Miyagi hands me 5000 Yen Today

 Episode 2

July arrives, and the rainy season ends unusually early.

Just like last summer in my second year, the bookstore shelves are lined with magazines featuring idols and models in breezy, summery outfits.

Among them, I pick up a glossy issue adorned with glittering, energetic text.

Is this the one Umina was talking about?

I’m not entirely sure—I was only half-listening when she mentioned it.

With a sigh, I stare down at the magazine in my hands.

Beyond the "mix-and-match outfits" feature, bold words like clothes boys will like and self-improvement tips are splashed across the cover. They strike me as frivolous.

No matter how I look at it, this isn’t my style.

It’s only early July, and summer vacation still feels far off, yet I’m already thinking about picking out new clothes for the break. Not just any clothes, though.

Next summer, as a third-year student, I’ll likely be buried in exam prep. This might be my last chance to fully enjoy summer. Still, I don’t see anything in this magazine that lifts my spirits or makes me excited about the season ahead.

Fashion-wise, Umina and I don’t exactly see eye to eye.

She boldly modifies her uniform in ways that somehow never land her in trouble with the teachers. I, on the other hand, keep mine just loose enough to stay within the rules.

“Clothes that make you popular, huh…”

I mutter one of the phrases on the cover.

I’d much rather wear what I like than dress to be “popular.” As for “self-improvement,” that can wait.

Honestly, if I’m going to read something, I’d prefer a calm, thoughtful book over a fluffy fashion magazine.

Still, flipping through magazines like this helps me keep up with friends, and I usually have some pocket money left over each month.

Navigating school social dynamics takes some strategy.

In my current class, that means staying on Ibaraki Umina-san’s good side.

Maybe that sounds harsh. It’s more like... making sure I follow the flow of her conversations.

Umina-san is bold and outgoing—more invested in fun than academics—and clearly sits atop the school’s social hierarchy.

She’s quick-tempered and easily offended, and upsetting her can spell disaster.

But if I play my cards right and keep her content, I can enjoy a fairly smooth school life.

Some people call me a “people-pleaser,” but let them.

People only say that out of envy.

Since I’m already here, I took a lap around the store and grab a novel, placing it on top of the magazine as I head to the checkout.

The line is short. I wait my turn and place both items on the counter.

The total appears on the register, and I reach into my bag to get my wallet.

“Huh?”

My wallet. Wallet.

It’s missing.

I distinctly remember putting my phone in my bag this morning—it’s right here.

But my wallet?

I dig through every pocket and corner of my bag. No sign of it.

Maybe I left it at school.

No—more likely at home.

Honestly, I don’t even recall putting it in my bag today.

I glance at the cashier, who is now giving me a skeptical look.

This is bad. I need to act fast.

“Uh, um—”

I hate how embarrassing this is, but I don’t have a choice. I’ll just have to return the books.

“These books—”

“I’ll pay.”

“Huh?”

Before I can explain, a hand reaches from behind and places a 5,000-yen bill on the tray.

“Sendai-san. Use this.”

I turn around to see a girl in the same school uniform as mine.

Not a stranger—we’ve never spoken, but I recognize her face.

“…Miyagi, right?”

I think I got her name right.

I’ve memorized everyone’s last names in class. First names? Not so much.

“Pay with that.”

She doesn’t acknowledge or correct me. She just explains why she placed the bill down.

“No, that’s okay. I’d feel bad.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

But I do worry.

I hate borrowing money, especially from someone I’m not close with.

And for the magazine I’m only buying to keep up appearances? That makes it even worse.

“No, I’ll return them.”

I grab the 5,000-yen bill and try to hand it back to her—but she places it right back on the tray.

“Um, would you like to pay with this?”

The cashier looks at me, clearly unsure.

“Yes, please.”

The one who answers isn’t me—it’s Miyagi.

But I don’t want to accept money I never asked for.

I reach for the bill again, but the cashier is quicker, slipping it into the register before I can react.

In the end, I walk away with the magazine, the novel, three 1,000-yen bills, and some coins.

