800,000 yen a month to become a stranger's wife.
Kirishima Mari is twenty-six, stuck in a job that's neither painful nor fulfilling, quietly drowning in student debt and the slow erosion of ordinary days. She never imagined that an email from the thirty-sixth floor—a place she'd never even set foot in—would upend her life.
Hikawa Renji. Twenty-nine years old. Director of Strategic Planning. Heir to the Hikawa family that founded Vantech Corporation. A man with a cold voice, a colder proposal,
Love Blooms in the Margins of a Contract - Article 5 of the contract
800,000 yen per month.
That number kept spinning in her head.
Kirishima Mari collapsed onto her futon and stared at the ceiling of her apartment in Kyodo. An old fluorescent light flickered faintly. She'd been meaning to replace it for three months now.
A white envelope sat on her desk.
She'd opened it and closed it. Read it countless times. But no answer came.
From the direction of the balcony, she heard the sound of night wind.
---
Two days earlier.
The first-floor lobby of Vantech Corporation transformed the moment the clock struck 9 a.m.
The ceiling was high—eight meters at least. The floor was marble. People in suits moved with crisp efficiency. Leather shoes clicked against the stone. No one looked at their phones. Everyone walked straight ahead, eyes forward.
Only Mari walked a little faster.
(Why does my posture always straighten up every time I pass through here?)
She wasn't running late. It was just that something about this space made her feel like she had to be proper. Her soft chestnut-brown bob swayed at her neck as she unconsciously straightened the collar of her white blouse.
She stepped into the elevator and pressed "9."
The Food Business Division. That was where Mari worked.
---
The ninth floor was the same ordinary space it always was.
Fourteen employees. Import food procurement and customer relations. Mari was in her fourth year. General staff. Annual salary: 3.8 million yen. Overtime averaged about twenty hours a month. Nothing was particularly difficult. Nothing was particularly enjoyable either.
She booted up her computer and checked yesterday's order data. Two errors. She corrected them, contacted the person in charge, and waited for a callback. That took up most of the morning.
Lunchtime came.
She thought about asking someone to join her for a moment—but her neighbor was out on rounds, and the senior across from her was on a long call. Never mind. Mari grabbed her tray and headed for the elevator.
Terrace 38 on the thirty-eighth floor was Vantech's employee cafeteria. Two hundred eighty seats. Large windows. A panoramic view of Tokyo's skyline. Set lunches started at 650 yen. Mari's favorite was the daily fish special, and today it was grilled mackerel.
She sat by the window and set her tray down alone.
Outside, the sky was clear. Skytree visible in the distance. The April sky was blue, with few clouds. It felt nice. And yet, looking at it made her chest ache just a little.
(Fourth year already.)
She'd drifted apart from her cohort without quite realizing it. It wasn't that they were on bad terms. Just that everyone was in different departments. Lunch schedules didn't align. They messaged each other on chat apps sometimes, but when was the last time they'd actually met in person?
Mari picked apart her mackerel and gazed out the window.
Would it just keep going like this? Fifth year, sixth year, paying off her student loans in her Kyodo apartment. Day after day, ordinary and dull, just... ending.
It wasn't that she hated it. But—
(But what, Mari?)
She didn't understand it herself. She drank her miso soup.
---
Wednesday, 6:15 p.m. Just before leaving work, her phone lit up with an internal email notification.
From: Strategic Planning Division, Director Hikawa Renji.
Subject: Regarding a meeting.
Mari looked at the screen twice.
Hikawa Renji. That name came up often around the office. Twenty-nine years old, promoted to director of Strategic Planning. A scion of the Hikawa family, the founding family of Vantech Corporation. Grandson of the company's top executive. A man who'd successfully orchestrated a 45-billion-yen acquisition of a foreign food manufacturer. But she'd never seen his face.
She'd never even been to the thirty-sixth floor.
For a general staff member on the ninth floor, the thirty-sixth floor was another planet. It had its own dedicated elevator. Biometric authentication required. Only certain people could enter.
She opened the message.
It was short.
*Tomorrow, 11 a.m., 36th floor.*
That was all.
(Why me...?)
Before anyone could see, she quickly pocketed her phone. She grabbed her things and hurried out of the office.
The outside air helped clear her head a little. But the unease didn't fade. On the train, arriving in Kyodo, climbing the apartment stairs—it lingered the whole time. A constant hum of anxiety.
Had she made a mistake? But she couldn't remember any errors. Yesterday, the day before—she'd worked normally. So why would the Strategic Planning director—
With no answers, Mari spent the night in a fog.
---
The next morning, 11 a.m. sharp.
Mari completed the procedures at the first-floor reception desk and stepped into the dedicated elevator. The doors closed.
(Calm down. Calm down, Mari.)
She gripped the hem of her navy skirt lightly with her fingertips. Her frame was slender, but today her whole body felt rigid. The mole on her right cheek felt clammy.
The number 36 lit up. The doors opened.
The air changed.
The floor beneath her feet—it was soft. Carpet. Nothing like the ninth-floor tiles. Sound was absorbed. The hallway was wide, quiet, no voices anywhere. Her eyes drifted to the window.
She could see the Imperial Palace gardens.
Such a view existed in the same building? Mari's eyes narrowed slightly.
She was led to the end of the hallway, to what looked like the largest door. When she knocked, there was no "come in"—the door simply opened from inside.
