Mission Details:

Misaki had no idea that Lady's Night at the Sandbox Strip Club was that popular. He had only been manning the reception for about an hour and already he had booked eight tables for the event. The phone rang once again. "Hello, this is the Sandbox Strip Club," he still had trouble saying that without blushing madly. "This is Misaki speaking, how may I help you?" He asked. It was the standard way to answer the phone, as he had been instructed.

"I want a table for thirteen people. VIP section, first row," came the bitter and clipped tone of what Misaki could only guess was a young woman.

"Oh, I'm sorry, we no longer have any tables available for more than four people. We still have regular tickets, though," he explained. The lady on the other side of the phone wasn't having it, though.

"Fine, then I at least want a private lap dance for me and my friends," she demanded. Misaki was confused.

"I... don't think I can get you that?" He said. He cursed himself for sounding so unsure. The woman on the other side of the phone would probably see this as something she could take advantage of. He tried to elaborate. "I mean, it's not standard procedure so-"

"You have private rooms, right?"

"Y-yes?" Misaki stuttered.

"So?" She pressed.

"Um, they're closed for the night." Apparently this was a special show that only happened every few months. It explained why tables and tickets were in such high demand and also why the regular functions were closed.

"So open them," the young woman demanded.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, ma'am," he kept trying to be as polite as he could.

"Then can you get me someone who can?"

"I'm sorry, the manager is really busy, so I can't-"

"Do you even know who I am?!" She said, indignant and angrier than before.

"No ma'am, you haven't introduced-"

"I'm Kaminashi Yuko!" If Misaki was supposed to recognize the name, he didn't. Not in the slightest.

"I'm sorry ma'am, there's nothing I can do for you. Ok, bye!" He hung up the phone and sighed in relief. Spoiled brat. She reminded him of one of his older cousins - a young and snooty girl that lived in the Karisuma household at the same time that he had. Presumably, she had died with the rest of them. Misaki rarely ever harbored ill-will towards anyone, but good riddance. The girl had made his life miserable every chance she got.

Dealing with people like that in person was so much easier. He could just activate his Doujutsu and call it a day. They usually acted dumbfounded and were easier to calm down that way. He slumped in his chair, feeling like he needed a break despite the fact that his job had only just begun. He was supposed to stay there for the rest of the night shift. Fortunately, he would soon shift to greeting guests and checking IDs. It was strange that he, a fifteen year old boy, was put in charge of something like that. Still, it was a simple task and an easy way to make money.

Just then the manager came into the room to ruin his fantasy of a non-problematic night and quick cash. "I'm sorry sweetheart, but we need someone to take the strippers to the back and help them get ready."

"W-what?" Before he could ask anything else, the manager had already left the room. Oh dear. What had he gotten himself into?

"So, here's the dressing room..." Misaki said, leading the group of about eight men.... eight really good looking men... objectively speaking, of course! Wait, what was he doing again? Oh, right. Leading the strippers into the room. He stood awkwardly at the door, fidgeting and not quite sure what to do next. He had been told to help, but little more than that. "So... um, I'll just let you guys get ready! Do you need... drinks?" He asked, not knowing what else he could offer. He really had no idea what he was doing.

One of them laughed, putting an arm around Misaki's shoulder. "You're just adorable, aren't you?" He asked. He was... uncomfortably close. Misaki swallowed. What was he supposed to say to that?

"Uh... thanks," he managed to mumble. It was only a matter of time before he started sweating nervously.

"Don't mind him, he's always like that," said another of the men, rolling his eyes.

The first man stuck his tongue out playfully and let go of Misaki. He headed started getting ready along with the rest of the men. "You're no fun," he pouted at his coworker.

"We do need help with the body oil, though," said the second man said offhandedly.

Misaki froze for a moment. He had been told where the bottles of oil were. Did he just have to go get them or... or did he have to help them put it on? Misaki couldn't help himself but picture himself rubbing the slick substance all over these men's chests, over their muscular pectorals and their six packs... No! He had to stop thinking like that! It was just weird. "R-right!" he said, snapping out of it and headed to the supply closet in the hall.

What was wrong with him? He never had this problem in front of women, who he had always believed he was attracted to. He was way more composed in front of them. Why would he be so awkward around men? He'd seen himself without a shirt countless times. Why would this be any different?

He just had to take a few deep breaths. It had to be that he was just intimidated. After all, these were men that made careers out of being beautiful and having spectacular bodies. Misaki was probably just a little envious, and maybe he even felt slightly inadequate. That was probably it. He grabbed one bottle per person and headed back to the dressing room.

"Here you go," he said, dropping the bottles off on one of the vanity mirrors. He left the room before he could be asked to do anything else. He really didn't need the added mortification of rubbing baby oil all over their very naked bodies... their very naked, toned and sexy bodies- No! Stop that! He had to stop that line of very strange thoughts. They would only make his job harder than it already was.

The rest of the night went by without many mishaps. He avoided the show like it was infected with the plague. Even when his manager offered him a half hour break to enjoy at least part of the night, he had refused. He was fine with leading guests to their tables and checking IDs every once in a while. Besides, why would he have any interest in that show? Nope. Nope, he was fine. Completely fine. He was alright with just doing menial tasks throughout the night. He had to turn a few people away for trying to get in with fake ID cards, but mentioning that he was a shinobi or using his eyes made the entire process much easier.

He went home later that night, and like all nights since he had met Ryuto, he barely managed to get any sleep. His confusion and exhaustion were really reaching its peak.