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 - Strawberries and Body Temperature
The taste of salmon onigiri still lingered faintly on her tongue.
A few days had passed since then, and Kirishima Mari was gradually growing accustomed to life on the thirty-ninth floor of Park Residence Shibaura. Renji left before seven in the morning; Mari went to bed first at night. They passed each other in the hallway more often now. She could sense his presence through the door. Just that — and yet something had shifted from those early days.
There was someone living under the same roof who left convenience store onigiri for her. It was such a small thing, and yet Mari had begun to feel something like "home" about this place.
Then, late April — Mari came down with a fever.
---
Her throat had been sore since morning. She called the office, then returned to bed.
Lying in her pajamas, staring at the ceiling, her foggy mind drifted through yesterday's work and back again. The purchase order revision file — had she forgotten to send it? She still hadn't replied to Ayane. But her body wouldn't move.
She searched for the thermometer. Found it in the drawer under the sink.
39.1 degrees.
*(Worse than I thought.)*
She curled up under the blanket. The Tokyo Bay visible through the window was blue and beautiful, and the weight of her body didn't match the brightness outside at all — it felt like she'd somehow gotten the short end of the stick.
Renji had gone to the office as usual. She'd heard his footsteps before seven, then the front door closing. That was all. He wouldn't know she was sick. He didn't need to know. This was a work arrangement — not something that warranted concern about her health.
She drifted in and out of sleep.
When she came to, the room was slightly brighter. Before noon.
A sound from the hallway.
The front door opening. Leather shoes being removed. Then — quiet footsteps walking down the corridor.
*(Wait, he came back?)*
Mari opened her eyes in the blanket. The footsteps stopped beyond the door. A small *clink* sound. Then footsteps again — this time moving away down the hallway.
She sat up and looked at the side table.
A box of fever reducer. A 500ml bottle of Pocari Sweat. A bottle of water. Things that hadn't been there before, now lined up in a row.
*(He... bought these for me.)*
He hadn't asked if she was okay. Hadn't inquired how she was feeling. He'd simply left them there in silence and gone back.
Mari slowly opened the Pocari Sweat cap. Took a sip. It was cold, slightly sweet, and soothed her empty stomach.
Something felt strange in the back of her throat. Not pain — something else. Like something was stuck there. Not enough to cry over. But close to it. Right on the edge.
*(Why am I feeling like this?)*
She didn't know if she was lonely or happy. Both feelings were mixed together, impossible to sort out.
She pushed out one fever reducer tablet and swallowed it with water. Then lay back down.
After that, until evening, she heard footsteps in the hallway every thirty minutes. Slow, deliberate steps that stopped in front of her door. A pause. Then they'd fade away. Stop. Fade away.
Each time, Mari stayed perfectly still under the blanket.
*(He could open the door.)*
She thought it, then immediately suppressed the thought. This person wasn't like that. But he was coming. Every thirty minutes, checking on her. Without saying a word.
It was — somehow — so very like him.
---
The next morning, the fever had broken.
37.1 degrees. Her body was ready to go back to work. Mari changed clothes and went to the living room.
Renji was there.
Standing at the kitchen counter, drinking coffee. Black suit. The ear cuff on his left ear. His usual appearance before heading out. But today, unusually, it coincided with the moment Mari emerged from her room.
"Um, Hikawa-san. About yesterday... thank you. For the medicine and the Pocari. I feel much better because of it."
She bowed as she spoke. Her voice was still slightly hoarse.
Renji set his cup on the saucer.
For one second — literally just one second — he looked at Mari's eyes. Then immediately, his gaze shifted to the window outside.
Morning light from Tokyo Bay streamed into the room.
Renji said nothing. But his profile, in the morning light, seemed to soften ever so slightly — as if something that had been tense until yesterday had loosened just a little. The word "relief" floated through Mari's mind.
*(He was worried about me.)*
The moment that realization came, something in her chest leaped violently. So clearly it seemed like it might make a sound.
"Don't push yourself."
That was all he said before he set his coffee cup in the sink and headed for the entrance.
Mari watched his retreating back for a while.
*(This person's kindness — it all comes in this form. Unspoken. No explanation. But it's definitely there.)*
She leaned her hands on the counter and took a small, deep breath. Her heart still wouldn't settle.
*(What is this...?)*
No answer came. She tried to find one, then stopped.
---
On a Wednesday night just before Golden Week, Mari attended a dinner party as a "wife" for the first time in her life.
The venue was La Rivière. A French restaurant on the twenty-eighth floor of Vista Building in Roppongi, used by Vantech Corporation for business entertainment. The moment the elevator doors opened, the air felt different. The carpet was thick. The lighting was dim and warm. Piano music drifted from somewhere distant.
Mari wore a black dress. Not her usual clothes. She'd bought it the week before at a shopping mall in Shibaura — the most formal thing she owned. Even so, her steps faltered slightly as she entered.
*(This is bad. I'm getting nervous.)*
Renji's back was beside her. Tall, with perfect posture. Completely at ease in this space.
Then — Renji's hand lightly touched her back.
