Fujin Isamu reclined on the plush sofa in his private study, his cup of green tea steaming on the low table. His phone vibrated insistently beside it. He glanced at the screen.

Shiraishi Designer ♡

He smirked, a rare softness lighting his usually composed features, and answered. “Daichi speaking.”

“Daichi-san!” Sara’s voice was bright, teasing. “Were you busy contemplating the meaning of life again?”

He chuckled. “Not today. Although, I could be persuaded to start if you wanted to join me.”
“Ugh, smooth as ever,” she said, mock groaning. “Save it for when I’m more emotionally prepared. Right now, I need a distraction.”

“Is that what I am to you? A mere distraction?” His tone was playful, but Sara could hear the amusement underlining it.

“Distraction, boyfriend, philosopher—take your pick,” she replied airily. “Anyway, you will not believe the kind of day I’ve had!”

“Try me,” he invited, already leaning back as if preparing for a long story.

Sara began. "One of the models, Fujin Yumi, absolutely stunning like straight out of an asadora, walked into the studio, and the entire room went silent. It was like someone pressed the mute button on life. Everyone was just... staring!"

"Sounds dramatic," Isamu remarked.

"It gets better," she continued. "I was just standing there, trying to keep a straight face, when one of the assistants—bless his clumsy soul—tripped over a stack of design boards. Boom! Boards, fabric rolls, everything flying everywhere. The poor guy looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole!"

"Did you help him, or did you just stand there laughing?" Isamu asked, his tone teasing.
"Excuse you, I helped!" she protested. "But not before laughing a little. I mean, come on, it was like a scene from a sitcom!"
Isamu chuckled, picturing the chaos she described. "And what about the model? Was she as poised as you say?"

"Oh, she was a picture of grace," Sara said. "But inside, I could tell she was squealing. I swear, I saw her shoulders shake just a little. She must've been laughing at the assistant too!"

"Perhaps she found you amusing instead," he suggested.

“Nah. Then the next incident! One of the assistants thought it would be a great idea to lint-roll a velvet dress. A velvet dress, Daichi. You don’t lint-roll velvet!”

“Isn’t that common knowledge?” he asked dryly.

“You’d think! But no. The dress now looks like it went through a battle with a wooly mammoth and lost. Haruka was this close to throwing the poor guy out of the window.”

“And did she?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Sara sighed dramatically. “Though she did throw a stapler—don’t worry, not at him. But still, the chaos!”
“Sounds like quite the scene,” Isamu remarked, suppressing a laugh.

“Oh, but wait, there’s more!” she continued, clearly warming up. “So then, during lunch, one of the junior designers got into a heated argument about sequins. Sequins, Daichi. Are they overdone for the season? Are they timeless? Should they be banned entirely? It was like World War III at the cafeteria table!”

“Let me guess,” he said. “You stayed neutral?”
“Absolutely not! I firmly defended sequins,” Sara declared. “Tastefully done sequins are art, and I’ll die on this hill.”

Isamu laughed openly this time. “I’ll take your word for it. Anything else to report from the battlefield?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, her tone growing more animated. “The pièce de résistance of the day—one of the models accidentally spilled coffee on a couture gown. The designer looked like they were about to faint, and Haruka-san… Well, let’s just say her reaction could only be described as apocalyptic.”

“Apocalyptic?”

“She shouted so loud, Daichi, I swear they heard her in Kyoto. The poor model was on the verge of tears, and I was just standing there, trying to salvage the situation while pretending I wasn’t internally screaming.”

"You work in a comedy sketch disguised as a design studio," Isamu commented.

"Don't I know it!" Sara replied. "And yet, somehow, we still manage to create magic."

“You do live an exciting life,” he commented, a teasing edge to his tone.

“And you say that while sipping tea in your perfect, calm little world.”

“Perhaps I should visit your chaos one day,” he mused.
“Careful,” she warned. “You might not survive.”

The conversation shifted slightly, the laughter giving way to a softer tone as Isamu asked, “How’s your mother, Sara? Did you visit her?”

The lightness in her voice dimmed. “I visited her,” she said quietly. “It… didn’t go well. She had one of her episodes, and the new doctor, Dr. Tang Jinhai–great name I know— suggested I leave. He thought it was better not to upset her further.”

“I’m sorry,” Isamu said, his voice gentle. “That must’ve been difficult.”

