Episode Seventy-Three: Cheating Is Not Okay
A pleasant autumn breeze cooled the evening air. Friday night, and staff from headquarters had all gathered on the rooftop beer garden of our own company’s proudly showcased hotel.
“To the resounding success of the new store — cheers!!”
At the sales division head’s toast, the sound of clinking mugs rang out all around.
“Here, Aozawa-chan, cheers!”
Mitsuya-san held out her beer mug, delighted, and I clinked my glass against it, more modestly. Watching her gulp the beer down eagerly, I turned and clinked glasses too with Seno-san, who held out her own mug with a gentler “cheers,” my lemon sour glass ringing against it.
Today was a celebration for the new store’s runaway success. Attendance was optional, and the whole thing was on the company’s dime, so turnout looked impressively high.
Officially, my department now reads as “President’s Office,” but tonight I’d snuck over to my old home base — budget management.
Yui-san apparently planned to make the rounds, table by table, thanking the staff, and had sent me off with, “You won’t get to eat a thing if you stay with me, so go eat with the budget management crew” — so I’d gratefully taken her up on it.
Mitsuya-san flipped a thick slab of meat with her tongs, sizzling loudly on the grill.
Manager Yamasato had to pick up her kid today, so she couldn’t make it — a shame.
Laying sliced onion rings onto the grill with heavy metal chopsticks, I glanced between the two of them.
“Mitsuya-san, Seno-san. I’ve been meaning to apologize this whole time — because I left, you two ended up covering overtime. I’m really sorry. Still no replacement decided, huh?”
I’d noticed, checking the department-level accounting data, that overtime had crept up for both of them since I left.
Seno-san, who’d always sworn by leaving right on the dot, I’d seen at her desk well past six more than once or twice.
However capable a superwoman Manager Yamasato is, working shortened hours puts a hard cap on how much she can actually take on herself.
I’d expected some burden would fall on the two of them — but I never expected a replacement wouldn’t be settled even this long after.
Beer mug at her lips, Seno-san blinked, wide-eyed.
“Why are you apologizing, Aozawa-san? The overtime’s not your fault.”
Not the reaction I’d braced for, and a small “eh” slipped out of me before I could stop it.
At that, Mitsuya-san, biting into a yakitori skewer, looked at me too.
“Not your fault, Aozawa-chan. The overtime’s because Seno-san’s slow at her work.”
A sharp, arrow-straight jab, and I laughed, awkward, not knowing how to respond. Seno-san’s lips pursed, displeased.
“Not exactly a nice way to put it, is it~? Unlike you, I’m thorough.”
Told that, I thought back over Seno-san’s actual work. It’s true — her desk is always kept neat and organized, her work meticulous, and I’ve never once heard of a mistake on her paperwork.
I’d always thought Mitsuya-san and Seno-san simply didn’t get along — but maybe it’s just a difference in work style, clashing head-on.
After sniping back at Mitsuya-san, Seno-san turned to face me instead.
“About the replacement — Manager Yamasato’s apparently just being careful about who she picks, so don’t worry about it too much~. She’s the type who takes training seriously, so I think she wants to be selective about who she brings on.”
Right — Manager Yamasato really was skilled at guidance, I remembered, thinking back.
Mitsuya-san, who’d transferred over with me, had already been a capable worker even at our old company.
After working together only briefly, Manager Yamasato had picked up on that instantly, kept the training light, and assigned her real, immediately useful work right away.
Someone who adjusts her whole training approach based on the person under her. That’s the image of Manager Yamasato I admire.
“More importantly, though—”
Setting her mug down on the table with a small clink, Seno-san leaned in close toward me, and I flinched back, startled.
Narrowing her eyes into a sly grin, her gaze fixed, unblinking, on my chest.
“Aozawa-san, did you finally get yourself a partner?”
“Eh!?”
Mitsuya-san, seated beside me, let out a startled squawk. I realized her gaze had landed on the necklace at my chest and, unbidden, my eyes went wandering.
“What, what, Aozawa-chan, you finally got a boyfriend? Why didn’t you say anything!?”
