Episode 47: Is the God of Timing Really This Cruel to Me?
I, Asami Nagi, was full of regret.
That consolation drink with Hanamori the other day.
When I’d asked, “Should we just date?” riding on nothing but alcohol and momentum, and she’d answered, “…It’s fine,” I panicked at the unexpected response and deflected with “Just kidding.”
If I’d said “Then, let’s” back then, right now Hanamori and I would be—
Asami Nagi, spineless coward. Idiot.
Colossal fool of a woman. Moron. Dolt.
Still dragging that regret around, February 20th arrived. The day of the live show we’d already planned to go to together.
I’d decided I was going to tell Hanamori how I felt.
“I’m being transferred to an overseas branch.”
“And so—”
Just as I worked up the nerve to keep going, at the café, Hanamori cut me off.
I tried several times to bring the conversation back, but Hanamori just left, walking fast.
“Eh, wait. Wait a second.”
Hanamori’s back. Rushing out of the café. More than a fast walk, closer to a run. She fled like she was running away.
I finished off the food still left on my plate, paid the bill, and tried to chase after her.
But by the time I got outside, Hanamori was already gone.
“Hanamori-san…”
Total, complete defeat.
Still, something about Hanamori’s expression in that moment kept nagging at me.
The instant I brought up the overseas assignment, her face had changed color. An expression like she’d just heard something devastating.
Had I said something that hurt her, without realizing it?
Hmm. The more I thought about it, the less I understood.
The Monday after that live show.
Hanamori took the day off from work.
The desk diagonally across from mine sat empty, and it felt strangely spacious. Had her presence really taken up that much space?
“Asami will be heading overseas starting the end of March—”
“Hanamori’s handover will be—”
At the sales meeting, the department head explained, matter-of-factly, my overseas transfer and the end of Hanamori’s OJT period. Everyone but Hanamori took notes as they listened.
—Right. The overseas offer had come out of nowhere.
Early February, I’d been suddenly called in by the sales manager.
The new service had generated more buzz than expected at last month’s trade show.
It was going to be rolled out in full in America.
And I’d been chosen as a founding member of the launch team. All of it, dropped on me at once.
I’d been shocked, and happy. Genuinely.
A promotion opportunity. A raise, too.
Separate from my own overseas move, Hanamori’s first-year new-hire training was also wrapping up in March. Hanamori, going independent.
By pure coincidence of timing, my handover of duties needed to be complete by mid-March.
End of OJT.
Which meant the time Hanamori and I spent alone together was about to drop to essentially zero.
Soon, the days where Hanamori was just naturally there beside me would be over.
Thinking that, my chest throbbed. More than throbbed. A sharp, stabbing ache. No, more like a grinding creak? A wrenching squeeze?
Either way, thinking about Hanamori made my chest ache audibly.
I’d told myself this was my last chance and worked up the resolve to confess my feelings on the day of the show.
And I’d struck out completely.
The next day. I came into work early.
Sparrows were still chirping outside. First one in the office. No one else around. The quiet, empty morning office felt calm, refreshing.
I brewed coffee, sat at my desk, and just as I opened my inbox—
“Ah.”
Hanamori came in.
Coming in this early was rare. A miracle, even.
Normally she shows up right before start time with a high-pitched, saccharine “Mooorning~.”
Hanamori’s eyes met mine, briefly. Then dropped away. She walked straight to her desk without a word.
“Morning, Hanamori-san.”
“Good morning.”
“You took yesterday off, you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Could it be you were crying because you’re sad about not being my sales partner anymore?”
I asked it, a little hopefully.
Teasing, deliberately bright.
Normally she’d fire back instantly with a light glare, “Huh? What are you even saying, way too full of yourself.”
That was our standard exchange.
Today’s Hanamori was different.
“…Not it.”
She dropped the words in a small voice. Her eyes wandered, then dropped again. The corner of her mouth tried to lift slightly. But it couldn’t quite manage it, trembling faintly instead.
The skin around her eyes looked a little red. Makeup? Doesn’t seem like it. Don’t tell me she was actually crying? Eh, over me? No way.
I’m being full of myself. Yeah, definitely not it.
She didn’t seem angry. But something about her, unsettled, gaze not landing anywhere. Her long eyelashes cast a shadow over her eyes, giving her a melancholy look. Her lips were pressed tightly together too.
That expression looked strangely fragile, and my heart gave a hard jolt.
Hanamori got up to make coffee. I scrolled through my email. Only the click of the mouse rang out in the office.