“It was,” she admitted. “But I know it’s not her fault. And Dr. Tang is really great—he’s patient and kind. I’m lucky he’s taking care of her.”

“That’s good to hear,” Isamu said. Then, after a beat, he added, “By the way, do you think Tang Jinhai is handsome?”

“What?” Sara’s tone was incredulous.

“You heard me,” he said, his voice laced with amusement.

She groaned. “No, Daichi, I do not think Dr. Tang is handsome. My standards are too high for that.”
“And who set those standards, I wonder?” he asked, the smirk in his voice unmistakable.

"Gee, I don't know," she mused, “Maybe someone tall, reserved, mysterious... maybe with a penchant for deep conversations and a voice that could melt butter."

"Sounds like a demanding list," he quipped. "Anyone I know?"
She caught the teasing note in his voice and chuckled. "I'll let you figure that one out."
"Challenge accepted," he said smoothly.

Sara paused before continuing. "Speaking of challenges, have you ever wondered why some men just... can't handle a woman with standards?"

"Do elaborate," Isamu prompted.
She sighed dramatically. "My ex thought I was materialistic. Can you believe that? Just because I said I'd rather date a rich, handsome man who takes me out for dinner than an emotionally unavailable guy who sulks in a corner!"

"Harsh," he said, though his tone was amused.
"Honest," she corrected. "I mean, come on. Is it wrong to love designer dresses, bags, and a good meal?"

"Not at all," Isamu agreed. "Though your delivery might've been... direct."

"Men should mess up my lipstick, not my mascara," she declared.

Isamu grinned, his voice turning playful. "And how, pray tell, should I mess up your lipstick?"
Sara froze, caught off guard by his tone. "W-What?"

"You said it," he reminded her, his voice dripping with mischief. "I'm just curious."

Her voice grew flustered. "You... you're impossible, Daichi!"
"Am I?" he asked innocently.

"Yes! And you know it!"

He laughed, clearly enjoying her reaction. "Okay okay, I am insufferable. If it's any consolation, I think you're charming when you're flustered."
"I need to up my flirting game," she muttered. "If my boyfriend is this deadly, I don't stand a chance."

"You called me your boyfriend," he pointed out.
"Well... you are," she said, her voice softening.

His heart skipped a beat at her honesty, but he quickly masked it with another quip. "Glad we've clarified that."

The conversation flowed naturally from there, touching on lighter topics like their favorite foods and movies.

“I don't like the gooey flavour of Natto.” Sara pointed out.
“Natto is Earth flavoured!” Isamu shot back.

“You are the uncultured swine, clearly you have tasted so much of Natto that your taste buds are malfunctioning.”
“Correction: Not my taste buds but my heart.” 

Their banter continued, light and effortless, until Sara suddenly grew serious. “Daichi, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”

“Why didn’t you take off your mask during our first date?”
The question caught him off guard, but he recovered quickly, his voice steady as he replied, “I didn’t want to scare you. My face is… scarred.”

There was a pause, and then she said softly, “Daichi, I don’t care about scars. You’re handsome, mask or no mask.”

He swallowed hard, guilt flickering through him. Great. Now I need to fake a scar.

“You’re too kind,” he said lightly, deflecting.
“I’m serious,” she insisted. “You should show your face more. Let the world see how handsome my boyfriend is.”

Isamu chuckled, though her words stirred something deeper within him. “If you insist.”

Their conversation meandered through other topics—her favorite places in Kansai, his thoughts on the best way to brew matcha, and whether or not sushi was better with or without wasabi.

“Without, obviously,” Sara declared.
“Blasphemy,” Isamu countered.
“You’re impossible,” she said, laughing.
“And yet, here we are,” he replied smoothly.

As the call began winding down, Sara said, “By the way, Daichi…”
“Yes?”

“You’re a much better flirt than I expected,” she admitted, her tone light but tinged with sincerity.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice warm. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“I’ll take that as a challenge to improve,” she teased.
“I look forward to it.”

After they hung up, Isamu leaned back, a small smile playing on his lips. The moment was short-lived, however, as he heard muffled laughter outside his study door.

He stood and opened it to find Yumi, Daisuke, Megumi, and Eiji crouched there, grinning like school children and Cheshire cats, caught in the act.

“Eavesdropping, really?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
“We couldn’t help it!” Eiji exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You were being so cute!”

Isami messaged his temples.
Oh Kamisama…