Empty Mansions, 2/4
Kato had forwarded the letter along, apparently without reading it first. The first week of the year was busy for the firm, so he’d just bundled up whatever had come in Michiko-san’s name and sent it off for Sho to go through. Because of her desire for privacy, her home address was not made public, and all her letters and mail came through the law firm.
Shihori stood behind him in the kitchen, hand perched on his shoulder as she read along with him. “It’s a joke, right?” Sho asked, tapping the paper. “Nobody would be so upfront about a thing like this.”
“It seems real to me,” Shihori said. “And Michiko-san prefers when people are honest.”
Sho folded it up, slipping it back in the envelope. “I don’t want to give it to her. She wants nothing to do with them.”
Shihori squeezed his shoulder before moving to put away some leftovers from the stir-fry lunch she’d made them. “Why don’t you let Michiko-san decide what she wants, hmm?”
He shoved the letter to the bottom of the pile. He’d talk through the latest editions of her work contracts first, then any expenses that would have to go out. Ninomiya, Michiko-san’s accountant, had been emailing Sho all morning asking why nobody had told him about her sudden, surprise donation of 50 million yen the other day to a children’s hospital in Thailand. Nobody had told Ninomiya, of course, because nobody had told Sho. Michiko had written the check herself after seeing some pretty young idol volunteering there on a New Year’s special. The old woman had then signed it, stuffed it in an envelope, addressed it, and dropped it in with some of Shihori’s bills. Shihori hadn’t thought the old woman was crafty enough to sneak something like that by her and out the check had gone. When the hospital had tried to cash it, their bank had been forced to call Ninomiya to get the funds released.
“Fifty million! She needs to come to me with these things!” Ninomiya had emailed. “Take her checkbook away!”
Sho wasn’t sure who had the hardest job sometimes - Shihori, Kato, Ninomiya, or himself.
He spent the next two hours getting Michiko to approve the language on her next batch of commissions as well as gently chiding her for sneakily making her donation without going through the proper channels. “But they’re sick little babies!” Michiko fought back. “That little pup would have been back and forth with me for days on this, he says it gives him more work come tax time when I donate to overseas charities! Boohoo on him with his complaints! They needed that money right now!”
“That little pup” was her affectionate nickname for her accountant, Ninomiya Kazunari, who had already given eight years of his life to working with Michiko’s banks, with her stockbroker, and with Michiko herself. He liked to tell Sho that he knew how much money Michiko had down to the last yen. Every time she went behind his back, writing checks herself and not telling him, he’d “come howling like a dog” about it to Michiko. But dogs are very loyal, Michiko always said with a smile, knowing Ninomiya would send out the money anyhow after he had registered his complaints.
Once the commissions and the Thailand mess were out of the way, Sho still had the letter Kato had sent over. “You’ve received a letter from someone named Matsumoto Jun. Atsuko-san’s grandson.”
Sho definitely had not expected Michiko to smile about it, but her entire face lit up. “Hiroki’s little boy!”
“Well, not so little,” Sho said. As far as Sho knew, the grandchildren of Michiko’s niece Atsuko were in their thirties, the same generation as the recently deceased Daisuke. Then again, everyone probably seemed young to a woman of ninety-seven. “It’s a very strange letter, and I didn’t want to bother you with it.”
“Asking for money then?” Michiko asked. “Atsuko’s family has never asked for a cent. Read it to me, if he’s in trouble, I want to help.”
Sho sighed, taking the letter out and reading it.
Dear Aunt Michiko,
Please forgive me for addressing you so informally as we have never met in person. My name is Matsumoto Jun, and I am a member of your family. My grandmother Atsuko is the daughter of your brother Daisuke. I am thirty-one years old, and I work as a baker here in Tokyo. As you may know, Daisuke-san’s namesake and great-grandson Daisuke recently passed away. Because of this, Shiroyanagi Management has been left without an heir and according to Daisuke’s father, Masaharu-san, the company is in dire financial straits.
I want you to know, Aunt Michiko, that I do not wish to trick you or force you into a situation that makes you uncomfortable. So I want to use this letter to be open and honest about my intentions in contacting you and do wish that my first contact with you came under kinder auspices
“My word, this boy is so serious!” Michiko interrupted. She gave Sho a tap on the arm. “Keep reading, keep reading.”
that my first contact with you came under kinder auspices. Because Masaharu-san’s line has lost its last male heir, I have been approached as a potential candidate to guide the future of Shiroyanagi Management. However, I bring zero experience and zero money to such a lauded position. It was Masaharu-san’s hope that you and I might meet to discuss the future of the business and perhaps discuss how you could aid me in this endeavor
“That means ‘give me all your money,’” Sho grumbled.
“Sho-chan!”
