The next day.
"Akira, you resubmitted last night?"
"Yeah." He swallowed the food in his mouth, nodded, and glanced at the lively girl beside him, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "How did you know?"
He hadn't told Shouko about it yesterday… unless—
Shouko blurted out, "I came over this morning and saw your computer wasn't turned off. When I checked, I noticed the automatic reply message in your email."
"…Figures." Akira sighed inwardly and kept eating breakfast, exactly as he had guessed.
She sat on a chair next to him, eyes fixed on his mouth as he chewed, swinging her feet while pressing, "'They' said they'd reply within seven days. Akira, do you think it'll pass this time?"
"Probably." He paused, recalling the editor profile he had looked at the night before. "This time I chose someone who just started working. Fresh out of university. They're probably eager for an opportunity to prove themselves."
"Ding dong…"
Shouko was about to ask something more when the doorbell interrupted their conversation.
"It must be Takagi-chan and the others. I'll get the door." She hopped up and left the dining room.
As expected, the visitors were Takagi and Ayumi.
After telling Akira, she grabbed her shoulder bag from the living room and went out shopping with the two friends waiting at the door.
Suddenly, Akira was left as the only "lonely old man" at home. His mother, Shizuka Miyamura, had gone to chat with Yaeko Nishimiya, while his father, Daiki Miyamura, had gone fishing early with his buddies.
"Ding…"
Just as Akira was debating whether to nap or write, his phone rang.
He picked it up and blinked. The sender was an unexpected friend.
"I've been dumped, come keep me company."
Akira frowned at the odd message. Bewildered, he quickly replayed memories of Shin-chan over the past few years.
The conclusion? He couldn't recall Shin-chan ever mentioning a girlfriend…
And speaking of girlfriends, Ai was more likely—but she wasn't even at the same junior high as Shin-chan.
Setting aside his thoughts, he tapped out three question marks.
"???"
The reply came instantly:
"I received Sister Nanako's wedding invitation this morning…"
"(Holding head and crying.jpg)"
Akira stared at the message, speechless. He didn't even know how to respond.
He vaguely remembered meeting the "Sister Nanako" Shin-chan mentioned a few times back in kindergarten. She was a gentle and beautiful girl, but beyond that, he had little impression.
But that wasn't the point. The real issue was that he had never heard of Shin-chan and Nanako being a thing. Not to mention the age gap made it… improbable.
"What about Kazama and Daiki?"
"Kazama went to find Ai, hasn't replied yet. Daiki has to help his sister at the store. He can't get away this morning, but he'll be free this afternoon."
"…Alright."
"Wait for me."
"Akira, bring some food too."
"We're too young to buy alcohol…"
"No drinks, just bring Crocodile Mountain Mr. Chocobi."
"…."
Akira's lips twitched. For a second, he really didn't want to go. A part of him even suspected Shin-chan had simply run out of allowance and was using this as an excuse to trick him into buying snacks.
Still, he typed:
"Okay."
Pocketing his phone, he finished the last bites of breakfast, cleaned up, grabbed his jacket, and slipped on his shoes at the entryway.
Before stepping out, he called toward the empty house:
"I'm heading out."
Click.
My name is Kazeno Jun, and this is my second month working at Futaba Publishing. In just one more month, I'll no longer be an intern.
As for why someone like me, an intern, got promoted to Editor? Honestly, I'm not too sure myself. Maybe it's because of my "major"…
"Hey! Last stop, you getting off or not!?"
"Ah? Oh—yes, yes!"
The girl with round glasses jolted, grabbed her shoulder bag, and hurried off the bus.
After thanking the driver, she dashed toward the tall office buildings in the distance.
Tokyo in early March still clung to winter's chill. The morning wind swept across her black business suit, carrying the pale glow of the electronic screen at the subway station.
Her patent leather heels tapped urgently against the crosswalk, her shoulder bag swinging at her waist as she ran, flipping up the edge of her work badge tucked in her pocket.
In the photo, she wore delicate makeup—a stark contrast to her wind-mussed hair.
"Jun, if you don't hurry, you'll be late again."
The security guard at Futaba Publishing, thermos in hand, teased her as she stepped out of the elevator.
Kazeno Jun glanced at the time—8:57 glowing on the front desk screen. She quickened her pace, but not without calling back:
"Grandpa, I'll chat after I punch in! I'm late!"
The guard shook his head at her retreating figure. If she got marked late again, that would make seven times this month.
"Made it, whew…"
Jun wiped the sweat from her forehead as she punched in, then hurried back to her cubicle.
"Knock knock knock…"
A man in a plaid shirt tapped her desk. "Kazeno, the President wants to see you."
"…."
Jun's shoulders sagged. So much for thinking she was safe. Thanking him, she reluctantly stood and trudged toward the President's office.
There was no escape—only to face it.
Knock knock.
"Enter."
Jun pushed open the wooden door, spotting the middle-aged man behind the desk. She stepped inside, shut the door, and preempted him before he could speak:
"Dad, I wasn't late this time. You can't scold me for that."
The man froze, then sighed, rubbing his temple. "Your mom wants to know when you're moving back."
"I'm not going."
Her quick refusal made a vein pop on his forehead. "…Forget it. You can leave. But listen—there's only one month left. If you don't show some results, not even your grandfather can protect you."
"Got it, got it."
Relieved he hadn't brought up her lateness, Jun brushed it off with a perfunctory answer and slipped out, leaving her father massaging his aching head.
Back outside, she greeted her colleagues as she passed. They greeted her warmly in return—none of them knowing she was the President's daughter.
Returning to her cubicle, Jun logged in, opened her email, and started reviewing manuscripts.
Whether she liked the job? She thought she did. Reading works before anyone else had always been her dream, back when she was in school. The chance to chase authors for manuscripts—online or in person—made it even better.
And her coworkers were kind.
The best part? None of them knew her secret.
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