Karen Tojo, the redheaded kendo club firecracker, plopped down at our cafeteria table and spilled her guts. Despite her relentless pursuit, her crush, Sakamoto Ryuji, was giving her the cold shoulder, acting like she didn't exist.
Rika, slurping her kitsune udon, listened with a thoughtful hum before lobbing a verbal grenade. "Maybe he's ignoring you because you come off as a total hothead?"
"What'd you say, punk? You picking a fight?" Karen snapped, fists clenching.
"Chill," I said, stopping her with one hand before she could swing.
"Tch." Karen clicked her tongue and sank back into her seat.
Unfazed, Rika scooted her udon bowl a safe distance away and doubled down, pointing at Karen's outfit. "If you want to impress your crush, your clothes aren't screaming 'date me.' That tacky gym jacket? Ditch it."
Karen's face twisted like she'd been slapped. Rika, channeling her former teen model days, wasn't pulling punches. Humiliated, Karen chewed her lip and peeled off the red gym jacket over her seifuku.
But Rika wasn't done. "Next, your face."
"Huh?" Karen blinked.
"What makeup do you use?"
Karen hesitated. "Uh… after showering, I slap on toner, lotion, sunscreen, maybe some BB cream…"
Rika's brow furrowed. "Are you a middle-aged dude? Even old guys use more products. How's a high school girl so clueless about her looks?"
"Ugh!" Karen clutched her chest, wounded.
I almost felt bad for her, but Rika was on a roll. "If you want someone to like you, take a hard look at yourself. You talk like a thug, dress like you don't care, and wander around barefaced, expecting love to just happen? That's shameless."
"Arghhh!" Karen let out a scream, utterly defeated.
Rika, looking like she'd just won a debate, wiped her forehead with a smug grin.
Damn, Rika's got a sharper tongue than I thought.
Karen, now a tattered mess, pleaded, "So what do I do? Give up on Sakamoto?"
"Nope, no need for that," Rika said, her expression softening to saintly warmth as she grabbed Karen's hands.
"Huh?" Karen gaped.
"You haven't taken care of yourself before, so start now. Your base is solid—polish it up, and you'll be gorgeous in no time."
"Me?" Karen's voice wavered, skeptical.
Rika nodded, beaming her usual sunny smile. "With the help of Rika Kishimoto, Love Doctor!"
Love Doctor? A chill ran down my spine at the absurd title.
Rika held up two fingers. "My advice: First, fix your appearance. Second, cook something homemade for your crush."
"Homemade food?" Karen echoed.
"Yup. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."
"Ohhh…" Karen, initially doubtful, was now fully converted, starry-eyed.
"But I don't know how to cook. Do I start learning now?"
Rika smirked, wagging a finger. "No worries! Ryu-chan here will teach you!"
Wait, me?
I stared at Rika, dumbfounded, but she grinned shamelessly. "Don't you want to meet my papa?"
My fate was sealed.
"…Fine, I'll help," I grumbled.
Damn it.
The next day, after school, we headed to Karen's house.
"Wow, it's huge!" Rika gasped.
"Hmph, no big deal," Karen said, shrugging.
Rika's family is loaded—her dad's a famous mangaka—but Karen's place was on another level. A sprawling samurai-style mansion smack in the city center.
As a black sedan rolled into the massive estate, yakuza in suits bowed in unison. "Welcome back, Young Miss!"
"Yeah, yeah," Karen muttered, waving them off as the driver opened her door. She sauntered down a marble path.
Rika and I followed, drawing curious stares.
"The Young Miss's friends?"
"Thought they were assassins from a rival gang."
"That guy's got some serious muscle."
Ignoring the whispers, I trailed Karen's petite figure.
She led us to a spacious tatami room—her bedroom, apparently. A folding screen with a crane painting, an ornate vase, a baseball bat and glove, and random gym equipment were scattered around, creating an oddly mismatched vibe.
"What is this place?" I asked, scanning the room.
"My room," Karen said, dropping her backpack.
Rika's eyes widened. "This is your room?"
"What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing, it just reminds me of Ryu-chan's room."
"Ugh," Karen huffed, clearly stung.
