Shiraishi Sara wasn’t just having a bad day—she was experiencing an existential crisis of K-drama proportions. And not the good kind.
There were no passionate airport chases, no dramatic back hugs, and definitely no brooding chaebol prince whispering, "I could ruin you, but I'd rather love you."
No.
What she had was a pathetically bland breakup that had left her seething instead of heartbroken.
"You’re so… extra. And materialistic. It’s embarrassing."
Materialistic? Extra?!
As if she’d ever pretended to be anything but a woman of high standards!
Yes, she liked designer handbags. Yes, she preferred five-star sushi over convenience store bento. And yes, she may have made a passing comment that ramen should only be served in a gold-rimmed bowl—but that was just common sense!
Right?
Now, three cocktails deep at her favorite izakaya, she was no longer in the crying stage. She had advanced to the far more chaotic stage of heartbreak: vindictive storytelling.
With a dramatic slam, she placed her glass on the counter, startling the bartender, who had clearly seen enough drunken disasters to consider walking away.
“That’s it!” she declared, nearly toppling off her barstool. “I’m calling Yuri.”
After three failed attempts to unlock her phone (her thumb was suspiciously uncooperative), she finally hit the call button.
The moment the line connected, she didn't even bother waiting for a greeting.
“YURI!” she bellowed, startling the elderly couple at the next table. “You will NOT believe the absolute nonsense I just endured!”
Silence.
Then, a voice—deep, smooth, and very much not Yuri’s—replied.
“…I don’t think I’m Yuri.”
Sara frowned, pulling the phone away to squint at the screen. The unknown number was a complete blur, courtesy of alcohol and selective rage-induced blindness.
“…Who is this?” she asked suspiciously.
“I could ask you the same thing,” the man replied, his voice laced with amusement. “But since you’re the one yelling at me, I’ll let you go first.”
Sara groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Ugh, fine. My name is Sara. And I’m currently experiencing a romantic betrayal of the highest order.”
“…Should I be concerned?”
“Yes! Because my ex is a delusional peasant who doesn’t appreciate luxury!”
A pause. Then:
“…I feel like there’s a lot to unpack here.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Sara huffed. “Let me educate you, Random Stranger.”
“Name's Daichi,” he supplied, sounding far too amused.
“Well, Daichi, you’ve just been promoted to my temporary therapist. Congratulations. No refunds.”
“…Alright, temporary therapist is new,” Daichi mused. “But go on. What exactly happened?”
Sara took a deep, dramatic breath.
“My ex dumped me for having taste.”
“…Taste?”
“Yes. Taste. Appreciation for quality. The ability to distinguish between ‘just okay’ and ‘absolute perfection.’”
“Sounds reasonable,” Daichi said smoothly.
"Exactly! But apparently, my ex—Tetsuya, that soulless goblin—disagrees!"
“…Goblin?”
"Yes! He had the nerve to say, and I quote, ‘Sara, not everything has to be designer-material. Can’t you just be normal?’”
Daichi snorted. “That’s verbatim?”
“Word for word,” she seethed. “And you know what my crime was? Liking nice things! Prioritizing quality! Appreciating the finer things in life!”
“…Such as?”
Sara slammed a hand on the counter. “Handbags, sushi, and skincare that doesn’t smell like chemically burnt disappointment!”
Daichi chuckled. “That’s quite the list.”
“Oh, I’m not done,” she warned. “He lost his mind when I said that ramen should only be served in a gold-rimmed bowl.”
A long pause.
“…I feel like there’s a story there.”
Sara scoffed, swirling her cocktail with a vengeance. “It wasn’t even that serious! We were at a nice restaurant, okay? Beautiful ambiance, premium Wagyu ramen, imported truffle oil drizzle—”
“…Wait. Truffle oil?”
“Yes, Daichi, because I am a civilized woman with a palate!”
He let out a full-bodied laugh, and for some reason, the sound sent a strange warmth through her.
“Please,” he said, trying to contain his amusement, “continue.”
“Anyway,” she went on, “the ramen came in this absolutely stunning black lacquer bowl. Gorgeous, but I just casually mentioned that a gold-rimmed one would’ve made the experience peak luxury. And do you know what Tetsuya said?”
“…What?”
“Sara, do you even hear yourself?” she mimicked in a deep, whiny voice.
Daichi laughed again. “And then?”
“And then, he went on a tirade about how I’m shallow and materialistic and ‘embarrassing to be around. How I don’t care about money—like excuse me sir?’”
