#22: Black Velvet / ep.4
Around the same time Mikoto and the others were preparing to face down the division head, elsewhere in the building, a lonelier battle had already begun — Sanae’s subordinate, Iida Tarō, standing alone against impossible odds in the executive meeting room.
“Iida-kun, please proceed exactly as instructed.”
Easy for her to say, Iida thought, choking down the urge to burst into tears right there at Sanae’s signal, standing frozen before Hibiya’s assembled higher-ups.
Sixteen Hibiya executives sat in the small conference room that day — not a single one of them the kind of person you casually made eye contact with. To an ordinary group employee, they carried something close to divine authority, the kind that inspired genuine awe.
“Who exactly are you? What business brings you here?”
“I— I’m, um…”
A face Iida vaguely recognized from the internal newsletter — a managing director — asked the question, visibly displeased.
Iida’s fear spiked. One wrong move here, and it wasn’t just his job on the line — there was a real chance of being blacklisted from ever finding work again. For someone barely out of university, this was a brand of terror he’d never once experienced before.
“Can’t even give your name and department, boy? Call yourself a man?!”
“Hiii?! S— sorry! Iida Tarō, General Affairs! I— I— I’m here on my senior’s instructions—!”
“Some General Affairs pup, sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong!”
Iida fought desperately to hold back tears.
Ever since childhood, he’d been the delicate sort who cried out of sheer helplessness whenever he witnessed a conflict he couldn’t stop, unable to do anything but look away. Faced with open hostility like this, of course he’d cry.
“Your direct supervisor can deal with you personally! Who is it?!”
“O— Okamura— that’s her maiden name, currently she’s—”
“Okamura? General Affairs’ Okamura…?!”
The instant Sanae’s name slipped out, a ripple of murmurs ran through the assembled executives. Not just the managing director who’d been yelling at Iida — the board members, even the vice president, all muttered among themselves.
“Wasn’t she the one who exposed that embezzlement case over at the subsidiary — Hosokawa?”
“I heard she’s the one who blew the whistle on Sales’ misconduct, kicked off that whole purging.”
“That’s the woman who single-handedly designed the entire security system, isn’t it?”
“We’ve got her handling the Kasumigaseki matter — I had no idea she was this capable…”
“HR’s division head was grumbling about it — said it’s a waste keeping talent like that buried in General Affairs.”
“A rare breed these days — pure ambition, nothing else. ‘The Mad Dog of General Affairs,’ Okamura Sanae.”
Iida knew for a fact there wasn’t a second person in the entire company sharing Sanae’s exact name.
Which meant every single one of them was talking about the same woman — Okamura Sanae.
Iida wanted to cry for an entirely different reason now.
—Just what exactly does my boss even do at this company?!
“Speak up, boy. What did the mad dog — I mean, Okamura, want?”
Fighting to keep his bladder from betraying him entirely, Iida forced the words out.
“Well, actually…”
＊
The man who appeared in the waiting room wore square-rimmed glasses that gave him an intellectual, high-strung look — the planning department’s division head, Kosugi.
“So you’ve found the culprit. Impressive work, from General Affairs’ own hunting dog.”
“Yes. These are the outside staff who assisted with the matter — with one exception.”
Sanae introduced Mikoto and Tōko under their aliases. Shandy, the sole exception left out entirely, put on her business smile and offered her own alias herself.
“I imagine a cramped little conversation like this could get rather stifling. Might I offer something to drink, as a bit of social lubrication?”
“A stylish bartender, is it? Go on, recommend me something.”
“Certainly,” she said, and the click of her heels faded across the floor.
The instant she was gone, Mikoto’s mouth went bone dry. Her heartbeat raced, her hands and feet tingled with restless energy. Pure tension. Whatever fear she’d thought she’d shaken off resurfaced at once.
With Shandy — the one who’d been steadying her — no longer at her side, she felt just how fragile she really was.
“Let’s cut straight to it. Who’s the project thief?”
“I’ll give you the conclusion first. The culprit is you, Division Head Kosugi.”
Sanae’s voice, cold enough to freeze the spine. After a brief silence, Kosugi removed his glasses and let his shoulders shake with laughter.
“How amusing. I’d heard General Affairs’ hunting dog was a dead-serious sort with no sense of humor. At this rate, ‘hunting dog’ isn’t the word — ‘mad dog’ suits you better.”
“I’m not a dog.”
Kosugi settled comfortably into the sofa. Sanae fixed him with a hollow, unblinking stare.
Mikoto reached out, ready to step in — but Tōko held her back. Eyes closed, as if to say leave this to Sanae, she left Mikoto no choice but to watch it play out.
“You received the Digital Memo project from Meiji Stationery. Confirmed with the sender in question, and the answer’s plain enough.”
Kosugi, unruffled, had the composure to put his glasses back on.
