A few of the female staff from the general office floor had gathered near the breakroom hallway, glancing toward the executive office.
Specifically… the desk of their tall, handsome superior.
"Look," one of them whispered, nudging her friend with her elbow. "There's a bento box on his desk."
Another leaned in. "Eh? Is that a homemade one? It looks so neatly packed."
"It's not store-bought, I'm sure," the third whispered. "Just look at the wrapping. That's cloth—furoshiki. Folded beautifully."
"…A love bento," someone sighed. "I bet she even shaped the rice into hearts or something."
"I thought his wife was in Tokyo," one of the younger girls said, biting her lip.
"She is… isn't she?"
"Then who made that?"
A moment of silence passed. Then another girl sighed.
"If his wife is here, we don't have a chance…"
They all groaned softly, exchanging quiet giggles and whispers of disappointment.
"Still… that's so sweet. He must be really loved."
One of them smiled wistfully.
