Chapter One— The Experiment

Spring in Kyoto had a way of sneaking up on people. One day the streets were normal, grayish, sleepy; the next, everything was pink. Sakura petals swirled in the air like confetti nobody asked for, drifting lazily down from trees lining the Kamogawa River. Tourists stopped every few steps to take photos. Students sprawled on benches or leaned against railings, pretending to study but actually watching the petals float past. And somewhere, someone was holding a cup of taiyaki, probably spilling red bean paste on their hand and not ever noticing. Satomi Wanatabe hated all of it.

Not the flowers. Not really. They were beautiful. But there something— something unbearably, irritatingly romantic about Kyoto in spring. Couples held hands. Strangers smiled too much at each other. People whispered secrets they thought were private. And there she was, sitting on a cracked wooden bench with her laptop on her lap, staring at a blinking cursor like it was mocking her, wondering why her life had suddenly turned into a rom-com cliche without her consent.

Her article was supposed to be about modern romance among university students. She had interviewed five couples already, taken notes, and written down quotes that sounded like they belonged in a sociology textbook. But her editor had shot it down mercilessly. Every paragraph was underlined in red. Every word deemed “ too logical” was struck through with squiggly angry lines.

“ You can’t write about love like a robot,” her editor had told her that morning, waving his hands as if he could physically slap emotion into her words.

 Satomi had stared at him. “ I’m not a robot.”

“ Your sentences are robotic,” he snapped back. “ Emotionless. Dry. Heartless. I want passion. I want messy feelings. I want readers to feel something for once.”

She tilted her head. “ So… lie?”

“ No!” he said, as if she’d just suggested murdering someone. “ Experience it. Feel it. Go out, date someone—“

“ Excuse me?”

“—and write from life. Don’t just interview people. Live it.”

Satomi had stared at him blankly for a moment. Then she muttered something she immediately regretted: “ You want me to date someone… for journalism?”

“ Yes!” He snapped his fingers. “Perfect. Done.”

And that was how her life, which had been quite, logical, and entirely under her control, became suddenly messy.

That evening, she met her two friends at a tiny ramen shop hidden in a side street near the university. The air smelled of miso, grilled yakitori, and the faint hint of incense drifting from a nearby shrine. Yumi, her best friend and the kind of human who liked she had eaten raw sugar for breakfast, was already halfway through her bowl of noodles.

“So?” Yumi asked, slurping with impressive technique. How’s the love article coming along?”

Satomi slammed her bag onto the chair with a loud thump, probably alarming nearby diners. “Terrible,” she said flatly.

“Terrible how?” Yumi asked.

“ Imagine writing about something you’ve literally never experienced. Every sentence sounds like a textbook. A very boring, sad textbook.”

Yumi’s eyes lit up. “Then… date someone!”

Satomi blinked. “Date… someone? Like actually? For real?”

“ Exactly!” Yumi said. “For research. An experiment! This is journalism gold.”

Haru sitting across the table with a bowl of noodles already cooling, shook his head slowly. “This is… probably unethical.”

Ignoring that, Satomi muttered, “how am I supposed to… choose someone?”

Yumi leaned in, eyes sparkling. “Ohhh, this is easy. You pick someone who looks interesting, maybe a little mysterious. Someone who won’t immediately scream when you talk to them. Bonus points if they’re polite.”

Satomi groaned. “ This is insane. Absolutely insane. I can’t just pick someone off the street.”

Yumi grinned. “Of course you can! That’s what makes it fun!”

Satomi sighed and looked around the ramen shop. Patrons chatted quietly, a man sneezed somewhere behind her, and a scent of soy and fried dough made her stomach growl despite her frustration.

And then she saw him.

He was sitting by the window, sketchbook open, pencil moving with the kind of focus that made the rest of the world disappear. Dark hair fell carelessly over his forehead. He looked calm, quiet, completely oblivious to the chaos around him.

Satomi wrote in her notebook: Subject identified. Potential boyfriend for the thirty-days experiment. Observed:polite, composed, mysterious. Bonus: oblivious to surroundings.

Yumi peeked over her shoulder and gasped softly. “Oh… no.”

“What? “ Satomi asked, without looking up.

“You actually… really want to do this?” Yumi whispered.

“Yes,” Satomi said. “And he’s perfect.”

The next morning. Satomi practiced her opening line while walking along the stone streets of Kyoto, past cafes, shrines, and vending machines. “ Hi. I’ve been… observing you… for research purposes. Would you like to… date me… for a month?” Pedestrians glanced at her like she was talking to a ghost. She ignored them.

When she reached the cafe near the Kamogawa River, there he was again. Pencil in hand, sketchbook open, brow furrowed slightly as if concentrating on capturing the exact angle of a stone lantern.

“ Hi, she said, louder than she intended.

He looked up. Brown eyes, sharp yet soft. A face that seemed familiar but not too familiar. He blinked, confused.

“You’re… Ren Takahashi, right?

He tilted his head. “… Yes?”

Without asking, Satomi sat on a bench beside him. “I have a proposal,” she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Ren blinked slowly. “Proposal?”

“Yes. Date me. For thirty days.”

“… You’re joking,” he said.

“ I am not,” Satomi said. “ I need material for an article. Thirty days, no feelings, no messy complications. At the end, we break up. Clean. Professional.”

Behind him, someone chuckled quietly—probably his friend, probably the universe laughing at them both.

Ren studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he shrugged. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Satomi blinked. “ You will?”

“Yeah,” he said mysteriously. “But I have my own reasons.”

And there it was. A secret hidden, behind calm eyes. She didn’t know what it was, and that made her chest tighten in a way that was entirely inconvenient.

They started walking along the river together, petals drifting down from the trees above, the water shimmering beside them. Satomi felt a strange excitement, the kind that comes when you know your perfectly logical plan is about to spiral entirely out of control.

A single petal landed on Ren’s shoulder. He didn’t notice it but Satomi did.

And somehow, she knew this experiment— her neat, tidy journalism experiment—was about to become far more complicated than she had ever imagined.