“Eh, um, wait a second. I never said anything about actually having a partner…”
“But there’s no way anyone but a partner would buy you a necklace that expensive, and not even for your birthday, right?”
Her full lips curved into an arc. My breath caught in my throat, ugh. Surely she hadn’t figured out it was Yui-san’s own necklace — but Seno-san really does have sharp eyes.
Same as when she’d noticed my earrings — she has a real knack for instantly clocking that something’s a gift, and an expensive one at that.
“No, um, this is…”
I could just say it was a gift from my partner — the real issue was whether I could actually pull off deflecting without slipping up somewhere.
I don’t want to cause Yui-san any trouble, so I absolutely can’t let this relationship out to anyone at the office.
“Aozawa-chan, you must’ve been born under some kind of lucky star for attracting rich people.”
Saying that, Mitsuya-san served me a generously grilled, thick slice of meat.
Lucky star for rich people — what does that even mean? I tilted my head, and Seno-san asked Mitsuya-san, “Is there someone else rich who likes Aozawa-san too?”
Honestly, aside from Yui-san, I don’t know a single rich person, and nothing comes to mind. Wondering who they could possibly mean, I watched Mitsuya-san’s narrow eyes go even sharper.
“Since the old company, Aozawa-chan’s been getting courted this whole time, by Niiyama-kun.”
Niiyama-san — ?
I remembered him, hair slicked flat and shiny enough with wax to catch the light — a male coworker, three years my senior. I’d never liked him, never had any interest, so I hadn’t known. Niiyama-san was rich, apparently.
“Niiyama-san, from production? He was rich?”
Seno-san asked, sounding genuinely intrigued, and Mitsuya-san’s neat brow twitched up, faint.
“Ah… apparently he’s the son of some big landowner. What, are you interested? Go ahead and hit on him, then. Aozawa-chan clearly has zero interest in him, so you two’d be a good match.”
“…What’s that supposed to mean? Making me sound like I’ve got no standards.”
“Well, you do like rich people, don’t you.”
Mitsuya-san said it, faintly irritated, and drained her mug empty, and something about it made me faintly uneasy. I’d never once heard Mitsuya-san talk about her own love life before, and this reaction felt off, somehow.
—Could it be… does Mitsuya-san actually like Niiyama-san?
At Mitsuya-san’s careless jab, Seno-san’s face flickered, just for an instant, with something like hurt. Sensing the mood about to sour badly, I forced down the meat in my mouth and opened my own, meaning to smooth things over between them.
That was exactly the moment.
“Ah, speak of the devil.”
I followed the direction Mitsuya-san’s chopsticks pointed.
“Aozawa-san, Mitsuya-san, Seno-san, good work today.”
Beer mug in one hand, that distinctive lopsided half-grin on his face, there stood Niiyama-san.
“Ah, good work…”
“Mind if I sit here?”
Before I could say yes or no, Niiyama-san pulled out the chair beside me and sat down.
Of all timing, I thought, forcing a wry laugh.
Because right now, Mitsuya-san and Seno-san had been on the verge of a real spat, of all things, over the subject of Niiyama-san himself.
“Cheers, then.”
I clinked my glass against his raised mug and gave a small nod.
“You’ve been busy lately, Aozawa-san, so we haven’t gotten to talk much. Kind of a shame. You’re always with the president these days.”
“Well, of course, since she’s her secretary.”
Mitsuya-san said it, and Niiyama-san laughed. I remembered Niiyama-san was one year above Mitsuya-san — and he wasn’t using formal speech with her at all. Thinking back, maybe these two had always been friendly.
But — watching Mitsuya-san silently working through her meat, she still doesn’t look like someone who actually likes Niiyama-san…
“Aozawa-san, you’re really impressive, you know. I was shocked. Heard there were a ton of applicants for the secretary posting.”
Less “earned it through merit” and more “half-blackmailed my way into the chair” — but I couldn’t say that, so I laughed it off instead.
“Thank you.”
Just as I was thinking I should deflect and wrap up this conversation, Mitsuya-san let out a sigh and turned to face Niiyama-san.
“Niiyama-kun, seriously, quit hitting on Aozawa-chan already. She’s uncomfortable.”
