Tsuma Ni Damatte Sokubaikai Ni Ikun Ja Nakatta Game -

The warehouse smelled of mildew and ozone. Men in dark coats stood in a loose circle, illuminated by a single bare bulb. No one spoke. At the center, a woman in a surgical mask opened a suitcase. Inside: a mint-condition MS-20. Serial number 002184. His.

Now, a rumor whispered that his MS-20—the very one with the cigarette burn near the filter knob—was on the block.

Kenji's voice cracked. "One-seventy."

He told himself it wasn't a lie. It was a tactical omission. Yuki was asleep by 10 PM. He'd be back by 1 AM. She'd never know.

"Sixty from the back."

Silence. The gavel hit a wooden crate. "Sold."

And that, Kenji learned too late, was the real auction—the one where you bid your marriage, and the house always wins.

"Just looking," he whispered to the bathroom mirror. "Not buying."