From the end of the hallway, she thought she heard a low voice. 　田中ゆかり closed her eyes inside the elevator. The doors hadn't opened yet. The display showed 38. It was just that—and yet something deep in her chest was pounding violently. 　It wasn't quite fear. 　But she couldn't put into words what it was, not now. ――― 　The Ichijo Center Building in Marunouchi was nothing like what ゆかり had imagined. 　The moment she emerged from the subway exit onto the street, what overwhelmed her first was the height. Standing in a prime location in Chiyoda Ward, five minutes on foot from Tokyo Station, the building rose thirty-eight stories above ground, three below. Even from a distance, it commanded an unmistakable presence, towering above everything around it. Passing through the automatic doors of the main lobby, her feet found themselves on a floor of polished marble. Suited figures moved across the gleaming stone. At the reception counter, four refined female staff members stood in perfect angles of greeting. 　ゆかり stopped for just a moment before the automatic doors. 　(I don't belong here.) 　That's what she thought. That's what she'd allowed herself to think. 　But—she gripped the handle of her bag a little tighter. She straightened her spine. She pressed her weight into her shoe soles and took a step forward. 　That was all it was. Just entering. Just that. 　ゆかり walked while confirming the sensation of the hem of her pale gray tight skirt brushing against her ankles. She'd checked the first button of her white blouse three times this morning. The heels of her black pumps clicked, clicked against the stone floor. The small jade earring in her left ear trembled faintly in the cool air. 　Thirty-six floors by elevator. She repeated in her head only the advance briefing: she was being assigned to the Corporate Planning Division. ――― 　The Corporate Planning Division was a spacious area of roughly four hundred square meters. 　Desks were arranged in neat rows, and twenty-eight employees went about their respective tasks. As ゆかり was guided by her handler, she tried her best to match faces with names. When her eyes met someone's, she gave a small bow. A few responded with smiles. 　(This person is... I think that's Tamura-san. And over there...) 　She'd always thought she was good at remembering names, but in an environment like this, her memory capacity seemed to shrink to half its usual size. She'd commuted from her parents' home in Saitama to a mid-tier private university in Tokyo, studied Japanese linguistics in the Faculty of Literature, and after graduation had drifted between small and mid-sized companies in the city. She'd chosen to work as a temporary employee not for any particularly strong reason—just that she couldn't bring herself to take the step into being a full-time employee. That was all. 　The Ichijo Group—annual revenue of 2.4 trillion yen, thirty-two subsidiary companies, approximately eighteen thousand employees total. A complex corporate conglomerate with a history spanning one hundred thirty-five years since its founding in Meiji 22. A financial and industrial zaibatsu of considerable standing in this country, spanning real estate, finance, medical devices, and IT. 　And here, 田中ゆかり had come. A temporary employee earning 220,000 yen a month. 　When she sat at her desk and spread out the first-day orientation materials, a voice came from the desk beside her. "You're 田中-san, right?" 　A small woman stood there with a friendly smile. Around twenty-six, perhaps. Round eyes, bright brown hair. She wore the name tag that marked her as a fellow temporary employee. "I'm 園田美月. I've been here about half a year as a temp too. If there's anything you don't understand, just ask me anything." "Thank you so much. I'm 田中ゆかり." 　She returned the smile. She really was grateful—and yet at the same time, (but how much should I actually tell her?) a wariness was definitely there. This was someone she'd just met today. She couldn't bare everything to her. 　While she was thinking that, 美月 leaned in closer. "Hey, can I ask you something? ゆかり-san, did you come through a staffing agency? The temps that come here usually have set routes—" "Ah, um... yes, through a company called Est Staff." "Ah! Est! They send people here a lot. But when I heard you were coming, I heard the division director arranged it personally, so everyone was a little curious about it." 　Those words caught on something. But before she could think deeply about it, the morning's work began. ――― 　At lunch, ゆかり ordered a daily special at the employee cafeteria, "Marunouchi Kitchen." 680 yen. The spacious basement-level dining hall had about eighty percent of its two hundred eighty seats filled. 　While eating alone, she gazed out the window. The Tokyo sky visible from ground level was overcast today, somewhat pale. 　(It's just a normal company,) she thought idly. The people looking at their smartphones in the corner of the cafeteria, the groups deep in conversation—whether it was the Ichijo Group or a small company, the scenery was the same. Even with marble floors, the food was the same daily special. 　The tension eased, just a little. ――― 　At two in the afternoon, she was called to see the division director. 　朝倉透真. Forty-one years old, Corporate Planning Division Director. She'd met him for the first time this morning, but the impression had been firmly etched into her mind. Slender and tall, with clean short hair and eyes that held depth. His voice had a calm tone, suggesting a quiet intelligence. When he smiled, the corners of his eyes softened before his mouth did. And—for reasons she couldn't explain, ゆかり had intuited that this man was sharp. Beneath the calm lay cold calculation. "田中-san, do you have a moment?" 　