The sensation from yesterday when Minajo said, "You're exactly the kind of person I thought you were," still caught somewhere in her chest. She didn't understand what those words meant. Without understanding, Saori stepped into the elevator of Hotel Grand Cresta Tokyo. The flagship hotel of the Saginomiya Group—a 24-story building standing on prime real estate in Shirokane—overwhelmed you with its exterior alone. Marble floors, ikebana arrangements reaching to the ceiling, suited employees bowing silently with each passing step. After four days of intensive training, Saori had finally reached a point where her stomach didn't clench just from stepping into this space. But today was different. —A final examination as a young lady of high society. Kyoichiro had actually called in two zaibatsu-related figures. This wasn't practice in table manners or walking. It was a real-world mock social engagement in front of actual people. The lounge was on the third floor. Champagne-gold lighting, white tablecloths, piano music flowing at low volume. Saori took one deep breath at the entrance. (I have no choice but to do this.) Kyoichiro was already seated on the sofa. Deep black short hair, a small piercing in his right ear. Cold dark brown eyes glanced over Saori. Minajo stood beside him, offering a gentle smile. Two officials—a woman who appeared to be in her sixties and a man in his fifties—were already seated. "My fiancée," Kyoichiro introduced curtly. "[cold]I am Saori Misawa."—Saori straightened her spine and bowed. At the exact angle from training, with the exact smile from training. "Oh, what a lovely young lady." The woman smiled. Saori felt relieved. Conversation began. Talk of art. Recent trends in the hotel industry. Next month's charity auction—apparently an event hosted by the Himuro Society, a field where Saori had no knowledge, but she managed to keep up with nods and affirmations. (I'm doing it. I might actually be doing it.) That's when it happened. The woman tilted her head. "Um... forgive me for asking, but aren't you the person who works at Kizawa Planning in Minato Ward, Shiba Park? I'm acquainted with Miho Totsuka, and I believe she mentioned someone from the same workplace..." Her mind went completely white. (Miho Totsuka's. Acquaintance.) She could feel her face draining of color. Words wouldn't come. Her mouth hung half-open, unable to find the next thing to say. In that moment, Kyoichiro cut in. "[cold]You must be mistaken. She has been my fiancée since before." A low, flat voice. Emotionless. The tone of someone simply stating facts, leaving no room for doubt. The woman withdrew with, "Oh, I see. My apologies." The conversation continued. Saori managed to maintain her smile. But inside her chest, the woman's words kept circling endlessly. —Was that him protecting me? Or was I simply being processed? She couldn't tell. After the mock social engagement ended, Kyoichiro called Saori into the hallway. The noise of the lounge disappeared beyond a single door. The hallway was quiet. Tokyo's night view spread beyond the windows. Kyoichiro turned toward Saori. His expression was the same as before. Nothing had changed. "[serious]One week." "...What?" "As you are now, I cannot take you to the engagement announcement party. If you cannot achieve a passing grade as a young lady within one week, the contract is terminated. I will have the five million yen refunded in installments." Saori took a step back. "[scared]B-but, just now—you helped me—" "[cold]That was only this time. Next time, I won't help." With only that, Kyoichiro turned his back. He walked down the hallway. His footsteps grew distant. Minajo followed. Saori was left alone in the hallway. (Five million in installment payments.) With an annual salary of 3.8 million yen, she couldn't possibly repay five million in installments. Her brother's university tuition. Monthly remittances. Everything would disappear. She placed her hand against the wall. Her legs had no strength. (I want to go home.) For the first time, the words formed clearly in her mind. The one-room apartment in Nerima Ward, the third floor of Corpo Sakuradai. A narrow, old room at 63,000 yen a month. But there, no one would call her "unqualified." That night, Saori was alone in suite 2108 of the hotel. The 21st floor of Grand Cresta Tokyo—the suite room prepared as her lodging during the training period was spacious enough to fit ten of her Nerima apartments inside. A plush sofa, heavy curtains, bottles of alcohol lined up on the minibar shelf. All of it felt out of place. Saori sat on the edge of the bed, her training notebook spread open. But the words wouldn't enter her mind. Her pen remained still. (Can I change in one week?) Her gaze fell to her left wrist. A thin, cherry-blossom-shaped birthmark. Something she'd had since birth, but tonight it looked strange to her. There was a knock on the door. A familiar voice came from beyond it. "Misawa, it's Minajo. ...Do you have a moment?" Saori hesitated. Just for a moment. But the words from yesterday—"You're exactly the kind of person I thought you were"—flashed through her mind, and she hesitated again. (But he apologized properly after that.) Saori opened the door. Minajo stood there. Black hair with a lustrous sheen combed back, calm gray eyes. He held a warm-looking cup in his hand. "[gentle]I was worried. If you don't mind..." What was offered was a cup from the