He cleared his throat, rolling his eyes so Michiko didn’t see.
how you could aid me in this endeavor. As I’m sure you’ve already inferred, this aid would be entirely financial. Again, I feel it is best you know from the start about my reasons for contacting you, and I truly apologize for being so blunt and unkind. I have enclosed my business card and contact information, and I am happy to meet you anywhere, any time, should you decide to consider my request. Please keep me in your favor. Matsumoto Jun.
Sho wanted to rip the letter in half. No matter how formal or honest, it was a cash grab, and it was despicable. But Michiko only held out her hand, gripping her magnifying glass. He handed it over, watched the old woman smile again and again at this Matsumoto Jun’s absurd request.
Did this guy think Michiko would open her checkbook simply because of his name? Over the years, she had received numerous letters from Shiroyanagi Masaharu, requesting her presence at this fundraiser or that. He’d written letters that all but shamed Michiko for not giving them money, for ignoring her family. And Sho knew that before he’d been working for her, Shiroyanagi Masaharu’s father had done the same. It didn’t seem to register with these people that she’d broken with the company and wanted nothing more to do with it. Now it was clear that Shiroyanagi was at the end of his rope and had turned to the nearest relative he could grab to go after Michiko.
“He says that he’s a baker,” Michiko said, gesturing to the paper with one of her wrinkled fingers.
“Which obviously means he has no right taking over a real estate firm.”
“I wonder if he makes croissants…”
“Michiko-san, this person is hunting for a blank check, and it would be unwise to indulge him. He doesn’t know or care about you.”
She looked up, shaking her head. “When I was twenty years old and the company fell into my lap, I didn’t want any part of it. I didn’t want the responsibility. The management of people, the hiring and firing. This boy works in a bakery and this extraordinary situation has fallen on his shoulders. And unlike me, stubborn people like me, he seems to want to help.”
“Of course he wants to help,” Sho protested. “Someone just walked in the door of his shop and told him he’s set to make millions if he just takes over the family business. Anyone would jump at the chance.”
Michiko looked down at the letter again. “I want you to meet him. I want you to tell me about him. Is he honest? Is he kind? Or is he just writing pretty words to come across as sincere?”
“You know exactly what his intentions are. He’s stated them very plainly.”
Michiko was firm. “I know exactly what he wants, Sho-chan, and you’d be wise to stop speaking to me like I’m an imbecile. What I’m asking of you is to assess the person, not the request he’s making.”
“You’d actually give him money?”
She leaned back against her cushions, wincing a bit as she tried to get comfortable. “I watched my brother turn his own daughter away for marrying someone he didn’t like, to let her move into poverty. I watched them grow fat and lazy, my brother and his son and his son after him, and still ask me for more every time they wasted what they had. And the ones who only had to ask, who only had to reach out…Atsuko, her family, they never did. They never once thought I owed them anything. For Hiroki’s boy to do something like this, there must be a reason.”
Sho knelt down before her, resting his hand beside her on the cushion. “Michiko-san, I don’t want anyone to try and take advantage of you.”
“Then you go meet this young man, and make sure he doesn’t.”
-
If there was a task Jun enjoyed, it was icing cakes. Getting it to the perfect consistency, concentrating on spreading it evenly, stepping back and seeing the results. Full cakes or cupcakes or a simple slice topped with a strawberry. It was the finishing touch, the culmination of something that had started out as not much more than eggs, flour, sugar…
It also required a great deal of his attention, getting it right, so it allowed him to tune out the other thoughts that kept trying to take over his brain. It had been almost a week now since he’d sent the letter to the address Masaharu-san had given him. Jun had agonized over the writing of it, the choice of words, the tone to take. Masaharu-san had said the old woman was a shut-in, a foolish old woman who let her money sit in a bank and rot instead of lending her family a helping hand. “Take a sweet tone with her, she’s probably senile. Tell her she’s investing in your bakery.”
Jun, having never met the woman, was disgusted with Masaharu-san’s suggestions and hints. At the end of the day, they were begging for money, and there was no point in lying about what it was for. So he’d said exactly what he was doing, and if Masaharu-san found out and got angry, then it didn’t much matter to Jun. What other choice did he have? Jun was his last resort.
He hadn’t told his father anything. This whole set-up was something Arisa might have gotten herself into, not Jun, and he felt too ashamed to confess that he stood to inherit Shiroyanagi Management if he was able to help Masaharu out. He hadn’t told Arisa either, and he wouldn’t tell her anything until he had a contract in hand naming him as Masaharu’s heir. The only person he’d told was Ohno, and mostly because Mr. Bake was his shop as much as it was Jun’s. If Shiroyanagi money helped out the shop someday, Ohno ought to know where it came from.
