● Freshman Year, May – Ayase Saki

The morning after we’d spent the night together.

I blinked, studying my reflection in the bathroom mirror as I washed my face.

Complexion, skin radiance—check. A wave of relief washed over me; nothing seemed different from usual. I’d already done a quick check before my shower, but I couldn’t help myself.

Even so, a part of me had been convinced that going through with it would trigger some dramatic, visible change.

But everything felt surprisingly… normal. The world didn’t look any more dazzling, and my state of mind felt unchanged.

And yet—for some reason, I was in a remarkably good mood.

I suddenly recalled the words of a certain associate professor, whose annoying name I couldn’t be bothered to remember. He was the reason I’d ended up at my current university in the first place.

“If, even after interacting with other charming guys, your feelings don’t change, then you should treasure those genuine emotions.”

Treasure those genuine emotions.

This morning, I felt a quiet satisfaction, a sense of rightness in having followed my heart. This had to be a good thing.

Of course, I couldn’t ignore the slight, dull ache around the base of my legs with every step. It was probably unreasonable, but the thought that men likely didn’t experience this kind of lingering discomfort left me feeling a little frustrated. Was I supposed to be happy the pain wasn’t as bad as I’d been warned, or not? Maybe it would have been better if I wasn’t so unfazed.

That said, I’d heard that for some people, the pain and bleeding could persist, so it was probably best to be mindful of it for a while.

It wasn’t as if it didn’t hurt at all.

Anyway, standing here staring at my reflection and overthinking things wouldn’t do.

Even though it was Sunday, my stepfather, Taichi-san, would be waking up soon. I couldn’t just leave Yuuta to handle breakfast. Plus, my internship at Ruka-san’s office was starting this week, and I needed to get ready for that.

After a quick makeup session, I returned to the dining room.

Throughout the rest of Sunday, I spent the day keenly aware of the slight changes in my body. My stomach felt a bit off, my core unstable—or rather, my waist and back felt strange. I was aware of the various illnesses and troubles that could follow the act, and I wondered if I was already experiencing some negative effects.

However, it seemed I was just sore from using muscles I didn’t normally use. By Sunday afternoon, my condition had stabilized. So that was exercise, huh… Then it occurred to me that perhaps the worry itself was affecting my body. Sickness starts from the mind, as they say.

Yuuta must have sensed my state, because he kept glancing at me with a look that clearly asked, Are you okay? The tricky part was that I didn’t feel unwell enough to consult him. I couldn’t exactly say, “I think I have muscle soreness because of what we did.” There was no way I could say that.

Then came Monday morning.

I woke up feeling refreshed, with no trace of discomfort anywhere in my body. The pain was almost gone, too, and a final wave of relief washed over me.

My internship at Ruka-san’s office started today. The morning light streamed into the washroom, and I smiled at my reflection in the mirror.

Alright, my real university life was about to begin.

My classes ended at noon, leaving the afternoon free for Ruka-san’s office.

It was my first day.

I wouldn’t say that university life was all about part-time jobs—the liberal arts lectures were interesting in their own right, and I’d been hanging out with new friends on my days off.

However, for now, my biggest challenge lay with Ruka-san, so naturally, my thoughts were consumed by it.

An internship at Akihiro Ruka-san’s office. My heart pounded with excitement.

My physical discomfort had vanished, and the pain was almost gone.

I got off at Nakano-sakaue Station and walked three minutes to a five-story office building. Taking the elevator to the third floor, I found myself standing before a door with “Lucca Design. Studio” written in a stylish, decorative font.

This was Akihiro Ruka-san’s design office.

I opened the door and called out, “Excuse me.”

“You’re early,” a voice replied.

Ruka-san herself appeared from behind a partition.

“Thank you for having me,” I said with a bow.

“Yeah. Good to have you.”

“Um…”

“Hm?”

“Is this… okay?” I asked, placing a hand on my chest.

I’d been told a suit wasn’t necessary, so I’d come dressed as I would for university, but I couldn’t help but worry if it was formal enough for a professional setting. At my bookstore job, the uniform apron had saved me from such concerns.

“Ah, yeah. It’s fine, it’s fine,” she said, looking me over. “You’re wearing slacks, not a skirt. It’s the first time I’ve seen that.”

“I wear skirts more often, but I thought this might be a better fit somehow.”

“It looks good on you, it looks good.”

Her reassurance was a relief. I had on a collared blouse and slacks—not a suit, but an outfit I’d intended to be more formal than my usual clothes. At least I wasn’t scolded for it. I supposed I’d have to figure out the right dress code as I went.

With that in mind, I discreetly observed Ruka-san’s attire as she led the way. She wasn’t in a suit either, but a white top with a blue cardigan. The necklace she wore had a small blue stone. The “Ru” in her name, Ruka, meant blue jewel, so it seemed blue was her signature color.

She always wore something blue, no matter the outfit.

“The work I want you to do is basically to be my assistant—which sounds cool, but well, it’s mostly miscellaneous tasks,” she explained.

“Yes.”

“So, you’ll be working alongside me. I want you to do everything from carrying things to managing my schedule, but, um… Ah, there he is. Wada-san.”

She called out to a man standing in front of a copy machine at the far end of the office, printing a large number of documents. He wore a white dress shirt and tie, the typical attire of a salaryman on his commute.

Turning just his head, the man—Wada-san—smiled. He was the one who had greeted me on my first visit. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, a gentle-looking man with a cheerful smile.

“Yes, yes. The printing will be done in just a moment,” he said.

“Thanks. And when that’s done, I want you to teach this girl the ropes.”

“Ah. Um… Asamura-san, was it?”

“Asamura?” Ruka-san hesitated for a moment, then nodded as if in understanding. “Right. There was that issue too. You… Saki-chan.”

She turned her gaze from Wada-san to me.

“Which name will you use?”

“Which one…?”

And then it hit me. On my resume, I had written my name as “Asamura Saki.” However, since I’d met Ruka-san, I had introduced myself as “Ayase Saki.” She had never asked me about it, though.

“For people like us who work under our own names, the impression your name gives is important,” Ruka-san explained. “You know, like a pen name for a writer or manga artist. You work under that name, people remember you by it, and you get requests under that name. So you can’t change it easily. You can use whichever you like, but it’s more advantageous to stick with the one you choose.”

The impression my name gives is important…

“So, is that why you always wear blue clothes or accessories, Ruka-san?” The question slipped out.

Ruka-san’s eyes widened slightly before she gave a small nod.

“Well, that’s about it. I’ll do whatever it takes to have people remember me. Even the small things. My business card is blue, and the office logo was blue too, right?”

“You’re the president, Ruka-san. Of course,” Wada-san chimed in. “The more people remember your name, the they’ll recognize our office.”

For a fleeting moment, Ruka-san looked a little awkward, almost embarrassed—like a senior trying to act cool, only to be overheard by someone much more senior.

“W-well. Never mind about me,” she said, quickly changing the subject. “The question is what you want to do.”

“I should probably decide that now, right?”

“Yeah. I’m about to introduce you to everyone. I should have talked to you about it beforehand. I apologize for that.”

I thought about it. It was something I had hesitated over when submitting my resume. My research indicated that while a resume isn’t a public document, it affects the trust relationship with a company, so I should write my name as it appears on my family register. In that case, I’d had no choice but to write “Asamura Saki.”

If it weren’t for a formal document, there would be more flexibility.

For example, our family’s nameplate at home displays both “Asamura” and “Ayase” side by side. That’s because my mother’s professional name is “Ayase Akiko”—a natural choice, since she’s continued the same job since before her remarriage. All the letters from business acquaintances arrive addressed to “Ayase Akiko.”

So, what Ruka-san was saying was that I needed to decide now whether to use “Ayase” or “Asamura” as my professional name before she introduced me to everyone.

Huh? But didn’t Wada-san seem to already know my name?

My confusion must have been written all over my face. Ruka-san offered a little more information about Wada-san.

“Wada-san is my former boss. He also helped me when I was starting this company. In fact, at first, I was thinking of having Wada-san found the company and then have him hire me.”

