Locked in A Cage of My Own Design

Shinohara Chocolat. If only it had been named differently, my mom rued. Then at least the shop wouldn’t have drawn so much scrutiny after the Academy made a spectacle of failed businesses. Every mention of it dragged her name along with it.

And I hated the helplessness of that, how a family name could turn from a trademark to a stain overnight without changing a single thing about the sugary inside, or care a single bit about the emotions behind the glass panes.

This stupid red necklace was cursed.

School was supposed to prepare students for society, not bring it crashing down all around them.

The students who signed with agencies had it so easy. Better yet, conglomerates are their representative businesses. If I transferred out of the Academy and reapplied with an agency as my representative business, I could even pivot into Media & Entertainment like Kotone and Yui, with layered contracts routing profits through video revenue instead of my family chocolaterie or my private chef life.

Right now, I didn’t have that option. Shinohara Chocolat, and Shinohara Chocolat alone, had to increase its profits. That was the only way I could stay enrolled. The fifteen school days remaining were ticking fast.

I had a lot of money. Yet, a donation risked putting my MidnightChef face in the wrong hands, so I thought smaller: minor sums to the estates I worked at, requests for support purchases through the shop. Some would refuse. It was bad karma, seen as charity to assist a failing business.

We had to change our brand image from “failing” to “recovering”. Then, we could actually start recovering in real money. In a sense, this was what the Academy pushed all marked students to do: prove you deserved to stay by making the market forgive you.

My parents were fighting tooth and nail to reassure suppliers and investors that our shop was still viable. We weren’t reopening until this weekend. This meant no revenue yet. But it gave us time to strategize. If we were going to reopen, it had to be a substantial event, and Yui was offering special promotion assistance.

Yui was a content creator in the affordability niche. She often created content about the prices of services and goods, and explained whether the price was right. It was within the scope of her channel to advocate for places like ours, especially with the press lampooning us and circling like sharks.

I was against it. The only one in my family. I planned to turn down Yui’s idea at the Academy.

“Our class president’s group was bothering me,” she admitted during our lunch break.

“…Define bothering.”

“Mm, look at you, Mr. Seriousface. It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing if you brought it to me.”

“Rintarō-kun, you’ve been jumping straight to worst-case scenario like it’s your sport.”

“It keeps people alive here. And you’re standing too close.”

“Am I? You say that like you’ve ever hated it.”

“This isn’t elementary school anymore.”

“Then stop acting like I need a hall pass to sit beside you. Say the real reason.”

“Don’t twist it. If you stay near me, they’ll turn you into a pity piece. ‘Affordability girl clings to a failing house’s leftovers.’”

“So, you’re protecting my image. You think I’m fragile? Oh… that’s adorable.”

“I think you’re valuable.”

“Careful, Rintarō-kun. When you say that so calmly, I start getting attached.”

“Well, here’s your bento. Don’t worry about them. I’m worried about what they’ll try to make you into, so don’t frame this as you helping me.”

“Then what do I frame it as, hm? Since you’re so clever.”

“Frame it as you hiring me, consulting for budget meals around the city, something your audience benefits from, so their narrative dies.”

“How horrible… turning my kindness into strategy.” Her smile deepened. “I like it, but it’s not how I work.”

“Tell me how you handled it.”

“I asked for their ranks.”

“You… what?”

“I smiled like this and said, ‘Oh? You’re in Entertainment too? What rank?’ and they suddenly remembered they had places to be.”

“Mmhm. Nicely done.”

“I know. And yes, before you say it, I’m aware it’s smarter to keep ranks private.”

“…But you still did it.”

“Because I’ve always liked doing things properly. And because I like watching you relax when you realize I’m capable.”

“I think your way’s better.”

“Say that again.”

“You can’t lie to yourself forever. You’ve always been careful about that.”

“Have you been lying, Rintarō-kun?”

“I’ve been evasive. Just choosing the exits that kept me safe. With you back, I’m starting to think… maybe my ‘most-correct’ way has been choosing what I knew wouldn’t hurt me as much. Or anyone else.”

And yet, harm was inevitable. This was as natural as the human right to be happy. ‘You went wrong somewhere,’ the necklace was telling me. I wouldn’t have this jewelry searing around my collar if that weren’t the case, right? I was searching for why that was. Where, in all my vigilant ways, did I go wrong?

“Good. That means you’re still in there.”

“Have I changed?”

“You have.”

“How?”

“You talk like everything’s a calculation. You hold your shoulders higher than ever, but your eyes don’t shine.” Yui didn’t look away. “It’s like you locked the brightest part of you in a room and posted guards.”

“Harsh.”

“Not harsh. Frustrating. Because you’re right here… and I still can’t reach that part of you.”

“And you want to meet him.”

“…Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t come back to recognize you as the MidnightChef. I came back to recognize your heart. I know there’s more in you than you’re letting anyone see. And I don’t want to be a stranger to that part. Never again.”

“That’s logic based on feelings.”

“Isn’t that how we found each other? Don’t push me away. Why are you still pushing?”

“If I told you… I’ll have to face myself.”

“Then I’ll be here. While you do.”

“You’re so emotionally bright, Yui-san. Like a star I want to catch up to.”

“If I’m a star, you’re a whole galaxy. I know it. So, stop acting like you’re small.”

How could I tell you? Telling you would mean facing myself and our past.

And lately, it felt like the world was crumbling and crashing in too fast.