Alone with Hanamori. Should I say it now? At the office? What if someone comes in? But it felt like this was the only timing.
Hanamori came back from the break room, and our eyes met again. And were pulled away again.
Hanamori sat down at her computer with a solemn expression and started checking her email. That serious look was, again, precious.
Hanamori when she’s focused is completely different from her usual atmosphere.
“Thanks, for Saturday.”
I said it, eyes on my screen.
“Yes.”
That’s all.
Normally she’d throw in some snide extra line, like “Good for you, getting to hang out with your cute junior.”
Missing that extra line felt lonely. I’m being weird.
“After that, I ended up heading straight home too.”
“I see.”
Still not meeting my eyes. I kept glancing at Hanamori over my monitor, but our eyes never met.
Guess I have to say it now. I decided that.
“Hey, um, Hanamori-san…!!”
THUNK!!
Standing up, I slammed my knee hard into the desk.
It hurt. Badly.
And my voice had come out louder than intended. It echoed through the empty floor. Hanamori looked up, startled, eyes wide.
Those eyes, round and big, glistening. What is this. Like a puppy.
That upward glance is unfair.
“A-ah, um…”
Hanamori’s eyes dropped again, turning back to her screen. I opened my mouth again.
“I—”
“Good morniiiing.”
Another employee had come in. Kanshiro-san, second-year, from sales admin.
Failed again.
I sank weakly into my chair, all the strength drained out of me.
The usual sales car.
Two weeks left in the OJT period. Thinking that from April I wouldn’t be driving with Hanamori beside me like this anymore, my chest tightened with something like loneliness.
The car was dead silent. Normally we’d have the radio on, but today neither of us said anything. The silence pressed down heavily.
“Handover after me’s gonna be a lot of pressure, huh.”
Needing to say something, I tried a joking, light comment.
“Not really.”
Hanamori, still looking down as usual. Her voice small too.
Missing her usual bratty pushback felt lonely.
With time before the next appointment, I pulled into a convenience store. Called out, deliberately bright.
“Hanamori-san, want anything?”
“I’m fine.”
A light, forced smile. Still that same downward gaze.
Clearly, obviously low-energy. Been like this all morning. Like her mind was somewhere else entirely.
Normally she’d rattle off demands without hesitation — “Then an iced café latte, large,” “A cream puff and the fried chicken,” “You’re paying, Asami-san. Obviously.” — sprawled back in her seat like she owned the place.
Don’t hold back like this. Please.
I found myself thinking that.
“Hanamori-san.”
“Yes.”
Her face, turned toward me with downcast eyes, was lovely again. What even is this.
Maybe I can say it now.
“Hey, um—”
Bzzt bzzt bzzt.
A vibration. Hanamori’s work phone.
“Ah, it’s Gorin Trading. Sorry, one second.”
She said that and picked up the call.
Hanamori talking business on the phone. A professional voice. Her tone completely different from usual.
She’s actually got this side put together, surprisingly.
Listening to her composed phone manner, I felt oddly moved — she’s really grown.
“—Yes, yes. Understood. Thank you very much.”
She ended the call. Then glanced my way, briefly. That look seemed like she wanted to say something. But said nothing.
The moment our eyes met, they wandered away again.
Looking down, Hanamori said,
“What was it? Earlier.”
“Ah, um, right. So, I—”
Bzzt bzzt bzzt. This time my own phone rang.
Seriously, come on. A flicker of irritation.
The sales manager. No choice but to answer.
“—Yes, I’ll explain properly once I’m back. Thank you.”
I ended the call. A question about an existing client, but it had dragged on longer than expected. Calls with the sales manager always run long.
By the time all that was done, I checked my watch — the appointment time was closing in.
“Sorry, that call ran long.”
I looked at Hanamori; she’d already unbuckled her seatbelt, bag over her shoulder.
Then, with a wistful expression, she said:
“It’s about time. Let’s go.”
Hanamori got out of the car first, quietly closing the door.
Ugh, another failed confession. Frustrating. Unbearably frustrating.
Is the god of timing really this cruel to me?
Watching Hanamori’s back, I thought.
Two weeks left until Silicon Valley.
Two weeks left of time alone together.
There isn’t much time left to tell her how I feel.
If I told her, would something change?
Does Hanamori feel the same way?
Honestly, I don’t know. It might just be one-sided, on my end alone.
But I want to tell her. I have to tell her.
Only that feeling kept pushing forward, urgent, impatient.