Episode Fifty-Four: What’s Going to Happen to Us From Here?
Startling how fast time moves — three weeks already since that miraculous reunion. But not once, in all that time, has Yui-san reached out.
The first week, I barely let go of my phone, restless the entire time. Once the second week passed, waiting and waiting for a phone that never rang, the sighs started piling up too.
And now, the third week. It’s gotten to the point where I almost wonder if that whole day was just some dream of mine.
Yui-san, you idiot. You’re the one who asked, “will you see me again?” So why won’t you even reach out once?
I know perfectly well that if it’s bothering me this much, I could just message her myself. However busy she is, Yui-san would never get upset about something like that.
But — Yui-san hates high-maintenance women, doesn’t she…
Back in college we lived together, so I saw her face every single day, and there was almost never a stretch of waiting on contact like this. If there ever was, it was only the three weeks or so I’d spend back home visiting family.
I find myself thinking, genuinely, that everyone out there in love must be living with this exact kind of restless frustration all the time. I must have been genuinely fortunate, never having gone through this before now.
I already knew, from living with her, that Yui-san’s bad at keeping in touch. Back then too, all kinds of girls would call constantly, but she’d never pick up if she wasn’t in the mood, and I don’t think she ever bothered replying properly to messages either.
Because at home, Yui-san almost never touched her phone — always left sitting on the coffee table, untouched.
Knowing that only makes it harder to reach out myself. Knowing Yui-san, however busy she is, I don’t think she’d actually ignore me… but honestly, having only met once, I couldn’t tell whether the Yui-san of today still felt the same way she used to.
That day, she’d called me cute… but Yui-san’s the type who can flirt with a girl, easy as breathing, even without meaning anything by it.
I learned, painfully, over that whole year we spent together — you can’t just take Yui-san’s words at face value if you actually want to know what she’s really thinking.
I pulled my gaze back from the still-dark phone screen, no message in sight as usual, to my PC monitor.
No good, thinking about it endlessly gets me nowhere. I need to focus on work. Letting out yet another sigh, I’d lost count of how many by now, when Mitsuya-san, seated beside me, suddenly leaned in closer, chair and all.
Tapped on the shoulder, I turned around. Her narrow eyes had gone sharp with amusement, mischievous.
“…Aozawa-chan, you’ve been staring at your phone nonstop lately.”
“Eh?”
“You keep sighing too. Did you maybe fall in love or something? Big sister here can lend an ear, if you want.”
Teased like that, I could feel my cheeks flush hot. I shook my head hard, side to side, and Mitsuya-san laughed, amused.
“N-no, that’s not it, it’s not that…”
“We’ll talk later. Nothing else on the schedule but the afternoon meeting, so let’s clock out on time and go drinking!”
I’d denied it reflexively, but it seemed the lovesickness had been thoroughly caught anyway, and my shoulders slumped.
Come to think of it, back in college too, Ritsu-san and Yuuri had both figured out my feelings for Yui-san without me ever saying a word.
Am I really this easy to read? I’m a proper adult by now, I should really work on not letting it show on my face.
Bracing myself, I slapped both cheeks lightly with my hands and turned back to my computer.
*
After a slightly late lunch break, I headed to the conference room with Mitsuya-san, notebook in hand. Just a week ago, a meeting notice had gone out to the entire Web Production Division.
Our division normally holds meetings team by team, with anything important limited to managers and above. Even counting the production team, we’re only about thirty people total, but even so, this was the first time I could remember the whole division being called together.
“Wonder what today’s meeting’s even about. First time our division’s ever used the big conference room, right?”
“Yeah. Hope we’re not getting scolded…”
Having spent a year on the management team, I understand well enough just how much of an uphill battle this division’s been fighting. I don’t think either the sales team or the production team has been slacking off. Even so, if the profit isn’t there, it isn’t there.
They’d apparently gone through major reorganizations and operational reviews more than once, with barely any effect, and I could sense, vaguely, that other divisions had come to treat this business as dead weight.
Opening the door to the large conference room, I froze at the sight of the lineup already inside. Mitsuya-san elbowed my side gently and whispered, low.
“…Hey, why’s even the president here…”
“I-I don’t know either… are we actually about to get scolded, seriously…?”
Supposed to be a division meeting, and yet somehow the president’s here. I’d thought we arrived plenty early, but apparently the higher-ups had beaten us there already. We scurried to the least conspicuous seats, all the way at the back, and sat down side by side.
As the start time drew closer, people gradually filled the room, and by the time the entire Web Production Division had gathered, the president, vice president, and division head were all lined up, facing us with unusually solemn expressions.
Something was clearly off. Everyone in the room seemed to sense it too, falling silent, and the conference room filled with a heavy, oppressive quiet.
The moment the clock hands hit the scheduled time, the president stood, straight, and turned to face us head-on.
