"Here's the thing… I'm into sugar-dating," I started. "Yesterday, I lectured you against it—hypocritical, right?"
I added it's for pregnancy—ninmoku. Preaching "don't do it" then admitting I'm hooked? I deserve the shade.
But Miyagi shrugged, calm as hell. "Normal for someone your age to look." Smart take—grateful he didn't scoff, though I'd braced for it.
I laid it out: I'm twenty-six, past prime sugar-dating age, scraping for takers. He gaped. "No way you're too old!" Flattery, sure, but here he is with me—proof it's real.
I'm not chopped liver—decent face, taller than average, flat chest aside. My toned ex-jock build's my pride. Still, guys bolt once "pregnancy" hits the table—blocked, ghosted. Finally nabbed one: mid-thirties, five bangs in a month, 100k upfront.
"Pricey!" Miyagi blinked, clocking the deal. He wouldn't know rates, but it's a steal.
"Not really," I said. "Younger guys cost more—twenty-somethings hit 100k a pop. Thirties? Thirty to fifty thousand per go. This guy's thirty thousand a shot—fair."
Explaining, I mused: a hot high schooler like him? Price'd be insane.
"That much!?" Still shocked, but no hint of charging me. Sugar-dating's out—freebies don't fly, though. Meal's not enough. Cash later.
"Here's the real question, Miyagi—what do you want?"
His face froze, curious. "What do you mean?"
"Sugar-dating varies. Mine's for a kid—no marriage, no claiming."
He went serious—guessing the rest, but listening.
"This older guy's my last shot—I'm betting big."
"Yeah." That geezer, his look said.
Deep breath. "If you don't hate me, I've got a shameless ask."
He'd get it now. His answer?
"Marriage?"
…Huh?
Kekkon.
Marriage?
Nice.
Marriage, huh.
I'd love that—some guy loving me forever. Dreamy. Not my fate, though. I want a kid from a man I've held, a memory to live on—that's it. Most baby-chasing women like me feel the same. Otherwise, sperm banks are cheaper, surer—no payouts.
Wait—what'd he say?
Marriage!?
"Sensei?"
I'd locked up. He peered at me, eyes deep through his glasses. I flailed my hands. "M-Marriage? No way—I'm not asking that!"
Never crossed my mind—too far.
He sighed, playing dumb. "Then what?"
"Condoms."
Obviously we'd use them—right?
"I'll wear one if you say," he murmured, piercing my soul.
"…Yeah."
That phrasing sparked hope.
"If you want, I'll skip it—but if it sticks, I'm a student. Can't take responsibility."
Instant reply—and he'd thought ahead. I jumped.
"No worries! I won't claim a minor—or tell a soul who the dad is!"
No leaks—impossible.
He pondered, then checked: "So, no responsibility, just raw inside you whenever?"
My ears, brain, reality—all doubted. His track record held me sane—he'd say that.
"Miyagi, watch your mouth!"
"Am I wrong?"
Teacher mode kicked in—I snapped. He stared, blank, unfazed. Same face as Yamazaki's sex-ed talk—blunt to avoid mix-ups.
I calmed. "…Not wrong, but young guys shouldn't talk like that."
"Say it yourself, then."
"Huh?"
"Repeat what I said—clearly."
Fair. Hiding behind "teacher" or "adult" to dodge was weak. He'd started this; now I'm begging.
"You're right—making you guess is unfair."
No frills, I said it: "I want you to fuck me raw. No marriage, no claiming—whatever happens."
Short, clear terms.
He shook his head. "That's not what I meant."
"Uh—what?"
Missed something? Oh—cash! I'd add that later, but—
"Seduce me sexier."
"…"
Looking back—that's when it went off the rails.