…That was actually not a terrible idea.

"You’ve thought about this before," he remarked.

"Of course. I plan for all kinds of dumb life scenarios. What if I get kidnapped? What if I accidentally get drafted into the mafia? What if my landlord secretly turns out to be a fugitive on the run?"

His fingers stilled against the desk. "…The last one is oddly specific."

"I’ve seen things, Daichi."

He shook his head, amusement flickering in his gaze. "And yet, you’re still ‘renting’ from me."

"That’s because my other ‘options’ suck. And, you give great therapy for free."

"This is not therapy."

"If you say so."

A small silence settled between them.

For the first time since the meeting with his father, his mind wasn’t weighed down by obligations, duty, or corporate maneuvers. Just an absurd conversation with a woman who had no idea who he really was.

And for some reason… he didn’t mind that.

"Daichi?"

"Hm?"

"Are you still brooding?"

"I don’t brood."

"Lies. Want me to come over? We can complain about life, eat cheap convenience store ramen—but if you are willing to pay for some wangyu beef, then yeah—and watch terrible reality TV shows."

Isamu exhaled a soft chuckle. "And what do you gain from that?"

"The satisfaction of knowing I helped an emotionally constipated man work through his issues. And wangyu for free!"

He glanced at the time. Midnight.

It was far too late, and yet, for some reason, he wasn’t in a hurry to end the call.

"I’ll think about it."

"Good. You’re welcome in advance."

The line had gone silent, but neither of them had hung up. Sara must have assumed the conversation was over because she hummed a random tune, likely scrolling through her phone. Isamu, on the other hand, found himself hesitating.

He wasn’t sure why he wanted the call to last longer. Maybe it was because she was a distraction from his own problems, or maybe it was because he hasn't talked like this with someone—a woman, after so many years.

So, before she could say goodbye, he asked—

"What about you?"

There was a beat of silence.

"Huh?"

"How are you?"

Sara snorted. "Pfft, why do you sound like you're about to diagnose me?"

"Remember you voted me as your therapist? Are you in need of therapy?"

"Always. But I prefer mine with sushi and pity parties."

His lips twitched. "Noted."

She let out a deep sigh. "You really want to know?"

"I wouldn’t ask otherwise."

"Ugh, fine." A dramatic pause. Then, in an exasperated voice—"The universe hates me."

Isamu leaned back in his chair, intrigued. "That’s a bold claim."

"Bold? No, it’s FACTS." She huffed. "First, my boyfriend—sorry, EX-boyfriend—cheats on me, I got the news from my sources yesterday. Oh, by the way, I blocked him yet he sent me a message from another number…something about me not ever finding a better guy than him. Then, my rent is due and guess what? I’m broke. And THEN, my boss decides it’s ‘Let’s make Sara suffer’ week. Boss seems to think ‘junior designer’ is code for ‘do everything.’ Layouts, social media, typography—you name it. And because I’m twenty-four, they think I need to prove myself every second of the day. "

“And do you?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Sara hesitated. “Sometimes. When I started, I thought I’d be designing beautiful campaigns, winning awards, maybe even running my own studio. But now... it just feels like work.”

Isamu’s tone softened. “Dreams have a way of finding us when we least expect it.”

Sara laughed lightly. “You’re full of surprises, Daichi-san. Are all landlords this philosophical, or is it just you?”

“Just me,” he said, leaning back in his chair. Then he continued in a teasing voice. “But your day was definitely unlucky.”

Sara's infectious laughter returned.

"Right?! And the worst part? That’s not even all of it."

"Oh? There’s more?"

"Of course. My neighbor’s dog stole my lunch yesterday. My taxi app glitched and charged me double. AND my favorite café closed down. If this isn't proof that the universe is personally attacking me, I don’t know what is."

Isamu shook his head, a small chuckle escaping before he could stop it. "A stolen lunch, overpriced rides, and a café closure. Truly, a tragedy."

"You mock my pain, but you will never understand my suffering."

"Enlighten me then."

Sara groaned. "It’s not just the little things! My entire LIFE is falling apart."

"Mm. Speaking of that, what exactly do you do?"

There was a suspicious pause.

Then, in the most comically deadpan voice, she said—

"I just told you I am a designer, right? I’m a designer at Valerie."

Isamu stilled.

"...Valerie?"

"Yep. You know, the fashion brand? Dresses, luxury wear, overpriced scarves? That Valerie."

He blinked. Of all places.

Valerie wasn’t just a fashion brand—it was a company under Fujin Ltd. In other words… he was technically her overlord.

But of course, Sara had no idea.

"Interesting." He kept his tone neutral. "Do you like it?"

"Do I like being overworked and underpaid? Let me think—NO."

"I take it your boss isn’t ideal?"

"Oh, she’s not just ‘not ideal.’ She’s like the devil’s personal assistant."

Isamu raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"

"That bad." She exhaled dramatically. "I swear, the woman breathes deadlines. If stress could take human form, it would be her."

He smirked slightly. "Sounds like a competent leader."

"Ugh, you sound just like her! 'Sara, this design isn’t aligned with the brand’s vision.' 'Sara, we can’t afford another deadline extension.' 'Sara, if you don’t stop doodling chibis in the margins, I’ll—' blah blah blah."

Isamu actually laughed at that.

"You doodle during work?"

"Obviously. How else am I supposed to cope?"

"And yet you complain about the stress."

"It’s called work-life balance, Daichi."

"I think you’re missing the ‘work’ part."

"Pfft, details."

Isamu shook his head, amusement flickering in his eyes.

If only she knew the truth—that the very man she was complaining about was currently on the other end of the call, listening to her rant like it was free entertainment.

"Well, if you hate your job so much, why not quit?" he asked, just to see her reaction.

Sara let out an offended gasp. "Quit?! And let my boss win? Never. I’m going to outlast that old hag, Daichi. One day, she’ll retire, and I’ll be free."

Isamu smirked. "Bold of you to assume she plans to retire."

"Don’t say that. You’re scaring me."

He chuckled, rubbing his temple. "Perhaps she enjoys her job."

"Perhaps she enjoys my suffering."

He couldn’t argue with that. After all, he was certainly enjoying this conversation. Maybe her boss—Mrs. Haruka—too, enjoyed her presence in the company.

But before he could say more, Sara let out a small yawn.

"Ugh, I should sleep. I have work tomorrow, and I don’t need another lecture about ‘professionalism’ or ‘meeting deadlines’ or whatever corporate nonsense my boss will throw at me."

"Yes, wouldn’t want that."

"I knew you’d understand."

Isamu leaned back, fingers tapping lightly against the desk. He didn’t want to end the call just yet, but he knew she was already half-asleep.

So instead, he said, "Goodnight, Sara."

She yawned again. "Night, Daichi. Don’t let your marriage problems keep you up."

And with that, she hung up.

Isamu stared at his phone for a moment before setting it down, a smirk still lingering on his lips.

Of all the things that had happened tonight—the conversation with his father, the weight of expectations—this was what had put him in a better mood.

Sara had no idea who he really was.

And yet, somehow, she understood him better than most.