Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

A boy, who looked no more than twenty years old. A white shirt, a black suit—the simplest styles, devoid of any embellishment. His neat, straight hair fell to his ears, a few strands fluttering gently in the breeze. His features were so exquisitely handsome, almost otherworldly, a gentle perfection that would make you forget to breathe if you stared at him for too long.

He held a bunch of tulips in his hands. The buds were still closed, their petals tightly wrapped together, their color somewhere between bright yellow and pale yellow. They weren't any rare or expensive variety, but the way he held them in his hands made it seem as if he were holding the whole world's spring.

He stood in the thin sunlight, stared at by all the male escorts in the shop.

He stepped forward, entered the shop, and bowed deeply to everyone. He held the tulips to his chest.

"I apologize for bothering you. Is this Takamagahara? Are Basara King, Ukyo, and Sakura here? Kazama Ruri has come to pay her a visit."

The bowing posture remained, and the faint fragrance of tulips wafted through the air.

No one speaks.

The male escorts seemed frozen in place. Fujiwara Kansuke stood closest to the door, holding the champagne glass he had just wiped.

The humpback whale was the first to react. His instincts, honed over thirty years in the industry, took over his body at that moment. While his brain was still processing the fact that "Ruri Kazama is standing in my shop," his body began to act.

Fujiwara Kansuke was faster. He accepted the business card from Kazama Ruri with an almost reverent gesture, holding it above his head with both hands like a monk holding a sutra in a temple. Then he carefully turned around and handed the card to the humpback whale.

The moment the humpback whale received the business card, it smelled the fragrance of chrysanthemums.

It's so faint that you can't tell if it's emanating from the paper or drifting over from the bunch of tulips by the door.

The fragrance that plants naturally release when they are covered in dew in the early morning.

The humpback whale looked down and saw a chrysanthemum drawn in ink on a pure white paper. A few petals were blown by the wind and drifted to the upper right. The ink varied in shade, being the darkest at the center of the flower and gradually fading at the edges of the petals, the petals that had flown away becoming almost transparent. On the back were four characters in regular script—"Kazama Ruri"—each stroke as natural as breathing, without the slightest hint of artifice.

The business card that the humpback whale had seen, framed in a crystal frame, seemed like a replica meeting the original compared to the one in its hand.

He held the business card in his hands, took a deep breath, and then bent down deeply.

"Today is a day of great honor for our shop. We are deeply honored by the presence of Master Kazama, and on behalf of everyone in the shop, we are honored by his arrival."

Kazama Ruri straightened up, looked at the middle-aged man with slightly graying hair in front of her, and a faint smile appeared in her eyes.

“I have long admired Senior Whale,” he bowed in return, the tulips swaying gently on his chest. “It is our first meeting, and I hope you will take good care of me.”

The male prostitutes then gradually came to their senses and hurriedly followed suit, bowing deeply in a flurry.

Several young male escorts secretly glanced up at Kazama Ruri, their eyes filled with undisguised admiration and nervousness. They had all entered the industry after hearing the legends of Kazama Ruri, and during their training, their seniors had repeatedly instilled in them the idea that "being a male escort is not about drinking, it's an art," and Kazama Ruri was the living proof of this idea.

Now this person stands before them, holding tulips, like a god who has stepped out of legend.

Kazama Ruri straightened up, her gaze passing over the humpback whale and looking into the depths of the store.

“Basara King-senpai and Ukyo-senpai,” he said, “and Sakura-senpai—”

He paused, then switched the tulip to his left hand and gently brushed the tips of the petals with his right.

Are they there?

Chapter 740 Master Kazama Ruri (Part Two)

The male escorts were still bowing, but many were secretly glancing at Kazama Ruri. Each of them had their own preconceived notion of what the industry's top figure should look like.

Some people think he should be like Basara King—with a striking profile like a Roman statue, sharp lines in his brow bone and jaw that could cut the eye, standing there like a mountain that would not move for anyone.

Some people think he should be like Ukyo—cool and aloof like a nobleman from the Heian period, with every move exuding the elegance of an ancient capital, making people afraid to approach yet unwilling to leave.

Some people think it should be the kind of dangerous man who exudes hormones, with electrifying eyes and a hooking smile, making your heart race at just one glance.

However, Kazama Ruri is not any of the above.

He has a very approachable, boy-next-door look. In the male escort industry, this term is usually a euphemistic derogatory term, meaning "not outstanding enough".

But when used to describe Kazama Ruri, the word regains its original meaning—he looks like a boy you would meet at a train station on your way home from school, wearing a clean school uniform, a backpack slung across his shoulder, an earphone wire peeking out from his collar, looking down at his phone, a faint smile playing on his lips, as if he were lost in thought.

