She was still thinking about the warmth that lingered on her shoulder. A week had passed since that night. In the deep hours after the first day of the contract, when a voice had called out to her in the hallway and a hand had come to rest on her shoulder——that sensation still seemed to cling to her somewhere, and Nagisa found herself unconsciously touching her left shoulder. Each time she noticed, she would tell herself to stop, but before long, she was touching it again. (It's just a contractual gesture. It means nothing.) While preparing for the morning, Nagisa looked in the mirror. The girl reflected back at her was wearing an unfamiliar dress. A thin silver-gray gown. The back was cut dramatically low, and the skirt trailed slightly across the floor. The fabric held a faint luminescence depending on the angle of the light——a texture unlike anything Nagisa had worn in her entire life. Matsunaga, the butler of Tsurushō Manor, had prepared it for her yesterday. The sixty-year-old man was typically expressionless, but when he'd brought this dress, he'd said only, "It suits you very well." She couldn't tell if it was flattery or sincerity, but she'd replied, "Thank you." But now, standing before the mirror——she felt as though someone else was looking back at her. Her light brown hair was pinned up, and small silver earrings swayed at her ears. It was the same face she'd seen countless times in the six-mat room of her apartment in Shibamata, and yet it looked different. That frightened her. Not the fear of standing in that dress at the party venue——but rather the fear of the possibility that this dress might actually suit her. That was what truly scared her. (Even if it does suit me, what does that change?) Nagisa quietly looked away. 　　―――― The grand hall of the Suzaku Group headquarters building, "Suzaku Tower," was far larger than Nagisa had imagined. A forty-two-story glass building in Marunouchi, Chiyoda Ward——on its second basement level, a grand hall dedicated to the founding anniversary party had been constructed. The vaulted ceiling soared nearly ten meters high, and the light from the chandeliers cast intricate shadows across the white floor. The heat and murmur of voices from over three hundred attendees filled the space. These are people from the financial world, Nagisa thought. Every single one of them wore that fact naturally. Expensive suits, jewels, well-tailored dresses. Not a single person seemed out of place. Only Nagisa——didn't belong here. That sensation crept up from her feet, slowly and steadily. "Are you nervous?" A low, quiet voice came from beside her. Nagisa turned her face slightly. Tōma stood facing forward, unmoved. Jet-black short hair, a dark navy tuxedo, a thin tie at the collar of his white shirt. The wrinkle between his brows was faint, and his mouth, as always, revealed nothing. But his blue-gray eyes——for just a moment, they looked toward her. "...A little." "I see." That was all. No further words came. Yet Tōma positioned himself slightly ahead of Nagisa and began moving slowly into the hall. An escort's hand was offered——his right hand. In a businesslike manner, as if confirming something. Nagisa placed her hand over his. His fingertips were cool. (This person's hand is always a little cold.) She'd thought the same thing the first time she'd come here a week ago. When they'd exchanged the contract. When he'd touched her shoulder in the hallway. There was a coldness that seemed to emit no body heat at all. And yet——why did that coldness make her feel protected? Nagisa couldn't trust her own senses. (It's a contractual touch. I'm simply fulfilling my role. That's all.) In the depths of the hall, a figure radiating an especially powerful presence came into view. Suzaku Kenichi——Tōma's father, the group chairman——stood surrounded by several people. The sixty-two-year-old man with graying hair had a sturdy build that was evident even beneath his navy suit. He presided over the "Phoenix Society," an unofficial salon of financial elites, and was said to move the hidden machinery of Japan's economy. Just then, his gaze turned toward them. Nagisa felt her feet nearly stop. Kenichi's stare was not kind. It was observing. Measuring. Appraising——that was the nature of his gaze. (I'm standing here now as the wife of his son.) Tōma's hand pulled Nagisa's hand slightly. Naturally, but unmistakably. The message was clear: keep walking, face forward. Nagisa returned her gaze ahead. She moved her feet——not fleeing from Kenichi's eyes, but in a way that didn't appear to be fleeing. 　　―――― When the toast speech began, Nagisa was standing slightly behind Tōma. The group president on the dais was weaving words. Seventy-two years since founding, inheriting the will of the previous generation, this year too the group will——the content was standard. While three hundred ears turned toward the stage, Nagisa was thinking about how to hold her champagne glass. The correct way to hold a champagne flute suddenly escaped her. Where to place her feet. How to maintain her smile——. "The man standing at ten o'clock is Chairman Ishikawa of Kobe Bussan." A low voice spoke directly beside her ear. Her heart jumped. Tōma had positioned himself beside Nagisa, tilting his face slightly toward her. His mouth was close to her ear——his breath brushed faintly against it. Nagisa used a little extra energy to maintain her expression while directing her gaze in the indicated direction. "To the left?" "Yes. The group has business dealings with his food division. If conversation arises, he favors topics about Osaka." His voice was completely flat. It was pure business communication. There was nothing special about the proximity to her ear——it was simply the distance needed to speak quietly. Even knowing that, Nagisa's right ear still felt slightly warm. "At three o'clock, the woman in the black dress is the vice president's wife of Shindō Construction. She's sharp, so be prepared to answer your background accurately." Nagisa tracked with only her eyes. A middle-aged woman of refined bearing. Her gaze was indeed sharp. And she was looking at Nagisa too. (What am I standing here as, among these people?) She already knew the answer. As Suzaku Tōma's wife. But she also knew that wasn't the truth, and within Nagisa, those two things constantly ground against each other in small, quiet friction. The call for a toast went up. The sound of champagne glasses touching echoed throughout the room. Both Nagisa and Tōma raised their glasses and brought them to their lips for just a sip. 　　