“How disappointing. It seems I overestimated your ability. Treating a scrap of evidence that thin as proof of guilt.”
“If you have an explanation, I’ll hear it.”
“Ah, a fine opportunity to finally put a collar on this dog.”
A shadow crossed Sanae’s expression.
Mikoto watched her, silently praying.
“I did meet with your Aomi-san, from Meiji Stationery. I’ll admit I instructed her to send the email — I like to keep an eye on all external correspondence. But surely I’m not the only one who received the project.”
“Correct. It also went to Higo-san’s team.”
“You did check the personnel records, I trust? If anyone’s worth suspecting, wouldn’t it be them, over me?”
“…………….”
Sanae fell silent. The only reason those three had been ruled out was that Mikoto herself simply hadn’t felt they were the culprit. That kind of uncertain reasoning wasn’t enough to pin anything on Kosugi.
“Nothing to say? Of course not. Your whole case is baseless slander. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“You’re right. I suppose I was being shortsighted.”
“Then an apology’s in order. I happen to hold this country’s more refined traditions in high regard, you understand. Perhaps a proper dogeza would settle things?”
“That’s blatant harassment—!”
“I’ve suffered genuine psychological distress from being falsely accused like this. And here I am, generously offering to let it go — hardly harassment, wouldn’t you say?”
Tōko’s desperate protest was talked right past.
A faint, contemptuous smile crept across Kosugi’s face.
“Not a problem. If a dogeza settles this, that’s a cheap price to pay.”
In front of Mikoto and Tōko, Sanae folded her small frame down. Knees, forehead, pressed against the cold linoleum.
Filming it on his phone, Kosugi planted his foot on the back of Sanae’s head.
Mikoto couldn’t bring herself to check Tōko’s expression. Even Mikoto herself — not especially close to Sanae — felt a surge of pure fury. She could easily guess what Tōko must be feeling.
“Apologize, mad dog. Say it — ‘sorry for being a stupid mutt.’”
“…I’m sorry.”
“Wrong. Say ‘stupid mutt’!”
A grinding sound of teeth clenching.
Mikoto had been told not to interfere. But Sanae had trusted her judgment — and she couldn’t stand by and watch her humiliated any further because of it.
Swallowing down her fury as best she could, Mikoto cut in.
“That’s enough. Yanase-san has apologized more than sufficiently.”
“Outsiders stay quiet. Unless you’d like to join her on the floor, I won’t stop you.”
“…Neither of them have anything to do with this.”
“Wrong again, Okamura. A dog barks like a dog — woof!”
A knock at the door, and Kosugi finally withdrew his foot. Shandy appeared, carrying a full set of glasses.
“Oh my, did I interrupt something?”
“Just disciplining an underperforming employee. Now — the drinks?”
“Yes. For someone as black-hearted as yourself, might I recommend a Black Velvet?”
Black Velvet.
A beer-based cocktail using sparkling wine as its secondary ingredient — but this one comes out black. The name comes from its use of stout, dark beer, and the velvety, fine-textured foam it produces on the tongue.
“I suppose I’ll accept — oh, whoops.”
Kosugi tipped the glass, as if by pure unfortunate accident, straight over the back of Sanae’s head.
“How clumsy of me. Bartender, might I trouble you for another?”
“Yes, of course.”
He fumbled the second glass just the same way. Still bent in her dogeza, Sanae was doused with a second serving of Black Velvet.
“Ah, what a shame. My hands just aren’t what they used to be, at my age.”
The remaining two glasses met the same fate. Sanae was soaked through — her semi-long hair and loose casual clothes clinging to her frame.
After a single glance at Sanae’s ruined state, Kosugi dropped the empty tray Shandy had been holding, straight on top of her.
“That’s the end of this conversation. There is no culprit in this matter — the actual thief sits with Meiji Stationery. Contact Legal immediately and resume preparations for litigation. I’m a busy man.”
“Wait—”
Mikoto couldn’t stand it any longer. She shouted — no, before she could even finish, a sharp, dry crack rang out through the room.
Shandy had slapped Kosugi across the face.
A rage Mikoto had never once seen from her. Her amber eyes twisted with pure hostility.
“…Do you understand why you were struck, you fool?”
“You’d raise a hand against a customer? I’ll call the hotel, have you fired—”
“Answer the question.”
A second strike landed. Kosugi toppled onto the sofa from the impact, and Shandy’s heel came down on his temple. Pressing one foot against the sofa’s backrest, she stood over him.
“I have pride in my work as a bartender. I make drinks wishing happiness on the person drinking them. Someone like you, using alcohol to degrade another human being — I don’t consider you a customer at all.”
“Your pride is none of my concern!”
“No, of course not. You have none to speak of, do you? Nothing but garbage lower than livestock, calmly stealing someone’s work without a shred of shame.”