You walk past him, a dozen steps or so, and suddenly realize you're still thinking about that smile. You turn back to look, but he's already boarded the tram, and the doors are closing. You stand there, a vague sense of regret welling up inside you, like missing a train that could have taken you to see the sea.

That's the kind of look I have.

At first glance, he even resembled a high school girl dressed as a boy. His facial features were soft, and his lips were the perfect balance between the thinness of a boy's and the fullness of a girl's. His skin had a translucent quality in the sunlight, and the downy hair on his cheeks was tinged with a pale gold, like the finest, softest fuzz on a peach. His eyes weren't particularly large, with slightly downturned corners, exuding a natural, non-aggressive gentleness. With such features distributed across a softly contoured face, no one would find it incongruous if he were dressed as a woman.

But no one would mistake him for a woman. Not because he possessed any strong masculine characteristics, but because his entire demeanor exuded an extremely clean, gender-neutral youthful quality.

It's not the charm of a man, nor the beauty of a woman, but the beauty of youth. Beauty exists between the ages of fourteen and eighteen, the last and purest form of a person before they become an adult. People at that stage haven't yet been burdened with various roles and expectations by the world; they are simply themselves, pure and innocent, like dewdrops just forming on the grass in the early morning.

Kazama Ruri is like a dewdrop.

He stood in the sunlight, the wind blowing the hem of his white shirt, which swayed gently. He smiled slightly at the male escorts bowing all around him, a smile that lacked the malice of Basara King's "I know what you're thinking" and the indifference of Ukyo's "I know everything but say nothing."

He was simply smiling, smiling because he saw you all, smiling because it was beautiful, and because it was beautiful, it made the hearts of those who saw it skip a beat.

The male prostitutes were all stunned.

Fujiwara Kansuke nearly dropped the champagne glass in his hand; he frantically caught it, the bottom of the glass making a crisp sound on the floor. No one looked at him; everyone's eyes were fixed on Kazama Ruri.

These male escorts' daily work involves showcasing their charm from every angle. They possess an understanding and numbness to the word "good-looking" that far surpasses that of ordinary people. Their profession requires them to spend more than two hours a day looking in the mirror, studying every expression, every angle, every blink, and every lip purse. They are professionals in appearance, connoisseurs of looks, and craftsmen of charm.

But at that moment, the same thought surged in the mind of every male escort.

Compared to true masters, we are all just ordinary people.

It's like someone who has played the piano for twenty years hearing Horowitz's recording for the first time, or someone who has painted for thirty years standing in front of the original "Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains" for the first time.

Kazama Ruri wasn't just a better-looking male host than them; he was an upgraded version of the male host profession, elevated to its peak. While they were still at the foot of the mountain figuring out how to climb faster, he was already standing on the summit, looking up at the higher sky.

Kazama Ruri shifted her gaze from the crowd to two people standing at the back of the group.

Caesar and Chu Zihang.

Ruri Kazama bowed deeply to Caesar.

“Senior Basara King,” he straightened up, looking into Caesar’s eyes, “what a man of unyielding spirit.”

Caesar raised an eyebrow.

After arriving in Japan, he was described with various terms, from "a playboy from Italy" to "a walking hormone generator" to "a miracle of human aesthetics." But the description "a man as free and easy as rock" was something he had never heard before.

Strangely, when this description came from Kazama Ruri's mouth, it didn't feel like a compliment.

Kazama Ruri turned to Chu Zihang and bowed deeply once again.

"If I'm not mistaken, you are Master Ukyo. You are a swordsman, but you are a kind person at heart."

“Isn’t Sakura-sensei here?” Kazama Ruri asked.

“You know Sakura isn’t here?” Caesar said. “Perhaps he’s hiding among us, but you just haven’t recognized him.”

This was a test; Caesar wanted to see just how much this suddenly emerging industry leader actually knew.

Sakura, Lu Mingfei, was of course not in the shop at the moment; he and Frilian were causing trouble for Tachibana Masamune.

Kazama Ruri entered the store less than three minutes ago and accurately determined that Sakura wasn't there. How did he do that? Had he met Lu Mingfei?

Kazama Ruri met Caesar's gaze and smiled slightly.

"I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Sakura at Huaxia last year. He has a lion in his eyes."

"It's more accurate to say that he's hiding in the lion's eyes," Caesar said in a nonchalant tone.

Ruri Kazama did not delve further into this topic.

-----------------

After Mariko Nakamura caused a scene in the Natsuki area last night, everyone thought she would leave overnight and never set foot in Takamagahara again.

But she didn't. She stayed at a nearby hotel for one night and returned early this morning. Not because she was still angry, but because after signing the bill and returning to the hotel, she felt increasingly uneasy.

Who exactly is that woman? How does she know so much? Are the things she said true or just a lie? These questions tormented her all night, keeping her tossing and turning, unable to sleep. So she came again early this morning, wanting to find out Su Enxi's identity, yet also secretly hoping to see those two gigolos from last night who both evoked her hatred and longing.

