"You've caused us trouble, but thank you so much."
At the amusement park's ticket gate, an ordinary middle-aged couple, clutching their lost-and-found child, bowed repeatedly in gratitude.
"No need for big gestures—it's nothing, just a small favor. Be more careful next time," Takizawa and Uchida stood side by side, waving off the thanks humbly.
"Saki, say thank you to them," The mother said, stroking the girl's hair.
"Thank onii-san, onee-chan, bye-bye," Saki said with her big watery eyes gleaming.
Just a toddler, already wielding a "goddess" charm—destined to break countless innocent boys' hearts. City girls, huh.
Soon, Saki rode off on her real dad's shoulders.
Watching the true family of three wave goodbye and fade into the crowd, the four agency newcomers stood, exchanging glances.
"Quite a coincidence, running into you like this. I was just thinking of messaging you," Matsuoka said with a smile.
"You and Sakura-chan met up on the way?" Takizawa asked, curious.
"Yeah," Matsuoka nodded, subtly stepping away from the girl behind him. Part caution around pretty women, part instinct sensing danger.
"Sakura-chan looks full of energy today," Takizawa said, flashing a sunny grin at his old friend.
No immediate reply.
After knowing her so long, he'd built a mental profile: boyish flair, well-mannered, quirky, thoughts always wandering, always in different brand-name outfits, moods as volatile as stocks—sometimes warm as spring, sometimes icy, pointing fingers. Like his mental archive, a Schrödinger's series.
Takizawa studied her.
Hands in pockets, eyes sharp, lips downturned—like a worker whose project got sent back for rework, fuming but silent. Today's mood dial: Minor Misfortune, Prone to Snark.
Fine, avoid the landmine.
"Still, you're the carefree one, always slacking off," Sakura finally huffed, smirking coldly.
As expected, a barbed jab. Prepared, Takizawa grinned gracefully. "Weren't you stressed about midterms? How's it going? Need this cold, history-quiz-machine senpai to tutor?"
"No thanks. Just an average, struggling student. How could I trouble a top-school scholar with hand-holding lessons?" Sakura said coolly.
"Didn't say hand-holding. Too much hassle. Snap pics of the questions you don't get and send them over."
"?"
"Want me to mark out a study focus?" Takizawa pressed.
"No! Don't need it!" Sakura snapped.
Not only dodging studies but broadcasting it. Now everyone knows you're headed for make-up exams.
Takizawa shook his head, disappointed.
"You two seem close," Uchida noted, raising an eyebrow at his unfazed reaction to her jabs.
"Decent, I guess. We hit the arcade sometimes," Takizawa said, then, undeterred, added, "Actually, Uchida, next time you could—"
"Nah, I'm done with arcades. Time-consuming, and I've got studies," Sakura interjected, reciting lazily.
"What?! Our Blood Warrior vs. Zombie King high score?!" Takizawa gasped.
"Get her to play with you."
"It's real-world check-ins for the limited-edition reward! Two levels left! You're bailing now? All for nothing?"
"Whatever," Sakura shrugged, indifferent.
"Breaking promises so young, like it's nothing? I've gotta fix you for Sakura-san, set you straight!" Takizawa rolled up his sleeves, glaring.
"Huh?! You gonna hit me?" Sakura snorted, stepping forward defiantly.
"Just a shoulder massage," Takizawa deflated, chuckling sheepishly.
"Didn't you say I'm a flake who needs fixing?" Sakura eyed him.
"For issues, there's harsh medicine or gentle care. Kidding—I'd never hurt you. Couldn't bear it. Exes can reconcile, torn paper can be taped. I'm sure you were just hyping the mood."
Sakura stood, arms crossed, waiting for more of his slick talk.
Takizawa cut his losses, shelving the arcade score.
Switching gears, he introduced the new colleague, acting like a seasoned agent despite never visiting the office. "This is Uchida, joined just a term after us. Welcome! And this is Sakura-chan—top-notch skills, clear voice like a mountain stream, and young, with limitless potential."
"Heard of her," Uchida smiled. "Didn't you and Matsuoka-kun do a magazine interview as star students?"
"Oh, yeah," Matsuoka said, hands behind back, gazing off.
"This is Uchida Maaya—gorgeous, kind, approachable, worth befriending," Takizawa added.
"Met her at the training school," Sakura said, as if describing a classmate from another homeroom.
"Huh? That close?" Takizawa blinked.
"Not counting Sakura-san, we three were in the same class," Matsuoka said, resigned. "You were a special student, short stint, but we took lessons together."
"Oh, right," Takizawa coughed.
News to him.
"Your memory's spotty, Takizawa-kun. We didn't talk much at school, but you treated me like a stranger just now," Uchida teased, her signature faint smile on.
"No way, his memory's sharp. He even memorize scripts," Matsuoka defended his friend.
"So he's deliberately cold?" Uchida countered.
"Not what I meant…" Matsuoka trailed off.
"Whatever. We're back at square one now. I'm a step behind, but I'll catch up," Uchida said, tilting her head softly. "Let's start fresh, as better versions of ourselves. Takizawa-kun, please guide me."
Her words carried unexpected weight.
"Likewise," Takizawa paused, then said, "Here's to working together."
"Anyone got Nakajima-san's contact?" Sakura cut in.
"I do," Matsuoka pulled out his phone, relieved to change the subject. He'd wanted to call but lacked the opening. Sakura was blunt as ever.
He dialed, the signal soaring like an invisible sprite, riding the wind through the bustling crowd, landing dutifully to ring the recipient's phone.
A nostalgic, retro ringtone sounded nearby.
The four turned toward the vintage melody.
Plain hairstyle, simple framed glasses, gray jacket, practiced crossed legs. The middle-aged man sipped a drink through a straw, lounging on a flowerbed's edge like a theatergoer.
"Caught me," The man muttered regretfully, silencing the call.
"Nakajima-san?" Matsuoka blinked, confused. "When did you get there?"
"While you were spying on them, I was spying on you and them," The man said, low and cryptic, like quoting a proverb.
"You're not a kid journaling ants…?"
"Pity. If I'd muted, I might've seen something better," The man sighed skyward. "Like humanity, raw emotion, or lonely-as-snow awkwardness."
"Stop talking like a mad scientist!"
***
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