It was a gentle contact. Just below her shoulder blade. A simple gesture to guide her forward — a hand placed to direct her movement.
But.
Every inch of Mari's skin felt it. The warmth of his palm. The texture of his suit sleeve.
*(Wait, I—)*
Her face flushed. Even though her fever had just broken, she thought it might be returning.
Two executives from the client company stood up at a table in the back. Middle-aged men in tailored suits.
"This is my wife, Mari."
Renji's voice was calm. Emotionless. Simply quiet, but he used the word "wife" properly.
Mari smiled brightly and bowed. She understood this was work. She understood that — and yet the word "wife" echoed once more in her ears.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Kirishima. Thank you for having us."
Throughout the meal, Renji added brief supplements whenever Mari was asked a question. When she seemed to struggle for an answer, he naturally took over the conversation. Subtle, barely noticeable support. But Mari understood.
*(He's watching out for me.)*
The dinner ended. They left the building. Renji called a taxi on his phone. Roppongi at night was crowded. They stood waiting together, and the taxi arrived.
Inside the car, Renji faced the window. About fifteen minutes to Shibaura. The Metropolitan Expressway bridge flowed past.
After a moment — Renji spoke quietly.
"Today was helpful."
Still facing the window. Not turning toward Mari.
She was happy. So very happy.
But.
*(This is work. It's a contract. Pretending to be a wife — that's all it is.)*
Mari quietly applied the brakes to her own emotions. She stopped her face from relaxing, pressing her lips together slightly.
"...I learned a lot from it too."
That was all she said, and she also turned to face the window.
Tokyo's night scenery flowed past behind them.
---
On the first morning of Golden Week, Renji was unusually home.
When Mari came to the living room, Renji was on the sofa looking at a tablet. Work documents, apparently. Even on his day off, he worked. That's just the kind of person he is, she thought.
"Um, I'm going to Fresh Marché. Do you need anything?"
Fresh Marché Shibaura — a supermarket an eight-minute walk from Park Residence. Since coming here, Mari had bought all her groceries there.
Renji looked up from the tablet. There was a brief pause, then he stood.
Without a word, he picked up his jacket.
*(Is he... coming with me?)*
He offered no explanation. Simply put on his shoes at the entrance. Mari slung her eco-bag over her shoulder, and the two of them left the hallway together.
Late April in Shibaura had pleasant winds. They walked a bit along the waterfront promenade and arrived at the supermarket. The automatic doors opened, bringing the smell of vegetables and cool air.
Walking through the store together with a basket felt oddly embarrassing.
Mari selected spinach at the vegetable section, checked the rice, and put two packs of tofu in the basket. Renji walked slightly behind her. There was no conversation. But he didn't leave her side.
When they reached the fruit section.
Renji reached for a shelf.
A pack of strawberries. From Fukuoka, 298 yen. Glossy red berries lined up in a clear package.
He placed it in the basket without a word.
"Huh? You know I like strawberries?"
She asked without thinking.
Renji answered while facing forward.
"You always have them in the refrigerator."
Mari's feet stopped.
That was true. She bought them every week. Since coming here, it had become a habit somehow. When the pack was empty, she'd buy another. Always placed on the left shelf of the refrigerator.
And — this person had been watching.
Every morning when he made coffee. Every time he opened the refrigerator. Those expressionless eyes, that silver gaze, had been seeing her strawberry pack.
*(He was... observing me.)*
It was a strange feeling. Not frightening. Not quite happy either. The center of her chest grew warm, then ached. A kind of pain. But not unwelcome.
Her grip on the basket tightened.
*(What do you even call this feeling?)*
Mari stared at the strawberry pack for a while. The glossy red berries reflected the fluorescent light.
"...Thank you very much."
Her voice was slightly muffled. Renji said nothing. He simply walked forward. Mari adjusted her grip on the basket and followed.
---
That night, she had the television on in the living room.
A music program was playing, and Mari sat on the sofa, half-watching in a daze. Renji was in a chair at an angle, reviewing documents again.
When a concert performance began — Renji's phone vibrated briefly on the table.
Renji glanced at the screen.
Then he pressed the power button. The screen went dark.
Mari watched, keeping her eyes on the television.
The next night, the same thing happened. Renji was sitting at the edge of the sofa reading when his phone vibrated. Same motion, same way of cutting it off.
The night after that too.
*(Work calls, probably.)*
That's what she thought. He was the type to get work even during Golden Week. It made sense.
But — the way he cut it off was too quick. Like he confirmed the call and ended it in 0.5 seconds, with no hesitation. His expression didn't change. But that "unchanging" quality somehow caught on something inside her.
Mari couldn't ask.
She had no right to ask. No reason to ask. They were just living together, and the contract's third clause stated they wouldn't interfere in each other's private lives.
But.
The hand that had placed the strawberry pack in the basket and the hand that quickly ended the call — they were the same hand. And somehow that didn't quite — fit together.
The television's music continued. Mari hugged her knees slightly on the sofa.
*(Who was that call from?)*
She told herself not to think about it. But it was like a small splinter, piercing the soft place in her chest, refusing to come out.
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