#2: Leonard
She’d been thoroughly wrung out under the guise of “loving discipline.”
“Why me…”
In place of her usual “unbelievable,” what came out of Mikoto now was a groan of pure resentment at the unfairness of it all.
Here’s how it had happened —
Mikoto’s employer, the long-established stationery maker Meiji Stationery, had finally hauled itself off the couch to catch up on the stationery boom — years after it had peaked — and launched a new project.
Its name: the Next-Generation Flagship Product Development Project.
True to its self-important name, the one thing upper management had in real abundance was enthusiasm. They’d solicited product ideas from every employee, down to the part-time aunties; wined and dined ad agencies before anyone had decided what they were even making; explored tie-ups with Southeast Asian OEM manufacturers; and were now, on top of everything else, in the middle of planning both an official mascot character and a VTuber.
Frankly, it was a project adrift with no clear direction — though you could just as easily frame it as the touching, last-ditch effort of a venerable old company trying not to get left behind by the times. A certain generation of Japanese people loves that kind of story.
But.
“Why am I the project office chief…”
What tormented Mikoto was the title itself — Project Office Chief — a position upper management burned with desire for and the rank and file regarded with icy suspicion, and one she’d never asked for.
It wasn’t as if she was some star performer. Mikoto was an unremarkable fifth-year in the Planning and PR department, one of countless others just like her. She’d been singled out for her “youth” and her “uniquely female perspective” — which was to say, for reasons nobody could actually pin down, she’d drawn the short straw. Naturally, neither her motivation nor her results were going anywhere, which brought her straight back to where this all began.
Upper management had called out her negligence, and wrung her out thoroughly for it.
If they were going to swing the whip of guidance and discipline, the least they could do was offer some candy to go with it.
“I envy the people who think giving verbal instructions counts as doing the work…”
Every curse she spat left her stomach churning a little more with bitterness and spite.
That settled it — today she’d hole up in the bathroom until quitting time. Sometimes you need the courage to shut the lid on a reality you don’t want to look at and just run.
Twisting the words of some mental-health seminar instructor the company had forced her to sit through into self-justification, Mikoto found her fingers already searching, unconsciously, for the recipe of some cocktail she’d yet to try.
＊
“…And that’s how today turned out to be a total disaster.”
After work.
Mikoto had slipped out of the office in a hurry and headed straight for the girls’ bar Antiqua in Roppongi. She wanted to drown her troubles in alcohol and Shandy.
The shop was empty this soon after opening. Only Shandy the bartender stood there, still as a marionette with its strings cut.
After trading a line or two of the usual Antiqua-style banter, “Is something the matter, Kurosu-sama?” had been all the opening Mikoto needed to unload her grievances.
“My condolences, Kurosu-sama. Or — should I address you as Chief now?”
“Just the usual, please. I only came here to see Shandy-san.”
“My, quite the different person from a moment ago. I wonder which is the real Kurosu-sama.”
“Which version of me does Shandy-san prefer?”
“And what would you do with that answer, I wonder?”
Answering a question with a question — classic Shandy-style sparring. They’d both grown so practiced at it by now that their mouths curved into smiles at exactly the same moment.
“You really hate losing, Shandy-san.”
“That’s because Kurosu-sama seems to want to lose.”
“I’ve already lost completely. I’ve never come back to the same bar three times without a single day’s gap before.”
“Ha.”
Shandy smiled, her voice pitched with a teasing, girlish lilt.
Before Mikoto could load the next round — some other layered, loaded line — Shandy murmured first.
“I feel like losing today, to Mikoto-san.”
“Ah — wha—”
Blindsided from a direction she hadn’t expected — being called by name — Mikoto made an undignified mess of a reaction before she could stop herself.
Being so soon after opening, Antiqua was brighter tonight than usual. The orange indirect lighting that normally kept the place dim was burning at full strength, which meant Shandy was clearly visible.
And if Mikoto could see her clearly, the reverse held too. The moment Shandy saw Mikoto flush and fumble over her words, she broke into a triumphant, mischievous-girl grin.