She was shown into a private office. When the door closed, the room temperature seemed to drop a degree. 　朝倉 indicated the chair across from him, then slowly sat down himself. On the desk lay a single thin file. "This might come as a shock—" 　His voice was calm. Which made it all the more chilling to her spine. "I'd like to ask you to take on a different position. A contract secretary role." "A secretary...?" "As a personal secretary to 一条冬馬, the head of the Ichijo Group. Externally, you would present yourself as his fiancée. Monthly compensation is 550,000 yen. Contract period is one year. There is a confidentiality clause, and the penalty for breach is 20 million yen." 　ゆかり couldn't quite process the meaning for a moment. 　Monthly—550,000. Penalty, 20 million. Fiancée. 　"The family has been concerned about the head's unmarried status," 朝倉 continued. His calm words seemed to pass straight through her eardrums. "We need to present the appearance of a political marriage. You were selected as the personnel for this role." "...Why was I selected?" 　She was surprised at how calm her own voice sounded. 　朝倉 paused for just a moment. "Because you were the most inconspicuous—someone not yet colored by the group's influence." 　It was a considerate way of putting it. Polite. 　Which was precisely why the meaning beneath it struck so directly. 　Not because she was special. Because she had no presence—that was why she'd been chosen. 　ゆかり maintained her smile. She'd always done this. Even when emotions stirred, she didn't let them show. She'd had plenty of practice since elementary school. Both her parents worked; they always came home late. Her father worked at city hall, her mother was an elementary school teacher. They were sincere, kind people, but they were exhausted when they got home. So ゆかり had learned, from a very young age, not to trouble anyone with her own feelings. "Let me review the terms." 　The words came out with a calmness that surprised even her. ――― 　Alone in the private office, ゆかり opened the contract. 　It was thick. Nearly a hundred pages. 　She began reading carefully from the first page. She wasn't in a hurry. She'd never thought she could rely on anyone in situations like this. So she read it all herself. Whether that was right or wrong, she didn't know—but her conscience wouldn't allow her to sign without reading. 　Confidentiality clauses. Penalty calculation methods for violations. Conditions for contract termination. The obligation to follow the head's instructions and the definition of their scope—. The sentences written in legal language were almost a foreign tongue to her. But if she read carefully, she could understand the meaning. 　With each page turned, the sense of reality grew thinner. 　What was she about to do? 　From 220,000 yen a month to 550,000. Her head was trying to understand that gap. But her body couldn't catch up. A contract marriage with a zaibatsu heir had never existed in the realm of possibility for her life. 　(But—) 　Next month, her student loan payment was due. Her savings weren't much. 　She couldn't live on pretty words. She'd learned that thoroughly over twenty-eight years. 　She reached the final page. 　The signature line. 　The moment she saw that text—something struck deep in her chest. 　"Counterparty: Head of Ichijo Group　一条冬馬" 　She felt afraid. 　But— 　What came after that "but," ゆかり still couldn't put into words. 　It was the name of a man she'd never seen. Just text. Just letters. It should have been nothing—and yet her chest was beating in a strange way. She'd always kept romance at a distance. It wasn't that she was afraid of liking someone; she simply didn't know how to let someone in. 　So why— 　ゆかり picked up a pen. She hesitated for a moment. 　But she wrote. 　田中ゆかり. 　Outside the window, the sky was already beginning to turn orange. Marunouchi at dusk. The dry autumn air of Tokyo seemed to transmit itself through the glass. ――― 　When 朝倉 returned to the office, ゆかり was sitting with both hands folded on her lap. "I've signed it." "...Thank you." 　朝倉's voice seemed to shift slightly. It was a tone that could have been relief, or something else entirely. "Is 一条... a frightening person?" 　She hadn't meant to ask. But the words came out anyway. 　朝倉's mouth moved slightly. "...He's a cold person." 　He said that and stood up. "Today, we'll have you meet him. The thirty-eighth floor." ――― 　The private elevator was in a different location from the regular employee elevators. When she held her security card up to the reader, the doors opened silently. Inside, it was spacious and quiet. ゆかり gazed blankly at her reflection in the mirror. 　Her deep green hair shifted slightly in color under the elevator's lights. Her amber eyes were a little wide with tension. The small jade earring in her left ear trembled faintly. 　(I look presentable,) she thought. It might just be appearance. But for now, appearance was enough. 　The numbers climbed. 　35. 36. 37. 　Unbidden, an old night came to her mind. On a night when her mother came home late, ゆかり stood alone in the kitchen. She waited for the sound of the front door unlocking while reheating dinner. That sensation—the feeling of waiting for someone. The desire to give warmth to someone, but having nowhere to give it, just waiting. 　Now, something like that was in her chest. 　But it was different. Clearly, it was something different from that night. 　38. 　The elevator stopped quietly. 　Just before the doors opened—ゆかり became aware that her heart was beating irregularly for what felt like the hundredth time today. 　The hallway was long and quiet. Her footsteps were absorbed into the carpet. At the end stood a heavy door. 　From beyond it—she thought she heard a low voice. 　The door was still closed.