The convenience store’s automatic door slid open with a ding-dong in front of her.
This 7-Eleven under the office building—Haruka had seen it several times while scrolling through her phone’s photo album during her hospital stay.
The old Hoshino Haruka occasionally took pictures of their sweets and posted them on Twitter with captions like “Reward for working hard today ♡” and such.
After entering, she headed straight for the onigiri shelf, her eyes darting between the tuna mayonnaise, umeboshi kelp, and mentaiko flavors.
Just as she subconsciously reached for the tuna mayonnaise, her hand suddenly froze.
Because tuna mayonnaise was indeed her favorite flavor, not Hoshino Haruka’s.
Hoshino Haruka’s favorite was mentaiko.
She stood hesitating for a second in front of the chilly freezer, then obediently picked up the mentaiko.
Then, with a twist of her hand, she also grabbed a tuna mayonnaise.
“What am I even hesitating about… Kids make choices, adults just take everything.”
She rolled her eyes at her own inexplicable neuroticism and headed to the register.
When she left the office, she only wore a baseball cap, no mask or sunglasses.
The cashier seemed to be a new part-time trainee—the moment he looked up and saw Haruka, his mouth dropped into a perfect ‘O’ shape, clearly recognizing her.
Haruka immediately reacted.
Since there were two customers waiting behind her, she didn’t want to cause a big fuss, so she playfully winked at him and raised her index finger to her lips in a ‘shh’ gesture.
The intern guy was sensible enough; he nodded frantically and quickly scanned her items to check her out.
After Haruka left the convenience store, her phone suddenly buzzed in her pocket—a LINE message.
Sender: President Kirishima.
[Haruka, are you at the office now? If you have time, can you come chat? No rush.]
Haruka stood in the wind holding the convenience store plastic bag, staring at the message from the president, her heart skipping a beat.
Her record of ‘face-to-face conversations’ with this president was only three times so far.
On the day she was discharged, they briefly met at the office; the president smiled and said, ‘It’s good you’re back.’
During her hospitalization, the president visited twice, each time leaving in a hurry after less than ten minutes.
Later she heard from Ritsu that her sudden ‘disconnection’ had triggered a chain reaction, forcing the president to personally go around putting out many PR fires.
Those previous brief encounters all had other people present, and the president didn’t have much exchange with her—mostly perfunctory concern and greetings.
But now, the president was asking for a private talk.
Thinking about this, Haruka felt a bit nervous.
A private talk with the president meant no Ritsu beside her to assist, no option to ‘follow the manager’s cues.’
If the president suddenly asked personal questions about ‘Haruka’s past,’ she would have to tough it out on her own.
But she also knew she had no room to refuse.
As the agency’s top entertainer, turning down the boss’s invitation for tea would be unreasonable no matter how you looked at it.
She took a deep breath and quickly typed a reply:
[I’m here! Going now~!]
‘Is this “~” too casual? Whatever, it’s sent anyway. I’d better think about how to handle this.’
—
Haruka stood in front of the frosted glass door, took a deep breath, and knocked three times.
“Come in——”
She pushed the door open and entered.
The president’s office wasn’t large—about fifteen square meters: a desk, a reception sofa set, a small fridge, and a wall covered with various photos and industry certificates.
The window was open a crack, letting December’s cold air seep in, and the room was filled with a strange mix of black tea and coffee aromas.
Shinji Kirishima was sitting on the sofa.
But his posture completely defied Haruka’s imagination of an ‘agency president.’
He was half-lying, half-slouching into the sofa, his left foot casually crossed over his right knee, one hand resting on the back of the sofa while scrolling on his phone, the other hand holding a mug.
He wore a knit sweater that looked expensive but was worn very casually, paired with dark blue casual pants, and on his feet… uh, sneakers.
‘Wearing sneakers in the office…’
‘Aren’t presidents in dramas supposed to be in suits, slicked-back hair, and stern expressions like they’re about to acquire two companies at any moment?’
This president before her wasn’t so much a big boss controlling the livelihoods of dozens of people but more like a university professor who came to work in the wrong outfit.
