The sudden flood of students completely derailed my plans.

I wasn’t sure if this road was the mandatory route to school or if hidden cram schools lurked nearby. As Grandma and I pedaled the tricycle past the vacant lot, we drew nearly every passerby’s gaze—including waves of students.

“This aesthetic is so weird… Rem pedaling a tricycle to make ends meet?”

“Let me snap a pic.”

“Should we buy something? Support them? Wearing cosplay to help Grandma sell snacks… they must be struggling.”

“Yeah, why not? Only four or five bucks. Grab one for my buddy too.”

And so, the little tricycle moved in stop-and-go bursts—barely rolling three minutes before getting swarmed again.

One student would stop to buy something, and like a chain reaction, others would dash over the moment they saw the cart halt.

“Miss, add me on WeChat? Are you in high school? You look so young!”

“Already working to help family? Don’t you have class?”

“Is the tofu pudding sweet? I skip sugar—I’m watching my weight.”

“Oh… you can skip the syrup!”

For every special request, I patiently repeated: “Both tofu pudding and mung bean jelly are sugar-free. Syrup or honey is optional—but without it, the flavor’s pretty mild.”

“Whoa, that voice… love it, love it!”

“You should be a gaming companion—so many would book you! Such a cute, youthful voice.”

“I’ll take sugar-free.”

“Just the regular for me.”

By my rough count, from Liaojia Village to the nearby McDonald’s, we’d sold over fifty desserts. In under thirty minutes, my WeChat gained more than ten strangers. Way beyond expectations.

And beyond purchases, many asked for paid photos.

“I already ate, but can I take a pic with you for five bucks?”

“Me too! Your cosplay is god-tier. Scan my QR!”

“You’re genuinely stunning. If you’re not at Xiangcao Anime Con this year, I’m not going.”

Amid endless shutter clicks, I realized something.

I’d underestimated my own appeal—and the sheer cohesion of the otaku community.

Most anime fans identifying as “otaku” are male. Female fans are rare; pretty girls who cosplay? Rarer than giant pandas—national treasures. And someone *both* beautiful, well-proportioned, *and* with that sweet voice? Practically mythical.

Before today, shaped by Bi Xin Xue’s memories, “being pretty” felt abstract. You don’t see your own face. But here—customer count and cash made it undeniably real.

A cute girl in anime cosplay, helping her elderly Grandma sell snacks… it tugged heartstrings *and* hit right at the core of their fandom. Multiplied together, buying fervor peaked instantly.

I hadn’t planned to leverage sympathy… but well. We *are* poor. Until Grandma can rest easy, I’ll keep pushing forward.

“Move already!”

“Bring the cart over! Down this way!”

Stopping and starting all the way, we reached a McDonald’s near a three-way intersection, one kilometer from Liaojia Village.

Under nearby trees, elderly men were locked in intense xiangqi matches. Spectators shouted eagerly:

“Go on! He’s out of cannons!”

To avoid troubling security, I parked the tricycle under a shaded tree—about fifty meters from the players. Cool, visible to crossroads traffic.

I pulled out my phone, opened a video site, searched “Rem,” filtered to “mad videos.”

Short Rem compilations popped up.

I tapped a high-view one, propped the phone on the cart’s rack, adjusted volume—

*“When discussing the future… how can we not smile?”*

*“If asked to keep someone company while sleeping… I can’t refuse.”*

*“You worked so hard today, helping your sister. You must be tired.”*

Upbeat music swelled. Inori Mizutani’s signature youthful voice filled the little shaded patch.

Watching the blue-haired maid on screen, I studied her posture, tone, expressions—mimicking Rem’s stance carefully.

Grandma glanced over: “Xiao Xue, is this for a school performance?”

“Mm.”

She thought it was rehearsal.

Back in elementary school, teachers always picked me as lead dancer. New Year’s galas, school anniversaries—I was the go-to. Grandma never missed a show, seated front row. After my performance, she’d rush backstage, lift me down, buy drinks and snacks. I’d sit happily on her lap, munching treats while watching the rest of the show.

Villagers envied her: “Such a lively, lovely granddaughter—you’ll be so happy.”

No one imagined Grandma would later follow me to this city alone, renting a ground-floor room in Liaojia Village. No neighbors. Tenants came and went too fast to form bonds.

My mind flashed to Grandma’s thin figure rummaging through trash bins at dawn.

There’s only one illness in this world: poverty.

*“With a home and work… life should be manageable, right?”*

I silently rehearsed the lines on screen, shaping my smile to match Rem’s hopeful glow.

*“Once income stabilizes, we’ll find a better place.”*

*“Until then, Subaru will study hard to land a proper job.”*

*“When we both work and save enough… maybe buy a home together.”*

I’d never watched *Re:Zero*. No time after rebirth. This was my only way to step closer to the role.

“Rem-chan, one tofu pudding please.”

“Two mung bean and kelp desserts, thanks.”

“Working this hard? I’ll take tofu pudding too… Hey, mind adding me on WeChat?”

During lulls, I practiced “maid etiquette” via phone while chatting with Grandma on her small stool. When customers came, I’d flash a warm smile and serve.

Grandma, growing comfortable with my changed demeanor, asked about school: studies, classmates, if I felt lonely, if I liked anyone.

I answered each gently, painting a bright picture—plenty of friends, good meals, caring teachers. *Don’t worry.*

(Truth was… besides Chen Xiao Rui and Jiang Yu Qing, I had no one I could call even a casual friend.)

Wrapped in this tender rhythm, time slipped by. The warm sun climbed toward noon.

Just as I nearly lost myself in “Rem,” while scooping pudding for a customer—I froze.

The bucket Grandma had filled to the brim was nearly empty.

I checked my phone: 11:45 AM.

From 8:30 AM to now—over three hours—I’d sold *twice* Grandma’s usual daily amount.

“One tofu pudding.”

“Ah… so sorry, it’s sold out. Would mung bean jelly or porridge work?”

“Okay, mung bean jelly then.”

…

At 12:20 PM sharp, all three buckets were empty.

Holding the last mung bean and kelp bucket, I drank the remaining slurry, then scanned the payment QR: “Grandma, many paid via WeChat transfer. Let me send you the money.”

“No, no…” Grandma waved hands urgently. “You worked all day. Keep it for snacks.” She fumbled two hundred-yuan bills from her pocket. “You’re grown now. Grandma doesn’t need this.”

“Eh…” I hesitated, then accepted.

“Thank you, Grandma!”

*Later, I’ll take her to buy a new dress.*

As I tapped “Cancel Payment,” a *ding-dong* chimed—

【New Rental Invitation Received】

【Oct 25, 2030 | 3:00 PM – 5:00 PM (2 hrs) | Est. Earnings: ¥100 | Review profile & respond within 1 hr】

【Renter did NOT select “Rejection Compensation.” If declined, invitation transfers to other rental girlfriends.】

Renter: Zhang Haosen (VIP 1)

Profile: Male | 19 | Gemini | 168cm | 55kg | Non-smoker | Non-drinker | Hobbies: DNF, CrossFire, PUBG, League of Legends | College student | Hometown: Guiyuan Province, Xiangcao City

Message: *“Keep me company gaming 2 hours. I cover transport & internet. Couple’s booth. I’ll teach if you’re new. Extra time if you play well. One rule: no mocking my skills or disrespecting the games.”*