Chapter 31: So This Is What a Hamburger Tastes Like!
Chihara Rinto arrived back at the production office after being delayed on the road. It was already past four o'clock when he finally pushed open the door, only to find Michiko waiting patiently inside. She wore a long coat with blue and white stripes, paired with a white beret. Her long hair was tied into twin tails that hung neatly behind her back, adorned with small bell-shaped accessories. She had clearly dressed up for the occasion. Sitting quietly in one of the meeting room chairs, she kept her head bowed, silently staring at her shiny black shoes.
Chihara greeted her with a smile. "Where's your mom?"
Michiko looked up, recognized him immediately, and stood to bow respectfully before answering, "She said she'll wait for me outside the main gate at six."
"Ah, I see," Chihara replied, thinking how considerate it was of Nambu Ryoko not to wander around the studio unnecessarily. Without further delay, he headed toward his designated workspace, motioning for Michiko to follow. "Come with me."
In the bustling chaos of the production office, Chihara had carved out a modest corner for himself—a space sectioned off by a small folding screen. It wasn't much, but it symbolized the distinction between the creative team and the rest of the crew. He led Michiko inside and pointed to a small desk tucked against the wall. "This is yours to use. You can do whatever you like here as long as you don't disturb anyone working. If you need something and I'm not around, just ask the clerks outside—they'll help you."
Michiko bowed deeply again. "Thank you, Master." After a brief pause, she added softly, "And thank you for helping me."
"No problem," Chihara said with an easygoing grin. Then, without another word, he settled into his own chair, opened his notebook, and got straight back to work. Helping her didn't mean neglecting his responsibilities; this disciple could stay put, flipping through comics or playing string games if she wanted. For all intents and purposes, she might as well be on vacation.
"Um… Master, please accept this," Michiko said suddenly, placing a paper bag onto his desk.
"What's this?" Chihara asked, his pen still moving swiftly across the page. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the bag. He'd assumed it contained some of Michiko's personal belongings, but now he realized otherwise.
"It's wagashi from my mother," Michiko explained.
Curious, Chihara pulled the bag closer and peeked inside. Sure enough, there were traditional Japanese sweets—mochi, yokan (sweet red bean jelly), dorayaki (pancakes filled with sweet azuki paste)—all meant to accompany tea. Clearly, Nambu Ryoko felt indebted since Chihara hadn't charged any tuition fees. A token gift, then.
He chuckled lightly. "Leave them here. You can snack on these whenever you want."
Truthfully, Chihara had no intention of teaching Michiko anything substantial—at least not yet. Accepting her family's treats seemed inappropriate under those circumstances. Besides, despite his laid-back demeanor, his moral compass remained surprisingly intact. The thought of indulging in someone else's generosity while doing so little made him uneasy.
But Michiko shook her head firmly, standing beside his desk. "I can't eat these."
"You can't? Oh…" Chihara paused mid-sentence, realization dawning. For someone striving for perfection on camera, foods high in oil, salt, or sugar were veritable enemies of the body. They packed on pounds faster than anything else. Whether animal fat or vegetable oil, each gram carried about nine calories. If unused, those calories turned straight into fat. Salt caused water retention, which also led to bloating, and sugar? Well, sugar was notorious for its ability to make anyone gain weight.
Nambu Ryoko's ambitions for her daughter were clear: stardom. And achieving that required strict control over diet and appearance. No wonder poor Michiko couldn't indulge—even accidentally—in such delicacies. Still, imposing such restrictions on a child felt almost cruel.
Sympathy tugged at Chihara's heartstrings. "What do you usually eat, then?"
"Low-sodium nutritional meals," Michiko murmured, her bangs casting faint shadows over her large, downcast eyes.
Nutritionists designed these meals to ensure proper growth without adding even a gram of unnecessary fat. Balanced and bland, they maintained Michiko's body fat percentage at an unnaturally low level. Chihara didn't need to taste them to know they were flavorless. Such diets weren't uncommon among actors, especially women who chased perfection daily. Eating rabbit-food salads became second nature, much like athletes subsisting on boiled chicken breasts and broccoli. Success came at a cost.
Chihara hesitated, unsure whether what he was about to suggest was appropriate. Finally, he spoke tentatively. "Is there something special you've always wanted to try? Maybe pick two items from the bag and have them here. Don't worry—I won't tell your mom."
Perhaps it wasn't entirely ethical, but allowing a child a rare treat now and then seemed… human, didn't it? Making her endure tasteless nutrition packs every day at eleven or twelve years old would drive anyone to rebellion.
Michiko glanced up at him, her expression softening slightly, though uncertainty lingered. Lowering her gaze once more, she whispered, "On my way here, I saw a hamburger shop by the roadside. I've never tried one…"
Chihara understood instantly. Picking up the paper bag, he smiled warmly. "Then let's trade. I'll get you a hamburger instead of these sweets."
With that, he rose from his seat and stepped out of the semi-private cubicle. Scanning the room briefly, he called out, "Shiraki-kun?"
From the far corner of the conference area, Shiraki Keima emerged, hurrying over with eager anticipation. "Yes, Chihara-sensei? Do you need assistance?"
Could it finally be time to assist with scriptwriting?
Chihara handed him the paper bag. "Distribute these later. Tell everyone it's a gift from Michiko since it's her first day visiting. Then locate that burger place nearby—it's called 'Big Fat Burger,' right? Check the name, call them, and order a combo meal. Have them deliver it quickly."
