An envelope sat on the table. A thick white envelope. In the sender's field, written in meticulous handwriting: "Crossfield Legal Department, Counsel Attorney Keigo Hari." Kirishima Hana couldn't move, just staring at it for a long time. --- The story goes back several hours. Nezu, Bunkyo Ward. A wooden two-story house, thirty-five years old. When you open the small entrance, there's a faintly nostalgic smell of old tatami. The house where Hana grew up. Now her father, Soichiro, lives here alone. When Hana stopped by on her way home from work, Soichiro was sprawled limply on the living room sofa. She knew immediately—he'd just come back from dialysis. Three times a week, he goes to the hospital for artificial dialysis. After each session, he's always like this. His complexion is poor, all the strength drained from his body, just existing there. Hana tucked her chestnut-colored hair behind her ear and sat down gently beside him. Five foot three, average build. Still in her work clothes—a pale pink blouse and gray skirt. On her left ring finger, a silver ring inherited from her mother gleamed. Her hands, slightly dried from years of office work, reached out softly to touch her father's arm. "Sorry for waking you up" Soichiro opened his eyes. An apologetic expression, but also slightly relieved. "[gentle]It's totally fine" Hana smiled. Naturally, smoothly. But the moment the kitchen came into view, something cold settled behind that smile. On the table, envelopes were stacked in bundles. Medical bills. Hana pretended not to notice and made tea for Soichiro. While boiling water, she glanced sideways to confirm. Just the amount on the topmost envelope made her fingers want to stop. Forty thousand yen per month. That's what her father's dialysis costs. Even with the high-cost medical care system, it still comes to that. Hana's monthly salary is just over two hundred thousand yen. The numbers don't add up. They never have. They've never added up, and years have passed like this. "[sad]I'm sorry for worrying you" Soichiro said it again. Taking the tea, he smiled sheepishly. That face pierced her chest. (It's not fine at all.) That's what she thought. But she couldn't say it. Saying it wouldn't change anything. It would only push her father further into a corner. So Hana smiled again. "[gentle]It's okay. Don't worry about it" Hiding her true feelings—she'd become good at that. --- Night. Soichiro fell asleep first, and Hana remained alone in the living room. She sat before the family altar. In a small photo frame, her mother, Kirishima Yoko, was smiling. She'd died in a traffic accident when Hana was eighteen. Nine years ago now. She lit the incense, and thin smoke rose slowly. "[whispers]Mom, I'll do my best" She spoke in a small voice. Not for anyone to hear, just murmuring to herself. Looking toward the garden, she could see hydrangea bushes through the window. The ones her mother had planted. Every rainy season, they bloomed with large flowers. But now they were still tight buds, drooping downward. It's kind of like me, Hana thought vaguely. That's when it happened. The mailbox clicked. At this hour? She tilted her head and went to the entrance. Opening the mailbox, she found a white, thick envelope inside. Sender: Crossfield Legal Department, Counsel Attorney Keigo Hari. Crossfield—. Even Hana knew that name. A massive company handling real estate, finance, and IT. Its headquarters building stood in Toranomon, Minato Ward. She thought she'd seen on the news that its annual revenue was something like 480 billion yen. Somewhere in Japan, whenever someone bought a house or borrowed money, that company was usually behind the scenes. That kind of existence. Why would a company like that send her a letter? She opened it. The page was filled with carefully written text. Hana started reading while standing, then sat down on the floor midway through. It said: a contract marriage proposal. The conditions were listed in bullet points. —Duration: 2 years. —Monthly compensation: 800,000 yen. —Father's medical expenses: fully covered. —Prohibition on romantic feelings. —Non-interference in each other's private lives. She read it multiple times. Three times, four times, five times. She understood the meaning of the words. But she couldn't grasp it as reality. Eight hundred thousand yen per month. Father's medical expenses, all of it. For two years, to act as the wife of Crossfield's heir, Kurosaki Ren—that's all. (There's no way a deal this good exists.) That's what she thought. But her eyes moved toward the kitchen. That stack of bills on the table. She didn't know if she could even pay for the next dialysis session. She noticed her hands were shaking. Hana gripped the contract tightly in both hands. "[serious]...I have no choice but to go" She spoke it aloud. Quietly, but clearly. The hydrangea in the garden remained there still, tight buds drooping. --- The next morning. Hana pulled a navy suit from the back of her closet. One she hadn't worn since job hunting. When she hung it up, there was a crease running through it. She ironed it and managed to get it into shape. She stood in front of the mirror. A face slightly different from her usual self looked back. Brown eyes a little tense from nerves. Chestnut hair