“I want to lose too, honestly. Ha.”
The shock of first seeing her — by that streetlight near Roppongi Station — came flooding back vivid in Mikoto’s mind.
Slender ankles, pale skin. And those amber eyes, like a full moon, untouched even by the glow of neon signs.
As she went on with her preparations at an unhurried pace, her eyes were a waning crescent, lowered to her work. Mikoto found herself watching, absently — and then, suddenly, their eyes met.
The waning crescent shifted back into a waxing one.
“Do you like me?”
“I was just thinking the moon looks lovely tonight.”1
“You really do love a cliché. I already told you, Kurosu-sama. How do you woo a bartender?”
“I know, I know. Are you ready?”
“Yes, and tonight’s prep went more smoothly than usual. Shall your first drink tonight be me — Shandy — again?”
“Ah, no. Tonight I think I’d like to try something a little different.”
Since she’d started coming to Antiqua, Mikoto had picked up a new hobby.
Cocktails.
The art of blending alcohols together to create an entirely new flavor.
To Mikoto, who’d always thought cocktails meant nothing more than the cassis orange or peach fizz you’d find at an izakaya, Antiqua’s Shandy Gaff had been a revelation. Beer, a bitter drink she could never see the appeal of, transformed into something bright and light — an amber-colored nectar. It was practically magic.
“You’re quite the two-timer, Kurosu-sama. And here I thought you had me.”
“You’re a flower too far out of reach for someone like me.”
“Hmm? Saying things like that, are we?”
Shandy fixed her with a moist, unmistakably displeased look and, without warning, leaned in over the counter until her breath brushed Mikoto’s face.
“There. Now I’m within reach.”
The game of love was already underway. Whoever grew serious first would lose — a sweet-worded brawl.
Determined not to fall for the same trick twice, Mikoto struck back.
“Yes. I’d like to pick you and take you home.”
“—?!”
Shandy turned her back on Mikoto and started dusting off a whiskey bottle displayed on the bar top behind her — a bottle that, polished as it already was, had no dust on it to begin with.
“Shandy-san, may I order?”
Clear proof the last jab had landed. Her own sweet words had worked exactly as intended. Suppressing the urge to celebrate, Mikoto waited eagerly for Shandy’s flustered, reddened face to turn back around.
But Shandy was never that easy to pin down. She turned back with a face utterly composed. Not so much as a hint of red touched those pale cheeks — a doll’s cheeks, distilled beauty made porcelain.
“Yes, go right ahead.”
She clearly had no intention of conceding defeat that easily.
Then Mikoto would just have to savor this without rushing.
This game with the mysterious beauty, Shandy, whom she’d met that day — the worst day of her life — after missing the last train and stumbling into this bar by accident.
“I’ve had more than enough of the whip of love today, so could you make me something sweet enough to really make me groan?”
“Ha, so it’s a contest, is it. Then… let’s go with a Leonardo.”
“A Leonardo…?”
At the unfamiliar cocktail name, Mikoto leaned in. “Quite the studious one,” Shandy teased, but Mikoto paid it no mind, watching Shandy’s hands closely.
“Not DiCaprio, if that’s what you’re picturing. The other world-famous Leonardo.”
“Da Vinci?”
“Yes. Known as an artist, but his talents ran across countless fields — a true polymath genius.”
“So he invented the cocktail too?”
“Now, I wonder,” she said with a knowing smile, and slipped into her bartender’s face.
The making of the Leonardo began.
From the fridge beneath the counter, Shandy pulled out strawberries and set about crushing them into a purée in the mixing glass. The whir of the hand blender’s motor cut through Antiqua’s silence.
“So some cocktails use actual fruit.”
“Yes — the Leonardo school, or, well, let’s call it the Italian Painter Cocktail school. Strawberry makes a Leonardo, peach makes a Bellini, muscat grape makes a Raphael. The fruit you use changes the name.”
Even as she rattled off the trivia, her hands never lost their smoothness. Into the glass went the strawberry purée and ice. She added a splash of strawberry liqueur and a few drops of lemon juice, then stirred it thoroughly with the long-handled bar spoon.
