Stepping out of the subway station, I was greeted by Xiangcao City’s downtown buzz—a true metropolis vibe.

According to the map, Minsheng Road lay about one kilometer south of Chang’an Avenue, practically next to my school. Had I not checked Zhang Haosen’s profile earlier, I might’ve mistaken him for Chen Xiaorui’s “gamer-obsessed” dorm boyfriend—the type who’d seek online comfort after being scolded.

Come to think of it… what if Chen Xiaorui’s boyfriend booked me? Or Luo Yong from class? How would I handle that?

Refuse?

“Hello, I’ve arrived near Flying Fish Internet Cafe. Should be at the entrance in three minutes.”

Taking a deep breath by the subway exit, I texted “Zhang Haosen”:

“I’m wearing a sky-blue jacket, plaid skirt, and a white backpack.”

His booking ended at 5 PM; my volleyball gig started at 7. If he didn’t extend time, I’d have two hours to drop my bag at campus and grab dinner.

“Got it. Heading down now.”

Seconds later, he replied.

Glancing at the lottery booth near Dikou Road Station—built into an old air-raid shelter entrance—I crossed the street toward a three-story building. Even from afar, the third-floor sign blazed: *Flying Fish Internet Cafe*.

Flying Fish was one of Xiangcao’s top chains: over thirty citywide branches, upscale, reputable, zero history of fights. The area was named “Minsheng Dikou Road” for that very shelter. Long abandoned, its mouth now housed the lottery stall, filled with patrons scribbling tickets.

Click-clacking across the zebra crossing in my uniform Mary Janes, I reached the building. Ground floor: fast food, rice noodle shops, liangpi and malatang stalls. Second floor: an arcade—though honestly, could arcades still turn profit these days?

“Ji Xiaoxue?”

After ten seconds waiting, a boy in a dark jacket emerged from the stairwell. He froze slightly, then looked flustered. “Y-You’re really… her?”

“What do you mean ‘really’?” I chuckled. “Don’t I look the part?”

“You do! I mean… exactly like your photo.” He scratched his head. “Your pics were so stunning—I thought they were photoshopped. I braced for… well, reality.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I checked my phone. “Straight to the point: on the app, it was vague. What does ‘playing games together’ actually mean?” I added, “I’ve played most online games, but not all. Any skill requirements?”

“No requirements.” He shook his head casually. “I’ll book a couple’s booth upstairs. Just play with me.”

*This is basically hiring a gaming companion…*

Honestly, gaming companions were cheaper than girlfriend rentals now. Sweet-voiced girls who sang, joked, switched vocal tones, knew memes, and gamed well? Under fifty yuan an hour.

“How adorable…” I smiled. “So, boss—wait, sorry—your request is just gaming in a couple’s booth? What personality? Clingy? Goofy?”

“My only rule: don’t call me ‘boss’.” He said earnestly, “The rest? You do you.”

“Understood.” Pretending to check time, I tapped *save recording*. “2:52 PM. Let’s start… um, Brother Haosen?”

“Pfft…” He laughed awkwardly. “This feels… kinda cheesy.”

“Why? You’re my boyfriend, right?” I linked his arm, pulled a ciba from my backpack. “Want some? Grandma made it.”

“Uh… is this extra?”

“Why would it be?” I feigned offense. “Hello? You’re my *boyfriend*!”

“Oh… right.” He accepted the ciba stiffly. “What flavor?”

“Chive-pork, sesame, or peanut. See which you got.”

“You didn’t put anything weird inside…?”

“I did. Computer parts.”

“Computer parts?”

“Grandma’s secret sauce. Boosts your affection meter. Once full… well, you know.” I flashed a sunny smile, bit into my own ciba. “Mmm, sesame.”

*Confirmed—he’s easy.*

Despite his “four years” of online dating claims, Zhang Haosen was clearly inexperienced with girls: clueless about memes, zero otaku vibe. From the start, he’d followed my lead—tone full of “you’re the girl, you decide,” zero “I paid, so obey me” energy.

Lucky for me. But I’d need sharper prep for unreasonable clients. His naivety didn’t mean all guys were this gentle. Meet a smooth-talking veteran? Treating him like a fool = disaster.

“I haven’t finished DNF. Upstairs, let’s clear Abyss tickets first. I’ll give you my account.”

Pushing open the third-floor Flying Fish door, Zhang Haosen handed his ID to the attendant. *Beep*—

“Activated. Balance: 158 yuan.”

He pointed at me. “Add 15 yuan to her account.”

I passed my ID. The cashier girl, scrolling on her phone, froze. Eyes flicked from my face to my snug T-shirt. “Uh… membership?”

“Temporary card,” Zhang Haosen said.

*Beep*—“Activated. 15 yuan added.”

“Want a drink?” He turned to the fridge. “My treat.”

Just then, speakers blared:

“Next: Song request from B109—‘Bad Kid’.”

Amid cheerful music, I waved. “No need…”

“As thanks for that… chive one? I loved it.” He grabbed a cola. “This for me. What’s yours?”

“Mineral water.” I pretended to browse the fridge, landing on the bottom shelf.

“How about Xiao Ming Tongxue? Girls like that, right?”

“Cutting sugar. Too sweet = weight gain.” I shook my head fast. “Just water.”

“You? Need to lose weight?” Puzzled, he paid anyway.

The song swelled:

[“You suddenly said you wanted snow… but it’s summer now…”]

[“You never used an umbrella… loved my white shirt…”]

“The couple’s booth’s over there. Busy today.” Zhang Haosen, drinks in hand, pointed to the “Dual Gaming Zone.” “Know the attendant. Booked ahead.”

[“You bad kid… no one blames you…”]

[“No tears to wipe? Don’t rub your eyes…”]

Walking the packed aisle, I drew stares—even without my Rem cosplay.

“Yo, bro! Look at her—total stunner!”

“Whoa… those legs… that figure’s insane…”

“Why can’t *I* have a girlfriend like that?”

No surprise. Internet cafes were “smelly guy” territory. A pretty, cute girl in a skirt? Near-mythical here.

True to memory, the air carried overheating GPUs, fan lubricant, faint tobacco smoke—a distinct, gritty ambiance.

“Next time… if booked somewhere like this,” Zhang Haosen murmured, pride glowing on his face, “wear pants. Especially shady cafes. Safety first.”

“Who do you think I’m wearing this skirt *for*?” I puffed my cheeks. “Enjoying the perks and playing innocent?”

Outwardly coquettish. Inwardly sharp:

[“If you weren’t paying, would I wear a skirt here?”]

[“So for my professionalism—five-star review later.”]

[“And tip like Wang Lei did… 233 yuan.”]

“Ahaha, sorry. Bad with girls,” he said, leading me into the Dual Gaming Zone. He closed the booth door, eyed the seats. “Uh… you take the inner seat or me?”

*Bro… this feels off.*

Do couples even ask this? And weren’t *you* the client? Shouldn’t you decide?

“Brother Haosen,” I prompted gently, “we’re clearing DNF stages together, right?”

Realizing he’d never grasp “I’m the client,” I steered.

“Ah… yes…”

“What class is the account?”

“Uh… Elementalist.” He blinked, confused. “Problem? Don’t like it?”

“Imagine a sewer manhole cover. Where’s an Elementalist’s combat power—in the sewer… or outside?”

The corner of the youth’s mouth twitched slightly. “Elementalists aren’t that strong these days…”

I didn’t wait for him to finish and immediately headed toward the inner seat.

“Fine. I’ll take the inner seat.”