tied neatly in one bundle. She noticed the dryness of her hands was a bit noticeable, so she carefully applied hand cream before leaving the house. She got on the train, heading toward Toranomon, Minato Ward. Usually, her life was spent going back and forth between Bunkyo and Chuo wards. For five years as a sales administrative assistant at the stationery maker "Trista Stationery," she managed orders, created quotations, handled client visits. It was monotonous, but she'd come to like the work well enough. But today, she was going to a place completely different from that world. She exited Toranomon Station. And then the Crossfield Tower came into view. Huge, she thought. It wasn't even a matter of "huge." A thirty-eight-story glass and steel building reflected all the morning light, gleaming. All the surrounding buildings looked small. The Nihonbashi office of Trista Stationery where Hana worked every day—the entire building could fit into this entrance. Her feet stopped. (I'm so out of place...) She'd worn a suit, but it didn't feel like enough. She felt incredibly out of place. Could she even push through those automatic doors? Could someone like her even—. In that moment, her father's face floated up. That face, sprawled limply on the sofa. That face she'd thought had gotten smaller. That smile that said, "I'm sorry for worrying you." Hana took one deep breath and stepped forward. She would do anything to protect her father. When she entered the entrance, the first-floor lobby displayed a glass art installation about eight meters tall. It was modeled after a bridge, and when light hit it, the colors shifted and sparkled. The company motto was "Bridge-Building and Pioneering," according to the documents she'd read last night. I see, she thought—though she didn't really see at all. As she approached the reception desk, a woman in a suit looked up. "[serious]My name is Kirishima Hana. I have an appointment with Chairman Kurosaki..." When she gave her name, the staff member smiled. "We've been expecting you, Ms. Kirishima" That single phrase hit her heart harder. They were expecting her—which meant they'd assumed she would come from the start. As if there had never been an option to refuse. She was guided to a private elevator. When the doors closed, Hana let out a small breath for the first time. She was reflected in the mirror-lined elevator. She looked put-together, she thought. At least on the surface. --- The top floor. The chairman's office. When she opened the heavy door, a man stood at the far end of the room. He stood with the window at his back, creating a silhouette. But the sense of intimidation was more than sufficient even so. Gray suit. Silver hair, nearly white, combed neatly back, posture perfectly straight. His face bore deep lines, but they didn't look like age. They looked refined. Sharp eyes fixed directly on Hana. Kurosaki Goichi. Chairman of Crossfield, sixty-one years old. That's what the documents said. Hana said "Excuse me" and bowed her head. Goichi said nothing. A long silence. Hana raised her head and met his gaze directly. His eyes moved slowly from her feet upward, as if appraising her. "[cold]Do you think someone as ordinary as you is suitable to be my son's partner?" His voice was quiet. Not shouting. Just cold. Stone-cold. Her heart jumped. She almost flinched. Almost took a step back. But—. "[serious]Whether I'm suitable or not is for me to decide" The words came out. She was surprised at herself. It was a proper voice. Not hoarse, not trembling. Goichi's eyes changed for just a moment. They looked like they were confirming something. Then he laughed slowly through his nose. Not a sneer—something else. Something like mild surprise, that kind of laugh. He walked toward his desk and slid the documents on top toward Hana. A contract. The same content as what she'd read last night, but in a more formal printed form. The signature of counsel attorney Keigo Hari was already there. Hana took the pen. She paused. Just for a moment. Then she signed. --- The elevator doors closed. In that instant, her knees began to shake violently. Incredible. Could shaking be this intense? She reached the first floor. The doors opened. Hana stumbled out of the elevator and leaned against a nearby wall. Her heart was pounding. She'd managed everything properly just now, but her body was now saying, "But that was scary!" as if it had just caught up. (What have I done?) But. (I can't turn back now.) Suited figures moved past her through the lobby, each with their destination. Everyone walking with purpose. Only Hana leaned against the wall, unable to move alone. The eight-meter glass art gleamed in front of her. Depending on the light, it shone in a different color than before. A bluish white. A bridge, huh. Bridge-building and pioneering. Crossing a bridge is pretty scary, isn't it? Hana thought vaguely. Aren't you anxious about falling until you reach the other side? But if you don't cross, you can't reach the other shore. Hana slowly pushed off from the wall. Her feet were still trembling slightly. But she took one step forward. She began walking toward the exit. Next week. The moving day to Residence Prisma was approaching. Hana still didn't know the face of her contract marriage partner.