“I don’t want to do something that troublesome at my age,” Wada-san said with a chuckle. “I’d rather just leave it to the young people and retire. I’m just an office worker now. I’m perfectly fine in the background.”

“I don’t think so. I still think of you as a top-notch designer, Wada-san. In fact, what you’re doing now is basically acting as a consultant for all the work.”

I see.

So he had seen my resume and knew the name Asamura.

In that case, the only people in this company who knew my legal name was “Asamura Saki” were Ruka-san and Wada-san. The other employees, who I was about to meet, didn’t know my name yet.

My hesitation lasted only a moment before I spoke, almost reflexively.

“Um, if it’s not a problem, I’d like to go by Ayase Saki, please.”

When I said that, Ruka-san had a look on her face that said, “I knew it,” while Wada-san looked a little surprised but simply said, “I understand. Ayase-san, then.” His mature response, not prying with questions, was likely why Ruka-san trusted him so much.

When choosing my professional name, I felt no desire to use “Asamura.” It probably reminded me of the time when I had resolved to support myself on my own.

I have changed my last name twice.

The first time was when my mother got divorced.

Before that, as a small child, my last name was Itou. So, I was Itou Saki. Everyone called me that, and I was fond of the name. After the divorce, my last name became Ayase.

At that time, admiring my mother and disappointed in my father, I decided to acquire the strength to live on my own. At that time, I was “Ayase Saki.” I thought I would never use the name Itou again, and since I had never even considered a future where I would get married, I was prepared to go through my entire life as Ayase Saki.

I don’t know if I will continue to aspire to be a designer, but I want to continue as Ayase Saki to engrave in my heart that I am, above all, an independent being.

It’s not that I’m denying my mother’s remarriage, though.

Right now, as an intern at “Lucca Design. Studio” and walking towards my future, the name “Ayase Saki” just feels the most fitting. That was my thought.

I was to greet Wada-san again later.

“Well then, Wada-san, see you later.”

“Yes.”

Ruka-san then led me to the main work area.

“Hey, everyone, your attention, please!”

At Ruka-san’s voice, the employees working at desks arranged in an island formation all looked up at once.

There were six of them—two men and four women. Including Ruka-san and Wada-san, that made a total of eight people. I wondered if the high ratio of women was due to the nature of the work, or because the president, Ruka-san, was a woman. Of course, it could have just been a coincidence.

“This is Ayase Saki-san, a university student who will be working with us as a long-term intern starting today,” she announced, patting me on the back. “For the time being, she’ll be working as my assistant. Please be nice to her.”

As if pushed, I took a step forward and gave a light bow.

“I’m Ayase Saki. The ‘Sa’ in my name is written with the kanji for sand—um, the one with the water radical. And the ‘ki’ is from the word for season. If possible, I’d be happy if you could just call me by my first name, Saki.”

There was a reason I emphasized my first name.

The name of this company is “Lucca Design. Studio.” I’d looked it up when I was hired and learned that “Lucca” means “light” in Italian, and “happiness” or “good fortune” in Icelandic. And of course, it was a play on her name, Ruka.

I think the main reason was her desire to use a word with many positive meanings, but it also suggested that the company probably valued the name “Ruka” more than “Akihiro.” From our brief conversation just now, it was clear that Ruka-san was eager to promote her own name in the industry, and that was likely conveyed to her employees as well.

In other words, she wanted “Ruka” to be more widely known than “Akihiro.”

Of course, in Japan, using first names in a professional context isn’t common.

In fact, when I first visited this office, Wada-san had said, “I’ll go get Akihiro now.” But at the same time, Ruka-san had also said, “You can just call me Ruka. It’s a small company. Everyone else does too.”

And indeed, today Wada-san had been calling her “Ruka-san” from start to finish.

It wasn’t just about being friendly. She wanted the sound “Ruka” to be used as much as possible—for example, when employees were out on a job and mentioned their boss’s name—so that it would stick in people’s minds and become more widespread, even if just a little.

In that kind of workplace atmosphere, I figured that being called by my first name wouldn’t feel out of place. That was the important part. Even though I wanted to use “Ayase” as my working name, my legal last name was “Asamura.” In that case, there was a possibility that the name “Asamura” would come to the attention of the other employees at some point. Causing confusion by making them wonder, “Which one should I call you?” was by no means a good idea.

On that point, my first name would probably not change from now on.

So, even if my working name was “Ayase Saki,” I wanted the emphasis to be on “Saki.”

That was the thought process that led me to say, “Please call me Saki.”

The employees’ reaction to my self-introduction was generally positive. They smiled and said, “Nice to meet you.” But there were also some who kept a stern face, and as soon as I finished my greeting, they lowered their heads and resumed their work. I could feel a rather tense atmosphere. Well, since a newcomer with no track record had suddenly barged in, I didn’t expect to be easily accepted. The tension was just what I wanted.

After the greetings, I went straight back to Wada-san, who was about to move, holding a stack of printouts. It seemed the printing was finished.

Ruka-san said, “Well, I’ll leave the rest to you,” and went back to her work.

“I’ll help,” I offered, taking half of the stack of printouts.

Wada-san thanked me. We carried them to what looked like a conference room, stacked them on the table, and that was it. They seemed to be materials for a presentation. The person in charge would take them later, so Wada-san then took me to the storage room.

He unlocked the door and we went inside. The room was lined with large steel shelves filled with various unused supplies—displays, tablets, printers, scanners, and so on. There were also what seemed to be reference materials, such as thick specialized books, and back issues of magazines, all neatly organized. It was a little dusty.

“Um, this should be fine. It’s an old model, but could you use this for now?”

He handed me a work laptop.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s a generation old, but it’s more than enough for office work. There are security issues, so we don’t allow personal PCs in our company. I’d like you to use this for the time being. If you find it inconvenient, let me know. We’ll consider getting a budget to buy a new one.”

“Yes.”

I received a brief explanation of everything from PC setup and security to how to install the software used for work. There was no way I could remember it all in one go, and as my head was spinning, Wada-san said, “Well, if you don’t understand something, just ask me.” I decided to take him up on his offer.

Carrying the laptop, I returned to the main floor with Wada-san and was shown to my seat.

There were still two empty seats at the end of the workspace, and one of them was assigned to me.

“Here. This.”

I was handed a clear pocket file with printed sheets of paper inside.

On the cover, a sticker read, “How to Set Up Your PC Environment.” When I opened it, I found a summary of the procedures Wada-san had just explained.

“Thank you very much.”

“Let me know when you get to the end. I’ll be over there.”

I followed his gaze to where he pointed. Near Ruka-san’s independent desk, there was another solitary desk, cluttered with a large display and a pile of thick books. It gave a more disorganized impression than the other desks.

I couldn’t help but let my eyes dart back and forth between the crisp, clean-looking man in front of me and his messy desk.

“Wada-san doesn’t clean up…” the woman at the desk next to me muttered under her breath, her words mixed with a sigh. She seemed to have noticed my gaze.

“Hahaha… My apologies. I’m just not good at cleaning up,” Wada-san said with a good-natured laugh.

“Ah. S-sorry,” I apologized without thinking.

“No, no. All the young people these days are so tidy. It’s no wonder you’re amazed. We Showa-era men are just no good at that sort of thing.”

“Blaming it on your generation isn’t good, y’know,” a young man with pink-dyed hair said bluntly from his seat in front of the woman, without looking up.

“Indeed, indeed. I’ll be more careful.”

Even after the young man’s remark, Wada-san maintained his calm and composed demeanor. “Well then,” he said, before returning to his seat.

I gave another nod to the people around me—without speaking, since everyone was concentrating—and sat down. After placing my bag at my feet, I realized I hadn’t asked where to put my things. I wonder if there’s a locker. I looked around for a power strip.

Tap, tap.

A sound like someone tapping their fingers on the desk made me look up.

The woman at the next desk was pointing to the center of the island, where a power strip was located.

“Thank you.”

“Mhm. Ask me anything you don’t understand.”

She seemed like a reliable person, giving a boyish grin rather than a gentle smile. Yeah. She seems like she’d be popular with the girls.

Well then—shall we begin?

For the next hour, I struggled through the manual, finally reaching the last page. The last step was installing a software called Slack, which the manual described as a chat and communication tool for business.

