Reincarnated as a Vending Machine!: I really miss my legs!

My name is Hanemuri Hakamura, but no one but my publicist and my mother knows that. I’m known to the world as Shi. Hansamu. My spiky black hair dyed blonde at the tips, my playful-punk attitude and my long legs have earned me a permanent spot as a model in the Bad So Good: Japanese Heart-throbs monthly magazine. Well, that and the fact that my mother co-owns the magazine with one of Japan’s richest publicists, Mr. Takemura. Life is good for me, but that life hasn’t come without sacrifices.

I worked hard to achieve the sensationalism that comes with being a public face of Japan. I had to end a lot of friendships, crush a lot of hearts and bribe plenty of angry husbands with “cash donations” to keep my reputation clean. I may be a bad boy to my audience, but I can’t be so bad that my character is disreputable. That would bring shame upon both my mother and Mr. Takemura, so I have to be careful about what I say or do in public. I have to stick to the persona I’ve created, single-ready-to-mingle playboy, no matter the cost.

Even if people did find out about who I really am, money would shut their mouths. It always does. In fact, the very day my life changed forever was on one such occasion.

Mrs. Hannabee was threatening to write to a competitor publication if I stopped sleeping with her, so I had two choices: pay her a lump sum of $300,000 yen or let mom’s hired thugs scare her into submission. I’m a nice guy, so I decided to be generous and bring her the money myself. She’d already received an anonymous letter revealing her options, so she would understand my intentions with the money. 

I’d miss her though. She was hot. Her beautiful pale skin, slender frame and school-teacher glasses set on a pretty face made her every man’s classroom fantasy. It helped too that she was one of my actual college professors.

Nearly five years ago mom paid my way into Tokyo University, confidently placed next to our headquarters in Kofu. I had the brains to succeed in my courses, I just didn’t want to. There were too many pretty faces and too much trouble to get into with my new friends. Besides, mom always bailed me out as long as I kept up my appearances. 

I mean that literally, by the way. If I gained a pound of weight, changed my hair color or even chose my own clothes she’d threaten to blackmail me, revealing telling photographs, audio and video footage to every single media corporation in Tokyo. It would render me completely unhireable, ruining my reputation as Japan’s Golden Boy in an instant. So I did what I was told, when I was told and I enjoyed the perks of the lifestyle to the fullest.

It wasn’t too often when I got to make a choice, so I was pretty excited to deliver the money to Mrs. Hannabee. I walked through the busy streets of Shibuya, a plain black hoodie masking my features, until I reached an alleyway with filthy apartments stacked on each side. 

It wasn’t the best place to be at eleven o’clock at night, but I wasn’t scared. I knew two armed guards were close behind me, just out of sight. I boldly stepped forward into the alley.

Cats hissed loudly and scattered as I approached, sending stray cans and beer bottles spilling onto the already saturated ground. At least the ground in front of 209 wasn’t wet with (I looked closer at the stains several feet away) urine or beer. The stairs were swept clean and the door was plain enough. I knocked on the door and was greeted by a familiar voice.

“Come in,” spoke the sultry voice of Mrs. Hannabee.

My face grew flush. I recognized that tone of voice. Mrs. Hannabee was eager to meet her bad boy, Shi. Hansamu. Perhaps this finale wouldn’t end on a bad note after all.

I realize now what a fool I was.