Fujiwara Multimedia – The Hallway, 9:05 AM
The quiet rhythm of the office had already begun—phones ringing, printers humming, and the scent of roasted coffee trailing from the breakroom. A steady tap of heels echoed down the corridor as Yume stepped out of the elevator, a subtle weariness in her eyes hidden by a well-practiced composure.
She adjusted the strap of her bag, her ID badge swinging lightly as she walked. Her thoughts were still hazy from the rain last night, the quiet, thoughtful messages… and him.
Turning the corner, she nearly bumped into someone.
Ren.
He stood with a file tucked under one arm, other hand in his coat pocket, just about to enter the Marketing wing.
Their eyes met.
Just a second too long to be casual.
Yume (quietly):
"Morning."
Ren (nodding slightly):
"Morning."
That was all.
And yet, in that shared silence, something hovered—like unfinished sentences, like rain that hadn't quite stopped falling.
She stepped to the side, intending to pass him.
Ren (after a beat):
"You sent your draft to Mr. Jin?"
Yume (pausing, surprised):
"…Yes. Late last night."
Ren:
"I read the premise. The invisible red thread… It was different. Not the kind of story people here usually write."
Yume (softly):
"Maybe I'm not like people here."
Ren (with faint amusement):
"Maybe that's not a bad thing."
They stood there—him still leaning slightly against the wall, her barely a step away from him. The hallway felt quieter than usual. No footsteps passed. Just their voices, hushed and unhurried.
Yume (half-smiling):
"You sound more awake today."
Ren:
"I didn't sleep much."
Yume (glancing at him knowingly):
"Me neither."
There it was again. The echo of something they wouldn't name. A connection running just beneath their skin, like the very thread she had written about.
Before the moment could linger too long, footsteps approached—colleagues entering from the other end.
Ren stepped back politely, straightening his posture. Yume tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly very aware of the people around.
Ren (returning to his quiet tone):
"I'll see you around."
Yume:
"Mm. Don't be late to the intern meeting."
Ren (a tiny smirk):
"Wouldn't dream of it, sempai."
He walked away before she could reply.
Yume turned, heading toward the elevators—but her pace slowed. She glanced over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of Ren's back disappearing around the corner.
She didn't know his real last name.
He didn't know hers.
But somehow, they were already unraveling the knots inside each other—gently, quietly, like pulling on an invisible red thread.
9th Floor, Strategy Room | Late Morning
The glass walls let in soft sunlight, filtered through the clean, geometric blinds. Interns gathered, some stiff with nerves, others already whispering about who's who. At the head of the table stood Kai Fujiwara, the effortlessly cool Head of Marketing. He was flipping a marker in his hand like it was part of his personality.
Beside him, Ayaka, his ever-sharp assistant, stood with a clipboard, face carved in calm sarcasm. Not far off, a few chairs down, sat Mr. Jin, the stoic editor-in-chief overseeing the internship program with the composed presence of someone who'd edited more books than most people had read.
Kai (grinning):
"Alright, let's make this quick and less painful than it sounds. Intern orientation, week one. Welcome to chaos. You're in it."
A polite laugh ran across the room. Kai pointed toward the chairs.
Kai:
"You'll be working across teams. If you're writing, that doesn't mean you don't talk to marketing. If you're in marketing, don't ignore the editors. You'll be crossing paths often."
Ayaka (without looking up):
"Assume you're underperforming until proven otherwise."
Yume, quiet and composed, sat near the Writing team, notebook in hand. She met eyes briefly with Ren, seated near the Marketing interns, under the name "Fushiguro." Their eye contact was brief—but it pulsed. Like familiarity wrapped in mystery.
Mr. Jin (in a calm, deep voice):
"We value creativity, but more than that—we value stamina. This company moves fast. If you can't keep up, you won't last."
From the writing department, Minako adjusted her glasses. She glanced at Yume with a warm smile, whispering, "Don't worry. He's nicer than he looks."
Leo, slouched beside her with an energy drink in hand, muttered, "I'm just here until my novel gets picked up by Netflix."
Kai (to the group):
"Now, I've seen some impressive profiles here. One intern from the Writing Department submitted a concept called The Invisible Red Thread."
(He nodded toward Yume without calling her name directly.)
"It caught our eye—might end up being part of the blog campaign series. The way it ties fate to brand storytelling? Smart."
Ayaka (raising an eyebrow, eyes flicking to Yume):
"Cute when you're idealistic. But don't mistake idealism for talent."
The room stiffened.
