The soft click of the black card in Sora's hand felt surreal as they entered the bustling shopping district. High-end storefronts glittered under the midday sun, mannequins posed behind polished glass with the kind of grace that always felt far removed from Emi's world. She didn't belong here. Not with her frayed bag strap digging into her shoulder. Not with her worn-out sneakers scuffing the pristine floor tiles.
But Sora had other ideas.
"I still can't believe he gave you that card," Emi muttered, trailing beside her friend. "I could live off that amount for months."
Sora smirked. "And he expects you to look like you belong in his world now. So I'm here to make sure you do."
Emi groaned under her breath, but Sora didn't slow down.
As they reached the first boutique, Sora paused just before pushing open the glass door. "Hey."
Emi glanced at her, brows raised.
"I saw the way he looks at you," Sora said, her voice softer now, more serious. "Ren Kazama. He doesn't look at people like that."
"Like what?" Emi asked, her tone more defensive than she intended.
"Like you matter. Like he wants to protect you," Sora replied simply. "Like you're not just one of his employees."
Emi looked away, tugging the sleeve of her cardigan down further over her wrist. "Don't be ridiculous. He's just being… kind. Maybe he pities me."
"Ren Kazama doesn't do pity," Sora said. "You might not want to admit it, but that man is watching you—and not in a bad way."
Before Emi could argue further, Sora pushed the door open, letting the rush of air-conditioning sweep over them.
The boutique was elegant, minimalist—too clean, too polished, too expensive. Emi hesitated, feet anchored just past the threshold, but Sora was already speaking to a smiling attendant.
Over the next hour, Emi was ushered in and out of fitting rooms, arms full of dresses, slacks, blouses, and skirts. Some professional, some more casual, all far nicer than anything she'd ever owned. Sora watched her like a hawk, occasionally adjusting a hem, nodding in approval, or tossing something aside with a shake of her head.
"This is cute," Sora said, holding up a cream-colored blouse with delicate embroidery near the collar. "Try this with the grey skirt."
"Sora… one of each is enough," Emi protested for the fifth time.
"One of each is for someone who plans to wear the same outfit until the buttons fall off. You're not living like that anymore."
"But—"
"No buts. Ren gave the card. We're using the card."
They ended up with multiple outfits—soft knits, neat trousers, a light coat for fall—and two pairs of sensible yet stylish shoes. When they reached the accessories section, Sora picked a sleek leather handbag and a more casual canvas tote.
"Pick," she said.
"I don't need—"
"You deserve both," Sora cut in, firm.
They stopped for drinks, and just when Emi thought they were done, Sora grinned mischievously. "Now for the fun part."
"…What?"
"The cosmetic store," Sora announced.
Emi sighed. "I don't wear makeup."
"You do now."
Half an hour later, Emi stood in front of a well-lit mirror as Sora dabbed BB cream onto her skin, gently brushing color onto her cheeks and guiding her through a simple eyeliner application. Lip tint. A light brow pencil. Nothing flashy, just enough to make her features softer, clearer, more defined.
When Emi looked up again, she blinked.
The girl in the mirror didn't look like a stranger—but she didn't look like the old Emi either. Her tired eyes were less sunken, her skin brightened with a soft glow. Her hair, combed and pinned to the side, framed her face differently. She looked like someone who could belong in a polished office. Like someone who hadn't been barely scraping by for the last five years.
The weight of that realization cracked something open.
She lowered the compact mirror slowly… and her vision blurred.
Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over before she could stop them. She didn't even realize she was crying until her breath hitched, and Sora immediately reached over, wrapping her arms around her.
"Hey—hey, no," Sora murmured, holding her tightly. "It's okay. It's just a bit of change. Just a bit of you coming back to life."
Emi couldn't speak for a long moment, her shoulders shaking as she quietly sobbed into her friend's shoulder.
"I've never… I never even thought about how I looked," she whispered finally. "There was just never time. Never energy. Every cent went to debt or school. I didn't know I looked so… tired. Until now."
