It was Saturday. A proper day off. No school.
But Ayane Sakura still got dragged out of bed by her mom, forced to wash her face and brush her teeth. The window glass and the potted roses outside were speckled with tiny droplets from a light rain that had fallen around 3 a.m. The sky now glowed a deep blue, and the morning air, cool and fresh, carried a forest-scented breeze mingled with the scent of rain.
Groggy and sulking, Ayane changed out of her pajamas and stared into the mirror at the mess of bedhead that made her look like she'd been through an alien abduction.
Downstairs in the living room, steam rose from a coffee cup on the dining table. A newspaper lay folded to one side. Her dad, deeply enamored with his new cockatiel, cooed to the bird while playing Liszt through a tiny speaker, dreaming of the day it might whistle La Campanella back at him.
Breakfast was lemon-roasted salmon and sakura shrimp omelet—nutritious and delicious. On the TV, a smartly dressed female anchor read out the morning headlines.
"Saturday is the best. You get to sleep in, eat at your own pace, maybe catch a nap later. Most importantly, no work," Dad said with great satisfaction.
"A real day off is when I don't have to make breakfast, lunch, or dinner," Mom replied with a little humph.
"Oh, come on. Ayane's getting older. She could start picking up a few kitchen tricks from you."
"After exploiting your wife, now you're targeting your daughter?"
"That's not what I meant! You know the only thing I can do in the kitchen is cause accidents. I'm better off being your lifelong dishwashing assistant."
"I'm not letting Ayane cook. The moment she learns how, she'll be stuck doing it three times a day, every day."
"...And what about when she has her own family someday?"
"Then her husband can cook."
"Fair enough. As long as it's not me, I'm good."
"You want a man who's capable and diligent," Mom advised. "Marriage isn't exactly easy for women. If you end up with terrible in-laws, you'll have to swallow your complaints with tears."
"And you want a wife who's gentle and kind," Dad chimed in. "Marriage isn't exactly easy for men, either. If she's the type who throws kitchen tools and makes you sleep on the floor, good luck even hiding your emergency cash."
"Are you calling me domineering?" Mom narrowed her eyes.
"Perish the thought! My words were clearly hypothetical, meant to offer wisdom to the inexperienced. You, my dear, are the embodiment of the ideal partner—the other half of my soul."
"Flattery is a sure sign of impure motives."
"Flattering words without follow-through are indeed worthless, which is why I've reserved two VIP seats at today's opera—Don Juan. Would the lady grace me with her company?" he asked, suddenly adopting the tone of a theatrical flirt.
"I'm a married woman, sir! Such an invitation is outrageously inappropriate!" Mom playfully tapped him with her chopsticks.
"I can't help it! This yearning comes from the depths of my soul! I envy the man who won your heart—what's he got that I don't?!"
"He's handsome, upright, devoted to family—meeting him was my life's greatest blessing. Now please, go. I don't want anyone seeing us and getting the wrong idea."
"If he's such a rare gem, then I suppose I can only retreat in defeat," Dad sighed dramatically.
Ayane ate her omelet in silence, turning her head away, utterly done with these two clowns.
Still, her dad gave her a hopeful look. "So… your mom and I are off to the opera this afternoon. We won't be driving you anywhere, okay?"
"I'm not a baby," Ayane said, shaking her head.
"Perfect! I'll slip you a little extra allowance. Have fun with your friends!"
"I'm going upstairs to do homework," she said with a chunk of meat between her teeth, stomping up the stairs.
Her dad winced at the thuds and thought maybe she should consider a diet—but wisely kept that thought to himself.
Back in her room, Ayane immediately tossed aside her textbook and grabbed the latest fashion magazine. She'd long outgrown her tomboy phase and was now fully into styling outfits and perfecting her look.
Today, she was in a good mood—aside from the forced wake-up.
With the semester ending soon, the class had planned a pre-finals gathering. And to her surprise, the popular, cool class rep had invited her personally.
She hadn't really joined in on school events since elementary—field trips, concerts, group lunches, you name it. But that dull, lonely version of her youth might finally be coming to an end.
Friendships, shared memories, laughter, maybe even the big graduation trip—all those magical experiences from shows and books might actually become her reality.