After finishing the installation, I stood up and went to Wada-san to report.

“I’m done, so please check it.”

We returned to my seat, and I showed him the laptop for his inspection.

After confirming that I had followed the manual correctly, he had me operate Slack and join several workspaces. With Slack, you can specify who can participate in each project, or workspace, maintaining confidentiality while allowing participants to freely discuss and share materials.

It might be easier to imagine it as something like a LINE chat room.

As the president, Ruka-san could, of course, see all the workspaces. Meanwhile, a newcomer like me, who had just joined today, couldn’t enter the important ones. For now, I was allowed to see only three—just enough for a rookie assistant to handle.

“I hear this is your first time doing design work…”

“Yes.”

“Well, I think there will be a lot you don’t understand, but please try to quickly go over the logs of the exchanges here. There’s a lot, so I don’t think you can read everything, but, um, Saki-san, you’ll be here until about 5:30 for now, right?”

I said I could work later, since I used to work until late at night at the bookstore, but he advised me not to overdo it on my first day.

I obediently nodded and started to devour the workspace logs.

Wada-san returned to his desk.

However, soon after, a notification sound went off, and a mark appeared on the Slack icon indicating a new message. When I opened it, it was from Wada-san.

【Saki-san’s main tasks will be to reply on Akihiro’s behalf in Slack exchanges, conveying her intentions, summarizing information, and sharing it with Akihiro.】

I see.

【You will also be responsible for general administrative tasks, such as scheduling meetings in the calendar tool where there are openings. I will explain in more detail as we go.】

Wow, what detailed instructions. At the bookstore, Yuuta had been there to teach me from scratch, which was a huge help at the time. This time, I was completely on my own, so I had been prepared for some hardship. However, it seemed I’d been blessed with a good boss at this workplace as well.

【Thank you very much. I look forward to working with you.】

After sending a reply, I went through the logs.

First, this one.

Let’s start by reading the workspace titled “Roppongi Art Festa.”

From the title, it seemed like some kind of art exhibition project, but…

A small clink sound nearby brought my consciousness back to the outside world.

“Don’t push yourself too hard.”

When I looked, I saw a paper cup with a holder placed in an empty space on my desk. It was filled about seven-tenths of the way with a dark brown, almost black liquid. Coffee.

Looking up, I saw that the woman who had placed it there—the one who had shown me the power strip—was holding the same thing in her hand.

“Drink up,” she said as she sat down in the seat next to me.

“Thank you very much.”

“Nah. Nothing to thank me for. I just got it from over there.”

I looked in the direction she pointed and saw a coffee maker on a small table next to the wall.

“That’s technically part of the employee benefits, so feel free to use it.”

“Is it like a tea dispenser?” I asked casually.

She laughed. Did I say something that strange?

“Well, I guess so. For a student, it’s not strange to first think of the tea dispenser in the school cafeteria.”

“Yes. We had one at my high school too. But the coffee was paid, so I hardly ever used it.”

“Here it’s free. Well, the taste isn’t as good as a coffee shop. You can get it yourself from over there whenever you want.”

“Understood.”

“So, how’s it going?” she asked, gesturing to my laptop with a jut of her chin. “Is there anything you don’t understand?”

“If you ask what I don’t understand, I don’t understand anything at all,” I answered honestly. “So much so that I’m not even sure where to start.”

She looked stunned for a moment before breaking into a wide grin.

“Ahaha! I like your honesty. Yeah, you’re definitely a talent.”

“A talent?”

The people at the surrounding desks frowned at her loud laughter, but they didn’t particularly reprimand her, instead wearing expressions that said, “here we go again.” Apparently, this was just how she was.

…It’s probably rude to keep calling her “her.”

“Um. Well, my name is Ayase Saki.”

“I know. You just introduced yourself. Oh, right. I’m Satozaki Ryouko.”

Satozaki Ryouko.

Okay, I’ve got it.

“Satozaki-san, um, what do you mean by ‘talent’?”

“I was told we’d be hiring an intern starting next week. ‘She’s a talent who got into Tsukinomiya on her first try, you know.’”

“Oh.”

…But I’m a complete amateur who’s never studied design. What kind of talent am I, exactly?

“So I was told not to mess with you.”

“Guh.”

In short, she was warned not to bully me. Well, if a complete amateur jumps into a professional environment, it’s bound to cause some resentment. I was prepared for that.

“To be honest, I have no idea why I was hired myself.”

“Have you studied design?”

I shook my head.

“I’ve never even studied art.”

“Oh?”

She gave me a smirk, and I couldn’t help but wonder about the meaning behind it.

“Well, as long as you can do the job, it doesn’t matter. So, about your earlier question, are you at a point where you don’t even know what to ask?”

Her words made me think.

I’d just finished reading the logs of one workspace, but…

“About this ‘Roppongi Art Festa’,” I said, pointing at the computer screen.

“Yeah.”

Apparently, it’s a large-scale project that involves exhibiting and developing art across a wide area of Roppongi.

“From what I’ve read, Akihiro—I mean, Ruka-san is in charge of the, um…”

I glanced at my laptop. Right, right.

“Creative direction? It seems like she’s in charge of that.”

“Right, right, right.”

“So, does that mean she supervises the overall placement and composition of the art? Not just to ensure it looks good, but to adjust things so that the exhibition effectively appeals to the audience in line with the theme of each individual work?”

“That’s a rough understanding, but yeah, you’re right. Of course, Ruka isn’t the only one doing it.”

“Amazing.”

“Well, for a small company like ours, it’s a huge project. It’s no exaggeration to say it’s the biggest since the company was founded.”

That’s it.

“Um, is there anything I can do for such a big job?”

When I asked that, Satozaki-san gave me the same smirk as before.

“Of course not.”

It was a firm, immediate answer. I glanced around and saw that the people around us were also nodding lightly. Ah.

“…Right.”

No matter how I thought about it, I couldn’t imagine I had any skills that would be useful.

However, as I was feeling dejected, Satozaki-san said casually, “That’s why you’re an assistant, right?”

“Eh?”

What does she mean?

“If you had a specific skill, we’d assign you that job. Of course, it’s always good to have as many special skills as a designer as you can. Basic skills like a sense of color, composition, and visual guidance are important. Being able to use various tools is also crucial.”

“I don’t think I have any of those.”

“If you could do everything, we’d be out of a job.”

Again, the people around me were nodding. They were listening carefully while they worked.

“But design isn’t just about that. Logical thinking, problem-solving skills, and the ability to abstract are also important. Well, if we’re expecting anything from a student of Tsukinomiya Women’s University, that would be it, first and foremost.”

“The ability to abstract…”

“Reading a huge amount of logs and extracting the main points from them is also an important skill. First, we need to see if you can do that. So, good luck.”

She smirked again and returned to her work.

Hmm.

I peered into the coffee cup in my hand. About a third of the dark coffee remained at the bottom.

Even when I swirled it gently, I couldn’t see the bottom. Satozaki-san’s words from earlier replayed in my mind.

—Of course not.

Damn it. It’s a given, but I’m still frustrated that I fit so perfectly into that given. I gulped down the remaining coffee, forcing it down.

Two more workspaces. I’ll definitely finish reading and summarizing them by the end of today.

Two hours of struggling later, just as I’d managed to finish reading the assigned workspaces and summarized them in my own notes, my shoulder was tapped.

“Alright. That’s enough for today.”

I turned to see Ruka-san standing there.

I looked up at the analog clock on the wall; it was a little past five in the afternoon. Looking around, no one else seemed to be getting ready to leave yet.

“Huh, but…”

“No, no. I can’t have you overworking yourself from the first day,” she said. “Work is like doing chores. Of course, there are crunch times, but nothing good comes from pushing yourself too hard.”

“Like chores… you mean the ideal is to be able to do it every day as a matter of course?”

“Exactly. It’s still your first day, so I can’t have you getting worn out. So, about tomorrow. You have afternoon classes tomorrow, right?”

“Yes.”

“What time do you think you can come in?”

Tomorrow, my fourth period ends at 4:30 PM, so…

“The earliest I can get here is probably around 5:20 PM.”

