twintails whose signature move involved spraying breast milk from her size-110 bust to blind her enemies. She was, to put it mildly, a very erotic character. (Though the prize version wore a yellow bikini, so one couldn't actually witness the milk-spraying in person.)
Wait, hold on.
If she was calling her "Milk-tan," did that mean Ichinose wasn't doing this for resale or as a gift?
Alright, time to dig deeper.
"B-By the way, Ichinose, why were you after this figure?"
"............"
No reply. Ichinose twirled a strand of her brown hair around her finger, looking away with a guilty, awkward expression. Her silence made her stance clear: she had no intention of answering.
"Uh, was it to give to someone? Or were you planning to resell it—"
The moment the words left my mouth, she snapped.
Ichinose suddenly closed the distance and grabbed the collar of my school uniform with a white-knuckled grip.
"Don't you dare lump me in with those pieces of trash!"
The usually lethargic, downer Ichinose had suddenly become incredibly emotional. It seemed the word "resale" was a major landmine.
"I was... I was trying to win it myself so I wouldn't have to give in to those people! Don't you dare compare me to a scalper!"
Boiling with rage, Ichinose pulled on my collar, bringing her face so close I thought she might headbutt me. As her beautiful, well-defined features filled my vision, I couldn't help but feel flustered.
(Crap... she's not so much scary as she is way too cute. And man, she smells incredible...)
The pleasant, citrusy scent of her perfume stimulated my nose. This was the fragrance of a gyaru... a rich, floral scent that was entirely different from Miyama's.
"Are you even listening to me?"
Ichinose looked genuinely livid, as if she were seconds away from punching me.
(This is bad.)
Right now, in Ichinose's eyes, I was nothing but the enemy. I realized there was only one choice left if I wanted to settle this.
(...It can't be helped. I can't afford to be stingy with my money right now.)
While she still held me by the collar, I fished my wallet out of my back pocket and slotted a hundred-yen coin into the UFO Catcher.
"Hey! What do you think you're—"
"Quiet."
"Huh?"
"And could you let go of my collar? I need to focus."
Having entered Concentration Mode, I spoke with an air of authority while cracking my knuckles. Surprisingly, Ichinose actually let go and stepped back.
"W-What the... your vibe just totally changed."
Yes. Whenever I started playing a UFO Catcher, a different persona—a "mode"—took over. This was the result of extreme focus and specialized techniques I’d honed since puberty for the sole purpose of winning bishoujo figures. To make it work, I had to be in the zone.
UFO Catchers aren't so simple that you can win in a single try. That’s why "nudging" the prize is so vital. You have to stroke the box into a winnable position before finally pushing it down with the arm.
"Alright, here we go."
I moved the crane with practiced, fluid motions. In just five plays, I successfully dropped the figure.
"Th-That's incredible. You're seriously good at this."
See that, gyaru? This is the power of an otaku who usually has nothing to brag about in sports or academics. Underestimate an otaku at your own peril.
I retrieved the figure from the prize chute and pressed it against Ichinose's chest.
"Here."
"Wait... are you sure?"
"Of course."
"What do you mean 'of course'? You're the one who won it, and you said you wanted it too..."
"I think the only reason I could win it so easily was because of the work you'd already put in. So, it belongs to you."
I straightened my disheveled uniform. Inwardly, I was screaming: Please let this figure be enough of a tribute to get me off the hook!
(Well, now that I've paid my dues, hopefully we can both agree that today never happened.)
I felt bad for Miyama, but I was in no state to ask about this morning. To think that the downer gyaru Yuria Ichinose was a fan of Breast-Kyun... honestly, I would have preferred not to know.
"Anyway, Ichinose, let's both just forget about today—"
"Are you not going to make fun of me?" she interrupted.
"Make fun of you? Why?"
"Because... it’s weird! A girl—a high school girl like me—liking a smutty anime like this! It’s wrong no matter how you look at it!"
Ichinose grit her teeth, her face twisted with bitterness. I wondered if she, like Miyama, had been hurt by someone's words in the past. Even so, I felt she was wrong.
"That’s an insult to the series."
"Eh?"
"Even if it's a smutty anime where the characters spray breast milk, there's nothing wrong with standing tall and saying you like what you like... or at least, that's what I believe. I've never once felt ashamed of the things I love."
In my case, I don't even bother with book covers for my light novels. There's nothing to be ashamed of. That’s the path of an otaku.
"I-I don't think there's anything wrong with keeping your hobbies to yourself, but I think you should stop disparaging a work you actually enjoy."
"...!"
I accidentally ended up lecturing her, even though I was at the bottom of the class and she was at the top of the social hierarchy. I wasn't really in a position to be talking down to her, but...
(Well, I never found out what she meant this morning, but I should probably make my exit.)
"Sorry, Ichinose. I'm going home."
"............"
"Let's just both forget today happened. It's for the best."
"I don't want to..."
"Huh? No, it’s better for you too if—"
"Because... I'm an otaku, too!"
"What?"
The sudden confession from Yuria Ichinose hit me like a ton of bricks. It wasn't just an "Otaku-friendly Gyaru," a creature I thought only existed in fiction; a genuine Otaku Gyaru was standing right in front of me.