My senpai at work decided to take a few of us from the office to a hostess club. At the time, I thought it was a necessary inconvenience. I didn't go to these places, but if I laughed a bit and had a few drinks no one would be able to tell the difference. If I made a good showing, they'd let me out early enough to catch an hour of gaming before bed.

The club was buried in a noisy district, sandwiched between sex shops, nightclubs and bars. Large neon billboards lit up the place advertising sex toys, massages and hotels. It was the kind of place where I thought you could drown in the lights and noise if you didn't have someone to hold on to, but I was a newbie. Up and down the street veterans of the red light district walked, fashionable men and women calling out to any and all pedestrians.

Hey, you look lonely, they would say. Come to our club, we have many pretty girls. Miss, you're beautiful. Have you ever thought about being a hostess?

This place is really amazing, I thought, and in a lot of ways, it was true. Maybe I don't belong here. For me, a man whose only experience with women were with the club members of the Genshiken, it was dangerous to swim in these waters. Amongst the sharks that patrolled in expensive suits and dresses I was a minnow, more likely to be swallowed whole by accident than catch the eyes and effort of a real predator.

My thoughts turned to our group. It was just a few of us, five in total from work, spearheaded by our senpai. This was his vice of choice, and he indulged in it as often as possible. He stood at the head of all conversations, his deep and loud voice rising to the top in any discussion and he kept our group chatty the entire trip from work. He seemed to be perennially stuck in the role of therapist, demanding that all of us tell him our problems. It didn't matter if someone asked about relationships when Senpai couldn't hold down a girlfriend for more than a few months at a time, he had an answer, parroted from proverbs and TV celebrities. Now as we got closer to our destination, the conversation was turning towards the evening's activities and thus was a little more bearable to listen to.

"Now you're in for a real treat, everyone," Senpai said. "Madarame is here with us tonight."

"You're excited about that?" another coworker said. "No offense, Madarame, but you look like a pretty plain guy."

"No offense taken," I said. It wasn't flattering, but I couldn't argue with that.

"Nonsense!" Senpai said. "Madarame here busts his ass in the office every single day."

"That's true," my detractor conceded, "but what does that have to do with this?"

"Idiot, haven't you ever heard of the saying, 'work hard, play hard?' I bet that inside of this timid, plain exterior there's a real beast lurking inside of Madarame."

The conversation carried all the way up until we got to the front desk, an expensive looking half-circle with a marble countertop and an intricate latticework below carved out of cherry wood. I stood back as my coworkers crowded near the front, pawing through a catalog of their girls. All around the guys in my group were naming their picks, hoping that Senpai shared their taste and would agree.

"Ah," one said, "she looks nice Senpai."

"What about this one?" another one asked. "It says she likes skiing. You used to ski, right?"

Senpai turned around and looked at me, my coworkers parting to accommodate his gaze.

"Madarame, what do you think?" he asked.

Sweat began running down my face and I approached the desk. I flipped through the pages, trying to come up with an answer. Oh, don't get me wrong, they were all pretty girls. An otaku wasn't just about the looks, though. There were little things, indescribable things that made up the attractiveness of a woman beyond the way her face was made up, how fashionable her dress was, or how she did her hair. With 2D, I was an expert at discerning these qualities but with 3D, I was lost. These glamour pictures couldn't convey whether a girl was a dojikko, tsundere, or osanajimi. Then again, I guess that was the point. Real women were concerned with covering up their weaknesses and couldn't comprehend that these weaknesses might be strengths. I closed the book then, resigned to not making a decision. If I blurted out a random name and my conversation with the girl was unenthusiastic, I'd look like an idiot.

However, as I was about to open my mouth, something caught my eye.

"Ah, this logo," I said, noticing it for the first time. "This is where Kyouko works?"

"This is exactly what I'm talking about!" Senpai slapped me on the back, his face welling up with pride. He looked like he was about to cry. "This is the real Madarame. Do any of you doubt me now?"

They murmured a combination of surprise and approval. I hadn't realized what it would mean when I said it, but I knew I saw that logo before. Had it been weeks, or months already? He was in the club room, playing with his PSP, when she walked in. Kasukabe Saki. It wasn't really her, of course, it had been Sasahara's little sister, Keiko. In that room and in that moment, though, she was the spitting image of her and that wasn't the least bit fair.

We were whisked away to a booth with expensive-looking white seats and I saw her, Sasahara Keiko, stage name Kyouko. She no longer was the girl trying to copy Saki-neesan. She wore a white dress, matching the color scheme of the establishment. Despite how fake glamour shots were, intended to sell a fantasy rather than reality, she matched up quite well. The group let out a collective gasp, and I felt hands clapping me on the back.