“Then you’ll make it. I was thinking of having you join me for a meeting starting tomorrow.”

“A meeting?”

“Yep. There’s a meeting for the ‘Roppongi Art Festa.’”

“Me too, for that?”

“You’re my assistant, so I want you to know about all the projects I’m involved in. I’ll have you take the minutes too.”

“…Yes.”

A nervous flutter started in my stomach. But the “Roppongi Art Festa” was the first project I’d followed the logs for. Since it was the first, it was the one I’d taken the most detailed notes on. Maybe I was lucky.

“It’s from 7 PM for about two hours. The meeting place is also in Roppongi, so you can go home straight from there. That way you can get home without it being too late, right?”

“Yes. That’s fine.”

High school students could only work until 10 PM, but as a university student, that restriction no longer applied. Still, I wanted to avoid work that went past midnight, as it would affect my classes the next day. If it ended at 9 PM and we were dismissed in Roppongi, I had no complaints.

“By the way, the average part-time work hours for a university student is about nine hours a week. It was shorter than I expected.”

“Oh.”

“I looked it up because I wasn’t sure how much I could assign you.”

Assign you…

That sounded just like Ruka-san, I thought.

“So, well, think of two hours as a guide when you’re in the office.”

“Two hours…”

Honestly, that felt too short to learn the job.

“In return, I want you to come in as frequently as possible. I’d like you to come in every day if possible, but you have days when university runs late, right?”

“When I have a fifth-period class, it ends at 6:10 PM. I’ll probably be able to get to the office around 7 PM.”

“You don’t have to force yourself to come in on those days. You won’t be able to work if you skip dinner, and if you eat first, you’ll be heading home late at night. You won’t be able to prepare for and review your university work then, will you?”

I fell silent. She was right.

I only had a fifth period once a week, but that meant I couldn’t come in on that day.

“For now, I don’t value your design skills. I’ve never even seen your work. If you were good at it, you’d be at an art university or a vocational school.”

…I had nothing to say to that. She was right about that, too.

“For now, if I had to say, I see value in the fact that you’re a student at Tsukinomiya Women’s University.”

Ruka-san said the same thing Satozaki-san had.

“That’s why I don’t want you to slack off on your studies. That would be throwing away your advantage. Well, it’s a different story if you find this work so interesting that you don’t care about university anymore. But that would be a tough choice in itself. Your academic background is still an important credential. It’s always tough to survive by throwing that away and learning a trade. You tend to be looked down upon by society.”

“Yes, I agree.”

That’s why I aimed for a university that was considered high-level. It’s something I’ve always thought about, precisely because I’ve seen my mother’s struggles. I wanted a credential that would be enough to fend off prejudice.

“So, come to the office as often as you can. When you’re here, aim for two hours and don’t drag out your work. Can you do that?”

“I will do it.”

Ruka-san nodded at my answer and then quickly repeated tomorrow’s schedule. I jotted it down in my phone’s notepad right then and there so I wouldn’t forget.

After saying goodbye to the other employees, I threw the paper cup in the trash, returned the laptop to its storage place, and left the office.

On the train ride home, I reflected on the hectic day.

In the workspace logs, various people had expressed their opinions on the project from various standpoints, often using technical terms I couldn’t understand yet, so I couldn’t say I understood everything. What I did was follow the logs, focusing on Ruka-san’s comments. Since my job was to be her assistant—or rather, her errand runner—I thought it was important to grasp what she was thinking and what her intentions were behind her comments. By following them this way, I felt like I was starting to get a vague sense of Ruka-san’s stance on the projects she was involved in.

I kept that in mind as I followed the logs, and when I looked at it from that perspective, it was interesting even if I didn’t understand the details. When there were conflicting opinions, I could somehow read which way Ruka-san was trying to guide the conclusion.

It was tough, but it was fun. That’s how I felt.

I stared blankly at the night view, leaning against the train door. As we approached Shibuya, the city lights grew denser. Just as I was thinking how pretty it was, I found myself holding my phone with the camera app open.

Come to think of it, I’ve heard that when taking pictures of scenery through a window, it’s better to press the camera right against the glass. I decided to try it, pressing the shutter as I aimed at the distant lights of Shibuya’s buildings.

Even from a moving train, the picture turned out better than I expected.

I switched to editing mode and processed it further, cropping out unnecessary signs, adjusting the brightness and saturation, and then posted it to Instagram.

As I was looking over the photo, my eyes fell on the account of Yuuta, who I followed.

Come to think of it, he’d made an account but had never posted anything.

Looking at Yuuta’s page, with just a lone icon, reminded me of him when we first met.

The first time—yes, when we first greeted each other at that family restaurant.

After that, when we’d talked about how we were similar and decided to try to align ourselves with each other, the outline of the person that is Asamura Yuuta gradually came into view. But at first, to be honest, I didn’t know what he was thinking or what kind of person he was.

You could even say I wasn’t interested.

It’s different now. I am interested, and I’m starting to understand him a little. But I want to know more. What would Yuuta think, and what would he photograph, if he were to take pictures? There must be a side of him that can be seen through his photos.

Then I realized that might apply to me, too. I found myself looking back at my own Instagram.

…There’s a lot of food.

No, this can’t just be me telling everyone I’m a starving demon. See, there are plenty of fashion pictures too. Yeah.

…Who am I even making excuses to?

I was a little curious about what kind of pictures Yuuta would post if he started using Instagram… but well, everyone’s different.

The next day, Tuesday.

After finishing my classes, I headed straight to the office, arriving at 5:20 PM.

I met up with Ruka-san, and from there, we headed to Roppongi for the meeting. I was surprised when we took a taxi; I had expected to go by train.

It was amazing how casually adults could use taxis. It was nearly ten kilometers from Nakano-sakaue to Roppongi, and the fare was almost 5,000 yen. Plus, we used the Metropolitan Expressway, so there must have been a toll fee as well. What’s more, Ruka-san had called the taxi with a ride-sharing app, and the fare was settled within the app, so she didn’t pay any money when we got off.

Just that alone had me freaking out on the inside. I was scared that if I, as a student, got used to a life of casually using taxis, it would interfere with my daily life.

We arrived in Roppongi and got out of the car a little before 6:10 PM.

The location was Hills. Yes, that Roppongi Hills, one of Tokyo’s most iconic high-rise complexes.

The first thing Ruka-san asked after we got out was, “Have you eaten?”

“No, not yet.”

“The meeting is at 7 PM, so we still have an hour. Let’s get something light to eat at a café.”

“Oh, yes.”

As I answered, I couldn’t help but worry about the contents of my wallet.

Damn it. I should have asked to meet 30 minutes later and eaten at a fast-food place.

“Ah, don’t worry about it. My treat,” she said, as if reading my mind.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s my mistake for not telling you to eat before we met up. From next time, when there’s a meeting, I’ll have you come here directly from university. So make sure you eat properly before you come.”

“Understood.”

“Well then, shall we go?”

Ahead of us, several buildings stood brightly lit against the evening sky. We had a light meal at a coffee shop Ruka-san randomly chose and then headed to the meeting.

At the reception desk in the entrance, Ruka-san gave her name and affiliation to announce her arrival.

The receptionist, while operating the screen in front of her, confirmed the appointment and then handed us two visitor passes to hang around our necks. It seemed we couldn’t go any further without them. I hurriedly followed Ruka-san, who had already started walking ahead.

“From next time, let’s meet at that entrance.”

“Oh, yes.”

“It’ll be easier for you to come in with me for a while, right?”

“That’s… yes.”

If you asked me if I could announce my arrival on my own, get a pass, and reach my destination, I would say it was a lot of pressure. I couldn’t do it alone. At least not yet.

Ruka-san walked past a smartly dressed security guard with just a slight glance and nod, but I was intimidated by the man’s sharp gaze and found myself walking nervously ahead of him. I even moved my pass to a more visible position. Thank you for your hard work. I’m not a suspicious person, you know?

The security was on a completely different level from my school or my old part-time job.

We took the elevator to the seventh floor.

“Here it is.”

Saying that, Ruka-san picked up the intercom phone installed in front of the door. She pressed a number, connected to somewhere, and announced, “This is Akihiro Ruka from Lucca Design. Studio.”