"Yes, Chihara-sensei," Shiraki replied, masking his disappointment with professionalism. Taking the bag, he set off to complete the task.
Meanwhile, Chihara returned to his desk, resuming his scriptwriting. Gesturing casually to Michiko, he encouraged her to relax. "Go ahead and sit at your desk. Make yourself comfortable."
Michiko obediently took her seat, gazing blankly at the empty surface before her.
Chihara glanced up briefly. "Feel free to do whatever makes you happy. There's no rush."
Michiko blinked, confused. Shaking her head, she admitted, "I don't know what to do. My mom usually plans everything for me."
Her earlier request had been spontaneous, driven by the hope that Chihara's sympathy might grant her a sliver of freedom. But now, faced with unstructured time, she found herself adrift, unsure of how to fill the void.
Chihara shrugged inwardly. As long as his work progressed smoothly, idle chatter wouldn't hurt. "By the way, what's your real name?"
"Nambu Chihaya," she answered promptly.
"Chihaya? Is that why you chose Michiko as your stage name?"
"Yes, my mom picked it."
"It suits you," Chihara remarked absently, turning the page of his notebook. Continuing the conversation, he asked, "Was today's shoot tiring?"
"It was exhausting," Michiko confessed. "Cold, hard work—and I got scolded too."
"Still not interested in pursuing acting?"
"No, but I can't fight it."
Chihara raised an eyebrow. "If you don't perform well, does she hit you? You mentioned once that you didn't want to be beaten again."
"She used to, when I was younger. Now, it's mostly extra homework or locking me in the closet to reflect."
"That's… quite intense," Chihara muttered, setting his pen down. Imagining himself at eleven or twelve, forced into activities he despised, he wondered how he might have rebelled. Hunger strikes? Running away? Defiance?
Yet this girl displayed remarkable maturity. Perhaps she understood that outright rebellion would only lead to worse consequences. Was she biding her time, waiting for the right moment? If she ever snapped, would she end up like Yoshino from the Sonata for the Upside-Down Girl—dying tragically at the peak of success, leaving her mother devastated?
Or maybe she was smarter than that. Even so, suppressing resentment indefinitely wasn't sustainable. Eventually, legal battles might ensue. Though Michiko hid it well, Chihara sensed a simmering bitterness toward her mother. Was it possible?
Should he intervene? Offer guidance? Or heed Murakami's advice about avoiding unnecessary entanglements in others' affairs? Soft hearts often led to trouble in the workplace.
Before he could decide, Michiko interrupted his thoughts. "Master, please don't worry about me. I'm fine sitting here, doing nothing. Focus on your work."
Chihara blinked, momentarily speechless. Fine, if that's what she preferred. Shrugging off his concerns, he dove back into his script, writing furiously. Writing two scripts simultaneously had proven disastrous in the past, so Dual Focus didn't extend to ambidextrous handwriting. One project at a time remained the rule.
Still, he resolved to save up for a computer. Typing suited him far better than scribbling by hand. Learning Japanese input methods would take effort, but it'd pay off eventually. Editing drafts digitally offered unparalleled convenience.
As he worked, he flipped open a newspaper, scanning headlines intermittently. Multitasking came naturally to him now. Glancing at articles, jotting notes—it almost felt like transcribing news reports.
The newspaper itself was courtesy of Shiraki Keima, part of Chihara's strategy to stay informed about current events. While entertainment dominated his career focus—the industry was entering its golden decade—future trends in technology couldn't be ignored. Understanding the digital landscape ensured he wouldn't squander his foresight advantage.
Time passed quietly. Michiko sat motionless, lost in thought. Fifteen minutes later, Shiraki reappeared, carrying a tray laden with burgers, fries, and cola. Setting it down, he announced, "Chihara-sensei, your order has arrived."
Chihara paused, pulling out his wallet. "Thanks for handling this, Shiraki-kun. How much do I owe you?"
"980 yen," Shiraki replied, then hesitated. "Wouldn't you rather charge it to the production budget?"
"To the production budget?" Chihara echoed, surprised.
Shiraki nodded. "You're entitled to a tea allowance, sensei. Only a few members of the creative team receive it—it's meant for premium coffee or tea, signifying our status."
So perks extended to petty luxuries. Interesting—but ethically questionable. After a moment's deliberation, Chihara slipped his wallet back into his pocket. "Put it on the tab, then. Oh, and when you have time, buy chocolates with my remaining balance. I love chocolate. Might as well enjoy the benefits."
"As you wish," Shiraki said, departing promptly.
Chihara placed the burger in front of Michiko, pouring most of the cola into a cup. Pure liquid sugar, that stuff. Better ration it carefully—just enough to satisfy her cravings without risking a meltdown from her mother later.
Setting expectations early, he joked, "This is a rare treat. Once you're done, figure out how to burn off the calories. Don't let your mom blame me."
"Yes, Master!" Michiko replied, her small hands trembling as she unwrapped the burger. Beneath the packaging lay a double-decker beef patty, exuding rich, greasy aromas.
Her eyes widened, shining with excitement. Hastily wiping her lips, she swallowed audibly before taking a massive bite. Sauce dripped onto her chin, and tears welled up in her eyes.
So this was what a hamburger tasted like. After seeing countless advertisements, she'd finally experienced it for herself.