Mitsuya-san said it, defending me — and then shot a sharp glance toward Seno-san.
“…If you’re going to hit on someone, go for Seno-san instead. You’d suit each other.”
“Eh?”
Caught in the crossfire, Seno-san, rare for her, visibly frowned, brows drawn tight.
“Hey, wait, Kaori—”
“…Going for a smoke.”
Saying that, Mitsuya-san stood. Wait, please, Mitsuya-san. Please don’t leave me behind in a mood like this—
Not noticing my pleading look at all, she shoved her cigarette pack, which had been sitting on the table, into her pocket and walked off.
“Hold on, wait!”
With a loud scrape of her chair, Seno-san shot up too, chasing after Mitsuya-san’s back.
Wait, Seno-san too, don’t leave me behind either. If Yui-san saw me alone with Niiyama-san right now—
“What’s she so mad about?”
Right as Niiyama-san tilted his head, puzzled, a hand landed on my shoulder, and, startled, I turned.
Looking up, right beside me stood Yui-san.
“P-President…!?”
I nearly forgot to breathe. Yui-san, smiling brightly, peered into my face — our eyes met, but that smile never once reached her eyes.
“Niiyama-san, good work today.”
“Good work, President.”
“Unusual combination. Niiyama-san, why are you at this table?”
Yui-san asked, easy, smiling, and the question pricked, sharp, at my ears. I don’t think she’s actually upset about the two of us sitting together — I’m sure it’s an innocent question — but I couldn’t stop myself from fixating on the heat of that hand, still resting on my shoulder.
“Wanted to catch up with Aozawa-san, it’s been a while. We were close back at our old company, talked a lot. Right?”
Asked for agreement, I laughed, awkward. Well, “talked a lot” is a stretch — it was small talk at best, never actually close.
What do I do, please, don’t say anything else that might stoke Yui-san’s jealousy any further.
Because — the other night had been rough. Yui-san’s always so gentle normally, but once some switch flips, she turns into a completely different, teasing, relentless person.
If I get held like that again, I’m scared some strange door inside myself, one I don’t even know about, might get forced open for good. Just remembering it makes my face heat up.
I know the jealousy all comes from love. But that particular mode of Yui-san’s is a little… too intense, for someone with as little experience as me.
Watching me just laugh, troubled, unable to answer, Yui-san’s palm slid gently across my shoulder, and she spoke.
“Hmm, is that so. But Aozawa-san, didn’t you say you had a partner? Cheating is not okay.”
“Eh!?”
Wait, Yui-san, what are you even saying — I turned to her, unable to help it.
“Really!? Aozawa-san, you have a partner?”
Niiyama-san pressed, leaning in, and I — deciding, whatever, at this point, come what may — nodded, laughing weakly.
“A-actually… yes. I recently started dating someone.”
At that, Niiyama-san’s shoulders sagged, deflated. Watching him, Yui-san smiled, satisfied, delighted.
*
After Niiyama-san drifted off, unsteady, Mitsuya-san and Seno-san came back after a while. Neither one would meet the other’s eyes, and I found myself wondering, suspicious, whether they’d actually fought. Well, but these two always make up fast anyway…
Probably better not to worry about it too much. As they say — even a dog wouldn’t touch a couple’s spat.
Yui-san moved on to the next table too, and just as the gathering was winding down, my phone buzzed.
A message from Yui-san, and my cheeks softened, unbidden.
I’ll take you home, so let’s meet at the station once this wraps up.
Normally I’d stay over at Yui-san’s place starting Friday night, but I’d told her I was headed back to my own apartment tonight, since I’d promised to hang out with Yuuri tomorrow.
Home’s only a few stations away, and yet Yui-san’s genuinely, endlessly kind.
Waiting at the station.
Replying that, I drained the last of the lemon sour in my glass in one go and tucked my phone back into my pocket.
With the sales division head’s endless closing remarks playing as background noise, I watched, from a distance, my girlfriend — more beautiful, more radiant than anyone else here.
I want to be alone with her soon… that’s all I could think about, the whole rest of the night.