“Haruka, you’re here. Sit, sit, sit.”
He raised the hand holding the cup, motioning to the sofa opposite.
“Don’t just stand there, making it feel like you’re about to be scolded.”
“Ah… okay.”
Haruka obediently sat down opposite.
“Have you eaten?”
“I bought onigiri, but haven’t had time to eat yet.”
“Then eat while we talk, don’t be polite. What do you want to drink?”
He bent down and pulled a bottle of green tea from the small fridge beside the sofa.
“Tea? There’s also juice and cola in the fridge.”
“No need, thank you, President——”
“Don’t be so formal, I’m really not here to lecture you. Just call me Uncle Shinji like before.”
“Uncle Shinji.”
“Mm.”
Kirishima smiled.
“How’s your body? I’m not just asking for formality—I mean it. Anywhere still aching? Or anywhere you feel uncomfortable but don’t want to tell Ritsu because you’re worried he’ll fret?”
Haruka was taken aback, muttering inwardly: ‘Is there really any essential difference between telling Ritsu and telling the president?’
“It’s different.”
Kirishima, as if reading her mind, directly punctured her confusion.
“You know that kid Ritsu—his concern for you is real. But his concern is more about ‘ensuring the machine runs smoothly,’ and he doesn’t express things on a friendship level well.”
‘Indeed, someone who only cares if you’re dead or alive.’
“I’m different. I may be a profit-driven heartless boss, but I care more about whether you’re really okay. After all, I’ve always seen you as a daughter.”
‘Does anyone call themselves a heartless boss like that?’
He took a sip from his mug and looked her in the eyes seriously.
“This isn’t just lip service or politeness. You are Shoichi’s daughter. I’ve known him for nearly thirty years. Regardless of the agency’s business relationship, you’re a child I’ve watched grow up. So, say whatever you want. With me, you don’t need to put on an idol’s airs.”
“Don’t need to put on airs…”
Hearing this, Haruka felt dazed.
The last time someone said that to her was so long ago.
“Mm… physically there’s really no big issue.”
She reported truthfully.
“Teacher Meihe did an assessment today too. Dance is a bit behind because of muscle memory and coordination issues, but singing is completely fine. The doctor also said my recovery is like a miracle.”
“Mm, that’s good.”
Kirishima let out a long sigh of relief and set down his mug.
He seemed to realize something, suddenly sat up from his slouch, adjusting his lounging posture slightly and straightening up.
Though he still looked casual, this action was a clear signal to Haruka—the small talk was over, and it was time for business.
“Haruka, the things I’m about to say next—”
He scratched his head somewhat troubled, as if hesitating.
“You might not like hearing them.”
Upon hearing this, Haruka immediately sat up straight.
“Before, every time I wanted to talk to you about industry trends or company operations, you would cover your ears and shout, ‘I just need to sing and dance, those adult things are too complicated, I don’t want to hear—’ right?”
Haruka didn’t know if the previous Hoshino Haruka had really acted like that, but based on her experience over the past few dozen days, it was very likely true.
“So I always let you be, thinking it was fine—Ritsu was watching over things, let him worry about business.”
Kirishima gave a bitter smile.
“But after this big incident, I suddenly felt that I should lay some things out for you. Even if you don’t like hearing them, at least you’ll have an idea.”
“I’ll listen.”
Haruka replied without hesitation.
“Just think of me as a nagging uncle rambling… Huh? What did you just say?”
Kirishima stopped mid-sentence, as if he had heard something unbelievable.
Haruka looked at his surprised expression and repeated herself very seriously:
“I said I’ll listen. Uncle Shinji, please go ahead.”
“…”
Kirishima was quiet for two seconds, his tone laced with undisguised surprise but more of an elder’s relief.
“You… really have changed.”
“Alright. Let me talk briefly.”
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Regarding the direct penalty and indirect losses from this car accident, that kid Ritsu has probably already given you a ruthless accounting.”
“I won’t repeat the numbers. What I want to talk to you about today is something deeper behind those numbers.”