Chima Hayasako, 27, a rare female powerhouse, held a management role at a financial firm.
Her decisive style and master's degree in finance from a prestigious London university made her unstoppable.
Years abroad broadened her perspective, fueling her disdain for the subtle workplace biases against women in Japan. She fought back openly, leveraging sharp skills and savvy to oust her sleazy superior and take his place, becoming an industry legend.
A person's image and aura stem from their wealth and discipline.
Hayasako mapped out three ten-year plans and five three-year goals, covering career, hobbies, travel, and health.
Years of meticulous effort sculpted her glamorous life.
Yet even a star like her couldn't escape family pressure to marry. Past 30, she'd be labeled a "leftover woman." Her parents, ever anxious, bombarded her with calls whenever they could.
Hayasako believed true happiness came from independence, not reliance on others, which she saw as unstable.
Still, parental advice carried weight, and marriage held a key place in life, so she didn't resist too hard.
Her fit, healthy figure from years of exercise, refined elegance from literature and corporate battles, natural beauty, fair skin, and high income made Chima Hayasako the most dazzling rose in the dating market.
When her parents started setting her up, men flocked, drawn to her stellar qualities.
At first, she approached it seriously, hoping to find a life partner. But her patience wore thin with their shallow motives.
They wanted a boost to their comfort, especially the older ones, their hearts hardened by experience, weighing choices on a scale of gain.
Hayasako eyed the man before her, feigning restraint while boasting. Losing interest, she ignored his protests and left.
Wandering Tokyo's ever-busy streets, watching the rushing crowd, she felt a rare weariness with life.
She couldn't go home yet—her parents would nag about her future, preaching for hours. She turned off her phone.
Aimlessly roaming, the sky mirrored her mood, clouds churning. Light rain turned torrential, a curtain washing away the city's clamor.
She held her designer bag overhead, ducking under an awning. Her styled hair and makeup were ruined, her coat soaked, water seeping into her shoes.
Her mood sank. Hayasako swept back her wet hair, sighed, and sat on the steps.
A sense of alienation from her hometown welled up.
Work provided survival, not joy or belonging. She hadn't had a real heart-to-heart in ages. Her parents only urged marriage, seeing their perfect daughter's only flaw as her single status.
Was that really true? She gave a bitter smile.
Her workplace toughness, disciplined life, and academic grit were all forged through self-control. No one's born perfect—just patched together over time.
But for marriage, for her later years, she no longer wanted to suppress her emotions to accept it.
Lost in thought, she felt an umbrella open above her.
Hayasako looked up to see a young man in a white shirt and black tie, holding a wooden-handled umbrella, smiling gently.
"Your shoulders are soaked."
His soft voice carried no pretense as he dabbed her hair and shoulders with a handkerchief. Despite his mild germaphobia, the intimate gesture didn't bother her—maybe because of the genuine concern in his words or the care in his delicate touch, like handling fine porcelain.
"The rain won't stop soon. Would you like to rest inside?" He remained slightly bowed, like a medieval butler greeting nobility.
Hayasako nodded instinctively. He stepped down, not grabbing her hand but hovering his nearby for support.
Standing, she got a clear look at him.
Impeccable attire, slicked-back hair, a warm smile, clear eyes, and a strikingly youthful, handsome face—almost a student.
"This way, please," He said, guiding her inside.
The Western-style restaurant had a serene ambiance, elegant and calming. The decor screamed expense, soft lights flowing like fish through the sleek space, Bach's English Suites playing faintly.
"Please, sit." He led her to a quiet corner, pulled out a chair, and, once she was seated, opened the menu, pulling out a notepad and pen. "What would you like?"
The transactional question broke the boy's moonlit purity.
Just a restaurant, him a waiter, her a customer.
Hayasako, about to decline and leave, felt a pang of hunger but no appetite. She shook her head.
"I understand. One moment." Despite no order, he nodded after a brief pause and left.
Hayasako frowned, wondering if he'd force a sale, a spark of irritation flaring.