As the days went by and he received no response to his letter, Jun vacillated between being happy about this and anxious. Happy because if the old woman ignored him, well, then that was that. He’d failed Masaharu, Shiroyanagi Management would choose someone else to take over in April, and Jun could move on with his life and his actual passion. But he was also anxious because what if the woman did respond? What the hell would he say to her? “I don’t really want to run the company, but I’m just as much a sell-out as anyone else. Money makes my life and the life of my family easier.”
Jun would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about what a CEO’s salary and freedom could bring him. Masaharu had bragged about what little he actually did as company chairman. Jun could funnel his energy and time into his real passions. Mr. Bake would be safe. They could expand the menu, improve every part of the process, hire more staff. Hell, they could open another bakery entirely. A larger location. Multiple locations. Start a proper catering service rather than the occasional drop-off of cupcake and cookie trays in the neighborhood. Jun had no qualms about being ambitious so long as it was for something he actually liked.
But these things were for him to think about later in the day and not now when they had a birthday cake to have delivered by the end of the afternoon, and the person wanted a message written out on the cake in English. Jun was not a quick study of languages, and he was going to have to rely on what the person ordering had written out on a notecard. It wasn’t like he’d know if he was correct or not.
He was midway through the message, agonizing over an “S” he was writing diligently with his piping bag, when Ohno came through the swinging door.
“Not now,” he said without even looking up.
“I told him you were busy so he left a card.”
“I said not now.”
“He says he works for Shiroyanagi…”
Jun finished the “S” in the nick of time, looking up in surprise. “He’s gone?”
“…Michiko.”
He could have smacked Ohno. “He’s gone already? Why didn’t you come in here immediately?”
Ohno scowled at him. “You need to make up your mind.”
He nearly slammed the piping bag down on the counter, opting instead to keep his rage to himself. “Where is he? How long ago did he leave?”
“Not even a minute. He bought some of your croissants and three pieces of shortcake. Nice guy.”
Jun nearly strangled himself yanking his apron over his head, tossing it aside and bursting through the swinging door. The shop was deserted, and Ohno came following behind, laughing his particularly annoying “why am I friends with you” laugh.
“Just call him back. Here’s the card,” he said, holding it out.
Jun snatched it away. Sakurai Sho, it read. But there was no job title, no company name. Just a phone number and email address. Who the hell was this guy? “What did he look like? What was he wearing?”
“A red coat? Or maybe it was orange…” Ohno mumbled. Of all the times to be unhelpful. “It was a puffy coat?”
Jun shook him by the shoulders. “Okay, which way did he go?”
Ohno’s surly expression brightened. He had a solid answer. “Ah, to the left. He was probably going to the station. Maybe you’ll catch him?”
A complete stranger in a red or maybe orange puffy coat in the general vicinity of Ikebukuro Station? Sure, that would be simple. At least he’d be carrying a Mr. Bake bag. Before he could get any more fuzzy details from his partner, he took off, realizing as soon as the cold January air hit him that he’d made a rather stupid mistake by not grabbing his jacket. He had his phone in his back pocket at least and he did his best to walk straight and dial Sakurai-san’s number at the same time. The crowds parted for him, but probably because he was looking like a crazy person with no coat and smelled like frosting.
His call was answered on the third ring by a deep, but friendly enough voice. “This is Sakurai.”
Jun ducked out of the main street, plugging his ear with his finger so he could hear over the street noise. “Sakurai-san, this is Matsumoto Jun. I believe I just missed you in my shop?” Now that he was standing still, it was really damn cold. His teeth were already chattering.
The friendliness grew hesitant. “Oh, I see. I can call on you another time if you’re busy…”
“No,” Jun said, probably too quickly. “No, it’s fine. It’s totally fine. Please, um, if you’d like to come back to the shop, we could talk? You told my partner that you work for my Aunt Michiko?”
“I work for Shiroyanagi-san, yes,” Sakurai replied, with heavy emphasis on the -san.
He was already screwing this up. If he wasn’t so busy freezing, he could take time to imagine Masaharu-san kicking him in the ass. “Please allow me to refund you for your purchases, since you’ve come all this way.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Are you sure it’s no trouble?”
Jun was picturing his cake with his half-written English message.
“It’s no trouble at all. Please, do come back.”
He hung up, letting out a shudder as he jogged back to the store, rubbing his hands together. Ohno was boxing up pastries for a customer, but made sure to shoot Jun an “I can’t believe you” look before turning back to the customer with his bright, cheerful smile.
Jun loitered in the store, nervously arranging and re-arranging one of the displays while he waited for this Sakurai to come back. The pastry customer left and five minutes later, the door opened once more. Ohno had been right with his first guess as Sakurai Sho entered wearing a puffy red coat and black earmuffs. He was probably close in age with him and Ohno, with a round, boyishly chubby face, his nose and cheeks pink from the cold as he asked them to pardon his intrusion. He was clutching the Mr. Bake bag in his gloved fingers, stomping non-existent snow from his boots on the rug at the front of the store.