And the one who extended a hand to pull her out of her gray little world? The top-tier, well-rounded, ridiculously popular boy with a deviation score of 68. It was hard not to be a little excited.
She tore through her wardrobe, trying to assemble the most pleasant and stylish outfit she could manage. Makeup would need special care—especially the brows and eyeliner.
By the time she headed downstairs, her dad teased her while playing with the bird. "Well, well, someone's looking snazzy. Off to see a boyfriend, maybe?"
Ayane rolled her eyes at him.
Lunch was chicken breast in creamy salad dressing, kelp-and-fishbone noodle soup, thin-sliced roast duck, chilled greens, and a big bowl of rice.
The parents chatted away—gossip about a neighbor caught cheating and getting his butt bit by a tiny dog, a lucky double-yolk egg, a coworker who quit after winning the lottery only to lose everything trying to start a business, and a rookie who shut off the entire office's power trying to pick up a dropped pen.
From the price of vegetables to theories about humans colonizing Mars, they covered it all.
"I'm full!" Ayane scraped her bowl clean, threw on her jacket, and ran to the door.
"Ayane, don't forget your phone and wallet! Don't get too wild!" Mom called.
"Got it!" she shouted, disappearing out the door like a gust of wind.
The class committee had agreed on a nice restaurant near Omotesando—trendy, scenic, and surrounded by tons of entertainment options.
It was the kind of place packed with influencers and fashionistas. Tall women in trench coats and sunglasses strutted like runway models. Hip-hop guys in dreadlocks bounced to their headphones' beat.
Ayane fit right in. After all, she and her mom often came here to splurge with her dad's card. This area had enough fashion boutiques to fill entire streets.
She easily found the highly rated Western restaurant and stepped inside to the soft sound of classical piano. Dressed to impress, she was immediately greeted by the staff.
"Bright yellow-green lightweight athletic jacket—eye-catching yet breathable. Oversized to highlight her petite upper frame. Black cropped cargo shorts paired with dark running shoes accentuate the calves. The deep rose belt is a brilliant detail tying it all together," the server praised with a slight bow. "Short, energetic hairstyle with a radiant, youthful vibe—absolutely charming."
Ayane didn't really hear any of that. It all sounded like a tongue-twister.
Glancing around and seeing none of her classmates yet, she let out a sigh of relief.
"How many in your party?" the server asked.
"Friends' gathering. I'm just early." Saying the word "friends" made her heart lighter.
"Let me get you a quiet seat. You can rest while you wait. Tea is complimentary."
She waved him off. The server took the hint and stepped away.
Being early meant she could ease into the group dynamic. Being late as an introvert? That was social suicide.
Today, she was determined to be different. She even made a mental list of songs to sing at karaoke later.
Popular idols, hot shows, magazine horoscopes—she'd brushed up on everything. She'd have no trouble keeping up with the conversation!
Who would arrive first? Hopefully someone talkative.
Would it be the class rep? If so, they'd be alone together… but boys prefer games over pop stars, right?
What if they brought up math? She was average at best…
Curled up in her booth running endless scenarios, the soft piano music and tranquil vibe slowly chipped away at her excitement. All that sleepless energy from the night before—poof. Gone.
She'd been so wound up after that invite she barely slept, still wide-eyed when the rain came at 3 a.m.
Her eyelids grew heavy. She yawned, slapped her cheeks, tried to focus… but her mind drifted again…
City lights sparked to life like torches burning through the dusk. Stylish signage lit up one after another, casting their glow like flames across the streets. Headlights sliced through the roads in white beams. Crows clustered along high-rise windows, waiting for the dark to settle.
Saturday nights belonged not to the rushed and stressed, but to strolling couples sharing ice cream and children clinging to toy store windows, pleading with their parents.
Inside the restaurant, the crowd had thinned. The head chef took a break from prepping ingredients to lecture a newbie about stove habits.
One of the servers loosened his bowtie, then walked over to the quiet girl still staring out the window.
Gone was the vibrant, confident girl from earlier. What sat before him now looked like a lifeless puppet—like a kitten forgotten in a dark alley, pitiful and silent.
He placed a strawberry shortcake in front of her, shaped like a little sea star.
"I didn't order this," Ayane said quietly.
"Exactly. That's why I brought it. Don't worry, it's a staff perk—free of charge. I just don't like sweets much myself," he said.
