6:30 AM. The alarm on her phone chimed. Sara opened her eyes inside the futon. She stared at a stain on the ceiling. She couldn't remember when it had appeared. The 28-year-old apartment was full of small marks and scratches like this one. She rose with practiced efficiency. The six-mat room was exactly as she'd left it last night. Papers stacked on the desk. Tomorrow's clothes at the foot of the bed. Not messy, exactly. Just nowhere else to put things. She opened the navy curtains. Tokyo's dawn light painted the window. Setagaya Ward, Sakuradai. Nine minutes on foot to the Odakyu Line station. Two minutes to the convenience store. Quiet. Ordinary. Unremarkable. Sara had moved here at twenty-four. Every morning since had begun like this one. The refrigerator held yesterday's half-price side dishes, natto, and a few eggs. Egg over rice for breakfast. While the tap water ran, Sara mentally scrolled through her household budget. Money sent home to her parents: 30,000 yen. Student loan repayment: 25,000 yen. Rent: 68,000 yen. Utilities: 8,000 yen. Other living expenses: 30,000 yen. Her monthly take-home was roughly 340,000 yen. After subtracting everything, about 100,000 remained. Savings were a distant dream. But Sara had never complained aloud. Her family back in Shizuoka ran a tea farm. Her parents were far from wealthy. She wasn't supposed to have needed a student loan. But she'd been the one who wanted to go to university. So repaying it felt like her responsibility. She showered. Three minutes flat. Water bills counted toward the budget too. She gathered her chestnut-brown hair—shoulder-length—into a simple ponytail. The mirror showed her the same face as always. Not particularly beautiful. Not ugly either. Just an ordinary twenty-six-year-old woman's face. She had a habit of unconsciously twining her left fingers together when nervous. Right now, she wasn't nervous. She slipped on her navy suit. Not the Marusei Foods uniform, but safe business casual. She'd bought this suit three years ago. It had pilling in places now, but she'd hidden it as best she could. "Let's do our best today," she whispered to herself. Then Sara left her six-mat apartment behind. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Marusei Foods' headquarters occupied the sixth floor of a mixed-use building in Nihonbashi, Chuo Ward. One hundred twenty employees. Sara worked in administration—estimates, invoices, client correspondence. The work never stopped. "Sara-chan, working late again?" Her coworker Misaki Honda swiveled her chair. Twenty-seven, with that effortless sparkle about her. Her hair and makeup were always perfect. To Sara, she seemed to inhabit an entirely different world. "Ah, the estimate..." Sara managed a wry smile. Truth was, the deadline wasn't until tomorrow. But she always tried to finish a little early. It was the bare minimum obligation she imposed on herself. "You're too serious. You should take a break sometime." Misaki shrugged. No malice in it. If anything, she was worried. But Sara had no margin for breaks—not psychologically, not financially. Official hours ended at five. She passed that time almost every day. By eight o'clock, only Sara and the building manager remained in the office. The halogen light hummed quietly overhead. Only the sound of her keyboard gave the space any sign of life. After nine, the estimate was finally done. Sara clipped the papers together and set them at the edge of her desk. Tomorrow she'd pass them to the sales department. On the way home. She walked in the opposite direction from the station. A slight detour—a change of pace. She found herself in an upscale residential neighborhood. Large walls enclosed the houses. What kind of lives did the people living here lead? She wondered about it as she walked. That was when it happened. Some kind of commotion ahead. A woman's voice. "Um, ah..." An older woman. Standing helplessly in front of an expensive car. The driver was gone. She gripped her smartphone, her expression troubled. Sara quickened her pace. Maybe she could help. Just before she reached her— A man in a black suit appeared. Late twenties, perhaps. He carried himself with quiet composure as he addressed the elderly woman. "Is something the matter?" His voice was polite, with a certain distance to it. Yet the consideration behind his words was genuine. The woman explained her situation. Her grandson's driver had to return home. She could wait for him to come back, but she wasn't feeling well. The man listened quietly. Sara watched from about ten meters away. "In that case, might you call the driver on your phone?" A gentle suggestion. The woman nodded and began dialing. The man waited. The streetlight illuminated his face. *(People like this really exist?)* Sara whispered it to herself. Not a calculating expression. A face that seemed to genuinely care for others. His back, lit by the night streetlight, made him look like someone from another world entirely. Five minutes later, the driver's car arrived. The man watched until the elderly woman was safely inside, then quietly left the scene. In a different direction from where he'd come. Sara stood frozen for a while. For some reason, she couldn't get that man out of her head. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ A few nights later. Sara's phone rang. Unknown number. "Hello?" She answered cautiously. She'd heard on the news about fraud calls increasing. "Is this Ms. Sara? I am Yano, secretary to the Ayashima Group." The voice was composed, carrying a certain weight. The Ayashima Group—one of Japan's largest financial conglomerates, headquartered in Akasaka, Minato Ward. Finance, real estate, trading. A massive corporate empire. She'd seen them on the news. Tall buildings. Major company reports. Why would they be calling her? "Ah, yes..." Her own voice sounded thin to her ears. "I have a matter to discuss with you. Would you be able to make time? Ideally, I would recommend an in-person meeting, but for now I must explain over the phone." The caller continued politely. "Ah, yes..." The response came automatically. She lacked the courage to refuse. "Would you be able to visit the Ayashima Tower, 42nd floor reception area, at 3 PM the day after tomorrow? I will explain the details then." Ayashima Tower—that famous supertall building in Akasaka, Minato Ward. Would a place like that even let an ordinary office worker like her inside? "Um, what... what is this regarding...?" Sara forced herself to ask. "I apologize. The details will be explained when we meet in person. However, I believe this is a matter you cannot afford to ignore." There was quiet certainty in Yano's voice. "We will cover all transportation costs. I appreciate your time in arranging your schedule." The caller continued. A tone that brooked no argument, yet remained courteous. As if delivering a decision already made. "Understood. I'll be there." She regretted it the moment she said it. She'd committed to something she knew nothing about. But she couldn't cancel now. And yet—somewhere in her heart, she felt a flutter of anticipation. "Thank you. We will be waiting at the reception area on the 42nd floor. Thank you for your time." The call ended. Sara stood motionless in her room. She couldn't understand what had just happened. The Ayashima Group. A massive conglomerate. A world that had nothing to do with someone like her. And yet, why— She looked out the window. Tokyo's night lights glittered. Where did she fit in this city? In that moment, for the first time, Sara felt it. Her life was beginning to shift, ever so slightly, from the path it had always followed. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ The next morning. Sara requested a personal day from work. She gave no reason beyond "personal circumstances." Her boss didn't try to stop her. Perhaps he even preferred her absence—made things run smoother. She stood before the mirror. "Could this be a mistake?" she murmured, studying her reflection. Still the same unremarkable face. When nervous, her left fingers twisted together unconsciously. That habit was showing now. But somewhere deep in her heart—the image of that gentlemanly man from that night flickered. The Ayashima Group. A world with no connection to someone as ordinary as her. And yet she felt no hesitation about keeping that appointment. *(Maybe this is a chance. Maybe my life is about to change.)* That fragile hope glowed softly in her chest. "Whatever happens, I'll respond with sincerity." That was all she could take pride in—raised as she was on a tea farm in Shizuoka. Outside the window, Tokyo's streets gleamed in the morning sun. Countless buildings. Among them, Ayashima Tower rose into the sky. Sara's ordinary life was quietly drawing to a close. Tomorrow, on that 42nd floor reception area, something would unfold. A world she couldn't yet imagine was waiting for her.