“Don’t mock me, woman!”
Shoved backward, Shandy was caught by Mikoto. Holding her slight frame steady, Mikoto felt the faint tremor running through Shandy’s body — and something in her finally reached its limit.
This was, absolutely, unforgivable.
“Just admit it already! That project isn’t yours!”
“It IS mine! Those people at Meiji Stationery stole it from me! And then had the gall to send it back as if they’d thought of it themselves!”
“You don’t even have proof…!”
“I have proof! Undeniable proof that I made it!”
Kosugi, thoroughly enraged now, slammed down a paperback-sized model. Stuck with Hibiya’s own asset-management sticker, it was the very thing Mikoto had painstakingly built — the Digital Memo mockup she’d made and entrusted to Shiina.
“I poured my heart and soul into this prototype myself, they have nothing to do with it! Besides, what’s Meiji Stationery even think it is? Some pencil shop putting on airs!”
Mikoto picked up the prototype. Unmistakable. Nothing more than a hundred-yen-store plastic sheet, cut and assembled by hand — the world’s one and only, dearly beloved child of her own making. Now fallen into Kosugi’s hands.
“Not that you people would recognize it, even seeing it up close.”
“…Recognize it. I’d recognize something I made myself, at least.”
Mikoto took hold of the stylus pen embedded in the prototype. Little more than a simple core wrapped in paper, despite being called a “stylus.” She began peeling back that wrapping as she spoke.
“You just said, yourself, that you poured your heart and soul into building this prototype. That Meiji Stationery had nothing to do with the mockup.”
“So what?! Just who do you think you are?!”
“My apologies for the late introduction. Meiji Stationery — Kurosu Mikoto.”
“Wh— what…?”
She stripped away the wrapping paper. What lay at the stylus pen’s core, revealed—
“Our company’s main product is pencils — though not the kind you’d usually see on a store shelf. Thin-diameter pencils, mostly used for planners and notebooks.”
“And what does that have to—”
Kosugi froze.
—A pencil.
Stamped with Meiji Stationery’s own gold foil — Meiji. The souls of craftsmen who’d spent their whole careers building nothing but pencils, breathing quietly inside a prototype stylus pen.
“Meiji Stationery’s soul lives inside this prototype. This is undeniable proof.”
“Th— that’s impossible! Y— you’re trying to frame me, Okamura Sanae?!”
“Yes. I intended to frame you. Consider it already done.”
Soaked through with cocktail, Sanae smiled all the same.
Kosugi hadn’t noticed — while performing her dogeza, Sanae had shielded her phone with her own body, hiding it the entire time.
“Ha! Recorded evidence like that has no legal standing. Sloppy work, from you of all people!”
“Is that so? Then shall I put this conversation directly to upper management for judgment?”
“Know your place! I’m the division head of Planning, and you’re an ordinary staff member! Which of us do you think benefits the company more, left standing?!”
“The outcome’s already clear. What do you all think?”
“Wha—?!”
Sanae’s phone hadn’t been recording anything at all. Wearing an unsettling smile, she addressed the person on the other end of the call — the executives, still assembled in their meeting. Having heard every word of the exchange from start to finish, the higher-ups reached their verdict swiftly.
“Deeply disappointing. You’ve let us down badly, Kosugi-kun.”
“Th-tha… this is… a trap…! Meant to bring me down…!”
“…That’s all from your hunting dog. Kurosu-san, any final words?”
Mikoto glared at Kosugi with every last drop of fury she had, and shouted.
“Don’t you ever underestimate a pencil shop, you thieving piece of trash!”
＊
A few minutes later.
Mikoto and the Yanase couple gave their full account of the situation in a room the hotel had arranged for them. Meiji Stationery’s own managing director, who’d arrived just in time, sat in on the debrief, and Hibiya’s side offered nothing but relentless apology throughout. Since the whole affair had been caught before any real damage was done, the managing director settled for letting it go without further demands — though Hibiya’s side wasn’t about to let it go so easily on their own end.
In the end, exactly as Sanae had predicted, Kosugi’s punishment landed as a major demotion — transferred out to an affiliated subsidiary.
“Well, you really did wonderful work today, Chief Kurosu.”
“Yes, I owe it all to a pencil, really…”
Explaining that she’d had no core of quite the right diameter for the prototype stylus and had improvised with one of the company’s own pencils, the managing director burst into laughter. Then he held out a room key card.
“You’ve been through a lot today — think of this as a reward. Not quite a suite, but a good room all the same.”
“You’re not planning on staying with me, are you…?”
The managing director scrambled to correct the misunderstanding, clearly worried it might read as harassment.
“No, no! My wife would have my head if I did anything like that, haha…!”
With that, he left with the assembled Hibiya executives. Left in the room: just Mikoto and the Yanase couple. Shandy, presumably, was still working out in the hall.
