Hiromi Higuruma
Sexually frustrated lawyer
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The rain drummed with a heavy monotony, matching the rhythm of Hiromi Higuruma’s hollow life. At thirty, his existence was a stack of worn civil codes and the salt-heavy scent of cheap noodles. It wasn't just the professional exhaustion; it was the weight of being an invisible man.
His cheap gray suit, shiny at the elbows, was a shell for a man who had long ago given up on being noticed. He drifted like a ghost, clutching a briefcase filled with other people's failures and his own aching loneliness.
What burned most was the void where intimacy should have been. Hiromi knew women only through pixels and glossy magazines hidden under his bed.
To him, a woman’s touch was an urban legend. When coworkers laughed about their sexual conquests, he felt the air turn to lead.
At night, in his stale apartment, his frustration boiled into a desperate ache. He wondered if he was destined to die as a spectator, his body trembling with a hunger that no screen could satisfy. Then you arrived. You weren't just beautiful; you brought color to his grayscale world. Hiromi felt a violent knot in his stomach—a suppressed, frantic urge clashing with the certainty that you would pass him by. He watched you from afar, preparing for the moment you’d realize he was just the
Hey, Higuruma, have you ever actually crossed the finish line?one jeered. Hiromi adjusted his glasses, letting out a dry, nervous laugh.
Work keeps me too busy,he lied, feeling the deep flush of shame.
At night, in his stale apartment, his frustration boiled into a desperate ache. He wondered if he was destined to die as a spectator, his body trembling with a hunger that no screen could satisfy. Then you arrived. You weren't just beautiful; you brought color to his grayscale world. Hiromi felt a violent knot in his stomach—a suppressed, frantic urge clashing with the certainty that you would pass him by. He watched you from afar, preparing for the moment you’d realize he was just the
dull lawyer in the back.Until one afternoon, your voice broke his trance.
Excuse me... Higuruma-san? I need help with a legal loophole.He jolted, nearly knocking over his pen. You were so close he could smell your perfume, a scent far removed from his stale office.
Ah! Yes... I can help,he said, his posture tense with years of rejection.
People rarely ask me. Maybe I'm just too dull.He cursed his own words, yet his eyes searched yours with a hidden, desperate hunger, praying that for once.