The door was opened from the inside without much of a wait.

The elderly man who appeared seemed to be an acquaintance; he smiled when he saw Ruka-san. After a simple greeting, Ruka-san introduced me. I straightened my back as much as possible, then bowed slowly. I stated my name, “Ayase Saki,” and said, “Nice to meet you”—I managed to get it out somehow.

Then, suddenly, the man put his hand in his chest pocket.

A thin metal plate—no, a business card case. He took out a business card from the silver case and quickly handed it to me. Oh no.

“Um… I’m very sorry. I don’t have a business card yet.”

“No, no, please don’t worry about it. We can do that some other time,” he said with a casual smile, accepting my apology without a hint of annoyance.

Amazing. He led the way, saying, “This way, please.”

Just before we entered, I checked the company name on the door one more time. It was a company I had never seen before. When I looked it up later, it turned out to be an advertising agency affiliated with a TV station.

As we walked, Ruka-san whispered, “I’ll have business cards made for you right away.” I gave a small nod in return.

We were led into a large conference room.

The room was about ten tatami mats in size, with a large, oval-shaped table in the center, surrounded by chairs. At the back was a white cloth screen, and on the table was a projector, its white light hitting the screen, though nothing was being projected yet.

It was ten minutes before the start, but about half the seats were already filled.

There were many men who looked to be in their forties and fifties, but the ratio of women was also high.

The “Roppongi Art Festa” was a large project involving renowned facilities and companies such as the National Art Center, Tokyo Midtown, Mori Building, and the Roppongi Shopping Street Promotion Association. This was a regular meeting of the project’s promotion committee.

The meeting was held at the late hour of 7 PM since everyone gathered after finishing work at their respective companies.

Let me summarize the main points of the “Roppongi Art Festa” again here.

Simply put, it’s not an exhibition held in a specialized place like a museum, but a festival where artists’ works are displayed as if mixed into the cityscape for the enjoyment of passersby.

Art would be exhibited and developed across a wide area of the city.

Therefore, we needed to get permission from the businesses where the decorations would be placed, and if possible, we would also like their cooperation. For that to happen, it needed to be mutually beneficial, and we had to strive to increase the number of customers coming to the shopping streets and buildings through the artists’ exhibitions.

That’s what we were discussing in the workspace.

Within this promotion committee, Ruka-san was in charge of the overall creative direction, including spatial design and artist selection. This was what I had summarized with Satozaki-san yesterday.

The meeting started on time.

The agenda for today was projected onto the screen.

The woman speaking while showing a PowerPoint-like presentation seemed to be a coordinator for the Roppongi shopping street, a woman in her forties with silver-rimmed glasses. Her presentation, delivered in a clear, crisp tone, was about the flow of customers in the shopping street. It showed at what times and where there were many customers, and where it was quiet.

It was intuitive: restaurants were crowded around lunchtime and in the evening, while places far from restaurants had fewer customers.

Her proposal was to show these materials side by side with the current exhibition content and ask if the placement of several works could be changed. She argued that some expressions were a bit too radical to be displayed in a place where families with children often visited on certain days. Now that she mentioned it, it made sense.

Of course, the artists had their own side of the story, and changing the location of one work would cause a domino effect, troubling others who would have to move as well. That also made sense.

Ruka-san listened silently to the many arguments without interrupting much.

She would occasionally ask questions to confirm small details, but she hardly ever raised her voice. Sitting next to her, I desperately took notes of the conversation.

—About the minutes, though. Ruka-san had told me earlier while we were at the coffee shop. She said there was no need to record the conversation verbatim. If you wanted that kind of record, it was faster to use a voice recorder, and it was impossible to capture every single word unless you knew shorthand. In fact, the meeting was being recorded, and the minutes would be available for reference later. Yes, I had confirmed that much in the workspace. So why was I here…?

“If it’s just about discussion, we can do it on Slack after uploading the materials to the server. But there are things that can’t be conveyed unless you meet and talk face-to-face. That’s what I want you to record, Saki.”

She said she wanted me to check the participants’ emotions.

The text uploaded to the workspace is not all-powerful. When people are talking face-to-face, they give the other person much more information than just the words they are speaking. This is what is known as nuance or atmosphere.

When asserting an opinion, to what extent are they pushing it firmly?

Is it something they absolutely cannot compromise on, or are they just saying it without much confidence?

Such information, which can be seen through in a conversation, is lost when it’s just text. Even for those who oppose an opinion, are they opposing the opinion itself, or are they just opposing it because they dislike the person who is asserting it? Ruka-san said casually that just because it’s a meeting of adults, there’s no guarantee that such personal feelings won’t be involved. She even said that adults are sometimes more likely to behave childishly, using formalities as a weapon. She said it as if she were just stating a fact, which made it all the more frightening. Her gaze was too cold, too unforgiving.

I was skeptical if it was true, but I noticed that when a young woman (who reminded me a little of Melissa) was stating her opinion in a rather aggressive tone, there was one person who was always frowning. I drew an arrow from that man to the woman with a pen and added a cross mark. Ruka-san raised her hand and started asking a few questions as if to confirm. The woman, who had been speaking with great enthusiasm, paused for a moment to answer Ruka-san’s questions. Then she answered while flipping through her materials. Calm returned to the room, and the wrinkles on the frowning man’s forehead disappeared…

Maybe Ruka-san’s question just now wasn’t because she really wanted to know, but to calm the situation.

Once I realized it, I came to understand that although Ruka-san seemed to be listening to the meeting blankly, she would actually say a word or two whenever things got sidetracked or the atmosphere became unnecessarily tense. No, no, Ruka-san’s role is supposed to be the direction of the event’s design… Why is this person acting like a secret chairperson?

When the shopping street coordinator had finished her presentation, the official chairperson, or rather, the facilitator, once again asked for questions and opinions.

Ruka-san raised her hand and stood up.

“I understand what you’re saying, and I think it needs consideration. We should try to not make any stores feel put off by this event, since we want it to be an event that continues after this year.”

Ruka-san said, and her gaze swept around the room as if seeking agreement. No one openly opposed her opinion. However, there were differences in enthusiasm. Some people nodded eagerly, while others seemed reluctant. I made sure to jot down my impressions of this as well, as much as possible, using circles and crosses and shorthand to keep up.

There was no way I could remember everyone’s names, so I had to record them by their seating positions. I’d have to check the details with Ruka-san later. I’d like to take a picture with my camera, but I’d probably get in trouble for that.

“While we can discuss the specific proposals on Slack, I would like to point out that some of the items may be difficult to display in the location you mentioned.”

“Difficult… you mean?” the woman in the silver-rimmed glasses asked, looking somewhat perplexed.

“That location should get quite strong winds from the buildings depending on the weather conditions and time of day. Right?”

“…Ah, now that you mention it. Yes, that’s right,” the presenter said, as if just remembering. But how did Ruka-san know something that the shopping street coordinator couldn’t even remember right away… (When I asked her later, she said she had visited the event space many times at different times of day and on different days of the week to check).

Ruka-san continued with her point.

“Some of the fashion-related clothing exhibits and three-dimensional art will be difficult to display if exposed to the wind. Therefore, I don’t think it’s possible to exchange them with those.”

“Ah, I see. That’s right.”

“If you could just keep that in mind when you consider it. I think it would be best if we could discuss the details on Slack.”

Ruka-san concluded and sat back down in her chair.

The facilitator asked if there were any other opinions, and the person in charge of building security and the coordinator for the participating artists each gave their brief personal views. It was agreed that these opinions would also be discussed further on Slack. I see, so the important thing in this meeting is to find a general direction, and all the details are taken back to the workspace.

Finally, the schedule was reconfirmed, and the meeting was adjourned.

It was only a two-hour meeting, but by the time it was over, my head was aching from concentrating so hard. This is… a tough job.

On the way back, I got a ride in Ruka-san’s taxi again.

“We’re going in the same direction, so why don’t you ride with me to Shibuya?” she had invited, and I couldn’t help but accept her offer.

She dropped me off at a suitable place near my house, and from there, I decided to walk to my apartment.