“…Oof.”
"Oof?! Oof?! That’s all you have to say?!"
“I mean,” Daichi said, clearly entertained, “if I’m playing devil’s advocate—”
Sara gasped, scandalized. “DON’T YOU DARE.”
“I have to ask,” he teased. “Do you think maybe he had a tiny point?”
“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”
“You’re sure?”
“Liking nice things is not a crime, Daichi!” she declared dramatically. “Some of us strive for excellence! Some of us refuse to live like barbarians drinking instant coffee from chipped mugs!”
Daichi coughed, sounding suspiciously guilty. “…Hypothetically speaking, would a regular ceramic mug count as barbaric?”
“Yes.”
A pause. Then:
“Well. Damn.”
Sara slumped back into her barstool, her phone pressed to her ear as she took another dramatic sip from her cocktail. The bartender gave her a skeptical look but wisely kept his distance.
“You won’t believe this, Daichi,” she slurred, suddenly back on her ranting track. “I swear Tetsuya must’ve had a PhD in being emotionally unavailable.”
“An honorary one, I assume,” Daichi quipped dryly.
“Yes! Exactly!” Sara exclaimed, nearly toppling over in her excitement. “I’d be sitting there, all cozy, thinking we were having a moment—like, you know, the kind where he looks at me all serious and romantic, and then I’m like, Oh, here it comes...”
“Ah, the romantic ‘Here it comes,’” Daichi teased, clearly enjoying her rant.
“Exactly!” Sara hiccupped and almost knocked over her glass. “And then—AND THEN—he goes, ‘So… what do you think about the new iPhone?’ Like, that’s it! The pinnacle of romance!”
She let out a dramatic sigh. “I’m pouring my soul into this, talking about my favorite color and the dreamy candlelit dinners, and he's asking me if I’ve seen the latest iphone update.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by Daichi’s dry and sarcastic voice, “You’re absolutely right. Nothing says true love like software updates.”
Sara snorted. “Right?! And don’t get me started on our second date, which he said would be ‘special.’”
“Oh boy,” Daichi said, already knowing where this was going. “What was it? Skydiving? A spa retreat?”
“No! We went to an all-you-can-eat sushi buffet!” Sara threw her arms up as though she'd discovered a new level of absurdity. “Like, who plans a ‘special’ date around bottomless sashimi?”
“Sounds like someone’s priorities are in the right place,” Daichi commented with a half-laugh. “Did it at least live up to the hype?”
“Well, for me, yes! I was living my best life, Daichi! I was free!” She practically giggled, even in her slightly tipsy state. “But Tetsuya—Tetsuya spent the whole time measuring how much salmon he could eat per minute like it was some sort of competition. He actually timed himself.”
“Competitive eating, huh? Now that’s real romance,” Daichi said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did he win?”
“Oh, he won alright,” Sara groaned. “He ate his weight in sushi, and by the end of it, I swear he looked like a bloated koi fish. And then—AND THEN—he said, ‘I think I’ve found my true calling.’”
“True calling?” Daichi stifled a laugh.
“Yeah! Can you believe it? That was his moment of self-discovery,” she said, voice laced with disbelief. “But of course, I didn’t get the ‘true calling’ speech. No, I got, ‘So, you wanna get dessert?’”
“Ah, romance at its finest. I’m sure that’s what you dreamed of all those years.” Daichi’s tone was completely deadpan.
Sara giggled, her tipsiness kicking in full-force. “Oh, but wait. You’re gonna love this.”
“I’m waiting,” Daichi said, clearly amused by her antics.
“So, we get to dessert,” Sara continued, her voice dropping into an overly dramatic tone. “And I say, ‘Hey, how about that exquisite crème brûlée?’ and he—I kid you not—he looks at me dead in the eye and says, ‘Don't you think it’s too sweet for you?’”
Daichi let out a full, hearty laugh this time. “Oh my god. What did you say?”
“I said, ‘What do you mean? It’s crème brûlée! It’s supposed to be sweet!’” Sara spilled her drink in her excitement. “And he goes, ‘No, but like, I’ve been really into balanced flavors lately. You know, like savory desserts.’”
Daichi was silent for a moment, and when he finally spoke, he was barely containing his laughter. “Savory desserts? Is he a dessert connoisseur now?”Sara was wiping her eyes with laughter. “Seriously! I was this close to breaking up with him right then and there.” She paused for effect. “But then—guess what?—he tells me he’ll pay for my meal and suddenly I was like, ‘Okay, maybe I’ll give it another shot.’”