She stood at the door of the private room, her makeup lighter than the night before, making her appear less aggressive, but the tension characteristic of someone accustomed to giving orders still lingered between her brows. When she saw Kazama Ruri walking towards her, she froze.

She recognized him.

She had been to a bar in Osaka. It was three years ago, when her husband had just been elected to parliament, and her social life as a parliamentarian's wife was just beginning. She was under so much pressure that she needed sleeping pills to fall asleep every night. Her best friend dragged her to Osaka to relax, saying there was a bar that was really popular lately, and all the girls who went there were talking about a male host named Kazama Ruri.

She scoffed at the time—what hadn't Mariko Nakamura seen? She could casually enter high-class clubs in Ginza; why would she fawn over a homeless male escort who didn't even have a fixed place to stay? But that night, she couldn't sleep, and her best friend kept messaging her, "You'll see when you get here." With the mindset of "I'll just treat it as going for a drink," she went out.

The bar was small, tucked away at the very end of an alley in Shinsaibashi, its facade so old it looked like it came from the Showa era. When she pushed the door open, she saw a boy sitting at the far end of the bar, wearing a simple white shirt, mixing a drink. The boy looked up when he heard the doorbell ring and smiled at her.

Her smile made her stand at the door for ten seconds.

She thought of someone, a boy she had a crush on when she was seventeen, from the next class, who wore glasses, had excellent grades, and whose eyes curved into crescents when he smiled. She never spoke to him, but when they brushed past each other in the hallway, she would deliberately walk slowly, just to catch another glimpse of his smile. After graduating from high school, she never saw him again. Later, she heard that he went to university in Hokkaido, and then she lost touch with him. She couldn't really remember what he looked like anymore, but she always remembered the warmth of his smile.

Ruri Kazama's smile embodies that warmth.

That night, she sat in the corner of the bar, not approaching him to speak, but simply watching from afar as he poured drinks for other customers, chatted, and occasionally smiled with his head down. When he smiled, the hair by his ears would fall down and cover half of his face, and he would use his left hand to tuck the hair behind his ear.

Later, she heard that Kazama Ruri had left that bar and never went back. She thought she would never see him again in her life.

And now, the boy is walking towards her, holding a bunch of tulips in his hands, the sunlight behind him forming a golden door.

Ruri Kazama stopped in front of her and bowed deeply.

"Forgive my bluntness," he straightened up, looking into Mariko Nakamura's eyes, "but the life of a male escort isn't as wretched as you make it out to be. If we were rabid dogs, you wouldn't find our company enjoyable, would you?"

If any other male escort had said those words, Mariko Nakamura would have immediately lost her temper. She was a congresswoman's wife, the owner of seventeen shops in Ginza, and Mariko Nakamura, who had just been humiliated by a woman in rabbit slippers the night before, and was brimming with resentment and anger. Anyone who dared to lecture her at this moment would be torn to shreds by her.

But the person who said those words was Kazama Ruri.

He stood there, his white shirt fluttering in the wind, holding tulips in his hands, his eyes revealing a bottomless tenderness beneath a veil of transparency.

Mariko Nakamura's lips moved slightly.

"I, I..." she uttered only these few syllables. A woman who owned seventeen shops in Ginza, a woman who could silence an entire host club last night with her scolding, a woman who could even control a member of the Tokyo Metropolitan Assembly, was as embarrassed as a high school girl being called on by the teacher to answer a question in front of this pure and innocent boy.

At that moment, a loud gurgling sound came from her stomach.

She hadn't eaten anything since last night. Last night's anger filled her stomach, making her feel no hunger. But after Kazama Ruri stood in front of her and said those words, the anger deflated quickly like a balloon that had been pricked with a needle, and the empty space was immediately filled by hunger.

The gurgling sound was exceptionally clear in the quiet shop, and several male escorts couldn't help but twitch their lips, but none of them dared to laugh out loud.

Chapter 741 Master Kazama Ruri (Part 3)

Kazama Ruri glanced down at her stomach.

“You’re hungry,” he said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll make you something to eat. We can talk about apologizing later, okay?”

Mariko Nakamura's eyes widened in surprise.

Of all the legends surrounding Kazama Ruri, the "handmade breakfast" is the most mythical. It is said that among the women who had the chance to meet Master Kazama, only a mere ten percent were able to taste the breakfast he prepared himself.

He only makes breakfast for those who "truly need it." What does it mean to truly need breakfast? No one can say for sure. Some say it's girls with sadness in their eyes, some say it's working women who have worked three days in a row, some say it's high school students who have just broken up and cried for a long time in the convenience store. Only Kazama Ruri knows his standard, and his standard has never been wrong.