Guys in this world hate few things more than packed trains, probably a top-three contender. For me, it’s a sushi-packed buffet of lucky perv chances. Had to ride this train, so here I am, hyped up at the morning commute ptform.

  No destination, just the ride. I snagged a 300-yen ticket for a decent stretch. “Plenty of folks, huh,” I mused. Golden Week’s for students. I shifted past morning club time, avoiding cssmates, but workers still grind. Fewer than a weekday, yet enough dies wait to crowd the train.

  Men line up at the ptform’s head and tail since male-only cars stop there. Elsewhere, no guys. I noticed this heading to the arcade before. Skipping the men’s car stands out, even while waiting. Every train, any day, the st car’s for men. Eight-car trains get a front one too. Blue lines mark them, impossible to miss. If I joined a general line, I’d draw every eye, especially in my student uniform. I’d hog the station’s stares.

  Why wear the uniform on break? To signal young guy here. Fuyuhara-sensei digs uniform py, and adult shops sell them high. Uniforms carry that timeless glow in every world.

  “Alright,” I muttered. The next train’s due. Time to prep. I pulled my wallet. Men can ride general cars, but other guys or station staff might intervene. How to slip in naturally? Me, Miyagi Kyo, second-life wannabe pyer, not there yet, but I grind. Brainstormed hard. My gray, or rather, peach cells cooked up gold.

  “Train arriving at Ptform 3 shortly. Step back behind the white line.”

  Showtime. I strolled to the juice vending machine, central and far from the men’s car. Dropped coins, faked indecision, and stalled. Women’s gnces hit me, just a hot guy passing by, nothing suspicious. Overconfident? Nah, I’m legit hot. Some stare rude, some sneaky. Either way, I’m sharp to it now, used to the attention.

  The train slid in, and doors opened. Passengers swapped, exiters out, waiters in. Not yet, too soon. The bell rang. Now. I grabbed my tea, “hesitated” at a nearby car, and hopped on. Not a frantic dash, but too te for the men’s car, a perfect, Oscar-worthy timing. Slid in smooth.

  Eyes met a few women near the door. They parted fast. In my past life, I’d clear space for a dy too, half manners, half dodging false accusations. Same here, but this seamless? Their kindness flipped my pn into a fwless hack. Nailed boarding a busy general car. Useful trick, next time TBD.

  “Hmm,” I hummed, grabbing the strap, lower than my st life. Scanned around. Only guy here. Women shorter, I’m 170 cm, head above the rest, sticking out. Naturally, my stud face draws eyes from every angle. Top dog in this car, no contest. Hotter stares than at the vending machine pierce me all over. Feels good. Long live hotness, praise the goddess.

  One gripe, though. “Ugh…” Not crowded enough. Not empty, not roomy, busy but not body-to-body packed. This world’s hetero harassment ws hit way harder than my old one. Even middle-school Maki-chan’s “harassment cop” act shows kids know men face stiff penalties. So, passengers don’t just avoid me, they’re inching away. I’m a chill bubble while the far end’s sardined, my fault.

  Screwed up, bothering women, no one wins. Lucky perv moments don’t come easy. Guess it’s not “lucky” if it’s forced, huh? I shifted to the window, minimizing the mess. Watched pne trails fade in the blue sky.

  Then, at the next stop, it hit out of nowhere.