“Thank you all for your hard work. We’ve gathered you here today because there’s an important announcement to make. As you’re aware, the Web Production business has run at a loss for several years running now. We’ve repeatedly revised our approach in an effort to turn that around, but… due to a lack of ability on our management side, we’ve reached the conclusion that continuing this business is no longer viable. …And as a result, at the extraordinary shareholders’ meeting held recently, the sale of this business was formally resolved.”
The room erupted immediately into a low, uneasy murmur.
Eh — sale… of the business…? Right, I remembered — Mitsuya-san had mentioned rumors before. That our division was in trouble.
I never imagined it was actually true.
Amid the murmur, the president cleared his throat.
“The purchasing company is… Ichinose Grand Hotel Co., Ltd., a subsidiary of the Ichinose Group. They currently outsource all their website development and operations to an external company, and this aligns with their growing need to bring that in-house as their existing business expands. Both parties concluded that our division’s expertise could be put to good use, and reached an agreement.”
Wa— wait. My heartbeat picked up, fast. What did he just say? Ichinose Grand Hotel Co., Ltd…. that’s Yui-san’s…
Amid the growing stir in the room, I found myself thinking back to the day I ran into Yui-san again.
Right — that’s why Yui-san had been at our company. That day, in the car on the way home, when she looked at my business card and smiled, happy — was that because she’d realized I worked in this exact division…?
Is that what “maybe this is fate” actually meant…?
My thoughts too tangled to sort through, I wanted to put my head in my hands. A business sale means, essentially, the employees move over too, all at once, right? Which means — I’m about to become an employee of Yui-san’s company?
*
My mind went completely blank at the sudden news, and I barely remember anything the president said after that.
The afternoon meeting ended still in a state of uproar. Apparently, starting tomorrow, every employee in the division would have individual HR interviews, where salary terms and everything else would be discussed.
Support services for existing clients under maintenance contracts would apparently be absorbed into a different division and continue on — but the rest of us, management team included, were all subject to the sale.
The more concrete details I heard, the more real it started to feel.
Stepping out of the conference room, Mitsuya-san’s shoulders sagged, and she let out a sigh.
“…I’d heard the rumors, but I never expected it to actually get decided this fast. Ugh, and here I was thinking about putting in a transfer request — guess I was one step too slow.”
“Mitsuya-san, what’s going to happen to us from here?”
“Hmm… I think I’ll wait to see the salary terms before deciding. The Ichinose Group’s a way bigger company than ours, so the terms might actually end up better than what we’ve got now.”
That’s probably true, but honestly, the salary was the last thing on my mind right now.
Because — of all things, ending up working at Yui-san’s company. Back when we ran into each other again, I never once imagined something like this.
*
Once back at her desk, apparently unable to summon the will to work either, Mitsuya-san said she was heading out for a smoke and didn’t come back for a good while.
Yui-san had said she’d deliver results within three years. Was this business acquisition part of that plan too?
I wanted to know what intent lay behind the decision. But her company isn’t publicly listed, so there’s no information posted on their website.
Still, even without detailed figures, the parent company’s site should have segment information broken down by business line. The Ichinose Group only runs one hospitality business — Yui-san’s company — so I might be able to make some reasonable guesses.
Following that thought, I searched the site, and my guess turned out right.
Yui-san’s first year as president: operating revenue and operating profit both dropped sharply compared to the year before.
Second year: revenue flat, but profit visibly improved, and capital investment jumped significantly at the same time.
But segment data alone is far too broad — I couldn’t tell, from this alone, what intent actually guided Yui-san’s management.
I want to know more. What Yui-san’s actually thinking. If we end up working at the same company… maybe there’s something even I could contribute, some way to help.
Before I knew it, I was completely absorbed, locked in a staring match with the financial data, and didn’t even notice Mitsuya-san had returned from her smoke break until she tapped my shoulder.
“Wah! Y-you startled me…”
“Aozawa-chan, you’re so earnest. Already researching the other company? Full of motivation, huh.”
Mitsuya-san said it, grinning wide.
“N-no, that’s not it. This is…”
“But you know, I was thinking — this might actually work out well. Staring at a P&L that’s been in the red forever gets old, but following the numbers of a company that’s actually growing might be a lot more fun.”
Hearing that, I thought, fair point. Even looking at the data sent over from accounting every month, I’d never once felt driven to analyze it this closely before.
“Well, no use worrying about it now. Let’s just wrap up work and go drinking~”
“…Right.”
After that, we cut work short and headed to Mitsuya-san’s favorite Korean restaurant, ate and drank our fill while venting about the company, and parted ways.
Small mercy, at least — the whole thing had been such a bombshell that it never circled back around to my original topic, my love life.
Still a little floaty on my feet, feeling like I was somehow still half in a dream, I swayed home on the train.
Just as my apartment building came into view, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Huh, maybe Mitsuya-san? I checked the screen.
“Ah…”
There, displayed, was the name of the woman I’d spent these entire three weeks — waiting, and waiting, and waiting — for. The one who’s terrible at keeping in touch.