A spacious office. One desk, far at the back. The chair was empty.
(Wait, no one's here?)
As confusion set in—
A voice came from behind her.
"Kirishima Mari,"
Low. Quiet.
She turned.
A man stood by the window. Backlit, his face wasn't clear. But she could tell he was tall. His suit's silhouette was straight-backed, broad-shouldered, with perfect posture. Only his voice and outline stayed with her.
He walked toward her. He was holding a white envelope.
"I need you to pretend to be my wife for six months,"
His voice was quiet. Not angry. Not amused. Just stating a fact.
The envelope was placed in Mari's hands.
"Monthly compensation: 800,000 yen. All moving expenses covered. A lump sum of 3 million yen upon contract completion. All terms are in here,"
Mari took the envelope. Her hands trembled slightly.
(Pretend to be his wife...?)
---
Two chairs had been set up in front of the desk. Mari sat as directed and opened the envelope.
*Contract*, it said at the top. Twelve clauses.
①Cohabitation—move to a condominium in Minato Ward, Shibaura.
②Behave as husband and wife in public.
③Minimal interference in private life.
④Contract period: six months, no extension—
Reading through each one, Mari gradually understood the situation.
Beside her—no, across from her. Renji began speaking quietly.
"The Hikawa family has a custom: if the direct male heir doesn't establish a betrothal by age thirty, the family head forcibly selects a marriage partner,"
His tone was matter-of-fact. Almost no emotion.
"I'm twenty-nine. Three months remain,"
(So... he's asking me to help him avoid that?)
Mari tried to organize her thoughts. The Hikawa family head—the chairman, Hikawa Kotaro, right? Eighty-two years old. From the founding family that had run Vantech since 1947. The man who would decide on a marriage arrangement. That had to be serious. She didn't fully understand the weight of it, but she could sense it.
But.
Mari's eyes landed on the figure: 800,000 yen per month.
(800,000 yen... six months is 4.8 million. Plus moving costs, plus 3 million at the end...)
Her mind began calculating.
(My student loan balance is 1.8 million. That means—it all disappears in six months.)
Wow. Wow wow wow.
Mari almost gasped aloud and caught herself. Her mind suddenly raced through the numbers. She felt a little embarrassed at how quickly she'd started calculating, but the truth was, this amount of money could change her life. The Kyodo apartment, the 68,000-yen monthly rent that had always nagged at her, the student loan balance she'd been worried about—all of it could be resolved at once.
(Calm down. Calm down, Kirishima Mari. This isn't just math. This is six months of living with a stranger.)
Her head couldn't keep up.
---
She kept reading.
At clause five, her hand stopped.
—The development of romantic feelings shall not constitute a breach of contract.
(...What?)
She read it again.
The development of romantic feelings shall not constitute a breach of contract.
(Is this... a normal thing to put in a contract?)
She looked up involuntarily, and Renji's voice came short and clipped.
"Questions?"
There were so many things she wanted to ask. What did this fifth clause mean? Why her? Would you file a de facto marriage certificate? What exactly does "pretend to be my wife" entail?
But no words came out.
"...No, I'm fine,"
Her own voice sounded slightly strained.
(I'm not fine at all, though.)
In that moment, something in her chest moved in a strange way. She didn't understand why. Maybe it was because of clause five. Maybe it was because of the voice she'd heard from behind her. Maybe it was the tall silhouette in the backlighting.
She didn't know. Something had caught.
"I'd appreciate your answer by today,"
With that, the conversation ended.
Mari left the office, envelope in hand.
---
Night.
Back in her Kyodo apartment.
A corner room on the second floor. 1K, twenty-two square meters. A little messy today—a half-read book sat on the table. The exhaust fan hummed faintly.
Mari set the envelope on her desk. Left it there and stepped onto the balcony.
She watered her basil. The leaves had grown a bit. It had been small when she bought it, but lately it was growing fast. There was something satisfying about watching something you're nurturing actually grow.
Through the window, she could see cherry blossoms.
Between her apartment and the next one, a narrow alley held a single cherry tree. Nearly all the blossoms had fallen, but a few petals still clung to the branches, swaying in the night wind. About to fall. But not quite falling.
(What do I do?)
Mari leaned against the railing.
800,000 yen a month. Her student loans disappear. She could move to a nicer place. Build savings. See a future.
But.
Six months living with a stranger. Pretending to be his wife. Standing beside Vantech's founding family heir, wearing that face.
It was scary. Honestly, terrifying.
(And that fifth clause—)
The development of romantic feelings shall not constitute a breach of contract.
No matter how many times she thought about it, it made no sense. Why would such a clause be necessary? Who puts that in a cohabitation contract? No one, she thought.
Which meant Renji had deliberately included it.
(Why...?)
No answer came.
Mari went back inside and collapsed onto her futon. The ceiling light flickered again. She should replace it. She closed her eyes.
In her head, his voice played again.
Low. Quiet. Emotionless. And yet somehow, it lingered in her ears.
(It's scary. But the student loans...)
(But living with a stranger...)
(But 800,000 yen a month...)
Round and round, the thoughts spiraled. Morning came.
---
At dawn, the window turned white.
The cherry tree was still there. Same spot as last night, fewer petals now, but the branches remained.
Mari stared at it blankly.
The envelope on her desk floated in the morning light.
No answer yet. But her fingers had already reached for her phone.
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