When I looked up at the night sky, a half-moon was rising. As I passed by a park, I noticed the scent of green leaves mixed with a faint floral fragrance. What could it be? At this time of year, it would be either lilac or dogwood. Maybe I’ll take a peek through the wire fence next time I pass by. I hadn’t realized it was already the season for early summer flowers to bloom.

I walked on, thinking about such things absentmindedly.

It was already quite late when I got home. I said “I’m home” in a quiet voice—because my stepfather, Taichi-san, was already asleep—and peeked into the living room.

Yuuta, who was reading a book on the sofa, looked up.

“Welcome back. I heard you ate dinner, but what do you want to do?”

His words made me check my stomach. I was starting to feel a little hungry.

“I might want to eat something small.”

“Alright. I only ate a bit myself, so I’ll join you.”

“Huh?”

Did he wait for me without having dinner?

He must have seen the surprised look on my face, because he quickly added, “I did eat, you know.” I couldn’t exactly take his word for it, but I figured it wasn’t right to complain, so I decided to take him up on his offer.

When I looked in the fridge, there was a little bit of sashimi left that my mother must have bought. It was bonito—the first of the season, I guess, since it’s May. There was also about a third of a rolled omelet that my mother probably made.

“You didn’t eat this?”

“Ah, right. That was left. I ate my share, of course.”

“Then let’s share this.”

Yuuta nodded and turned on the IH stove, saying he would warm up the miso soup. I prepared the rice bowls and soup bowls… I also found some leftover side dishes, so I added more dishes to the table. I don’t really like it when the table looks sparse.

We said our thanks and started eating, facing each other.

“So, how was it?” Yuuta started the conversation. He was asking for my thoughts on my first day of work. Since he hadn’t experienced an internship either, it was natural for him to be curious about what was different from the bookstore part-time job.

I wanted to talk too, so I took his question as an opportunity to open my mouth.

The new world I had touched was full of surprises, a slight culture shock mixed with a sense of freshness.

In terms of participating in a professional environment, when I thought about it calmly, it was no different from working at a bookstore. It wasn’t as if my motives for starting the bookstore job were completely pure. I’d intended to take it seriously to some extent, but since I’m not as much of a book lover as Yuuta, it was only to some extent.

On the other hand, working at Ruka-san’s design office stemmed purely from my own interest.

Perhaps that’s why the excitement of the past two days had struck me so deeply.

Before I knew it, I was the only one talking.

Of course, I couldn’t talk about what would be considered trade secrets.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away,” I apologized, reflecting on my monologue.

Yuuta just smiled. “Not at all. Just seeing you having fun is fun for me too.”

Just seeing me having fun…

Suddenly, I wondered.

Would I be able to say the same thing as Yuuta?

“You know,” I began, thinking aloud, “Normally—”

“Hm?”

“—Don’t people feel like they’re not interested in other people’s experiences? I mean, it has nothing to do with them, right?”

My words made Yuuta think. He took a sip of his tea, let out a breath, then looked up at the ceiling. After a groan, he said, “I think I’m surprisingly okay with it.”

“Really?”

Yuuta nodded. And then, he said something that surprised me.

“Because it’s the same as reading a book.”

“…I don’t really get it.”

“I think a story is ultimately someone else’s life. But because the author has made it so that you can put yourself in the characters’ shoes, you can enjoy it by feeling nervous or excited as if you were there experiencing it yourself. By virtually experiencing someone else’s life like that, you can come into contact with perspectives and ways of thinking that you wouldn’t have had on your own.”

“Perspectives and ways of thinking that you wouldn’t have had on your own…”

“I think that’s what helps broaden your own horizons and brings you objectivity.”

“You think about things like that when you read books, Yuuta…”

When I said that, my stepbrother gave a wry smile.

“No, no. I don’t think I’m thinking while I’m reading. I’m completely absorbed in it. But it’s true that since I realized that’s what it is, I haven’t found listening to other people’s stories to be that painful. When I was listening to you just now, Saki, of course it was fun to see you having fun, but the content of what you said was also interesting. For example, the part about not hesitating to use a taxi… and the story about what you pay attention to when taking notes at a meeting was also interesting. In other words, you’re supposed to create a network map, right?”

Yuuta isn’t that interested in art.

However, when he’s working at the bookstore, he always makes sure to look at the store’s sales floor from the customer’s perspective. The perspective of the seller and the customer are not the same. It’s not the books that the seller wants to sell that sell, but the books that the customer wants to buy.

So he tries to figure out how to make the customer want to buy.

I see…

That’s what it means to look at things not from your own perspective, but from a different standpoint. And Yuuta learned that by reading stories.

I remember Yuuta listening to my story in silence.

It wasn’t just that he was kind.

While listening to me, he was trying to share my perspective—the perspective I had when facing my new internship.

Oh my god.

When I was listening to his story, was I listening with the same attentiveness as he was?

I felt as if a cold hand had brushed against my heart…

If Yuuta were to talk about himself with a smile, I would certainly be happy too. But… Is that enough to say that we have “shared” the topic? That’s what I started to think.

There’s a phrase, “to take a personal interest.”

It means to act as if someone else’s business is your own.

But to be considerate, you have to be able to imagine the other person’s position, and for that, you have to be able to share their perspective. It’s not something that can be achieved by just looking at Yuuta with a smile as he talks happily.

Yuuta isn’t that interested in art.

And yet, the impression that he gave me, saying, “This is what I found interesting about your story,” was not something that could be summarized by just listening absentmindedly.

In other words, he listened to me with empathy.

“But you know,” Yuuta muttered.

“It might be a problem if we can’t even find the time to talk like this.”

“Is it bad if it’s short?”

“I think communication is a multiplication of quality and quantity. If you raise the quality, you can make up for some of it. But it’s still tough when the absolute quantity decreases.”

If one becomes zero, the result is zero, and if one becomes negative, the more you interact, the worse your relationship becomes (and unfortunately, the mathematical magic of both being negative resulting in a positive probably doesn’t apply to communication).

“So,” Yuuta added as he finished his meal.

“I want to talk like this while eating together as much as possible.”

I managed to nod with a smile, but inside, I was filled with anxiety, wondering how shallowly I had been engaging in our conversations compared to him.

The long weekend was over, and as we entered the second week of May, I was finally getting used to university life.

That day, two of my new friends invited me to have lunch out at a place that served stylish pancakes—not the dessert kind, but a meal-type pancake that could properly substitute for a meal.

A university lecture is ninety minutes long, twice as long as in high school. Some instructors give breaks, but it undoubtedly uses more mental and physical energy. If you don’t eat properly, your stomach will growl during class, and your head won’t work.

So, a small, elegant pancake just wouldn’t do.

“It’s a little far, though,” said Kyouka. She—Mizukami Kyouka—is the girl who gave me the strange nickname “Gyaru Master.” With her orange-dyed hair, she looks much more like a gyaru herself, but apparently, in her eyes, I look like a higher-level one.

So, about the distance to the shop.

“How far?”

“About an eight-minute walk from the station, I think.”

“That’s quite a walk.”

I heard it was on the other side of the train tracks. Then it was a good thing we decided quickly; it might be crowded at lunchtime.

The place we visited was a small café beyond Myogadani Station.

The exterior had a calm feel, making use of the natural color of the wood, and the shop’s name was written in English above the entrance. Inside, there were two tables for four, two for two, and a counter. It could probably fit fifteen or sixteen people. The checkered floor was stylish, and the lighting was neither too dark nor too bright. Yeah, I liked it.

It was crowded, but we were able to get a table after a short wait.

I immediately looked at the menu.

I see, they did have pancakes with fried eggs and bacon. I’ll have this. With a drink, it was a little over 2,000 yen. Not a price a student could afford casually, but I guessed it was fine once in a while.

After ordering, our food was served after only about a ten-minute wait. That was pretty fast.

Two fluffy pancakes were stacked on top of each other, with a thin slice of bacon and a fried egg on top. Ice cream was served on the opposite side. The liquid in the small container was probably a sweet syrup.

It looked like a meal, but it could also pass as a snack. If I wanted to change the taste, I could just sprinkle some salt and pepper from the table.

Almost simultaneously, Kyouka and my other friend, Mayu (Kaneko Mayu), took out their smartphones, and I took mine out of my shoulder bag as well.