Sakurai shifted a stray bit of dark fringe across his forehead, realizing he’d come in and had been staring at Jun for maybe a beat too long. He looked away, offering a little awkward wave to Ohno. “Hello again.”
“Thanks for your patronage,” Ohno said politely, inclining his head.
“You could…um, we could speak in the back,” Jun said haltingly. He was on home turf, so why was he the one feeling so nervous? Maybe it was the cold way Sakurai-san had said “Shiroyanagi-san,” as though Jun already had a strike against him.
Ohno seemed to be reading the strange atmosphere, and he came around the counter. “I’ll hold onto your bag.”
“Thank you,” Sakurai said, handing over his purchases before following Jun to the back. He paused as they passed by the cake. “That smells really good,” he muttered quietly, almost as though he hadn’t wanted to admit it aloud.
“It’s not finished,” Jun said. “But it’s banana cream.”
“I see.”
He escorted Sakurai to the office where just over a week earlier Shiroyanagi Masaharu had come by asking Jun to beg for money from this man’s employer. He stood by, crossing his arms for a moment before shoving his hands in his pockets while Sakurai shrugged out of his coat, holding it in his arms. Sakurai was wearing a dark cable-knit cardigan over a plaid button-down. He was giving off such an adorably rumpled professor vibe that Jun had to tamp down his embarrassingly immediate attraction. Instead he gestured for the other man to have a seat.
“So you work for Shiroyanagi-san? She’s received my letter?”
Sakurai nodded. “I’m her personal assistant. As you know, your relative is elderly and doesn’t leave the house. She asked me to come meet with you first. She’s not inclined to see many people in person. She’s very shy.”
“Then you know why I contacted her.”
Sakurai’s expression grew almost hostile. “I do.”
This was really not going well at all. “I’m not…I’m not making any demands of her. I know nothing about her, and she knows nothing about me, so I thought if maybe she and I could talk, we could get to know each other. We wouldn’t be strangers. I’m not…” He watched Sakurai desperately trying to keep his face neutral. “Sakurai-san, I know what this looks like to you.”
“Do you?”
He swallowed, wanting to sink through the floor. Then again, Jun was almost glad the old woman had an assistant who could look after her this way. Someone who clearly could sniff out people who were only after her money, as Jun obviously was.
“I didn’t want to lie to her. I will be honest with you and tell you that I know very little about all of this. I’m not close with that side of the family, and I’ve really only just been presented with this opportunity. To take over the company, I mean. I don’t even know if it’s what I want…”
Sakurai’s slightly unruly eyebrows rose in surprise. “You’re that uncertain and you still wrote a letter like that?”
“Yes,” Jun admitted freely, though he didn’t feel like admitting that getting Michiko-san’s money was more like a requirement Masaharu had laid out than a suggestion. Without her money, it seemed like Jun would be next in line to inherit a bankrupt Shiroyanagi Management.
Sakurai checked his watch. “I need to return within an hour or so, but if there’s anything in particular you’d like for me to relay to Shiroyanagi-san, I’ll listen.”
With the amount of contempt this Sakurai had for him, Jun wondered if he was going to go straight back to Michiko and tell her to reject his request without saying a word. But despite himself, despite his obvious reservations about Jun, he’d willingly made purchases at the bakery already. And then he’d complimented the cake.
Sakurai pulled a small notepad and pen from the pocket of his cardigan. “Do you have a business plan I could give her? Anything to show her precisely how her investment would be used?”
Jun froze. He definitely hadn’t thought that far ahead. “No, I actually don’t right now.” Sakurai’s eyes were icy and unforgiving, and Jun could feel his face burning in shame. “I…I think maybe all I have to share with her right now is myself. Who I am, what I do.”
Sakurai simply nodded, letting Jun ramble on, his pen scratching against paper. Jun gave the twenty minute “this is my entire life” story to Sakurai, telling him about his parents, his sister, his nephew Yosuke who would benefit the absolute most from Jun’s life-changing promotion. He told Sakurai about Mr. Bake, about his time in culinary school, about what he hoped to accomplish. Uncomfortable standing in one spot, he paced the floor, hoping he wasn’t behaving like a complete fool. Eventually he ran out of steam, looking over to see that Sakurai wasn’t even writing anymore.
He was watching him, leaning his elbow on the desk and just staring. When he seemed to realize that Jun had stopped talking, he hurriedly tried to collect himself. He started flipping through his little notepad, cheeks flushing. Any sense of sharpness, of rudeness, had somehow vanished while Jun had been talking. “Thank you, Matsumoto-san, I’ll be sure and let Shiroyanagi-san know about your…your interests.”