"Nice job, Madarame," they were saying.

"Good pick, good pick."

After the initial greetings it was a whirlwind of conversation. Kyouko was good. Not five minutes in and she had all their names memorized, and everyone had expensive drinks in their hand. I took a sip of my drink. Too bubbly. Senpai and a few of the others had their cigarettes out, puffing away while bombarding the hostess with questions.

"Kyouko, what are your hobbies?"

"Kyouko, have you ever been to France?"

"Kyouko, what do you look for in a guy?"

"Kyouko-chan, what do you think of Madarame here?" Senpai asked, gesturing to me.

She looked at me then, and her eyes widened. Maybe this was the first time she actually recognized me.

"He looks like a dependable guy," she said.

I swallowed. Is that all you really have to say about me?

"Yes, dependable." Senpai said, raising his glass. "Let me tell you Miss, he's the hardest worker in the office and worth two of any man!"

I saw Kyouko's eyes widen. "Really?"

I scratched the side of my face, just below the ear. Stubble was starting to set in. I needed to shave. I needed to be somewhere else.

"Absolutely. Let me tell you…"

He went on. Flattery is supposed to make you feel good, but this was just embarrassing. A small smile was widening on Kyouko's face and directly proportional to that were the frowns on my coworker's faces. My face was flushed, not because of the alcohol and inside something was withering away.

I wanted somebody, anybody to save me.

Then a coworker piped up, visibly frustrated with the direction of the conversation. "Kyouko, have you ever been skiing?"

"Yes, I love skiing!" I let out a sigh of relief as Keiko answered. "I'm very into sports, you know."

I sighed in relief and leaned back into my chair. More alcohol came and we drank it. The others lit up another round of cigarettes and Kyouko deftly lit them all. This place definitely seemed like her natural habitat. She didn't belong in a place like the Genshiken. By this point I had already lost the threads of conversation. Were we still talking about the Alps?

Ah, that's right, I thought. The new King's Cup fighting game was coming out. I needed to see if I could get a day off.

By the time my mind was off otaku things, Kyouko was handing out cards, the same as the one she gave me in the club room weeks ago. This was standard procedure for a hostess. They made a good portion of their money on alcohol commission, so these glamorous version of business cards made sure that repeat customers would ask for her by name.

"I didn't expect to be staying out this late," Senpai said. A buzzing sound came from his coat pocket.

"Is that your girlfriend, Senpai?" I asked.

"Yeah." He pulled out the phone and checked it, clicking his tongue. "Madarame, I need you to do me a favor."

"Sure, what is it?"

"Take Kyouko home."

I paused. "What?"

"Weren't you listening? The trains have stopped running. I'd do it myself, but my girlfriend—well, you know. Here, take this."

He passed me a wad of cash.

"This should be enough for a cab. See you tomorrow."

"Right." I looked at the cash and sighed. There was no way out of it. "See you tomorrow."

Outside, the hustle of the district died down a little. This place never truly closed, but at this hour the flow of pedestrians slowed to a trickle and some of the lights were off. It was peaceful, if you could find peace in a place where you were never more than a few hundred feet from people engaged in sexual intercourse. Keiko came out a few minutes after me, the smiles and pleasantry dropped as soon as she was off the clock. She no longer was Kyouko, just Sasahara's little sister.

"I'm beat," she said, groaning. She gave me a once over, as if to check if I was still the same person. "I thought you don't go to places like this."

"I don't, but Senpai insisted."

"And you're just the diligent little worker bee? Well, that's fine. Thanks for the business."

"I can't help it." My shoulders sagged. "That's why I'm in this situation."

"Actually, about that," Keiko said. "I can't go home tonight. Onee-chan is over and…"

She trailed off, but I got the gist of it. "Fine," I said. "Where are you going to go then, a friend's place or something?"

"I was thinking your place."

I sputtered. "W-what was that? I don't think I heard you."

"Oh, come on, just let me borrow your bed for tonight."

"I'm a man, you know!"

She laughed. "Please. I'll be completely safe."

"Even in the home of a monstrous otaku?"

"Hmm, I wouldn't call them monsters. Not the ones from the Genshiken, at least. Onee-chan is a good person, Ohno-san is normal enough and you, well, like I said. Diligent."

"I have figures there, you know. Doujinshi, too. Male-oriented doujinshi."

"It's just the same Genshiken stuff, right? Maybe I'm desensitized to it already."

There was no convincing her. The cab ride home was quiet, and the entire time my heart raced. This was far different than simply having Hato-kun or any other female member of Genshiken over. Inside, Keiko had no problem making herself at home. Her shoes were off and she was already relaxing on my bed.