hotel lounge. It appeared to be herbal tea, with a faintly pleasant aroma. Saori accepted it. It was warm. They sat on the sofa, facing each other. He spoke with his usual gentle expression: "[gentle]You really did your best today." "[gentle]Kyoichiro's demands are too harsh. But you are definitely growing." Saori cupped the mug in both hands. Warm. For the first time tonight, she felt like she was touching something warm. "...Why do you care about me so much, Minajo?" Minajo fell silent for a moment. Then he spoke quietly. "[whispers]You don't need to be Kyoichiro's fiancée. If you would just stay by my side—" Saori's hand stopped. She froze, still holding the cup. Minajo's hand covered hers on the table. It should have been warm, but his touch felt cold. "[whispers]You should belong only to me." Gray eyes reflected only Saori. Not the usual quietness. Dark, burning, something aflame in those eyes. Fear spread from her neck through her entire body. "[scared]...Please stop, Minajo." Saori pulled her hand away. The cup struck the table with a soft clink. She stood and took a step back. "[scared]...Please stop." Minajo stopped moving. For just a moment—truly just a moment—a wounded expression crossed his face. But it vanished immediately. He returned to his usual gentle smile. "[gentle]...I apologize. I overstepped." He stood and moved toward the door. Saori gestured in that direction. She wanted him out in the hallway. Minajo left. But just before closing the door, he turned back. "[whispers]Someday, you will understand." The door closed quietly. She didn't understand what those words meant. Saori locked the door. The click echoed through the room. Then she stumbled toward the bed and collapsed onto it. She cried. Until now—even when Kyoichiro called her "unqualified," even the night she rode the elevator down alone—she had endured. But tonight she couldn't. She buried her face in the pillow and cried aloud. (The contract will be terminated. I can't repay five million. My brother's tuition, the remittances, everything will disappear.) (Minajo is frightening. But Kyoichiro is cold. There's nowhere to run.) (I want to go home. I want to go home now.) Still crying, she began packing her belongings almost unconsciously. She pulled out her bag and was about to shove her notebook inside. Her hand stopped. A piece of paper emerged from the depths of her pouch. A folded A4 white sheet. When she unfolded it, she saw the words "Acceptance Notice." Her brother's university acceptance letter—the original had been sent to their parents' house, so Saori had made a copy to carry as a charm. Her brother's name was written there. (Ryosuke.) The day he was accepted, he'd said over the phone, "It's because of you, big sis." That's not true, you worked hard for this, she'd answered. But honestly, Saori had been pouring her savings into his tuition. Cutting expenses every month, working overtime, saving up. It wasn't that she resented it. But—the thought of it all disappearing was unbearable. Saori wiped her tears. Roughly, with the back of her hand. She stopped putting things in her bag. She took out her training notebook. Spread it on the bed. "Table Manners," "Walking," "Basics of Social Conversation"—pages densely filled with notes spread out under the room's light. (One week.) She gripped her pen. Her trembling hand gradually steadied. In the margin of a page, she wrote just one line. "I won't lose." She wouldn't tell anyone. She wouldn't show it to anyone. She simply wrote it. That was all. But after writing it, her breathing felt a little easier. The next morning, Saori stepped into the hallway just after seven. Her eyes were swollen from crying all night. She'd hidden it with concealer, but it surely wasn't completely covered. She walked down the hallway, clutching her training notebook. One more week starting today—she had no choice but to do this. As she turned a corner, she collided with someone. It was Kyoichiro. Deep black short hair, black suit, piercing in his right ear. Even in the morning, he was perfectly put together. In his hand was a single paper cup. The logo of the hotel's first-floor café was printed on it. Something he'd ordered from the lounge, probably. Their eyes met. Saori froze. Kyoichiro also stopped for a moment. Neither said anything. Kyoichiro, keeping his gaze on Saori, silently held out the paper cup he was holding toward her. Saori took it. Reflexively. It was warm. Heat seeped through the cup into her hands. Kyoichiro did nothing more. He began walking again. He didn't look back. He disappeared down the hallway without uttering a word. Saori stood there, watching his retreating figure. (Why, all of a sudden?) Perhaps Minajo had reported her condition from last night. Or maybe he'd heard her crying in the hallway. Either way, she never would have imagined this person offering a drink to someone of his own accord. She held the cup in both hands. Warm. Different from Minajo's cup last night, she thought. Not frightening. Not pushy. Just—warm. That was all. Whether that was romantic love, Saori couldn't say. But deep in her chest, in the place that had been frozen until moments ago, something small seemed to ignite. The steam from the coffee rose in white wisps. One week remained until the deadline. Minajo's obsession might deepen beyond last night. And yet, just this morning, she wanted to hold this warmth in her hands a little longer.