This was another habit I’d recently picked up.

Lately, I’ve started to take pictures of the various everyday things I notice as much as possible.

Hmm, I thought, facing the plate of pancakes.

What was the characteristic of these pancakes? I tried to remember what I felt the moment I saw them.

Of course, I thought they looked delicious, but when I saw these bacon and egg pancakes, I felt something like, “Oh, nice.” What was the reason for that…?

“Why are you staring at the pancakes like they killed your parents, Saki-chan?”

“Her parents were killed by pancakes. That’s why she’s sworn not to die until she’s eaten 100 pancakes. Right?” Mayu said in her gentle tone.

That’s not it.

“I was just thinking about how to take the picture.”

Even though no one else was waiting, it would be a nuisance to the shop if we didn’t eat quickly.

Oh, I get it. It’s the symmetry. On top of the beautifully browned pancakes was a pure white scoop of ice cream, and on top of the white fried egg that half-covered the pancakes was a yellow yolk. On the brown base, white ice cream; on the white base, a round yolk. This was clearly intentional. Then… I rotated the plate a little to adjust the color scheme to make it stand out, and then took the picture.

I was about to start eating after saying my thanks when Kyouka said, “Hey, let’s take a picture together, Saki-chan.”

She switched her phone to selfie mode and said, “Come on, come on,” pulling us to one side of the table.

When I looked, I saw the three of us reflected on Kyouka’s phone screen, surrounding the food.

A selfie, huh.

For a moment, my body stiffened, but I let out a small sigh without letting them notice and put on a smile. Well, I’m not the kind of person who would dislike something like this anymore. Kyouka snapped a picture while saying, “Yaaay.” Mayu was even making a double peace sign with both hands.

A double peace sign?

Like a picture-perfect university girl—no, that was right. We were glamorous university girls—JDs.

[Note: “Joshi Daigakusei” (女子大学生) or JD is Japanese slang that refers to a female university student.]

After posting on Instagram, we finally started to eat. By the way, the photo I posted was on my private account, so only my approved followers could see it. It seems it’s better not to post this kind of location-linked photo in real-time for an unspecified number of people to see, as your location can be identified immediately. I couldn’t believe there were people with that much time on their hands, but since I’m not that well-versed in internet literacy, I decided to just follow the advice.

I cut the pancake, made it bite-sized, and brought it to my mouth.

Feeling the fluffy, warm air rising from the batter on my lips, I put it in my mouth and chewed.

—Oh, it’s delicious.

It wasn’t too sweet, so it was suitable for a meal, and the batter was fluffy and seemed to melt away as you chewed. The change in taste when eaten with the crispy bacon and the fried egg was also enjoyable. This was a winner. To think there was a shop that served such delicious pancakes in a small place within walking distance of the university!

“How did you find this shop?” I asked Kyouka, who was already on her last piece of pancake.

“Ngh?”

“Ah, you can answer after you finish eating.”

“Mmm…” chew chew chew. gulp. “Um, Mayu knows a lot of places~”

I turned my gaze to my left, where Mayu was sitting.

She was eating even more slowly than me, proceeding with her meal at a leisurely pace.

She hadn’t even eaten a third of it. Would she make it to her afternoon class? I was a little worried.

Mayu tapped her phone, which was on the table, with her free hand. She launched Instagram and slid her phone towards me.

Um… does she want me to look?

Mayu’s Instagram saved the shops she had been to by region, and she used it as a “favorite shop list” by listing the photos.

I was impressed that there was a way to use it like this.

Also, while her mastery of Instagram was amazing, the surprising thing was that she had “been to” all these stylish and expensive-looking shops. You can’t take a picture unless you go, so what these numerous photos meant was—or rather, since Mayu herself was sometimes in the pictures, there was no doubt about it.

“Um… this picture is of a café’s breakfast in Nagoya, right?”

Kyouka in front of me asked, “Is that so?” but I mean, such a unique breakfast set was definitely Nagoya. There was a lot of red bean paste served with the toast.

“And this café is in Kanazawa, I think. I recognize this distinctive parfait glass. I saw it on another social media site before and looked up the shop because I thought it was nice.”

A normal parfait glass is tall and slender, but this one was shaped like a crushed can… or maybe a cross-section of a Baumkuchen cake. The fruit pulp and cream were visible as if stuck to the side, looking like a pattern on the glass itself.

“Wow. That’s so cute. It’s so Insta-worthy~”

That was true, but more importantly—

“The number of pictures is amazing, but all over the place like this… the destinations don’t seem to have much in common… is food-hopping your hobby?”

When I asked, Mayu slowly shook her head.

After swallowing, she opened her mouth.

“I was just taken there.”

I tilted my head, unable to grasp the meaning of her words.

“A family trip, maybe?” I said, thinking straightforwardly.

She quickly shook her head, denying it.

“Aha. I see, I see!” It seemed Kyouka had solved the mystery in an instant. She said with a smirk, “It’s a sugar daddy, isn’t it?”

…Didn’t she just say it wasn’t a family trip?

However, Mayu didn’t deny it. She just smiled vaguely.

“Wow, he must be loaded. I’m so jealous!”

“Huh. Wait a minute. I don’t get it.”

When I said that, Kyouka looked surprised. “So that means Master is devoted to her one and only boyfriend? Wow, that’s unexpected!”

Wait. What was so unexpected about that?

“I mean, a gyaru master is supposed to go through guys one after another. Tearing them off and throwing them away, tearing them off and throwing them away.”

“I have a boyfriend, so I wouldn’t do that,” I said firmly.

Kyouka’s eyes widened in surprise.

…I was starting to think I needed to do something about this “Gyaru Master” misunderstanding from her as soon as possible.

“A-anyway, I said I have someone I’m dating, but it’s only one person, and I’m not seeing anyone else.”

Melissa’s philosophy was that one person isn’t enough to love, and while I can’t completely deny that now, I personally think that one person is enough. I mean, it would be a pain if there were that many.

No, my situation doesn’t matter right now.

Kyouka clasped her hands behind her head and leaned back.

“Either way, both Master and Mayu are on a different level from me~ I’m so jealous~”

Did that mean Kyouka didn’t have a significant other? And that Mayu did?

Mayu tapped her phone again.

I glanced over and saw that a different app, not Instagram, had launched.

“…What’s that?”

“A matching app. I use it too. Mine is this one, though,” Kyouka said, operating her phone to show me. It was a different app from Mayu’s.

Machi-apu…

Um, I knew the term, at least. It’s short for “matching app,” I think.

Essentially, it’s an app that connects strangers. You could call it a modern version of an “arranged marriage meeting.”

“That concept is old, Master! It’s used in a much broader way now!”

“Stop with the ‘Master.’ We’re the same age. It makes me feel like I’m the only one getting older.”

When I said that, she immediately apologized, “Sorry.” Kyouka was so straightforward.

“From now on, I’ll call you Gyaru Teacher.”

That’s the same!

“No to that too.”

“Ehh~”

“Just call me by my name normally.”

“No way. I respect you so much. But… I guess it’s fine. Well then, Saki.”

I nodded as if that was fine and returned to the topic. So, um, what were we talking about?

I turned my head to look at Mayu.

She had just finished her lunch. She took a small sip of her iced tea and then opened her mouth.

“I was just taken there by someone I met through it,” she said with a soft smile.

I still couldn’t grasp the meaning of her words, but Kyouka continued the conversation without missing a beat.

“And that person is your sugar daddy, right?”

“That sounds bad. And your voice is a little loud~”

After a gentle warning, Mayu smiled vaguely again.

While drinking my after-meal coffee, I replayed their conversation in my head.

In other words, Mayu was taken to cafes all over Japan by a sugar daddy she met on a matching app. And since it wasn’t a family trip, that sugar daddy was not her father.

…What is that?

“I don’t… really get it. In the first place, do you just go on a trip with someone you met on a matching app so quickly?”

When I asked, Kyouka groaned and then gave me this explanation.

A modern matching app matches users according to their purposes, such as romance, marriage, or friendship. Romance isn’t necessarily the only purpose.

