That night still lingered in her mind. The dinner at Hotel "The Prestige Tokyo." That moment when she'd said "within the company" in unison with the executives. The low voice of Soushi asking at the entrance, "Can you take off your shoes yourself?" And that single phrase — "Don't push yourself" — somehow remained longest in her ears. (It was just consideration for the contract. Nothing more.) Tsumugi told herself this while spreading import documents for Southeast Asian cashews across her desk on the 14th floor of Marunouchi Central Tower. Beyond the window lay Tokyo Station's platforms. The sky was overcast today, and the light through the glass was thin. That day's overtime stretched on. An urgent verification request had come from Shibata, the head of the Overseas Procurement Division, and the work of cross-referencing quality certificates had begun in the evening. Junichi had left early, leaving Tsumugi alone on the floor. Under the white fluorescent lights, she traced line after line of numbers and English text. Before she knew it, the world outside the window had turned pitch black. When she checked the clock, it was past 10 PM. She felt tired. Honestly tired. The kind of exhaustion that reached into her very bones. She slung her bag over her shoulder, descended the elevator, and walked through the night streets of Marunouchi. The November air was cold, and even bundled in heat-tech, the chill crept in from her neckline. She arrived at Grandveil Akasaka — a luxury tower apartment in Minato Ward, Akasaka — just after 11 PM. She stepped out of the elevator to the 38th floor and walked down the hallway. The sound of her heels seemed unnaturally loud. When she unlocked the front door, the living room lights were on. (He's still here.) "[cold]You're late," A short statement. Soushi sat quietly on the living room sofa. His suit jacket was off. He remained in his white shirt, arms crossed. His gaze turned toward her. Not angry. Not worried — just a gaze that seemed to confirm something. And then Tsumugi noticed. Dishes were arranged on the dining table. Rice, miso soup with tofu, simmered white fish, spinach ohitashi. All of it was warm. Food covers were placed over them, steam leaking out in wisps. "[surprised]...Did you make this, Soushi?" "Delivery. Sit." His voice was emotionless. But he had waited for her — that much was certain. Tsumugi set her bag by the entrance and removed her coat. As she lowered her tired body into the dining chair, she felt the tension drain from her frame. Soushi sat across from her. He poured water into his own glass and nothing more. He didn't eat, didn't speak — just sat there quietly. Tsumugi removed the food covers. The aroma of miso soup rose up. The warm scent of Japanese home cooking seeped into her body, chilled by the November night. (Why is this...) She thought it was delicious. Perhaps because she was exhausted. But how long had it been since she'd come home to a place where someone was waiting for her? Ever since leaving her parents' house, Tsumugi had lived alone. Just coming home to lights on — that alone was enough to — "[serious]You lack self-management," Her chopsticks stopped moving. Soushi uncrossed his arms and leaned his elbows on the table. His gaze fixed directly on her. "[serious]Your overtime continues. Your complexion is poor. How many hours did you work today?" "That was... due to work circumstances," "I'm not listening to excuses." Tsumugi's lips tightened slightly. She started to object. But Soushi continued. "[cold]During the contract period, your poor health becomes my responsibility to manage. Do you understand that?" Management responsibility. Those words fell coldly into her chest. Before the warm meal, the reality of the contract was thrust upon her again. She wasn't being worried about. This was about management costs. To Soushi, Tsumugi was merely a "contractual wife" whose poor health would be inconvenient — that was all. Yes, she understood. And yet. (Why was I so happy just moments ago?) When she looked into Soushi's eyes, she couldn't read the emotion floating there. Calm, without gaps, but — somewhere deep inside, there was something. And she was frightened by her inability to read it. At that moment, her smartphone vibrated in her pocket. She didn't need to take it out to know who it was. The internal company chat "CentralNex" — she could see the notification banner at the edge of the screen. A message from Junichi Okuno. When she looked up, Soushi was watching her. Her smartphone, then her face. His eyes, for just an instant — sharpened. Tsumugi returned the smartphone to her pocket. Without a word. After finishing the meal, Tsumugi stood. She stacked the plates and moved toward the sink. In that moment — Her wrist was seized. "[surprised]—!" She turned around. Soushi was standing. She hadn't noticed when he'd stood. The fingers around her wrist weren't forceful, but they showed no intention of letting go. The warmth of his body concentrated there. "[cold]The contract has clauses," His voice was low. Quiet, but brooking no argument. "A clause that you won't become intimate with other men." "That is..." "That notification." Tsumugi opened her lips. She tried to object. But before words could come, Soushi's hand moved. It released her wrist and placed itself on her shoulder instead. Gently, but certainly. "[cold]Contract or not, you are my wife," His voice was like a whisper. Low and close, right beside her. Soushi's face was at eye level. A refined profile. In the night's light, his eyes looked at her quietly. In the depths of those gray eyes, there was something — something entirely different from the word "contract." Something in her chest pulsed violently. (No. This is wrong. It's a contract, so why...) Reason screamed. But her body was frozen. The warmth of his hand on her shoulder transmitted through her shirt. Too close. Close enough that his breath seemed to reach her. "[whispers]...Please step back," Her voice held little strength. Soushi moved slightly. His hand slowly withdrew. He took a step back. His expression didn't change. Whether he was thinking something or nothing at all, Tsumugi couldn't tell. Only his eyes — for just an instant, they seemed to waver. Tsumugi walked quickly down the hallway. She closed the door to her room. She collapsed onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. Her chest still wouldn't settle. Her breathing was slightly rapid. When she touched her right wrist with her left hand — though nothing remained there, the warmth lingered. She took out her smartphone. She opened the CentralNex notification. A message from Junichi Okuno. Sent at 9:47 PM — when Tsumugi was still at the office. 【Senpai, have you been tired lately? If anything's wrong, please talk to me.】 That was all. Just a short message, nothing more — and yet the corners of her eyes grew warm. Junichi's straightforward gaze floated before her. The earnest voice when he'd said, "Because you're an important person to me." He asked for nothing. He was simply worried about her. She moved her fingers to reply. In that moment — "You are my wife" echoed through her mind. Her fingers stopped. (Why. Why does that person's words come back now?) Tsumugi placed the smartphone on her chest. Still staring at the ceiling, unable to move. She sensed the presence in the next room. A faint sound from beyond the hallway. Soushi was there. Just one wall away. (This is a contract. I can't let feelings get involved.) She told herself this. Again and again. But those words rang hollow, just like before. If it didn't matter, she wouldn't remember the warmth of that hand so vividly. If it didn't matter, she wouldn't recall the wavering in those eyes so many times. And Junichi's words too — they wouldn't pierce her heart so gently. In the end, Tsumugi couldn't reply. She placed the smartphone face-down on the bed. She closed her eyes. Something was beginning to shift, little by little. That frightened her. The word "contract" was supposed to be a boundary line, but where that line actually lay — she'd already lost sight of it three times tonight alone. Soushi's presence moved in the hallway again. It stopped in front of her door. There was no knock. His footsteps simply faded away. Tsumugi closed her eyes in bed. That night, falling asleep without having sorted through her own emotions — she still had no answer for how she would face Soushi's expression the next morning.