The moment we stepped through the door, our apartment ceased to be a home. It transformed instantly into a corporate war room, the air thick with tension and the scent of impending doom. Hina was already on a conference call, pacing the living room as she spoke in low, urgent tones to their manager and a team of PR specialists. The coffee table was covered in laptops, the screens filled with cascading social media feeds and rapidly updating news articles.
"No, an apology is out of the question. It admits weakness," Hina said into her phone, her voice sharp with authority. "We need to control the narrative, not react to it."
I dropped my bag by the door and sank onto the couch, feeling like a ghost in my own home. Nami hovered awkwardly near the entrance, clearly unsure if she should stay or flee the unfolding corporate drama. Ayumi, her eyes red and puffy, brought me a glass of water, her movements hesitant and filled with guilt.
"The consensus is to lean into it," Izuwa announced, closing her own laptop. She looked at me, not with sympathy, but with the cool, appraising gaze of a strategist. "The 'Genius Brother' angle is polling positively. It adds a new dimension to the brand. It makes us seem more grounded, more authentic. The agency is already drafting a press release. They want to brand you."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "Brand me?" I repeated, my voice dangerously quiet. "I'm not a car or a new flavor of soda. I'm a person. I'm a student."
"You're an asset now," Izuwa countered, her tone devoid of malice. It was simply a statement of fact. "A very valuable one."
"I don't want to be an asset," I said, my voice rising. "I want to be left alone. Tell them to stop. Tell them to issue a statement saying it was all a misunderstanding and to please respect my privacy."
"And have everyone believe we're ashamed of you?" Hina retorted, having ended her call. She knelt in front of me, her expression a complex mixture of sisterly concern and corporate resolve. "Takeshi, please try to understand. The story is out there. We can't erase it. If we don't define who you are in the public's eye, our rivals will. Reika's agency is already pushing a story about her working with a 'real' producer. They're trying to paint you as a joke. If we let them, it hurts us."
"This isn't about you!" I shot back, standing up. "This is about my life! The one I'm supposed to be living! The one that doesn't involve press releases and branding strategies!"
"He's right," a soft voice said from the doorway. We all turned to look at Nami. She took a hesitant step into the room, her expression firm. "This is his life. You don't get to decide what to do with it, no matter how famous you are."
Hina's gaze softened slightly as she looked at Nami, but there was a new layer of complexity in her eyes. She saw a supporter, an ally for my cause. But she also saw a complication, an unknown variable in their carefully managed world.
Before the argument could escalate, the doorbell chimed, a sharp, incongruous sound in the tense atmosphere. We all froze.
"It could be the press," Hina whispered.
Izuwa checked the security feed on her phone. "It's not," she said, her eyebrows raising in surprise. "It's Kurosawa-san."
Hina immediately went to open the door. A woman in a razor-sharp black pantsuit strode into the apartment. She was in her late forties, with an air of absolute, unshakable authority. This was Ms. Kurosawa, the legendary PR strategist from their agency, a woman known for spinning disasters into triumphs.
Her sharp, intelligent eyes swept across the room, taking in the entire scene in an instant: Hina, the stressed leader; Ayumi, the guilt-ridden catalyst; Izuwa, the cold analyst; me, the furious asset; and Nami, the unexpected outlier.
"Good," Ms. Kurosawa said, her voice crisp and decisive, leaving no room for argument. "You're all here. The agency has a plan, and you are all going to follow it. We are going to frame this not as a scandal, but as an introduction. A new chapter for Mikuyi."
Her gaze then settled on Nami, her expression unreadable. "And that starts with defining everyone's role in the narrative. So, Nami-san," she said, her tone making it clear this was not a question. "Let's talk about who you are supposed to be in this story." Nami, my one ally, my one connection to my old, normal life, had just been officially drafted into the war.