Sora pulled back and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Maybe it's fate," she said softly. "Maybe meeting Ren wasn't just about clearing debt. Maybe it's the start of something better."
Emi wiped at her eyes. "Don't say that. Don't make me hope for something I can't have."
"You don't have to hope," Sora said. "You just have to let it happen."
And for once—just once—Emi didn't argue.
She let her heart rest in the quiet possibility of something better.
*****
When Emi stepped back into the sleek lobby of Kazama Corporation the next afternoon, the hush that fell over the reception was almost immediate. Conversations paused mid-sentence. A few heads turned. She wasn't used to that—not the attention, not the eyes. For years, she had perfected the art of being invisible. But today… something had shifted.
The soft blouse hugged her frame gently, tucked neatly into a pair of high-waisted slacks that were both professional and comfortable. Her newly trimmed hair framed her face with softness, her light makeup giving her a freshness she'd never known she could have. Everything Sora had picked the day before felt strange on her skin, like wearing someone else's life.
She took a steadying breath, tightening her grip on the handle of her new leather bag. Just walk. Just act normal.
The elevator ride felt too short.
When the doors opened and she stepped into the executive floor, she immediately spotted him.
Ren Kazama.
He stood by the tall windows, reviewing his phone in one hand while the morning sun cut a sharp line across his figure. He looked up the moment she entered, his gaze locking on her—and something in his expression… changed.
For a fleeting second, the usually impassive man froze.
His eyes swept over her—not in a way that made her uncomfortable, but in a way that made her heart flutter nervously. He wasn't expecting it. That much was clear. The cool detachment he often wore slipped just enough to reveal something else beneath.
She looked away quickly, suddenly too aware of her own body. The shoes felt too clean. The blouse too soft. The makeup too much. Maybe this had been a mistake.
Sora, as usual, had no such hesitation.
She stepped in behind Emi, a triumphant smile tugging at her lips as she handed Ren's card back across the desk.
"Mission accomplished," she said breezily.
Ren's gaze lingered on Emi a moment longer before turning to Sora. He accepted the card with a nod. "Thank you. She looks…" He paused, as though searching for a word that wouldn't give too much away. "Presentable."
"Presentable?" Sora echoed with a short laugh. "You handed me a card that could buy a car, and presentable is the best you can do?"
Ren's mouth twitched into a faint, almost reluctant smile. "She looks alive," he admitted. His voice was low, thoughtful now. "More than she did before."
Behind him, Daiki strolled in, coffee in hand. He whistled under his breath as he caught sight of Emi.
"Well, damn," he said, walking a slow circle around her. "Did you just walk out of a magazine, or…?"
Emi blushed furiously, her eyes dropping to the floor.
Sora smacked Daiki's arm lightly. "She always had it. She just never had the chance to look like it."
Ren's eyes never left Emi. As the small banter passed between his subordinates and her friend, something unfamiliar churned inside him. Admiration, yes. But also… unease.
She looked radiant now. Soft, bright, like something fragile pulled out of shadow.
And he hated—absolutely hated—the thought that someone else might notice.
That someone else might see her like this. That she might start smiling more. Laughing more. Drawing attention that had nothing to do with desperation or exhaustion—and everything to do with who she was, now that the weight was lifting.
He cleared his throat. "You'll start assisting on the reports today. Daiki will brief you."
Emi nodded, still avoiding his gaze. "Yes, Mr. Kazama."
His brow twitched faintly at the formal tone. "You can call me Ren. Everyone else does."
Emi hesitated. "I… I'll try."
Sora grinned, nudging her subtly. "That's her version of 'thank you,' in case you missed it."
Ren looked at Emi for a long moment, then finally said, "Don't forget to rest. You don't need to burn yourself out anymore."
"I know," Emi said softly.
But as he turned and walked back to his desk, she wondered—if he truly understood just how much those small kindnesses had meant to her.
And Ren?
As he sat down again, pretending to read through the reports, all he could think about was how easily she had unsettled him—with nothing more than a quiet presence… and the look in her eyes he still hadn't figured out.