“My name is Matsumae Himosuke, and true to my name, I’ve been aiming to become the ultimate kept man.”
That being said, it’s not as if my parents named me “Himosuke” out of a desperate wish for me to become a “himo” (kept man) in the future. Of course, there’s a proper reason behind it.
They wanted me to be someone who, like a “himo” (string), connects people to one another.
Although… depending on how you interpret it, it kind of does sound like they’re telling me to be a himo.
Oh, by the way, the “suke” in “Himosuke” was apparently added just to make it sound better. Just “Himo” would have been too weird, so they slapped “suke” onto it without much thought.
So, perhaps it’s because I was raised by parents with such unique values that I ended up aspiring to become a himo.
In other words, it’s my parents’ fault. (The worst.)
But there’s actually a clear reason why I decided to aim for the life of a himo.
However, most people with conventional values would probably think, “What’s wrong with this guy?” upon hearing it.
Still, I’m not afraid of others’ judgment, so I’ll boldly reveal my reason:
——Being a himo looks so easy, doesn’t it?
I mean, it just seems easy, right?
Yeah, basically, it’s a matter of “feeling.”
If I had to justify it further, it’s because my overworked parents constantly complained about their jobs and vented their frustrations about their bosses every single day. Naturally, it made me dread the idea of entering the workforce.
You could say I’m a so-called “monster” born from the entitled mindset of my generation.
It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to claim that society itself created me. (Blaming others again.)
That said, being a himo generally requires being good-looking.
Unfortunately, my looks are about average. Having aimed to be a himo since childhood and developed some self-awareness, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I don’t possess any overwhelming talents.
I realized that just existing wouldn’t cut it if I wanted to be a himo.
No one would want to support a freeloading burden like me.
So, what should I do?
——I know. I could become a stay-at-home husband!
Housekeeping skills are something I could master with effort.
I came to this conclusion in third grade and have since dedicated all my time to improving my domestic abilities.
As a result, I’ve become so proficient in every household chore that I could earn five-star ratings across the board.
By my sophomore year of high school, I was confident in my abilities. “All right, with this, I can totally make it as a himo anytime,” I thought.
That’s when I began actively looking for someone who would “hire” me as their himo.
But I was fundamentally mistaken.
After all, there weren’t any wealthy, chore-struggling individuals at my high school willing to support a himo. I had completely overlooked this basic fact.
The emptiness that followed hit hard. What was I even doing with my life?
However, just as I was despairing, I had a fateful encounter——
* * *
“Did you hear? That super-popular model, Tachibana Miko, just transferred here?”
“Yeah, it’s true. During her self-introduction in the neighboring class’s short homeroom today, all the boys and even about five girls fainted.”
“Sounds like a massacre…”
It was lunchtime.
I was eating lunch with my one and only friend, Akira Fujinomori, in the courtyard.
As always, I had made his lunch, and we were eating together here.
It’s kind of homoerotic, honestly.
But I keep doing this in the faint hope that some girl might notice my skills and scout me for my talents. So far, there hasn’t been even a hint of interest.
Instead, rumors have spread that Akira and I are dating, earning us curious stares from the fujoshi (BL fangirls) crowd.
Every day, I stray further from being a himo and closer to being mistaken as gay.
“Apparently, there’s a massive game of tag going on to chase after Tachibana-san. Look.”
Akira showed me his smartphone, where countless posts on Twitter were sharing updates about her.
“They’re all stalkers. I hope they all get caught.”
“You’re so cold… Anyway, I’m joining in on the fun now.”
“Huh? What about your lunch?”
“I already finished it.”
He handed me his empty lunchbox.
“Thanks for the meal. It was great as always. Well, see ya!”
“Wait, hey!”
I called out to him, but he didn’t care and rushed off into the chaos.
His insatiable curiosity hasn’t changed. You could call it a journalist’s spirit—it’s a strong trait in him.
Left alone, I figured I might as well continue eating the rest of my lunch while gazing at the sky.
“It’s really good, though. Why won’t anyone take me up on this?”
I muttered to myself, my words disappearing into the air as silence returned.
But that silence didn’t last long.
Footsteps echoed from a distance, growing louder as they approached. Along with them came the sound of labored breathing.
The moment the noise peaked, an unfamiliar girl appeared before me.
“I can’t run anymore… What’s with those people?”
She collapsed in front of me, gasping for breath as if she hadn’t even noticed I was there.
——Wait, who is this girl?
“Seriously, what’s wrong with this school? I swear, everyone here must have been wild animals in a past life.”
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