"It really is just like the club room," she said, marveling at my collection of figures and manga.

"That's no surprise. We were the ones who bought most of it. Some of the stuff from the club room is from previous generations, but our tastes don't always match up."

"Well, I can see why you need this stuff, judging from how your senpai talked about you."

I thought about how to respond to that. "Having hobbies helps. The work helps me pay for all of this, so I can't complain."

A question entered my mind. One that I'd been holding for a while, and it seemed appropriate to ask. "So, why a hostess?"

"Simple. I get to dress up nice, talk to handsome guys and I get paid well. I have my beauty and my youth, so why not make money from it?"

"Ah, I see."

"It's not easy, though, so don't get that into your head. I have to spend a lot of time getting ready, and the hours go late, but you already know that. I have to drink more than I'd like to and the hangovers are bad."

"Yeah, that sounds tough."

She didn't say anything. Amidst antsy hands, shuffling feet and stilted conversation I hadn't found the urge to sleep. My mind shifted through all the things I could do to kill time. I didn't feel like playing games, reading doujinshi would be as uncomfortable as all hell with her around. In my mind's eye I could even see her peering over my shoulder. "Oh, so that's what you're into. How gross."

Finally she said something, and it wasn't what I expected at all.

"Hey, Madarame, have you thought about what I said last time? When we were in the clubroom?"

"What was it?"

"About you getting over Saki-neesan and asking someone else out."

I could feel the blood rushing to my face. She noticed, and her finger shot out, pointing directly at me.

"Don't try and change the subject either." Her voice was firm. "You can't run away from this."

For a long time I just looked at her. Nervous sweat ran down my forehead, amplified by the intense look in her eyes. I sighed.

"Maybe it's easy for you," I said, "Miss Hostess, and maybe it's just harder for guys like me."

Heartbeats passed and then she started to laugh. First it was bright and jovial. Like the way an adult laughs at the antics of a child, but an edge quickly started creeping in. It became a shaky laugh, balanced on stilts and barely kept together.

"You're kidding me," she said. "My brother and Onee-chan, Ohno-san and the guy with the topknot, even Saki-neesan and Kousaka-san. You think being an otaku makes you special?"

"Comparing me to Kousaka is—"

"—completely valid. So he's good looking. He's still just as weird as all of you. Cosplay, eroge, doujinshi. Saki-neesan is a saint…"

She trailed off. I realized that I was no longer looking at her, but at the ground. It was a natural reaction.

"Idiot," I heard her say.

Suddenly, my head jerked up and I was looking directly at her. She was close. Too close.

"Um—"

"Shut up," she said, and I felt her lips on mine. I have no words for the experience.

The moment passed and we separated. Her face had a slight flush to it, and I couldn't begin to imagine what I must have looked like then. I just remember the sound of my own heavy breaths as we looked at each other. This side of Keiko I hadn't seen before, and for all her boldness her face was softer now. As fragile in truth as "Kyouko" pretended to be. She was cute.

"I'm not anything like Saki-neesan," she said, frowning, "but I've got my good points too."

She backed off and turned away from me for a second, and when she turned back her entire countenance had hardened again. The magic was over. She was back to normal.

"Well," she said. She stood up and began collecting her things. "You were right about the place. Too creepy for a lady like me to stay in."

This was moving far too fast for me. She was already walking towards the door. "Wait, what?"

"Don't worry about me. I've got a friend nearby. I'll call a cab."

"So why did you even come here?"

"Because your friend paid me to sleep with you."

She rummaged through her purse and removed a money clip from it, and tossed it to me. I nearly dropped it.

"Senpai did?"

"Yeah, he thinks you need a little help." Her eyes darted back to the money for a brief second. She let out a sigh, and opened the door. "As pathetic as you are, I think you're better than that."

"At least let me walk you—"

"Absolutely not." The force of her words hit me like a punch to the gut. "I don't even want to talk to you anymore and besides—"

Her face softened for just a moment.

"—if I stay here any longer I might change my mind."

The next day I had off, so I slept in. Normally on these days I'd head to the clubroom, or go see what Tanaka and Kugayama were doing. It was a restless kind of day, so no matter what I did, I just couldn't sit still. I couldn't keep my eyes on a book for more than five minutes and I couldn't stay on a game without shutting it off out of frustration.

So I went to the Red Light District again, to the hostess club sitting in-between the sex shops and the love hotels. At the marble and cherry front desk they recognized my face and were not the least surprised when I pulled out her card.

"I'd like to talk to Kyouko, please."