“Now then, Kurosu-sama. A fiery little fling, or something mild and purely sweet — which do you prefer, with me?”
“Wh—?”
So absorbed had she been in watching the cocktail come together that Mikoto missed the intent behind the question entirely. Looking up from Shandy’s hands, she found Shandy laughing, a sound like bells rolling together.
“That makes it two wins to one, mine. Ha, I only meant which carbonation level you’d prefer. Did you really think I meant something else?”
“…Wasn’t that a little unfair just now? I was only watching because I was curious about the cocktail.”
“Then do watch only me, won’t you.”
“Ngh.”
“Three wins,” Shandy said with a smile, and Mikoto’s head drooped in defeat. She’d meant to savor Shandy at her leisure — instead, it felt like she was the one being thoroughly savored.
“…Lightly carbonated, please.”
“Understood.”
Smiling with the knowing, seductive curve of a beautiful woman’s mouth, she went briskly back to work.
Tonight’s cocktail was the Leonardo. At its base, it’s made by stirring together strawberry liqueur and sparkling wine, with variations that add strawberry purée, or a few drops of lemon juice to bring out the sweetness with a touch of acid.
But Shandy wasn’t stopping there — she gave this Leonardo an extra flourish. Taking out a tall flute glass, she ran syrup around the rim and let sugar settle over it like fresh snow — the technique known as the snow style, the same one used for drinks like the Salty Dog.
“Time to finish it off.”
Into the snow-styled glass, she poured the purée. Then came the star of the show — the sparkling wine, poured in about halfway, followed by a light stir. Splitting the pour into two stages let the purée and wine blend thoroughly while keeping the carbonation strong.
“Here you are. The Leonardo, snow style.”
“Wow…”
The Leonardo. A cocktail like a ruby.
From the bottom of the glass, generously layered with two kinds of strawberry — purée and liqueur both — fine bubbles of sparkling wine rose in a steady, fizzing climb.
“Let me lower the lights.”
She dimmed Antiqua back down to its usual half-light. The moment the orange pin spotlight fell and lit up the glass in her hand, it happened.
“How do you find it, Kurosu-sama?”
The snow style — the grains of sugar clinging to the rim of the glass — caught the light and sparkled. The Leonardo, already jewel-like, let loose its hidden brilliance.
A beautiful work of art had revealed itself in full.
“Actually, this cocktail, the Leonardo, only borrows Da Vinci’s name — he didn’t invent it himself. But seeing it presented like this—”
“I know what you mean. It almost feels a shame to drink it.”
“Oh? This isn’t something I make as a rule, you know — a special recipe, just for you.”
From behind the counter, Shandy’s hand reached out.
Here it comes, Mikoto thought, bracing herself for another loss.
But her worry turned out to be unfounded. Skewered on the rim of the glass was a plump strawberry that hadn’t been there a moment before.
“A cocktail named after a polymath genius — the Leonardo. Drink this, and maybe even your troublesome work will start falling into place, just like it did for him.”
Something clicked, and Mikoto suddenly remembered.
She’d forgotten all about the whole Project Chief business, too caught up in the fun of talking with Shandy. Shandy, who’d been listening the whole time to her complaints about work not going well, hadn’t just fulfilled the order for “something sweet” — she’d served up a cocktail that took Mikoto herself into account.
The outcome was settled.
“…Complete defeat.”
“Then, a toast. To the sweet little bit of candy I’m giving you, to soothe that heart of yours, worn out from work.”
—Tonight’s game of love: Mikoto, one win, four losses.
-
“The moon looks lovely tonight”: A nod to the famous (likely apocryphal) story of Natsume Sōseki instructing a student that “I love you” should be translated into Japanese as “月が綺麗ですね” (“The moon is beautiful tonight”) rather than literally — a culturally coded way of confessing feelings without saying them outright. Mikoto’s deflection is actually a loaded answer to Shandy’s question, which is exactly why Shandy calls it a cliché line right after. Also doubles as another beat in the series’ ongoing moon-phase motif tied to Shandy’s eyes. ↩