“Miyagi, thank you. I must’ve forgotten my wallet—you really helped me out.”

Once we’ve stepped away from the counter, I bow slightly and thank her.

I still hate that I ended up borrowing money, but since I did, I owe her at least a proper thank-you.

She doesn’t say anything. Since she didn’t correct me, I assume I got her name right—Miyagi.

“Here’s the change. I’ll pay you back at school tomorrow.”

I offer her the money from the register, but she doesn’t take it.

“You don’t have to pay me back. Keep the change, too.”

With that, she turns and begins to walk away.

“Huh? Wait—that’s not okay!”

“Sendai-san.”

“I really don’t need it, so I’m giving it to you, Sendai-san.”

“I can’t accept that. I’ll pay you back.”

“Then throw it away.”

“Throw it away? It’s money!”

I grab Miyagi’s shoulder as she tries to walk away.

We’ve never really talked at school, so I hadn’t realized it before—but something’s clearly off about her. Missing a screw or two… maybe more like three. Normal people don’t just decide to throw money away. And saying she doesn’t need the change? That’s the kind of thing a company executive might say—not a high school girl.

It annoys me, honestly. Does she really think I’m the type to just nod and accept it?

“Ugh, fine. I’ll treat the change as a loan too. I’ll pay you back tomorrow, alright?”

I want to snap at her, but I restrain myself.

If Miyagi goes around saying, “Sendai-san yelled at me,” that could wreck my image.

“You don’t have to. Just don’t worry about it,” she says, shaking my hand off her shoulder and continuing toward the exit.

She slips through the automatic doors and heads outside.

I rush after her, calling out:

“I will pay you back! The change too—5,000 yen total. I’ll bring it to school.”

“…Then work for the 5,000 yen.”

That unexpected reply brings me to a halt.

“Huh? Work?”

“For now, just come to my house.”

Miyagi, still walking briskly, turns her head and looks at me.

“What? Your house? I said I’d pay you back tomorrow.”

“If you’re not coming, then consider it a gift.”

She spins around and starts walking again.

What is with this girl?

She’s not missing two or three screws—more like ten.

She’s completely unhinged.

I curse her in my head.

It’s not like I want her money, but I’m definitely not working for it either.

Still, if I outright refuse, she’ll probably won't take the 5,000 yen. Even if I sneak it into her desk at school, she’d probably return it without a second thought.

What a pain she is.

I sigh and glance up at the sky.

The clear blue I saw before entering the bookstore is now masked by heavy clouds. The rainy season’s supposed to be over, so I didn’t bring an umbrella.

I sigh again, more annoyed this time, when Miyagi suddenly speaks.

“I have an umbrella at my place.”

“Ugh, fine. Where is it? Is your house nearby?”

Looks like I’ll be working for Miyagi today.

I don’t want rumors spreading that I took 5,000 yen from her—or worse, that I yelled at her and forced money on her.

“It’s not far. Just follow me.”

She mutters that without looking back and keeps walking.

I trail behind, less than enthusiastic.

We walk in silence.

And walk.

And walk.

The two of us, just walking with nothing to say.

I’m not good with silence.

Say something, will you?

When you’re with someone, even just a little small talk helps. Otherwise, the silence gnaws at me—makes me wonder if I’ve upset her somehow.

I wouldn’t care if she was mad, but I’d at least want to know why.

Still, no matter how much I mentally will her to speak, Miyagi remains silent.

I should’ve just gone home.

Why did I agree to come with her?

Under the dreary sky, I regret my impulsive decision.

Eventually, we arrive at a fancy-looking apartment building.

No wonder she can throw around 5,000 yen like nothing.

It’s surprisingly close to my place—maybe a 15 or 20-minute walk.

I didn’t realize a classmate lived so nearby, but thinking about it, it makes sense. We ran into each other at the bookstore, and she’s walking home, so her place couldn’t have been far.

“My apartment’s on the sixth floor.”

“Oh, alright.”

We enter the elevator.