But he returned with a towel and slippers.
"Please dry off. Your shoes are wet—would you mind changing into these?"
"…Thank you." Hesitating, she slipped off her boots; her socks were soaked. He crouched, took the boots, and offered the slippers.
"Can I dry your coat and socks with a hairdryer?" He asked cautiously, like a timid cub.
Hayasako's feet curled—wet socks were uncomfortable, but this felt too personal. "Don't you have other work? I'll call if I want to order."
"You're my guest," He said suddenly.
She froze, then flushed with embarrassment. Grabbing the menu, she flipped to the back and pointed at an expensive dish. "I'll take this pricey one. You can go now, right?"
"You don't need foie gras and caviar right now," He said, head lowered like a scolded child, but earnest. "What you need is care."
Hayasako was stunned. He looked nervous but met her eyes.
Countless men had stared at her on dates, their gazes clouded with fermented desire, their smiles creased with greed. His eyes held no murk—just a trace of fear of upsetting her and pure concern.
He was like a poplar in a snowy winter, draped in clear ice, standing unbowed against sharp scrutiny.
Hayasako regretted her harsh tone toward this kind, handsome boy.
"Thank you, but I don't need it."
A woman must armor herself to face judgment and bias; shedding it only brought weakness.
"All's well that's gone before," He said softly. "No matter how long the night, dawn will come. When you greet the sunrise, please be healthy—I sincerely hope so."
The Shakespearean words whisked her back to her verdant college days. She'd had two boyfriends: one French, one British.
The Frenchman was free-spirited, chasing romance, crafting surprises in life's small moments. He'd chart the stars and weather to find a clear night for rooftop talks under the galaxy. He'd gather videos from 300 friends abroad, editing them for her birthday. He'd hide "I love you" notes in her books in different languages.
Tomorrow felt like candy—sweet peach, crisp pear, rich chocolate truffle. She went to bed eager for it.
They parted, but it was a worthy love.
Richard, the Brit, wasn't fiery. He offered respect and sincerity.
No clingy passion, but morning greetings and warm breakfasts. No bold declarations, but quiet evenings by the fireplace, reading Shakespeare as snow fell. No grand vows, but careful plans for their future.
Yet, despite his elite finance degree, Richard chose to return home to farm, far from Hayasako's modern ambitions. They split.
Years later, she was a corporate exec with multiple properties in Tokyo's pricey port district. Richard, married with kids, tended his family's land, his social media photos beaming with the same sunny smile.
She was richer, higher-status, but couldn't buy that smile.
Recalling the past, her eyes reddened as she looked at the pure boy. "Can you give me a smile?"
He paused, then smiled—simple, radiant, like a beam of light.
Her heart raced. His lavender scent, his schoolyard-crush face, stirred longing and regret.
She wasn't young anymore.
Hayasako sighed, then smiled with charm. "I'm hungry. Any recommendations?"
"Our Ise lobster sashimi is renowned, paired well with Poméry champagne," He said, flipping the menu.
"That'll do." She didn't glance at the price.
"I'll dry your coat and boots."
"And socks…" Her cheeks flushed as she slipped off her sheer knee-highs. "Thank you."
"My duty. Your happiness matters most." His smile remained pristine as snow.
[Table 13]
Another disheartened woman sat there. She grabbed the passing waiter's sleeve, tipsy, offering a business card with shy longing.
"Why not exchange names?"
"What's in a name? A rose by any other name smells as sweet," He replied, taking the card with a smile.
The woman froze, as if back in her schoolgirl days, hiding a crush in her desk, too shy to confess.
But when she snapped back, the waiter was gone.
Takizawa returned to the staff room, drying the clothes with a hairdryer and arranging a taxi for the dejected CEO using her card's address.
Spotting customers and offering husband-like care to coax orders—Japanese service was tough.
The head chef, prepping a massive king crab, looked up, baffled, when a four-pound lobster sashimi order came in.
Why's business booming tonight, and why always the pricey stuff?
***
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