Jun cleared his throat, desperate for water after talking so long without stopping. But instead he tried to stay calm as Sakurai got up, bundling himself up in his coat. He escorted the man back to the front of the shop, and Ohno handed over two bags.
Sakurai looked embarrassed. “I only had the one…”
“Most of the stuff you bought was what Jun-kun made,” Ohno said, eyes alert with competitive spirit. “So I gave you some of the cupcakes I made.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind,” Sakurai said.
Two Mr. Bake bags in hand, Sakurai politely excused himself, disappearing back into the streets. Jun exhaled heavily as soon as he was out of sight, leaning back against the counter.
Ohno patted him on the shoulder. “Do you think the extra cupcakes will sway him?”
Jun couldn’t stop thinking about the way Sakurai had been watching him. Despite his obvious discomfort at the start, his changed mood had to mean something. But what?
-
Sho was furious with himself, fingers tapping the keys in an impatient staccato as he transcribed the information Matsumoto Jun had shared with him. He’d started the negotiations so strongly. Unflinching, demanding. And then he’d let something completely irrelevant, Matsumoto Jun’s appearance, throw him off.
It was so juvenile, so immature, but as soon as it had just been the two of them in that back room, Sho’s resolve had crumbled to dust. He was just a stranger, and he was a stranger who wanted to rob Michiko-san blind. But there’d been no evidence of that in the demeanor of the person he’d met that day.
Matsumoto Jun with his powdered sugar-stained apron tied tight around his narrow waist. With his bright smile and dark eyes and his entire life story. In maybe half an hour Sho had turned from Michiko-san’s last line of defense into a guy with an unfortunate crush. But how could he have not been taken in immediately? With the delicious-smelling shop lulling Sho into complacency, with the honest and open way he spoke about himself. He was a man who’d worked hard to get where he was, a man with drive and humility, a man who was clearly only doing this because he loved his family and wanted the best for them. He was so sure of himself, of who he was, what he wanted to do…well, save for what he wanted to do with Michiko’s money.
Sho moved away from the keyboard, fingers itching for his fork. He still had half a piece of the strawberry shortcake left, the treat that Matsumoto Jun had made so perfectly that each bite left Sho even more confused and annoyed with himself. It definitely didn’t help that Shihori, having just finished her own slice, had made the most inappropriate noises someone could make.
“Oh my god, this is so good,” she’d been mumbling, eyes closing in utter bliss. “This is insane! That guy made this?”
Sho allowed himself another ridiculous bite. He’d told himself that he was going to visit Matsumoto Jun, see for himself what a money-grubbing piece of work he was, and then confidently recommend to Michiko that she reject his request for a meeting. It would be over like that, and Sho could get back to what he was supposed to be doing - trying to get Michiko to work on her will.
Instead he’d found that Matsumoto Jun was as straightforward as the person in the letter had seemed to Michiko.
He tamped down his petty attraction and forced his analytical side to return. Matsumoto was many things, but he was not a person prepared to take over Shiroyanagi Management. He had no plan for the amount of money needed, nor any plan for where it would go. These were big negatives. Huge negatives. Just because he could make a damn good strawberry shortcake, it didn’t mean he should have free money fall into his lap.
Once he’d gotten everything jotted down, he met with Michiko after her late afternoon nap. The woman already had him at a disadvantage, as she was having her fourth croissant when he came over to speak with her. In hindsight, it had been a bad move to bring the croissants back, seeing how much Michiko liked them. It was going to sway her opinion, Sho was sure of it. Shiroyanagi Michiko, who’d fling 50 million yen at a hospital after seeing some perky idol on TV ask for it, would be even more easily convinced after eating croissants made by one of her own relatives.
“Sho-chan,” she was saying, picking at little crumbs that had fallen on her blouse. She had no shame about shoving them into her mouth, savoring every last morsel. “Sho-chan, you simply must go back and buy more.”
“They’re closed,” he said quickly.
“Then tomorrow!”
It’s out of my way, he wanted to say. For the love of god, don’t make me go back. If I end up in that shop again, maybe even I’ll start flinging money at Matsumoto Jun…
“What about Ohkura-san? You’ve been buying from his bakery for years. If I don’t show up tomorrow, he might think I’ve been in an accident.”
Michiko laughed, waving for him to settle in already. “These are better. Take all the time you need. Buy up their entire stock for the morning!”
Sho sighed, adjusting his laptop. “Of course, if that’s what you’d like, Michiko-san.” Of course the person set to rob her blind was someone who just happened to make incredible food, including her favorite little indulgence.