I didn’t mention that my own place is nearby. There’s no reason to bring it up—and I’m not trying to become close with Miyagi anyway.

I watch the elevator display—4, 5, then 6—and we get off.

She leads me to the very end of the hallway, unlocks the door, and steps inside.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll grab something real quick.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” I call after her, but she disappears before I finish the sentence.

Her room’s about the same size as mine, maybe a bit bigger.

For a high schooler, it’s unusually spacious and clean. A large bed, a low table, a flat-screen TV, a bookshelf stuffed full of books, and a neat writing desk with a chair complete the room.

I wonder what kind of books she reads.

I move toward the bookshelf, but the door swings open again. Miyagi returns and places a glass of clear liquid on the table.

“You read manga?” I ask, glancing at the book spines.

“Yeah,” she replies curtly. Then, suddenly, she perks up. “Oh, right!”

“Maybe I’ll have you read some manga. Sendai-san, come sit here.”

She waves me over.

When I hesitate near the shelf, she taps my shoulder and says again, “Go on, sit down.”

What happened to ‘work’?

I sit at the table and take a sip of the clear liquid.

It fizzes in my mouth—soda.

I’m not a fan of carbonation.

My usual friends wouldn’t have given me soda, I think, just as Miyagi settles across from me.

“Read this.”

She hands me a manga with a narcissistic-looking boy and a timid girl on the cover.

I flip through a few pages. It’s a romance manga.

This is what I’m working for?

I don’t get Miyagi’s logic, but I start reading it anyway.

Then she adds, in a bored tone:

“Not like that. Read it out loud.”

“The dialogue?”

“Everything—the monologue too.”

“You mean every word on the page?”

“Exactly. That’s the ‘work’—or, I guess now, the ‘order’—for the 5,000 yen.”

“It’s an order now?”

“Yup.”

Apparently, ‘work’ has evolved into ‘orders,’ but I don’t bother asking why.

Miyagi doesn’t seem to think too hard about these things. She probably just says whatever comes to mind.

“Work, order—whatever. Reading a manga out loud is worth 5,000 yen?”

“Yup. But only if you read it to the very end.”

“Fine.”

Reading a manga aloud sounds easy enough.

I flip to the first page and begin reading the cheesy lines—“I love you,” “You’re the only one for me”—aloud without much thought.

If it had been a full novel, I might’ve complained, but manga has so little text, it should be over quickly.

Or so I thought.

“…Isn’t this kind of risqué?”

I stop reading and flip ahead to check the story.

Page after page, the characters are practically naked.

Half the manga is bed scenes!

And the dialogue? Basically moaning!

The content’s way more intense than I expected.

What on earth is Miyagi thinking, making me read this out loud?

I don’t necessarily dislike ris

qué stuff, but that’s not the point.

Nobody in their right mind would want to read this kind of thing aloud.

The fact that Miyagi—a girl who comes off as quiet and reserved—reads this kind of manga is surprising in itself, but that’s quickly overshadowed by my overwhelming regret.

"Erotic, huh?" Miyagi says, her tone casual.  

"Are you going to make me read it out loud from now on?"  

"Read it all out loud," she insists.  

"What, is listening to erotic words your hobby or something?" I shoot back.  

"It’s not a hobby, but I can’t think of any other orders to give."  

"You don’t 'need' to give orders, do you? If you just take the change and let me pay you back tomorrow, we’re square, right?"  

I don’t understand why Miyagi refuses the money, but she’s such a hassle—stubborn and impossible to deal with.  

"The 5000 yen doesn’t matter to me, and I don’t care about getting it back. Just hurry up and read," she says, her voice devoid of concern.  

She genuinely seems indifferent about the money and nudges me to continue.  

I’m under no obligation to play along with this nonsense, but I don’t want to just take her 5000 yen for nothing. And since I promised to work for it, I feel bound to follow through.  

Yes, I’m a bit of a hassle myself in my own way.  

"…Fine," I mutter.  

'More', 'come', 'ahh', 'this and that'—  

The endless lines I’d rather not voice make my head spin.  