She didn't reply. Didn't even reach for the fork.
"Your friends still not here?" he asked gently. "You've been napping all afternoon."
After a pause, she spoke, clutching her sleeve. "They changed the meeting spot last minute… and forgot to tell me. No one had my contact info or email. Eventually someone remembered and had the teacher pass along a message."
"Do you want to go meet them now?" he asked.
"...No. They've probably finished already."
"Then how about heading home?"
"I told my parents I'd be out late. If I go back now, they'll just worry and ask a million questions," she muttered, lowering her head. "So I can't. Not yet."
The server paused, then smiled. "In that case, have some cake."
She looked up, confused by this oddly committed waiter.
"That's just the starter. My thick-cut sirloin staff meal's still reheating. I'll bring you some in a bit," he said cheerfully, giving her a thumbs-up.
"It's probably overcooked by now…" Ayane muttered, still unsure whether this was some sort of awkward hint.
"I've been hogging this table for too long. I'll order something," she added hesitantly.
"Come on, don't be shy. We're colleagues, aren't we?" he said, brushing it off.
"Colleagues?" she blinked.
"Sure."
"Um… sorry, who exactly are you?" she asked timidly.
With a sigh, he walked over and sat across from her.
For the first time, she got a good look at his face—and her eyes widened before she could stop herself. The hand clutching her sleeve relaxed.
He wore a crisp white shirt, bowtie now gone and collar casually undone, revealing a hint of collarbone. His side profile faced the city's twinkling nightscape, tinted orange by the restaurant lights. The shadows along his nose were sharp and sculpted. His eyebrows were delicate like spring buds, his features a soft blend of masculinity and grace. His eyes were clear and shimmering, like a lake catching the light.
All her earlier turmoil vanished in an instant—especially any lingering thoughts of the class rep. That guy might as well have been swept into the sea.
They stared at each other for a beat. Only Beethoven played on in the background.
Finally, Yin Ze scratched his cheek awkwardly. "Still not recognizing me? Am I really that forgettable?"
"Oh. The senior who showed up late and got bullied by adult social rules," Ayane said, looking away.
"Can you not make it sound like I used to work for a host club—and had male clients at that?" Yin Ze groaned. "Try the cake. It's actually good."
This time, she didn't refuse. She took a bite.
Soft sponge, rich cream, fresh strawberries—it was sweet and warm in all the right ways.
"Well?" Yin Ze raised an eyebrow.
"It's… sweet." Ayane licked the whipped cream from her lip.
"Knew it. Hang tight, I'll grab the steak."
He dashed off and returned with a steaming plate of sirloin.
He poured on the pepper sauce, tucked a napkin into his collar, and ceremoniously picked up his knife and fork. He started slicing—slowly, then with more force. Then he used his hand to brace the plate as he sawed through the meat. Eventually, he got a bite, chewed, swallowed, face turning red from effort.
"…Dry," he said solemnly after wiping his mouth.
Ayane nearly laughed. She covered her mouth, but her eyes betrayed her.
"Want a piece?" Yin Ze gestured with mock generosity. "It's got… texture."
"I can't take your dinner." Ayane tried to sound polite.
"Please, good food is meant to be shared." Yin Ze went back to hacking at the steak.
"I'll just order my own." She reached for the menu.
"What can I get you, honored guest?" Yin Ze shot up into 'waiter mode,' bowing dramatically.
"Thick-cut sirloin."
"We happen to have one ready!" he said, clinging to his steak.
"Fresh. Medium rare."
"...Fine, fine. I'll go beg the chef. Also rescue the newbie getting yelled at for flinging food out of the pan," he sighed.
"I'd also like premium, five-star service," Ayane added, tapping the table.
"As you wish, beautiful lady." He swept a hand across his face, slapped on a dazzling smile, and offered a perfect gentleman's bow.
"Hey," Ayane called.
He turned, smile still in place. "Yes, my charming lady?"
"Hurry back and eat your steak. It's not fun alone," she said, gesturing to the sad slab of meat.
Yin Ze blinked, then chuckled. "Understood." He turned and gave her an OK sign as he walked away.
The night was still young—and for the first time in a long while, Ayane felt like maybe, just maybe, she belonged.