“…It’s over.”
The moment the word left her mouth, exhaustion crashed over her all at once. Sinking limply into a chair, Sanae took the seat beside her.
“As originally promised, I’ll be arranging favorable terms for you going forward. Shall we discuss business right away?”
“Ah, no, sorry… I really don’t have it in me for that right now…”
“I see.”
Soaked through earlier, Sanae had since changed — Tōko had rushed out to buy her a fresh set of clothes. Tōko herself, worn out from the stress of it all, lay sprawled on the bed, still in her party clothes.
“Well, that’s fair. Most people would’ve collapsed the way Tōko did.”
“Yes. Sanae-san does seem to push herself a bit too far. Even if it was for career advancement, deliberately taking a dogeza and getting doused in cocktails like that…”
“…I did all of it for Tōko.”
In an uncharacteristically soft tone, sounding oddly uncomfortable, Sanae continued.
“I work the way I do so I can build a life with Tōko. Being able to devote yourself entirely to someone you love — that’s a real happiness, you know?”
“You really do love her, don’t you, Tōko-san?”
“Yes. Enough that I could kill for her, if it came to that.”
Presumably a joke. Mikoto laughed without thinking too hard about it.
“Didn’t take you for someone who makes jokes, Sanae-san.”
“A dark one, admittedly. Speaking of dark — what about her? Your girlfriend, the one who brought us that Black Velvet.”
“Shandy-san’s still… well… Not quite my girlfriend yet…”
“…Keeping her waiting too long seems a shame. Why not go find her? She should still be in the hall.”
“That’s…”
Sanae’s stony expression softened into something gentle.
“Then let me be direct. Tōko and I are about to attend to our marital duties as a couple. You’re in the way — please leave.”
“U— understood…! Sorry, and about everything today…”
“That’s enough. Neither Tōko nor I have any interest in performing our affection for an audience.”
There was nothing left to do but retreat as quickly as possible. Mikoto bolted from the room and headed back to the party venue.
Hibiya’s employees had all long since dispersed. Amid hotel staff busy with cleanup, Mikoto searched the hall for Shandy. White jacket, blonde hair pulled back, amber eyes — nowhere to be found. Had she already gone home?
That was the moment someone wrapped their arms around her from behind.
“Shandy-sa-“
“I’m so glad you’re safe, Kurosu-san—!”
The one embracing Mikoto wasn’t the person she’d been hoping for. It was Shirai Rinko. Beside her stood Aomi Shiina as well.
“Finally showed up. Answer your phone next time, would you?”
“Sorry. Wasn’t exactly in a position to…”
Checking her phone quickly, Mikoto found a mountain of missed calls. They’d probably been waiting the whole time for her to finish reporting everything after the fact.
“I heard the gist from the managing director already. …Sorry, Kurosu. If I’d actually double-checked things properly, none of this would’ve happened.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. If anything, you sending me the finished prototype is exactly what saved us.”
“Right, right, exactly! Really, it worked out so well! You know, Kurosu-san, Aomi-san’s actually been feeling terrible about it this whole time, she kept saying she needed to apologize to you, over and over—”
“Wh— what are you saying?! I told you not to bring that up!”
Surrounded by Rinko still clinging tight and Shiina shouting over her, Mikoto finally felt her nerves settle.
Her project was back in her hands, and Meiji Stationery was safe. The relief of it drained every last bit of strength from her body, and she collapsed onto a lobby sofa. Tonight, she’d be staying at this luxury hotel — just the thought of not having to head home lifted a weight off her shoulders entirely, and…
“Kurosu? Kurosu? Chief Kuroooosu? …She’s actually asleep, right here in the lobby.”
“Can’t be helped, she really pushed herself hard today. I’ll keep an eye on her, you head home, Aomi-san.”
“Guess I’ll leave it to you, then.”
Watching Shiina off, Rinko turned to study Mikoto’s sleeping profile. Her hand moved on its own — combing through Mikoto’s dark, faintly reddish hair with her fingers. Her fingertips traced further, from hair to the nape of her neck, along her cheek.
Rinko couldn’t stop herself. She had no intention of stopping, either.
Because she’d wanted to do this for a long time now. She wasn’t about to let this chance, finally within reach, slip away. Wasn’t about to let the opportunity to love the person she cared for pass her by. Rinko’s fingertips traced carefully over sleeping Mikoto’s face.
“Kurosu-san, I…”
Rinko’s other hand — the one that hadn’t been caressing her — reached to grasp Mikoto’s head.
That was the moment someone seized Rinko’s arm.
Turning to identify whoever had interrupted this stolen moment, Rinko found herself face to face with a woman of porcelain-white skin and gleaming amber eyes, features carrying an unmistakably Western cast.
“Caught you. Peach Lady, was it?”