What am I even doing?  

In front of Miyagi, a classmate I’ve never spoken to before, what am I being forced to read?  

Miyagi is an idiot. No question about it. A perverted idiot.  

Her grades, though… what were they like?  

I realize I don’t know much about her.  

"Sendai-san, your voice is too quiet," Miyagi interrupts, snapping me back from my drifting thoughts.  

"This isn’t exactly the kind of stuff you belt out, you know," I retort.  

"There’s no one else here today, so it’s fine if you’re loud."  

It might be fine for 'you', but it’s not for 'me'.  

Today is the worst. I’m so unlucky.  

I forgot my wallet at home, and now I’m stuck reading erotic manga out loud.  

Grumbling internally, I read every line diligently, including the moans, then gulp down soda I didn’t even want.  

"You’re surprisingly bad at this. Kind of monotone," Miyagi says nonchalantly, her words stinging. "I thought you’d be better, given how… 'playful' you seem."  

"I’m supposed to be the 'pure' type, you know," I correct her sharply. "I don’t mess around, so fix that assumption."  

"Acting pure is just to make guys like you, isn’t it?" she teases.  

"No, it’s not."  

I act somewhat pure at school not for guys but to stay on the teachers’ good side.  

"People say you act pure while secretly messing around," she adds.  

"That’s the image people have of me?"  

I had no idea Miyagi’s group thought of me like 'that'. I didn’t even know rumors were floating around.  

I’m not thrilled to hear this.  

"So, are your orders done now?" I ask, pushing the unflattering rumors aside.  

"Yeah, done."  

"What’s next?"  

"You can go home or stay. Do whatever you want, Sendai-san."  

"Then I’ll head out. Oh, can I borrow the next volume of this manga? It was kind of interesting."  

It’s got a 『1』 on the spine, so there’s likely a volume 2. Reading it out loud isn’t my thing, but I’m curious about the story.  

"No," Miyagi says flatly, her voice stripped of any warmth.  

"Ugh, stingy. It’s just lending a manga!"  

"…Five thousand yen."  

"What? You’re charging me five thousand yen to borrow one manga? It’s cheaper to buy it myself!"  

"No, that’s not it," she clarifies. "I’m saying I’ll 'give' you five thousand yen."  

"Huh?" Her unexpected words leave me dumbfounded.  

"I’ll buy your after-school time for five thousand yen a session. You can read the next volume when you come here."  

"No way, I’m not selling my time. And what are you planning? Sex? Five thousand yen is way too cheap for that. Also, I’m not into girls."  

[T/N- heh we will see about that(⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)]

Buying a classmate for five thousand yen? That’s absurd.  

Today’s order was bizarre enough—reading erotic manga out loud. If she’s serious about buying my time, there’s no telling what she’ll demand next. It wouldn’t surprise me if she suggested something physical.  

"What are 'you' even thinking, Sendai-san?" Miyagi counters. "I have no intention of doing 'that' with you."  

"Then what 'is' it? What are you going to make me do for five thousand yen?"  

"Come to my place after school once or twice a week and follow my orders. Like today."  

Her expression is dead serious, not a trace of a smile.  

"More erotic manga reading?" I ask skeptically.  

"Maybe. Or something like doing my homework. That sort of thing."  

"What’s that supposed to mean? Like a handyman?"  

I’d be troubled if she asked me to sell my body for five thousand yen, but doing her homework for that price is also weird.  

"Not a handyman," she corrects. "I give orders, and you follow them."  

"The problem is what those orders are. I’m not okay with getting hit, and sex is off the table."  

I can’t figure out what’s going on in Miyagi’s head, so I can’t predict her next move. Just to be safe, I make it clear I won’t sell my body.  

"I don’t like violence either, and like I said, I have no interest in that kind of relationship with you," she assures me.  

"If I say no, will you buy someone else?"  

"No. If I went around offering five thousand yen to give orders, people would think I’m a weirdo."  