Ren's fingers curled slightly on his notes. He looked up—not sharply, but with precision.
Ren (softly, but firm):
"Not sure idealism is the issue. Sounds more like fear of being outshined."
Ayaka's eyes narrowed. Kai chuckled, breaking the tension.
Kai:
"Let's play nice, kids. Ayaka, keep your metaphors constructive."
Mr. Jin (calm but clear):
"Ayaka, let's give feedback, not premonitions."
Ayaka (smirking):
"Noted."
Yume didn't say anything—but her pen moved. Not on notes. In the margins of her notebook, she wrote:
"Words are like arrows. The sharpest ones rarely need to be loud."
Kai:
"Let's wrap up. Marketing and Writing will be paired together this week. That means Fushiguro and… Yume, right? You'll be co-developing the Night Bloom Tea project."
Ren and Yume looked at each other—neither smiling, but both holding something between them. Like deja vu wearing a tie.
Mr. Jin (nodding slowly):
"I'll be expecting the first draft pitch next Monday. I'll know who did the real work."
As the group dispersed and interns began moving toward their departments, Ren and Yume lingered for a second near the table. Their gazes touched like strangers remembering a dream they both had—but never spoke about.
Ren (neutral, softly):
"I'll Slack you."
Yume:
"I'll send over the concept map later today."
Kai (watching from the front):
"I like the energy."
Ayaka (muttering under her breath):
"I like knowing who won't last."
Later – In the Hall, just outside the meeting room
As the interns dispersed, Yume stayed behind to gather her materials. Ren lingered, holding the door open.
Ren (softly, as she passed):
"I guess we'll be working late."
Yume (barely glancing at him):
"Is that a complaint?"
Ren (dryly):
"Just an observation."
They stood in the hallway, neither moving just yet.
Yume:
"You don't mind being paired with me?"
Ren (shaking his head slightly):
"No. I trust you'll carry us."
Yume (half-smiling):
"And you'll be what—emotional support?"
Ren:
"I was thinking... the quiet kind."
Yume chuckled under her breath, a small sound that she quickly masked behind her hand.
Yume:
"We have three days."
Ren:
"Plenty of time."
Yume (walking off):
"Meet me in the strategy room after lunch. I'll bring the campaign notes."
He watched her go, then checked his phone.
> Yume [10:42 AM]:
Don't be late. I take campaign deadlines seriously.
(And poetic interns slightly less seriously.)
He smirked as he typed back.
> Ren [10:43 AM]:
Noted. I'll bring poetry and graphs.
Strategy Room, 1:37 PM
The room was sleek and minimal—glass boards, a projector humming faintly, the scent of dry-erase markers hanging in the air. A long table sat in the center, scattered with campaign folders, sticky notes, and the usual untouched tray of Fujiwara-standard complimentary cookies.
Yume stood near the whiteboard, hair tucked behind one ear, her fingers flipping through the Night Bloom Tea campaign brief.
Ren entered with two coffees—one black, one milk with no sugar.
He silently placed the latter beside her.
Yume (eyebrows raised slightly):
"Lucky guess?"
Ren (placing his coat on the chair):
"No, you wrote it in your tea story draft. Chapter four. The girl drinks milk tea when she can't sleep."
Yume blinked—caught off guard for a split second.
Yume (quietly):
"…You remembered."
Ren (without looking at her):
"I read carefully."
The room fell into a thoughtful stillness.
Yume turned to the whiteboard, pen uncapped.
Yume:
"Night Bloom Tea. Their whole angle is 'midnight calm'—but their current branding's dull. Pastels, sleepy clouds. We need something bolder."
Ren (sitting):
"Not just calm. Reclaiming nighttime. Making it sacred, even productive. Like a sanctuary."
She turned to look at him. Not just the words—but the way he said it. Like he understood her unspoken thoughts.
Yume (scribbling):
"Yes. Night as sanctuary… like a ritual. Not lazy. Intentional."
Ren (already pulling out his notes):
"I was thinking—reverse the usual tea narrative. Not to wind down from a long day, but to transition into your own creative time. Maybe we pitch it as 'a second morning.'"
Yume (smiling, genuinely this time):
"That's… good. Unexpected. Personal."
They sat side by side now, scribbling, sketching, occasionally reaching for the same pen or paper. Once or twice their hands brushed, but neither of them paused.
Time blurred.
Yume (after a while, glancing at his sketch):
"Wait—did you draw this? The flower blooming into a clock face?"
Ren (calmly):
"Just a concept. You can use it if it fits."
