Tokyo Puts on Fake Smiles

TWENTIETH ACT: Romantic Fiction

Feast of Hunger

No matter how many times I fell, Aunt Sumire always told me I could get up without crying. She used to say that we all fall (even superheroes), but that, with or without help, we are capable of staying strong and continuing to climb the steps.

My aunt lied to me because there came a day when I could no longer get up. The fall not only hurt but also pushed me, forcing me to retreat. Thus, the path became blurry. Distrustful, I dared not climb.

An alluring scent enticed me. I decided to follow the fragrance to find my apartment; my place.

Kazuhiro taught me that if I didn't climb, no one would do it for me. He didn't offer his hand; he knew I didn't need it.

My goal wasn't myself. My goal wasn't happiness. My goal wasn't even Makoto. My goal was a strawberry whipped cream shortcake.

☻☻☻

The week flew by. The days following Manami's wedding dress search were relaxed. Kazuhiro and I continued to explore the city, attending two radio shows, several photo sessions, and visiting countless cafes. I discovered that he had had up to five dogs in his childhood, and that all of them ended up with acquaintances when it was found that he was highly allergic to their fur. He also shared some anecdotes about his summer vacations in the countryside, catching insects at his grandfather's house, the same one who had given him his first electric guitar at the tender age of twelve. Slowly, I was filling up the memory cards in my recorder.

But it was also seven days during which I didn't set foot in Music Island, as each day, upon arriving home, I knew that Kazuhiro and Ichimura would meet and have what they called a "friendly hangout," which I interpreted as a date.

Even on the three days off I had, I was forced to step out of the bar to avoid enduring their constant flirting. The hand games, the shy blushing, the whisperings, one, two, three, four sighs... just imagining it exhausted me.

The week continued normally until Saturday, when, after finishing my shift with Kazuhiro, Ichimura and the guys came specifically to my office to drag my roommate to a pub. I saw them leave, considered taking a taxi home, but then realized I hadn't downloaded the document folder Koko had left me for the weekend, so, reluctantly, I went up to my office.

Never in a million years would I have imagined ending up in such a ludicrous situation.

"What—what?" I asked.

Chiba, crossing his fingers, sighed again. "That you pretend to be my girlfriend."

"For the fourth time," I took a breath, "what?"

I arrived at my office, approached my desk, humming one of Mystical Key's songs, and as I sat down, Chiba appeared at the door. He greeted me, I greeted him, he approached, and asked me to be his girlfriend.

Dumbfounded, I asked the same question over and over again.

Tired, Chiba moved Megumi's desk chair aside and collapsed onto it, crossing his arms. "My mother has been in Tokyo for a week. She's been very insistent for months that I find a partner and settle down, and now she's come with one of my high school classmates. One of the candidates she's found to be my future wife," he clicked his tongue, "but I think you know me well enough to know that marriage is trivial in my life, and I'm too wrapped up in my work."

I nodded, acrimoniously.

Since his arrival, Chiba had caused quite a stir in the office. First, he was adored by most of the women in the company, and within a few days, he was hated by most of the women in the company, regardless of the section. Many tried to invite him to dinner, lunch, or drink, and all received disastrous responses, including: you write terrible reports, and take your work seriously, this isn't a romantic novel."