―――― As expected, she was surrounded by the wives fifteen minutes later. Four women naturally gathered around Nagisa. Their ages ranged from their forties to sixties. All wore expensive jewels, and all smiled softly. Beneath that softness, something lay hidden. Nagisa felt it. "You're Akizuki-san, aren't you? Where are you from?" "Tokyo. From Katsushika Ward..." "Oh, from the downtown area." The smile didn't change. But Nagisa's words had faltered not because of how "downtown" was being received——it was because she'd suddenly lost track of how to explain her own ordinariness. I worked in general affairs at a subsidiary company, my salary was 3.2 million yen, I lived in a thirty-five-year-old apartment in Katsushika Ward——those words caught in her throat. "Which university did you graduate from?" "...A private university in Tokyo." "Which faculty?" There, Nagisa's words stopped completely. (I can't say it. Even if I say economics, once I say the school name, the next question will come. The moment I say an ordinary university name——not Tōei, not Seiran, not Keio——the faces of these people will change.) The silence was brief, but——to Nagisa, it felt very long. "Excuse me." A low voice cut through. Tōma stepped forward. Not beside Nagisa, but in a position between her and the wives. His blue-gray eyes, expressionless, swept across them. "My wife is a sincere and domestic person. That is the reason I chose her." That was all. It wasn't an explanation, a defense, or an apology. It was simply a statement of fact, spoken quietly, yet with something that seemed to shut something down. The wives' smiles reformed slightly. "How lovely," one of them said, and the conversation drifted in another direction. Nagisa stood there for a while. (That was just contractual performance.) She understood that. She understood it, but the phrase "that is the reason I chose her" remained quietly within her. No matter how hard she tried to process it as a businesslike statement, it wouldn't work. This was the first time she'd heard this man use the word "chose" in front of anyone. (I want to believe it. But I mustn't believe it.) Those two thoughts began to slowly rotate within her. Whichever way she leaned, the other became a lie. Nagisa took another sip of her glass, trying to wash away the turbulence in her chest along with the champagne. 　　―――― As the party moved into its latter half, the lights dimmed. It was for a video presentation commemorating the group's seventy-second anniversary. Images from the postwar period appeared on the screen. Burned-out Tokyo, a young man selling textiles from a street stall——footage of Suzaku Sōichirō, the group's founder. The subtitle read: "Bloodline is the foundation of enterprise; integrity is the wings of Suzaku." Three hundred people watched it quietly. The grand hall with its dimmed lights was darker than expected. The screen's light softly illuminated the venue, but the floor was barely visible. The crowd moved gently. People shifted position to watch the video, people with glasses in hand changed their stance——Nagisa was among that flow. The person in front of her stopped, and Nagisa didn't notice. Or perhaps she hadn't seen the marble step at her feet. The moment her balance faltered, her vision tilted. ——In that instant, an arm wrapped around her. Her waist. Her back was drawn toward something warm. Gently, yet unmistakably. Nagisa's body was pulled against someone else's, and the forward momentum that would have sent her falling came to a complete stop. "——" No sound came out. Tōma was supporting her. His left arm was around her waist, and her back was against his chest. More precisely, his chest was against her shoulder blades——and that sensation was so real that Nagisa couldn't immediately tell if she was still tilted or if she'd already been steadied. Tōma slowly turned Nagisa to face forward. In the screen's light, the distance between their faces became mere centimeters. Nagisa looked at him. She had no choice but to look. His face was this close. The wrinkle between his brows was faint. His mouth was quiet as always. But——something was different in the depths of his blue-gray eyes. The ice mask was cracking. Barely, so very barely——but Tōma's eyes held a flicker of disturbance. Not the eyes of someone constructing logic, but the eyes of someone confronting something that couldn't be put into words. Nagisa had seen several of Tōma's expressions over this past week, but never one like this. He was looking at her. At her "alone." Not processing something else. Then, just as quickly, Tōma reclaimed his expressionless mask. But——the arm around her waist didn't let go. One second. Two seconds. Nagisa was counting. She didn't know why she was counting, but she couldn't help it. Three seconds, four—— At five seconds, the arm released her. "Are you alright?" His voice was flat. His expression had returned. As if those few seconds had never existed at all. But Nagisa had seen. She'd clearly seen what had flickered in Tōma's eyes in that moment. "...Yes." Her throat wouldn't move properly. Just that single syllable was all she could manage. A voice reached them from a distance. Several employees were laughing and saying, "You two look wonderful together." They'd meant to speak qu