The Aoi Sho Ad Jingu Terrace office in the dead of night was wrapped in silence. Fifth floor of a building in Jingumae, Shibuya Ward. Beyond the windows, Tokyo's nightscape sprawled out, the lights of the buildings twinkling like stars. Yet the office was nearly empty. In the hum of the air conditioning, a single woman sat at her desk. Kiriya Runa. Twenty-four years old. Her black hair, shoulder-length, pinned back, her eyes tinged red with exhaustion as she revised a proposal under the desk lamp. Her navy blouse had its sleeves rolled up, and the hem of her black skirt lay rumpled beneath her chair. Red pen ink stained her fingertips—the mark of someone who checked and rechecked obsessively. The time was 2 a.m. Before her lay several revised drafts stacked on top of one another. A new product campaign proposal for "La Mer," a major cosmetics manufacturer. The deadline was tomorrow morning. There was no choice but to work through the night. Runa rubbed her fingertips together. It was her habit. Whenever tension or anxiety seized her, she would unconsciously rub the fingers of her left hand. Tonight, that habit had repeated itself countless times. Because— (Father had contacted me.) She stared at her smartphone. The message displayed on the screen contained only one phrase. *I'm sorry.* Shiki City, Saitama Prefecture. Her family home. There stood "Kiriya Precision Machinery"—a small factory with eight employees, run by her father, Kiriya Seiichi, manufacturing precision parts. That place was now— in a dire situation. Toho Denki, a mid-sized manufacturer and their trading partner, had fallen into a management crisis and suddenly collapsed last month. The accounts receivable from parts manufactured by Kiriya Precision—32 million yen. All of it had become uncollectible. The bank had refused additional loans and announced that extending existing credit would be difficult. If things continued as they were—they might even lose the house. Runa's annual salary was 3.4 million yen. Her monthly take-home was roughly 230,000 yen. To pay off a 32 million yen debt would require 137 years. Three lifetimes wouldn't be enough. "..." Runa drew a deep breath. She fought desperately to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. Crying in a corner of the office wouldn't change anything. She knew that. Because of her earnest nature, she understood it all too well. So she continued revising. *Dear valued staff members*—this catchphrase was trite. Something more compelling was needed. She ran her pen across the page. Revised. Again and again. The time passed 3 a.m. The office sank deeper into silence. Only the air conditioning marked the passage of time. The desk lamp illuminated Runa's exhausted face. Thin shadows had formed beneath her eyes. And then— 3:47 a.m. Her smartphone rang. A message notification. From an unknown number. Runa's hand froze. Who would contact her at this hour? She tapped the screen. *Hello. My name is Kujo Toma. I am aware of the situation regarding your father, Kiriya Seiichi's, factory. I have detailed information about Toho Denki's management crisis and the 32 million yen in uncollectible accounts receivable. Would you meet me tomorrow at 8 p.m. at "Kasumi Terrace" on the first floor of Kujo Marunouchi Tower? I may be able to help. —Kujo Toma* Runa's gaze became fixed on the smartphone screen. Kujo Toma. There was probably no one in Japan who hadn't heard that name. Kujo Holdings—a zaibatsu-descended family enterprise founded in 1895, with real estate, finance, and hotel operations as its three pillars—estimated total assets of 48 billion yen. And Kujo Toma was the executive director and head of business strategy at that very Kujo Holdings. Twenty-seven years old. An elite among elites. She'd even heard him called the "Prince Charming" of high society. (Why would someone like that reach out to me?) Runa's heart began to pound violently. Had someone sold her information? Or— (*I have detailed information about Toho Denki's management crisis and the 32 million yen in uncollectible accounts receivable.*) That single line sent a chill down her spine. What was this? A threat? Or— Runa rubbed her fingertips together. Her left hand's fingers, again and again. At the same time, a small voice whispered within her heart. (But... what if...) Grasping at straws. That emotion glowed faintly in the depths of her chest. The 32 million yen debt. The terror of losing the house. Her father's apologetic voice. What if all of it—could be saved by what lay hidden in this single message? Runa read the message over and over again. Should she reply? Or should she ignore it? No answer came. The night wore on without one. 6 a.m. Morning sunlight began to pour through the large office windows. That soft light illuminated Runa's exhausted face. The proposal was somehow complete. But her mind remained occupied by something else. "..." She gripped her smartphone. The message from "Kujo Toma" still remained on the screen. She hadn't replied. (Should I go? But there's definitely something fishy about this.) She questioned herself repeatedly. But no answer emerged. Without one, Runa dragged her heavy body out of the office. On the train ride home, Runa gazed out at the passing scenery. The early summer morning sun painted Tokyo's streets in gold. Amid the morning commute rush, she curled her small body inward. She took out her smartphone. She read the message once more. *Hello. My name is Kujo Toma. I am aware of the situation regarding your father, Kiriya Seiichi's, factory. I have detailed information about Toho Denki's management crisis and the 32 million yen in uncollectible accounts receivable. Would you meet me tomorrow at 8 p.m. at "Kasumi Terrace" on the first floor of Kujo Marunouchi Tower? I may be able to help. —Kujo Toma* She looked back at her father's message too. The simple *I'm sorry.* And then— Something crystallized within Runa. (I'll go.) Fear was there. Wariness too. But stronger than both was the desire to escape this situation, and it consumed her chest. She opened the smartphone keyboard. Her fingers trembled. *Thank you for reaching out. Understood. I will be waiting at Kasumi Terrace at 8 p.m. today. —Kiriya Runa* She pressed send. The message was transmitted. Anxiety and hope twisted together in her chest, complex and inseparable. The gears of fate had begun to turn.