You’re already a weirdo, I think to myself. In my mind, Miyagi’s firmly labeled as a “dangerous nutcase.”  

But I’m not entirely uninterested.  

Spending money on magazines I don’t care about just to fit in with my group or sucking up to keep them happy feels less worthwhile than this. This… might actually be interesting.  

"So it’s fine if it’s me?" I ask.  

"It’s not exactly 'fine', but it’s how things turned out."  

"…Whatever. To kill time, I’ll let you give me orders for five thousand yen a session. Weekdays after school work, but not weekends."  

If it’s just how things turned out for you, it’s the same for me.  

I’d rather not read erotic manga again, but if that’s the extent of Miyagi’s orders, indulging her doesn’t seem too bad.  

I’m curious about her as a person.  

What kind of orders will this strange girl give me? If something truly unbearable happens, I can just toss the five thousand yen back at her.  

—Not that she’d likely accept it.  

"Alright, then," Miyagi says in her usual flat tone. "I won’t talk to you at school, and we’ll contact each other by phone. That okay?"  

"Sounds good."  

I might regret this later, but I casually agree to her proposal. We exchange contact info, and I leave her room.  

Miyagi dutifully sees me off at the apartment building’s entrance. "See you," I say, heading home.  

It’s not raining.  

Glancing up, I notice the gloomy clouds have cleared at some point.  

With a small sigh, I stop replaying the memories of that July.  

That summer, when I forgot my wallet at the bookstore, marked the start of this odd arrangement. Even now, after the short winter break and the school’s opening ceremony, I’m still at Miyagi’s place.  

She called me over.  

In short, our deal from that day continues.  

Lying on my side on her bed, I flip open a manga.  

The usual “order game” hasn’t started yet.  

When I arrive, I take the five thousand yen, and for a while, it’s like free time—Miyagi issues no orders. At first, this quiet, empty period felt awkward, but after being summoned once or twice a week since that bookstore encounter, this time has become more relaxing than school.  

Having read nearly every book on her shelf, I’m so comfortable here that I grab a favorite manga and sprawl out on the bed.  

"Sendai-san, what did you do over winter break?" Miyagi asks, her emotionless voice drifting up from where she sits on the floor, back against the bed.  

"Studied."  

It’s not a lie.  

To prep for entrance exams, I attended winter cram school. In between, I hung out with Umina and others, visited the shrine for New Year’s, and tagged along for shopping. My break was busy.  

"Did you study, Miyagi?"  

"Nope."  

Her grades aren’t terrible, but they’re not stellar either. She often pushes her weaker subjects’ homework onto me.  

"Did you finish your homework?"  

"I did, but I wanted to make you do it, Sendai-san."  

"Summoning me during break is outside our deal, you know."  

We only meet after school, not on non-school days. That’s the agreement.  

"I know."  

Miyagi sighs, sounding genuinely disappointed, then starts reading a manga. Our conversation fizzles out.  

We have no common ground.  

I’ve tried bringing up school, dramas, or magazines, but Miyagi either seems uninterested or responds with half-hearted grunts. Real conversations never take off, so I’ve stopped trying to connect. Finding a thread to bond with her is like searching for a ring lost in the ocean.  

When our talks stall, there’s no point forcing them. Over these past months, I’ve learned it’s better to let a dead conversation stay dead.  

In the quiet room, I sit up, shrug off my blazer, and let it fall beneath the bed. Miyagi must be sensitive to cold because her room is always warm. I loosen my tie and undo another button on my blouse, already unbuttoned once before arriving.  

Reclining on the bed, I pick up the manga again when Miyagi speaks.  

"Come over here."  

"An order?"  

"Yeah. Sit here."  

She stands and points to the spot where she was sitting.  

I know what’s coming, even without her saying it.  

Still, I slide off the bed, sit on the floor, and ask deliberately, "What should I do?"  

"Take them off," she says softly, sitting on the bed and resting her leg on my thigh.  

Her words are exactly as I expected.  