"Anyway, that's not important," she said, pivoting.
"Right," Rika agreed, clapping her hands. She handed Karen a paper bag she'd been carrying. "This is a gift."
"A gift?" Karen blinked.
"I hit a cosmetics store yesterday and grabbed essentials for you. There's a note with the basics—buy more when you run out."
Rika had paid out of pocket for someone she barely knew. Karen peeked inside, surprised, then scratched her cheek. "Thanks."
"No prob!" Rika chirped, beaming.
"Now, let's learn how to use these," Rika said.
"Got it," Karen nodded, dumping the bag's contents onto the floor.
Clatter!
A cascade of cosmetics and tools spilled out. Rika started explaining. "This is toner, lotion, BB cream, foundation, powder, mascara, eyebrow pencil…"
My head spun just listening. Karen, who barely used makeup, looked like her brain was short-circuiting.
"H-hold on," she stammered.
"What's up?" Rika asked.
"Can you show me? I'm lost."
"No problem," Rika said, setting down the products. "Got a big mirror? It's easier to explain with one."
"Give me a sec. I'll have a maid bring one," Karen said, shaking her head and sliding open the shoji door.
I bet she was using this as an excuse to catch her breath.
Ten minutes later, Karen returned with a vanity mirror. Rika sat her down, wielding brushes and pencils like a sculptor eyeing a block of marble.
Time flew. I didn't get the makeup jargon, but Rika's skill was undeniable. Karen's face transformed in real-time.
After thirty minutes of full makeup and hairstyling, Rika stepped back, satisfied. "My masterpiece."
She wasn't exaggerating. Karen looked reborn.
When Rika gave the okay, Karen hesitantly peered into the mirror, murmuring, "Kore ga watashi?"
Whoa, hold up! Brain translation, pause!
The cliché was so intense I cringed. My rom-com-soaked brain was taking over.
"…This is me?" Karen said, her voice finally registering normally.
Her brown eyes, enhanced by contact lenses, sparkled. She was cute barefaced, but with makeup? She was a goddess.
Karen kept touching her face, disbelieving. Rika, watching, asked, "So, how's it feel to get made up for the first time?"
"I can't deny it," Karen admitted. "I knew nothing."
"Just improve bit by bit. You've got plenty of time!" Rika encouraged.
Their exchange felt straight out of a teen drama. I nodded, arms crossed, smiling—until the spotlight swung to me.
"Now that makeup's covered, it's Ryu-chan's turn!" Rika declared.
Oh, crap.
I hadn't signed up for this, but Rika's blackmail—dangling her dad's autograph—had me cornered. Now, standing in Karen's samurai mansion, I was roped into teaching her how to cook. For Ryuji, of all people.
Karen's room was a bizarre mix of traditional and sporty. The crane screen and vase screamed old money, but the baseball gear and dumbbells? Pure Karen chaos. It was like her personality exploded in here.
Rika's gift was a sweet move. Karen, tough as nails, softened at the gesture, her "thanks" barely hiding her gratitude. It's weird seeing her vulnerable—she's usually all bark and bite.
The makeup session was a masterclass. Rika's no joke; she turned Karen from a scrappy kendo kid into a magazine cover girl. Those sparkly eyes and flushed cheeks? Ryuji's in trouble if she pulls this look on him.
But now it's my turn to play chef instructor. I'm no Gordon Ramsay, but growing up in my parents' restaurant gave me some skills. Problem is, Karen's probably never boiled water. This'll be a disaster.
I sighed, eyeing the two girls. Rika's smug grin told me she was enjoying this way too much. Karen, still dazed from her makeover, clutched the makeup bag like it was a lifeline. The yakuza outside didn't help—every step we took, I felt their eyes sizing me up like I was a rival gang's enforcer.
"Alright, let's head to the kitchen," I said, resigned. "What can you cook, Karen?"
She scratched her head. "Uh… instant ramen?"
Rika burst out laughing. "This is gonna be good."
Great. I'm stuck teaching a yakuza heiress to make a bento for the rom-com protagonist, all so I can meet a manga legend. My life's a freaking anime.