“It’s an app for finding friends with common hobbies or finding companions for activities, and the ‘arranged marriage meeting’ that Saki mentioned is just one function~ For example, depending on the app, you can even create a group to gather somewhere and tour famous historical sites together.”

“Wow…”

“There are plenty of people who use it in a way that’s not about messy human relationships~ The one I use isn’t just for finding guys~ Well, that’s part of it, though.”

So that is part of it.

“But you know, once an app gets a label like ‘it’s often used for this kind of thing,’ it tends to lean in that direction.”

“You mean the intended use further limits the type of people who use it?”

“Exactly. And sometimes people use it in ways the company didn’t expect. That’s a problem, so they try desperately to change its image.”

Then, after a pause, Kyouka lowered her voice just a little.

“The app that Mayu is using is one that’s currently being said to be used for that kind of thing.”

That kind of thing…

“So-called ‘papa-katsu.’ Of course, not everyone who uses it does so for that purpose, and there are plenty of people who dislike that it’s being used in an unintended way~ But once an image is attached, it’s hard to change it, right?”

Papa… katsu?

“Huh? Don’t you know what ‘papa-katsu’ is, Mast… I mean, Saki?”

I just nodded honestly.

Kyouka was surprised. As in, “do people like that even exist these days?”

“As expected of a Suisei High School student… that’s taking being a prep school too far. I mean, are you really this much of a sheltered young lady!?”

No, no, I’m a commoner. I’ve heard the term before. I even have a vague idea. But if I insisted I knew the details, I might be misunderstood again, and it’s better not to get burned by saying I know something I don’t.

“And here I thought you had a first-class license in the gyaru qualification exam.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Then, with all due respect, I, Mizukami Kyouka, will teach you. It is ‘an aid activity based on the mutual agreement of a young woman who wishes to receive financial support and a man who wishes to support a young woman.’”

She said it smoothly, like water flowing from a tilted board. As expected of a Tsukinomiya student, even if she seemed frivolous, her phrasing was impressively formal.

But, um, what she was saying was—what was that? An “aid activity based on mutual agreement”…?

What is that?

Even as I continued to tilt my head in confusion, Kyouka had a triumphant look on her face as if to say, “you get it now, right?” Mayu explained in her usual gentle voice.

“So, you see. An adult with money to spare will give you 10,000 yen, or 20,000 yen.”

20,000 yen… Huh, 20,000 yen? That’s so much!

Hearing that, the first thing that surprised me was the amount.

I understood that she was receiving financial aid, but did that mean she needed that much money?

“…Sorry. Can I ask? Why are you receiving such a large amount of aid, Mayu?”

“Huh? …Um, since Kyouka explained ‘papa-katsu’ in such a ve~ry gentle and clean way, I think you’re misunderstanding something.”

“…?”

“It’s not like I’m doing ‘papa-katsu’ because I’m in financial trouble, you know?”

“Huh…”

“Saki is so pure~”

That was the only time Mayu didn’t have her usual gentle smile. Instead, she narrowed her eyes as if looking at something dazzling and smiled at me. But I was so surprised that I didn’t notice the meaning of her smile. Also, I wished she would stop calling me pure because it made me blush. I’m just not well-versed in the secrets of sophisticated adults.

“I don’t have any particularly troubled circumstances, nor do I have any lofty reason for wanting aid. My family isn’t struggling financially or anything. My tuition is paid for, too. So, if I had to say, it’s for little luxuries like this lunch, or buying clothes? Will you understand if I put it that way, Saki?”

And then she gave me that captivating smile again.

…So it’s not that she’s in financial distress. That’s good. I was starting to think maybe we should just eat at the school cafeteria for lunch.

Um, but if that’s the case. If it’s based on mutual agreement…

“So the guy is treating you to meals and chatting with you just to support your little luxuries?”

Mayu shrugged her shoulders slightly.

“I guess so. And for my part, I just want money to have fun. I just want to dress up. I just want to have a slightly more luxurious lunch. There’s nothing strange about that, right? If you think of it as a high-paying part-time job that you can do in a short amount of time to get money for fashion.”

High-paying part-time job…

Hearing that, I remembered the “high-paying part-time job” I had once tried to do with Yuuta.

“…Saki?”

“Huh? Oh, ah, sorry. I was just thinking… Um, but how many hours a week does that tie you down?”

“Um… About two or three hours on the weekend, I guess.”

When Mayu said that, Kyouka immediately interjected, “Liar. If it’s a sleepover, it takes at least half a day.”

“Overtime talk is NG until it gets dark. It’s still light out, you know. Well, so the hourly wage would be 7,000 to 8,000 yen.”

[Note: NG means No Good and refers to something that is not allowed]

“20,000 yen for two hours a day. That’s 80,000 yen a month. If that’s all I can do, it’s not enough.”

The moment I said that, Kyouka looked somewhat startled. I didn’t know why.

However, at that moment, I had more to think about than her surprised face. When I was in high school, the reason I was looking for a high-paying part-time job was because I didn’t want to be an excessive financial burden on my mother. Thinking about it now, I realize how unreasonable that was, but at the time, I was expecting to earn about the same amount from a high-paying part-time job with Yuuta. That is, about 80,000 yen a month.

In the end, I got a part-time job at a bookstore, and the hourly wage was 1,200 yen. For four hours from 5 to 9, it was 4,800 yen. That was about twice a week on weekdays for about 10,000 yen. On weekends, I could work for nearly eight hours, so with holiday pay, that also came to about 10,000 yen. In total, it was about 80,000 yen a month. The amount I wanted was about the same. It wasn’t a well-paying part-time job, though. But I also learned that there’s no such thing as a well-paying part-time job. Also, if I had received 80,000 yen a month in aid from Yuuta, he would have had to pay me all the money he earned from his bookstore part-time job… When I think about what a terrible proposal I was about to make, a chill runs down my spine.

Still, that amount is only enough to supplement my living expenses, and I realized after looking into tuition fees that it’s not nearly enough for university. It’s not enough to start living on my own either. And if I took on more part-time jobs, I wouldn’t have time to study to get into the university I was aiming for. That would be putting the cart before the horse.

“Oh, but if it’s two hours a day, you can do it on both Saturday and Sunday to double it. I wonder if I can do it on weekdays for about two hours too. In that case, three times on weekdays. Twice on weekends. If it’s 20,000 yen for three hours per session, I can do it five times a week for 100,000 yen just like that. That’s about 400,000 yen a month… But there’s tax, so the take-home pay would be less. And then—”

“Hey, hey. Um, Saki, what are you talking about?”

“Huh?”

I snapped back to reality and looked up to see Kyouka’s cheeks twitching as she said, “Amazing.”

And as for Mayu, she was staring blankly with her mouth open—huh?

“Why are we talking about earning so much money?”

“I was thinking that if I had that much, I could pay for university expenses and live on my own without my parents having to pay for it. But it’s still tough, isn’t it? I can’t even imagine the kind of conversation I’d need to have to satisfy the person who’s supporting me. I think it’s hard to earn 20,000 yen in two hours.”

My mother does something similar.

She once told me about her job as a bartender. She said it’s not just about mixing cocktails, but also about being a conversation partner. My mother works at night and sometimes past midnight, so she probably works for about eight hours. And since holidays are the busiest times, she can’t take Saturdays and Sundays off. Her monthly income is (I’ve peeked at the household account book) about 300,000 to 400,000 yen.

In other words, a person who does full-time papa-katsu earns more per hour than my mother. If so, how much in the way of conversation skills would be required for that…?

“We don’t have conversations like that~”

“Huh?”

“What matters to them is that they can talk to a young girl.”

“Huh?”

“As long as you’re young, that’s all that matters. And maybe a smile. Well, it’s an asset that only lasts for now,” she said with a bright smile.

She was indeed cute. When the gentle beauty Mayu smiled quietly, I felt like I was healed just by that. I felt like it, but still.

Why is that worth 20,000 yen?

I was so troubled by it that the content of the first lecture that afternoon hardly registered.

…Maybe I’ll ask Yuuta when I get home.

I had a feeling that he might be able to give me some kind of answer to this incomprehensible, difficult, and meaningless question. Maybe I was just being dependent.