Yume (quietly):
"It fits too well. I was going to write something just like this."
Ren (gently):
"Maybe we're on the same frequency."
She didn't respond. Her pen moved again. Fast, sharp strokes, like something was unraveling at the edge of her chest.
Their thoughts interlocked easily—no clashing, no egos. Just a silent trust.
Ren (after a long beat):
"You work like a novelist. Like you're solving a mystery instead of pitching a product."
Yume (half amused):
"And you work like someone who's hiding something."
Ren (looking at her fully now):
"Aren't we both?"
That held her still.
She didn't ask what he meant. She didn't need to.
The tension between them wasn't flirtation. It was recognition. As if two puzzle pieces—mismatched on the surface—had found a mirrored edge.
Yume (finally):
"This campaign might be the best thing I've done here."
Ren (softly):
"Or maybe the most honest."
Another silence.
But not empty.
She clicked her pen shut and gathered the notes.
Yume:
"I'll type this up. You take the visual mockups?"
Ren:
"Sure."
They stood. The air between them felt heavier now—but not unpleasant. Just full.
As they left the room, Ren paused with his hand on the door.
Ren:
"If this goes well… we'll make a good team."
Yume (not looking at him):
"We already do."
He didn't smile. Neither did she.
But somehow, the absence of it said more than a thousand smiles ever could.
Ren : I think we have to stay today in the office because the deadline is very close and also we have to submit the draft to Mr Jin as soon as possible...
Yume: yeah, I think so.... okay let's do the best...
They left..
Late Night at Fujiwara Multimedia
Marketing-Writing Project Room | 11:47 PM
The office was dim except for the glow of two desks pushed together under the warm hum of recessed lights. The rest of Fujiwara Multimedia was dark, save for the scattered green dots of sleeping electronics. The city buzzed far outside the wide windows — neon reflections shimmering across the tiled floor like ghosts.
Yume sat curled in her office chair, editing copy with red pen underlining words like "destiny," "memory," and "silence." Her notebook sat open beside her screen — not the project one, but the leather-bound journal she kept zipped under her arm like a second heartbeat.
Across from her, Ren — still "Fushiguro" in this building — leaned on one elbow, scribbling rough product sketch concepts. But his eyes weren't focused on the tea branding mock-up anymore. He was quietly sketching something else: an elegant creature curled beneath a cherry tree. Not quite a dream-eater. Not quite human.
Ren (without looking up):
"You write in a journal a lot?"
Yume (glancing up, caught):
"...Sometimes. When I can't think straight."
She hesitated, then added, "It's easier to untangle thoughts when they're on paper. Like pulling red thread through a needle."
That word again—red thread.
Ren's pencil paused on the page. He didn't look at her, but his voice lowered.
Ren:
"You believe in things like that? Red thread of fate?"
Yume gave a soft, tired laugh.
Yume:
"I don't know if I believe. But I write about it. It comforts people. That maybe, no matter how far you run… you'll still end up where you're meant to be."
Silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable—just full.
Ren's voice was quieter now, as if something ancient stirred just beneath it.
Ren:
"Or who you're meant to find."
Yume looked up, eyes meeting his. Something trembled there—recognition. But not the kind rooted in memories of this life.
Yume (softly):
"Do you ever feel like you've… met someone before? But not in this life."
Ren didn't answer immediately. He turned the sketchpad around.
A rough, stylized drawing: a fox with nine tails, lying asleep beneath a vast tree. Above it hovered a dark, horned creature with the soft face of a dreamer — a Baku, ancient and watchful.
Yume's breath caught.
Yume (a whisper):
"That's…"
Ren (interrupting, quick):
"Just something from a dream."
Yume nodded slowly. But her voice was hollowed now.
Yume:
"I write about a fox. All the time. He's punished for falling in love with someone he wasn't supposed to. A god, or a spirit. I haven't written the ending yet."
Their gazes held for a beat too long.
Ren:
"What happens to him?"
Yume:
"He forgets. But the red thread remembers."
The silence shifted again, denser this time. Like the past was watching them from across the desk.
Ren leaned back, gaze flicking to the windows.
Ren (quietly, pulling back):
"It's late. We should finish this draft."
Yume (closing her journal):
"Yeah. Back to work."
But her heart was no longer on the copy edit. And his hand, when it went back to sketching, didn't touch the mock-up again. Instead, he slowly traced a red line — connecting two distant figures on the edge of the page.
One had nine tails.
The other carried stars behind his eyes.