“You were willing to overlook the savory dessert catastrophe for a free meal?”
“I know, I know! Shameful. But it’s the principle of the thing! You can’t just casually throw out ‘savory desserts’ without some serious explanation! And since he was willing to pay for everything, it seemed okay with me to indulge in some misery.”
“I’m with you on that one,” Daichi agreed, sounding completely unbothered by her outrageous anecdotes.
“Of course you are,” Sara said, a little too fondly. “You get it. You really do.”
“Mm-hmm. I’m basically an expert on bad dates by now,” Daichi teased. “I’m just glad you didn’t actually end up with someone who would actually try to serve you ‘savory crème brûlée.’”
“Don’t give ‘em ideas,” Sara groaned, pretending to be horrified. “Now I’ll have to put that on the list of potential disasters for my future boyfriend!”
“Oh please,” Daichi said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “No more disasters. You deserve someone who can at least match your love for designer bags.”
“Thank you,” Sara said dramatically, “Thank you, Daichi. I’ve been telling everyone that for years! My bags deserve a better class of man!”
Daichi chuckled quietly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Sara blinked, momentarily sobered. She realized she was genuinely enjoying the conversation. Not only was Daichi the best accidental therapist, but he was also funny—something Tetsuya had sorely lacked.
“I’m gonna need a drink to keep up with this conversation,” she muttered, signaling for another cocktail.
“Wise choice,” Daichi replied, almost affectionately. “You’re not quite as insufferable when you’re tipsy, but I imagine you’re still better company than your ex-boyfriend Tetsuya.”
“Oh, I am. I totally am.” She grinned. “No one’s ever gonna beat my champion-level ranting, Daichi. You’re lucky to witness this level of excellence.”
“I’m honored,” Daichi said with a wry smile. "But seriously, when you're done with the cocktails, you may want to look into blocking that guy, which I presume you still haven't done. It’s the right thing to do. And for what it's worth, your ex sounds like an idiot."
“Oh, trust me,” Sara said, her confidence unwavering despite the alcohol. “Tetsuya’s getting the block and the refund for the wasted sushi.”
She then smirked, her frustration finally melting away. “You know, Daichi… you should consider a career in crisis counseling.”
“I don’t think my actual job allows for that.”
“Oh? What do you do?”
There was a beat of silence. Then, with a lazy sort of amusement, he said, “Just a Landlord. Sort of property management.”
“Hah! See, I knew you sounded suspiciously patient. That explains it—you’re used to dealing with needy tenants.”
“Something like that,” he mused.
Sara hummed, stretching as the alcohol-induced warmth spread through her limbs. “Well, Mr. Property Manager, thanks for letting me vent. You’re surprisingly tolerable for a stranger.”
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve said all night.”
“Don’t get used to it,” she muttered, rubbing her sleepy eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go home and rethink my entire romantic history.”
“Sounds productive.”
“Oh, wildly. And you know what?”
“What?”
“You’re right. My ex is an idiot.”
“Pfft—! I didn’t say that.”
“Well, you should have,” she huffed.
Daichi chuckled. “Noted.”
Sara smirked, her frustration finally melting away. “You know, Daichi… for a random stranger, you’re not terrible.”
“Not terrible?” he echoed, feigning offense.
“Fine. Above average.”
“…I’ll take it.”
She ended the call with a dramatic sigh, tossed her phone into her bag, and promptly waved down a taxi.
Meanwhile, several blocks away, Fujin Isamu leaned back in his penthouse suite, staring at his phone with a bemused smirk.
Not terrible?
He couldn't remember the last time someone had insulted and complimented him in the same breath.
As the CEO of Fujin Tech Ltd.—Japan’s leading AI and robotics empire— he was used to people either fearing him or worshiping him.
But this woman?
She had called him an accidental therapist, a property manager, ranted about gold-rimmed ramen bowls, complained about failed dates—even labeling him as “above average.”
He should have been annoyed. Instead, he found himself intrigued.
He exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head.
“What an interesting woman.”
Then, with the same calculating ease that had built his billion-dollar empire, he opened his contacts to save the unknown number.
It had been a long time since he had last done that.
Maybe this was the best mistake of his life.
1. Chaebol — "Rich Family"; a family-controlled industrial conglomerate in South Korea
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