The old woman smiled, enjoying her last bite with a degree of satisfaction that made his heart ache. She was so happy in this moment, she’d agree to anything. And that was very dangerous. “Hiroki’s boy is so talented.”
Yes, at least in the kitchen, Sho thought. But she’d sent him to the Mr. Bake shop for a reason, and he was going to do his absolute best to be fair in his assessment. Michiko listened quietly, patiently as he read back his encounter with Matsumoto Jun. Yes, he was a very nice, polite person, Sho explained. Yes, he seemed to be very genuine, acknowledging that his request was rude and unorthodox. Sho read through his notes thoroughly, providing Michiko with all the details she needed to know.
About the life Matsumoto Jun had led until now, about his parents, his grandmother Atsuko who was still alive and thriving in a care facility. About his older sister and his young nephew, who, if Matsumoto-san inherited Shiroyanagi Management, might one day have a stake in it himself. It had all been rather heartwarming, seeing how badly this Matsumoto wanted a fulfilling life for his nephew. Sho could just see Michiko’s heart swelling with pride, knowing that not all members of her family were greedy, selfish people.
So as soon as Sho saw her leaning that way, he tried to ignore the lingering taste of that shortcake and reminded her of Matsumoto Jun’s shortcomings. That he had no plan, no idea about the money. That he had zero experience in the field of real estate. That for all his good intentions, he might take all of Michiko’s money and completely fail.
“You might be better off,” Sho hinted, “investing in his bakery. He seems to have a lot more plans where that venture is concerned than anything to do with Shiroyanagi Management.”
When Sho had completed his argument, having regurgitated everything Matsumoto said, Michiko spent a long couple of minutes thinking. For her this was actually sort of rare. The woman knew her own mind so strongly that Sho expected she’d already made her decision on Matsumoto Jun from the instant she received his letter, that Sho’s visit was a mere formality.
“Shihori-chan!”
Sho was a little startled and Shihori even more so when Michiko called her into the living room. The nurse gave Sho a confused little glance and he shrugged. Sho’s first horrifying thought was that Michiko was all set to play matchmaker, since she was teasing Shihori constantly about finding a husband worthy of her. Since Michiko probably considered croissant-making to be a grand accomplishment, perhaps she’d found a winner.
But instead Shihori sat beside Michiko, and the old woman took her hand. “Sho-chan is going to the Tateyama house soon.”
“In two weeks,” Sho said automatically, even as his confusion mounted. Michiko had owned the beach house along the western Chiba coast since before Sho was born. She had never once been inside it. Sho visited the place several times a year, checking how the property was being managed and looking after what she had stored there. He usually stayed overnight taking photos since Michiko liked to see how things changed through the seasons, over the years. She loved the pictures he took along the shore.
“We’ll be going with him,” Michiko said firmly, and Shihori’s eyes widened.
“What?” the nurse squealed.
“Michiko-san,” Sho interrupted, “what are you saying?”
Michiko smiled. “I’m going to have a little vacation. I think the Tateyama house would be lovely, even in January. Shihori-chan, you’ll come, and Sho-chan of course. And then we’ll invite Hiroki’s boy and…”
“Forgive me, forgive me,” Sho said, stopping her once again. “You want to leave?”
Shiroyanagi Michiko had left her Jiyugaoka apartment only twice in the ten years Sho had been working for her, both of them within his first year of employment. One time she’d gone out rather randomly with her previous nurse to look at cherry blossoms just across the street. The other time had been for a doctor’s appointment with a specialist whom she had never seen again, preferring only that her general doctor pay visits to her at home. This was extraordinary. The woman had never expressed any desire to go outside her own apartment, even though Sho and Shihori asked her if she’d like to once in a while.
“I want to meet this boy.”
“Matsumoto-san?” Shihori asked. “But why not host him here? He can bring his croissants straight to you.”
Michiko smiled. “What kind of hospitality can I give him here? No, no, that simply won’t do. We’ll open the Tateyama house, and we’ll show him a lovely time. Then he and I can talk about this money situation.”
Her health had always been fair for a woman her age, but such a plan was very risky. Shihori spent the next several minutes explaining as much. Michiko had been inside for a very long time. Traveling in winter put her at risk of a cold, and someone closing in on a century of life couldn’t fight back the way a young person could. There would be the strain of unfamiliar surroundings - a completely different house, different furniture. A different bed. A draftier old house compared to her always warm apartment. It was downright dangerous for her to leave.
“We have two weeks to get it all sorted,” Michiko said, tapping her blanket-covered lap. “I feel wonderful.”
Shihori and Sho exchanged a worried look. When Michiko wanted her way, they always gave in. Mostly because her usual demands - a new dollhouse, a changed TV channel, a different bath soap, a donation to a library or school - didn’t require her to go anywhere. And out of the blue, after nibbling croissants and getting a letter from a stranger, Shiroyanagi Michiko was all set to turn her life upside down.