Last December, an order pushed past our usual boundaries, and for the first time, I licked her foot. Today, it seems I’ll be doing it again. Before me is a healthy-looking foot—not too dark, not too pale. I slip off her sock, touching the sole usually hidden. It’s soft, not unpleasant. When I gently stroke the arch and trace my fingers to the base of her toes, her foot twitches slightly.  

"Lick it," Miyagi says in a low voice, perhaps displeased by my stroking.  

"Got it."  

I respond curtly, placing my hand on her heel.  

Exhaling softly, I inhale.  

My fingers press lightly against her heel, feeling its texture.  

Leaning in, I press my tongue flat against the slightly cool top of her foot and drag it slowly across.  

I don’t know what Miyagi’s thinking, but making me lick her foot is a niche kink. From reading erotic manga out loud to escalating to this—it’s not something you’d ever guess from the Miyagi at school.  

Plain, unremarkable, just a last name I knew. If I hadn’t forgotten my wallet at the bookstore, we might never have spoken.  

And now, I’m licking her foot.  

Soft, smooth.  

It’s not delicious, nor should it be.  

It’s a foot, not candy, so that’s expected. But I don’t dislike it. I press the tip of my tongue to the base of her toes and lick upward toward her ankle, slowly, deliberately.  

Her once-dry foot grows damp.  

I pull my tongue away just below her ankle, lift my gaze, and look at Miyagi.  

Her cheeks are slightly flushed, just like last time.  

A face that seems to be enjoying this, you could say.  

"Don’t look at me, keep going," she says grumpily.  

She hasn’t noticed her own expression.  

"Sendai-san, lick it."  

Without replying, I sink my teeth into the tip of her foot, hard enough to leave a mark.  

Her foot jerks as if resisting, and she grabs my head.  

"That hurts. I told you last time, don’t do anything outside my orders."  

When I release her toes, I hear a small exhale, “Haa.”  

The first time she ordered me to lick her foot, I bit her to rebel.  

Following orders is fine, but being told to lick her foot felt like she was looking down on me, and it irritated me. So I bit her.  

Now, it’s different.  

I bit her to see her reaction.  

I touch my tongue to the foot I just bit, licking her toes and slowly wetting them.  

I press my lips softly to the top of her foot, kissing it lightly a few times, when my hair is pulled, forcing me to look up.  

"Sendai-san, stop it. That’s gross," Miyagi says, her gaze sharp but the pull on my hair gentle.  

"Really? It’s not kind of nice?"  

"No. It’s gross."  

She releases my hair.  

Her brows are furrowed, but her cheeks remain faintly flushed.  

I don’t dislike her face.  

She’s not strikingly cute, but she leans toward the cute side. With makeup, she’d probably be even cuter, but she seems uninterested. It feels like a missed opportunity, but there’s no need to say so.  

I kiss her foot again.  

Her flushed cheeks might just be from the warm room, not my actions. Still, seeing a side of Miyagi different from her usual self makes licking her foot feel less daunting.  

"Lick it properly," she says, lightly kicking my shoulder.  

"Violence is against the deal."  

"That’s not violence."  

She kicks me lightly again, and I clutch my not-at-all-painful shoulder. "Lick it," she repeats. Silently, I touch the tip of my tongue to the top of her foot.  

If I wanted to resist, I could.  

She might think she’s controlling me with her orders, but I’m choosing to follow them. I could end this deal and walk out anytime. But this room is comfortable, so I stay.  

I drag my tongue across the slightly cool top of her foot.  

My lips brush the now-wet surface, and her foot trembles faintly.  

Likely, even when we’re third-years, even if we’re in different classes, Miyagi will keep calling me over, handing me five thousand yen. And I’ll keep accepting it.  

It’s not about the money.  

I want to keep watching Miyagi, who believes she’s making me obey, for a little longer. So, for the rest of high school, I’ll play along with her strange game.  

We’ll probably go to different universities, so this is temporary.  

If I see it as short-term, this relationship isn’t so bad.  

I pull my lips away and exhale softly.  

Then, I sink my teeth into Miyagi’s foot.