“Congratulations, You’re Doomed”

“Airi, I need intervention,” Saki groaned, struggling with the zipper that was refusing to ascend past her ribcage. “My life depends on this outfit. Friday’s event is the highlight of the corporate calendar, and I refuse to look anything less than irresistible to the senior partners.”

Airi, perched on the edge of the bed, absently scrolled through her notes app, reviewing the thematic framework for Ren’s next album. Persistence, Defiance, Finding Courage. She barely registered the dress crisis.

“It looks great, Saki,” Airi mumbled, not looking up.

“It looks like a sausage casing, Airi! Focus! You’re the fashion guru now—you literally own cocktail attire. What should I wear? The sapphire jumpsuit, or the black velvet sheath?” Saki slid off the stool, holding up two competing outfits.

Airi sighed, dragging herself back to the mundane reality of office life. Her own upcoming attendance at the event—a mandatory Friday evening dinner at a mid-tier Shinjuku hotel ballroom—was a significant source of irritation. Every hour spent networking and eating dry chicken was an hour she couldn’t spend writing the opening track for Ren’s next album.

“Okay, stop,” Airi said, finally putting her phone down. She walked over to the closet. “The jumpsuit is too aggressive for an office event; you’re selling flair, not power. The black velvet sheath is perfect. Classic, elegant, and you can accessorize with the silver geometric necklace to give it that marketing-firm edge.”

Saki’s face instantly brightened. “That’s why I keep you around! You’re the only person who speaks both the language of style and the language of corporate strategy.” She tossed the black dress over her arm. “Right. My outfit is sorted. Now, your turn.”

Airi froze. “My turn for what?”

“The outfit, silly! We’re going to the same party. You can’t wear your usual drab archive colors. You’ve been so happy and confident lately—you need to show that off. What are you wearing on Friday?”

Airi gestured vaguely toward her own closet, which contained mostly sweaters and muted tones. “I don’t know. Something sensible. Black trousers, maybe a button-down. I’m just going to eat, listen to Mr. Sako lectures about efficiency, and leave.”

Saki advanced, hands on her hips. “Absolutely not. You are a successful, secretly wealthy composer whose songs are currently setting international pre-order records. You are wearing something that makes you look like you have secrets. Get that dusty beige sweater out of the way.”

Airi tried to argue, but Saki was already rummaging through her limited wardrobe. Within minutes, Saki had pulled out a forgotten charcoal skirt and a wine-colored silk blouse that Airi rarely wore.

“This,” Saki declared, holding them up. “Sophisticated, artistic, and looks great with your glasses. You look like a woman with a compelling side hustle. Done. Now, let’s go practice your polite smile.”

~

Friday evening arrived, bringing with it the relentless, forced cheer of the Corporation Annual Dinner. The air in the hotel ballroom was thick with the scent of cheap florals and ambition. Airi, feeling uncharacteristically visible in her wine-colored blouse, navigated the crowded room with the sole goal of avoiding Mr. Sako.

She was cornered almost instantly, not by Sako, but by the Vice President of their division, a stout, jovial man named Mr. Tanaka who rarely spoke to anyone below the manager level.

“Ah, Komatsu-san! There you are!” Mr. Tanaka boomed, waving a hand in the air, nearly knocking over a waiter. “Sako-san has been singing your praises all week! That data migration report? Absolutely brilliant! Timely, accurate, and astonishingly comprehensive.”

Airi managed a tight smile. “Thank you, Mr. Tanaka. I was happy to contribute.”

“Contribute? You saved us! That report was instrumental to the CEO’s presentation this morning. Sako-san tells me you sacrificed your own time and applied exceptional rigor. Dedication like that doesn't go unnoticed here, Komatsu-san.”

Airi felt a sudden, cold dread pool in her stomach. She had only worked so hard and fast to get the report out of her hair so she could focus on Ren's second album.

She glanced nervously at Mr. Sako, who was approaching them with the satisfied expression of a predator closing a successful deal.

Mr. Sako beamed at Airi—a rare, scary sight. "Komatsu-san, I am delighted to announce that your outstanding performance this quarter, culminating in the indispensable data report, has earned you recognition. Effective Monday, you are being promoted to Senior Archiving Analyst."

A collective murmur rippled through the nearby cluster of colleagues. Saki, standing a few feet away, shot Airi a frantic, questioning look that was a mix of pride and confusion.

"Your salary will reflect the increased responsibilities, of course," Mr. Sako continued, placing a heavy, congratulatory hand on Airi’s shoulder. "Your new duties will include overseeing the new digital file implementation system, managing the Q1 budget projections, and heading up the compliance training program. It's a significant step up, Komatsu-san. Well deserved."

Airi stood there, the forced smile freezing on her face. Her mind went blank, save for one catastrophic calculation: More responsibility means more mandatory hours. More mandatory hours means less time in the studio. Less time in the studio means failing Ren.

The room seemed to spin slightly. Everyone around her was offering warm, sincere congratulations.

"That's wonderful news, Komatsu-san!"

"A big step!"

"Congratulations on the raise!"

Airi felt a mounting, internal panic. This promotion—this hallmark of success in the ordinary world—was the single worst thing that could happen to her music career right now. The extra work was a chain, anchoring her to the corporate life she had been actively trying to escape.

"Thank you, Mr. Sako. I... I am very grateful," Airi managed, her voice thin and high, sounding completely unconvincing even to her own ears.

Mr. Sako mistook her shock for humility. "Excellent. We will meet first thing Monday to discuss your new five-year plan for the department."

As soon as Mr. Sako and Mr. Tanaka moved on, Saki grabbed Airi's arm and dragged her into a relatively quiet corner near the buffet table.

"Airi, what just happened?" Saki whispered fiercely, her eyes wide. "Senior Analyst? That's huge! You get a raise and a corner of a cubicle!"

Airi slumped, her previous joy over the wine-colored blouse completely gone. "I got trapped, Saki. I worked fast to get out, and instead, I dug myself deeper in."

"But, the money!"

"The money is insignificant compared to the time!" Airi hissed, keeping her voice low. "Ren needs the first drafts for the second album in four weeks. I need three full hours every night. I can't oversee compliance training and manage Q1 budgets and write a full pop album at the same time!"

Saki stared at her, finally understanding the source of Airi's distress. "So, you're not happy?"

Airi shook her head vehemently. "No! I'm ruined! This promotion is going to derail the one thing I care about. I have a genuine, professional musical career starting, and now I'm stuck planning corporate efficiency meetings."

"Okay, okay, calm down," Saki instructed, pulling two glasses of water from a passing tray. "Drink this. You're panicking. You're clearly in the wrong place if a promotion makes you this miserable."

Saki looked around the room—at the smiling, ambitious faces, at the clinking glasses, at the forced formality.

"Look, you just got a raise. You have leverage. You need to leverage the money from R.I. Publishing to protect your time," Saki said, tapping Airi’s hand. "We'll brainstorm this. Maybe you can outsource some of your new duties. Maybe you take a permanent lunch hour and dedicate it entirely to composition. You're a Senior Analyst now; they expect you to delegate."

Airi took a shaky sip of water, the cold liquid doing little to soothe her frazzled nerves. Delegation. An excuse. A way to fight back.

"I have to find a way," Airi muttered, looking out across the ballroom, no longer seeing colleagues, but seeing obstacles. The corporate world had drawn a line in the sand, and it was demanding that she prioritize spreadsheets over sonatas.

Airi straightened her shoulders, a spark of defiance replacing the panic. She had accepted a contract to write songs about persistence and defiance. It was time to live up to her own lyrics.