Sho wondered if he should have said anything nice about Matsumoto Jun at all.
-
Sakurai Sho became a familiar face at Mr. Bake over the next several days. He arrived only minutes after the croissants came out of the oven, and Ohno already had a box open to load up for him. On that first day, Sakurai had looked so uncomfortable to be there that Jun thought he might have had the flu or something.
Instead he’d turned a bit red, dialing a number on his cell phone and handing it over. “She wants to speak with you.”
And so while Ohno had handled the front and Sakurai Sho sat quietly in his office, Matsumoto Jun spoke with Shiroyanagi Michiko for the very first time.
For someone so old, Jun had been astonished by how clear and precise her words were. There was no hesitation in her voice, only confidence. She had a rather youthful, girlish voice, and when Jun introduced himself, she let out the most adorable chuckle. “You sound like a very attractive young man,” she’d said in complete seriousness before introducing herself as though Jun had no idea who she was.
He’d had to turn his back on Sakurai, if only to not look at him while he spoke with his boss. Jun’s “aunt” was not the senile old bird Masaharu-san had blathered about. She was sharp and with an astonishing memory, proving to Jun that Sakurai had been listening to him quite closely. She was very insistent, demanding that Jun share pictures of himself, of his family, and especially of Yosuke with her. “Give them to Sho-chan, if you please. He’s my photographer. Ah, he does a little bit of everything for me. Please treat him kindly.”
At that, Jun had looked over his shoulder, seeing Sakurai was staring off into space. Jun turned back, grinning. Michiko-san had a very pleasant chat with him, and not once did the money come up. Jun figured it wasn’t worth broaching the topic himself. She already knew about it.
But then the conversation took an abrupt turn, and she’d informed Jun that they were soon to meet in person, that her “Sho-chan” was going to her home in Tateyama soon, and that Michiko herself was going as well. “You’ll come stay with me, Jun-chan, so we might become better friends.”
Jun panicked, especially when Michiko all but insisted that Jun come stay at this vacation house of hers for a full week! “I’m…I’m very grateful for this kind offer,” Jun had said, wondering what Sakurai thought of him. “But as I’m sure Sakurai-san has told you, I run a business. It would be an incredible burden for my partner to run the shop alone for so long a time and…”
“Put him on the phone. Is he there? Let me speak with your friend.”
Jun turned, looking at Sakurai. “You should probably do what she says,” Sakurai had said, crossing his arms.
He was at the mercy of a ninety-seven year old woman. He’d diligently gone back to the front of the shop and handed the phone to Ohno. Within five minutes, his sometimes lazy, often complaining partner was standing tall, determination in his eyes. Jun wondered what the hell the woman had even said to him.
“It would be no trouble at all,” Ohno was assuring her, and Jun couldn’t even hold back his surprise, his mouth gaping open as Ohno bowed his head. “No trouble at all. Please, look after Matsumoto-kun…what’s that? Oh, you liked them? Thank you very kindly for your patronage.” Ohno looked up, giving Jun a thumbs up.
And just like that it was decided that Jun would spend the final week of January in a Chiba beach house with the old woman whose money he needed, all expenses paid. “You have to go,” Ohno had insisted, smiling. “She’s totally going to help you if you go.”
And just like that, Sakurai Sho started to come by every morning to buy croissants for Shiroyanagi Michiko. Jun kind of hated how excited he’d get every time that puffy red coat came in the door. It seemed obvious to Jun that Sakurai Sho’s word meant a lot to Michiko-san, that she trusted him like no one else. The last thing Jun needed to do was make things any weirder between himself and Sakurai.
So Jun kept things professional. When the urge came up to give Sakurai a discount, to point out items in the case he’d kind of sort of made with the man’s obvious sweet tooth in mind, he stayed quiet. Much as Sakurai still didn’t seem to like him very much, he had no problem leaving the bakery each morning with both Michiko-san’s croissants and a lot more items that an older woman probably wouldn’t like. The way to Sakurai’s confidence was through his stomach, so he’d let his food do the talking for now. Even Ohno seemed to figure out Jun’s game, quashing his own pride in favor of recommending items for Sho to buy that didn’t have his baking signature on them.
He lied to his sister, asking her for photos of Yosuke, saying he wanted to have an album of them for himself. “Why don’t you just babysit him for once?” Arisa complained. “Take all the pictures you want then!” Jun hadn’t bothered to point out the fact that he babysat his nephew at least once a month so his sister and her husband could go out. Instead he’d just taken the photos she sent him and put together a collage for Michiko-san with the same amount of concentration he usually saved for cake. Even Sakurai had been surprised by the effort, letting out an amazed “Wow” when Jun had given it to him to bring over to his aunt.
