Mika's laugh was a soft, musical sound, a perfect chi in the noisy, chaotic mall. She squeezed Makoto's hand back. "No diamond rings. Yet," she agreed in her sweet voice.
The first printing shop was small but surprisingly professional-looking. The air slled of ink and paper, underscored by the low and steady hum of machinery. A bored-looking employee at the counter barely glanced up as they entered.
Mika, however, turned all business as soon as they entered. She approached the counter with a quiet, confident grace, Makoto's hand still held firmly in hers.
She launched a series of questions that were so sharp and competent that Makoto wasn't sure whether to be impressed or terrified:
"What's your turnaround ti for a sixty-four-page, A4-sized, full-color photobook? What kind of paper stock do you offer?"
"Can you do a matte finish with spot gloss on the cover?"
"What are your bulk discounts for acrylic standees? Do you have samples of your sticker adhesive?"
The bored-looking employee, who had been scrolling through his phone, slowly sat up straight.
After fifteen minutes of high-level negotiation that left the employee looking shell-shocked and Makoto feeling completely useless, Mika turned back to him with a triumphant smile. "Okay, we're done here. I got what I needed. They gave us a favourable rate, so we don't need to check out other shops."
"As expected from the second wife, she should be the goddamn manager of the harem." Makoto shrugged.
"Now, for the date. I want a reward for my performance!" She turned over, and looked at Makoto with a wicked glint in her eyes. "Don't worry, darling," she continued, her voice dropping to an amused purr. "I'm not that high-maintenance."
She leaned against him, her head finding the crook of his shoulder for just a mont. "A Chanel bag will do just fine for now."
"Fine, fine, let's give those bags a look," Makoto shook his head, rembering the huge fees Yuna used to charge him for... a favor.
He led her, hand in hand, through the brightly lit corridors of the mall. Past the screaming children, the bored-looking husbands, and the groups of chattering teenage girls who stared at Mika's costu. It was a strange and almost surreal experience: a perfectly normal date in the middle of a completely abnormal situation.
The Chanel store was quiet but intimidating; its air slled of leather and money. A saleswoman with a forced smile eyed him with suspicion, barely masked by professional politeness.
Mika, however, was completely unfazed. She glided through the store with grace, her pink kimono a stark contrast to the boutique's black-and-white design.
A mont later, she stopped in front of a small, elegant handbag. It was a classic quilted-leather design in a soft, delicate pink that almost perfectly matched her kimono and her eyes. Without touching it, she just looked at it with a wistful smile on her face.
"It's pretty, isn't it?" she said softly. "A little impractical, maybe. But pretty."
She looked at Makoto, her smile turning slightly sad. "Don't worry, I was just kidding." She took his hand, her grip a little tight. "Let's go. I think I'd rather have a crepe instead."
And in that mont, he saw it, a flicker of the girl Mika used to be: The girl who was always just a little slow, always in second place. The girl who thought she didn't deserve nice things, who believed she could only take things by scheming or by force.
He noticed the sad look in her eyes, then took a closer glance at the handbag's price tag. 200,000 yen (~1,300 USD), the price was indeed high for his budget, but he took a ntal note and then followed her to the crepe shop.
"Well, at least I can treat you to so crepes until you're sick of them, Mika."
Mika's sad smile brightened at his words. She squeezed his hand back. "I don't think I could ever get sick of crepes, darling,"
As they arrived at the ridiculous gyaru-style crepe shop, Makoto ordered two: a classic strawberry-and-cream for her and a decadent chocolate-and-banana for him. They found a small, secluded table in the corner, a little island of peace in the bustling mall.
Mika took a small, delicate bite of her crepe, her eyes fluttering shut in bliss. "Mmm, it's delicious." She looked at Makoto, mischief dancing in her eyes. "But do you know what would make it even better?"
She took another bite and chewed it slowly, her eyes never leaving his. Then she leaned in, her breath warm and sweet against his cheek. "If you fed it to like you did with Yuna."
"You an that selfie at the crepe shop? Yuna did that just to piss you off! She was thinking you were going to steal her brother, you know?" But he still took a big piece from the crepe and offered it to her mouth. "Say 'ahh.' Take a selfie for your revenge too, if you want."
Mika's eyes widened in girlish surprise. His offer of a public selfie was a perfect gift. "Oh, I think I will," she purred.
She pulled out her phone and leaned in, her cheek pressing against his, a saccharine smile on her face. Makoto held the crepe up to her mouth, his own expression caught sowhere between caring and a dawning realization of what he had just unleashed.
Click. The picture was perfect. The lighting was flattering, the angle was just right, and the two of them looked like the happiest, most in-love couple in the entire world. The crepe between them acts as a beautiful, delicious prop.
"There," Mika said cheerfully as she hit Send. "All done."
Mika: Look what my sweet, wonderful, and very attentive boyfriend is doing for . Isn't he the best? 💕
Just thirty seconds later, Makoto's phone buzzed imdiately.
Yuna: YOU'RE DEAD. YOU'RE BOTH FUCKING DEAD!
Yuna: I'M COMING OVER THERE RIGHT NOW, AND I'M GOING TO SHOVE THAT CREPE SO FAR UP YOUR ASS YOU'LL BE SHITTING STRAWBERRIES FOR A WEEK.
Mika just took a small bite of the crepe in his hand. "Mmm," she humd contentedly. "Thank you, darling. It tastes like my victory."
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