The days ticked by, and Jun found little reason to worry about the future of Mr. Bake or Shiroyanagi Management. He received a handwritten thank you note from Michiko-san for the photos of Yosuke. Sakurai’s face looked a little fuller each morning, having perhaps eaten most of the cake he’d bought by himself. Ohno had even roped in his own sister and a few of her girlfriends to help out at the shop while Jun was gone.
And when there was only a day left before he was to set out for Chiba, Jun felt like he was on much firmer ground when Shiroyanagi Masaharu’s people called, asking for Jun to stop by Shiroyanagi Management headquarters that evening around 6:30 PM.
He left Ohno to close up and headed to the headquarters in Shinjuku. Weeks earlier, Jun couldn’t have fathomed there being any reason for him to set foot through the doors. Now here he was, about to meet with Michiko-san for a full week, to argue his case, to see how willing she was to fund the family business. She had to be somewhat interested. You didn’t invite someone to stay with you for so long if you were planning to outright reject them. She was giving him all the time he needed to convince her.
He tried to stand confidently, adjusting his visitor’s badge as he was escorted into Masaharu-san’s office. Thankfully that tall, scary bodyguard of his was not in the room. He found the man sitting behind his desk, his thirtieth floor office looking out to all the other lit-up Shinjuku skyscrapers in the dark January night.
After exchanging some brief pleasantries, Masaharu-san got straight to the point.
“You don’t have our money guaranteed as of yet, do you, Jun-kun?”
He stayed calm, shaking his head. He explained his pending trip, the way Michiko-san had sent her assistant to him day in and day out with further details about his stay. He was right at the cusp of securing the company’s future. Where he expected Masaharu-san to be thrilled with all he’d accomplished in so short a time, the man stared at him blankly.
“You must try to get as much as you can,” he said coldly.
Jun couldn’t help scoffing a bit at this. “I’m…I’m sorry, but shouldn’t we be happy with any amount she’s willing to give? She’s not a stupid person, I’ve spoken with her.”
Masaharu shoved a report across his desk, gesturing for Jun to open it. When he did, he found a financial statement, several pages long. It was worse than he’d even imagined, with the company already a month into the fourth quarter of their fiscal year. There were at least a dozen investments that had failed to bring in a profit, most likely investments Daisuke had overseen and overseen poorly.
“You go and you have a tea party with this old bat,” Masaharu said, and his tone was so harsh, Jun nearly winced. He didn’t give a damn about Michiko-san, that much was obvious. “And you can go right ahead and tell her what you stand to inherit when I’m gone. That without her, we tank.”
Jun’s anger was very difficult to tamp down. He’d done so much already, and it didn’t even matter. At the end of the day, Masaharu only cared about snatching as much as he could. This was why Sakurai didn’t trust him. Because no matter what Jun did, no matter how earnest Jun was, Shiroyanagi Masaharu was not.
“This is your future, Jun-kun,” Masaharu said. “And I’m doing all I can to make it better. Michiko’s legal representation has not changed since the 30’s, since she sold out to my grandfather. It was easy to get someone there to talk.”
“What do you mean?”
“Michiko is represented by the firm Kimura, Kato, Inagaki & Partners. And the biggest joke going around that firm right now is how she doesn’t have a will. She’s been in this world for almost a century and she’s got no will and testament, Jun-kun.” Masaharu’s eyes were almost triumphant, enough to send a shiver down his spine. “Do you know what this means?”
Jun did. He absolutely did, and all of the naive happiness the past two weeks had brought him started to slip away. What had he been thinking, going along with this? Thinking he was doing the right thing, that maybe his own integrity would be enough to make a difference for Shiroyanagi Management. “No I don’t,” he lied, voice thin and hesitant.
“It means that you’ll be with her for a week, and you can take it a step further. You either get her to give you money now, chump change, or you get her to write that will. And then maybe, just maybe, you’ll get everything.”
“Masaharu-san…”
“We’ve seen a lot of interest in Ikebukuro as of late,” Masaharu said calmly. “I can’t begin to tell you how many big names are looking to invest further in the area. Businesses with lots of employees. Wouldn’t it be nice if they had a local place, a nice local place where they could pick up a snack? You know OL’s and sweets, right? They can’t resist. But then again, I suppose if a big chain came to the neighborhood, that would satisfy the craving just as easily as a mom and pop store.”
Jun gripped the arms of the chair. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m just telling you how the market looks. It’s something you’ll have to learn. What makes a commercial district thrive. Or, in some cases, die.”
“Masaharu-san.”
The older man didn’t even look at him again. He was already picking up his phone, asking his secretary to send in his next appointment.
“Thank you, Jun-kun. Please do have a lovely time in Chiba.”
part three