Chapter 26: Golden Week

The grueling week finally ended, ushering in Golden Week—a frenzy of Japanese tourists flooding domestic and international hotspots. My diligent parents, true to form, opened the diner as usual, leaving me adrift. With school and the local gym shuttered, I became a stranded duck egg, sprawled on my cluttered bedroom floor amid dumbbells and manga, breathing aimlessly.

Still a ways off from my meeting with the president. My body clock woke me at 4 a.m. as usual, but with no bento to pack, time dragged. I jogged at dawn for exercise, but it barely registered with my muscles. Back home, I pounded through two hours of bodyweight training—push-ups, squats, and planks until sweat soaked the tatami. Still, hours loomed. I thumbed through old manga, but knowing every panel dulled the thrill. Gotta hit Akihabara for new stuff soon.

Staring at the ceiling, lost in thought, my mother poked her head in, ready for work. "Yuseong, aren't you meeting friends today? What about dinner?"

I bolted upright. "I'll text if I'm eating out."

She nodded, fishing something from her pocket. "Here! Pocket money! Treat your friends to something tasty!" She handed me a green bill—Yukichi Fukuzawa's face on a 10,000-yen note.

I blinked, holding it gingerly. "This much, out of nowhere?"

She smacked my shoulder. "My son, who's always cooped up lifting weights, is finally hanging out with friends. This is the least I can do. Need more? Just say so."

"Nah, this is plenty. Thanks, Mom."

"Good. Your dad and I are heading to the diner. Have fun!" She flashed a hearty smile and strode out. I saw her off at the door, feeling the ticking clock. Time to shower and prep—I had a noon rendezvous with the student council president in Asakusa.

***

Asakusa, in Tokyo's Taito Ward, is a blend of temple serenity and traditional streets. Every New Year's Day, crowds swarm Sensoji Temple to pray for fortune, making it a tourist magnet. From my Setagaya home, it's a one-hour subway ride, so I left at 10:30 a.m. Tokyo's subway, unlike Seoul's, is a labyrinth; long trips mean tricky transfers. Still, I navigated it, arriving at Asakusa by 11:40.

Emerging from the platform, I was greeted by retro wooden buildings, their charm softer in spring than the New Year's chaos. At Sensoji's gate, the iconic Kaminarimon with its massive red lantern loomed. A familiar figure stood before it.

"President!" I called. Unlike her usual black uniform, Saionji Kumiko wore an elegant white dress, a small handbag slung over her shoulder. Her long black hair swished as she turned at my voice.

"You're late!!" she snapped.

"Huh?"

"Do you even know what time it is?!"

I checked my phone: 11:50. "I'm ten minutes early."

She huffed, arms crossed. "When meeting a lady like me, a gentleman arrives thirty minutes early! It's common sense!"

"Is it?" I stammered, blindsided by this "rule." Then again, as the heiress of a noble family, maybe she was used to people orbiting her schedule. Had she ever waited for anyone? I owned my lapse. "Sorry for being late. I'll do better next time."

She smirked, arms still folded. "Hmph. Since you're my subordinate, I'll let it slide. But!"

"But?"

"You're buying me matcha ice cream from that confectionery stall!" She pointed with her fan to a vendor selling green swirls.

If that's all it takes to smooth things over, it's a steal. I jogged to the stall, grabbed two 300-yen matcha cones, and handed her one. Her eyes sparkled as she took it.

"Mmm, this is the stuff!" she cooed, savoring a lick.

I tried mine, tilting my head. "You're surprisingly lenient with processed matcha, President."

She waved her cone. "Drinking matcha? The pricier, the better. But these? They're just flavored. Even my picky palate doesn't expect gourmet from a stall."

"You've grown," I said, half-teasing.

"Ugh! What's with that lukewarm stare?!" she pouted.

"Just remembering how, six months ago, you'd slice steak in the council room, swearing off 'commoner food.'"

"T-that's ancient history!" she sputtered, cheeks pink. "I can handle plebeian fare now!" Her indignation felt more like embarrassment—a buried black mark.

"Anyway," I steered, "we got the ice cream. Where to next? Aren't we shopping for a gift for the Russian exchange student coming to Ichijo after Golden Week?"

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh!"

I narrowed my eyes. She unfurled her fan, laughing her aristocratic "ohohoho!" to deflect. "You think I, Saionji Kumiko, would forget such a trivial task? Don't be absurd!"

Totally forgot. I let it slide. "Can I ask a few things?"

"Ask away!"

"What does the exchange student like?"

"I called her before. She said anything tied to Japanese traditional culture."

"Traditional culture, huh." That explained Asakusa—few places screamed "Japan" louder.

"Gender?"

"Female."

"How about we check out paper umbrellas, Buddha statues, kimonos, or yukatas?"

"I was thinking maneki-neko, temari balls, or Ebisu statues, but your ideas work too!"

"Let's browse Asakusa's shops for those, then."

"Perfect! I know Asakusa like the back of my hand. Follow my lead!" Nose high, she marched off confidently. I trailed her petite frame, chomping my melting ice cream, the day's mission set.

***

Meanwhile, in a black limousine parked near Asakusa's streets, a high-tech surveillance setup unfolded. Two figures, straight out of a spy flick, monitored their target with earpieces and screens.

"Young Miss, two blocks away is a shop selling paper crafts. Suggest visiting it casually," one said.

"Young Miss, walk lightly with hands clasped behind your back. Men fall for such unexpected charm. What? My personal taste? Nonsense!" the other insisted.

Akagi Shinjiro and Aizawa Minami—vice president and treasurer at school, but in truth, Kumiko's lifelong butler and maid, bound to the Saionji clan. Masters of Koga-ryu ninja arts, they were elite specialists in espionage and protection. Today, they poured every ounce of skill into ensuring their beloved lady's "date" succeeded.

"Young Miss, now brush your hair behind your ear to highlight your allure," Shinjiro advised.

"Enough with the paper crafts. Move to the next shop," Minami directed.

But did they realize? Too many cooks spoil the broth—or in this case, send the ship crashing into a mountain. Kumiko's will, Shinjiro's quirky tastes, and Minami's meticulousness clashed in a symphony of discord. Saionji Kumiko's Asakusa adventure was only beginning!

***

Golden Week's off to a wild start. Kumiko's playing noble lady, but her commoner-food glow-up is adorable. My parents' diner hustle keeps them out, leaving me to this gift hunt. The Russian exchange student's a blank slate—hope we pick something decent. Shinjiro and Minami's ninja antics? Overkill, but kinda funny. This manga world's throwing curveballs, and I'm just trying to keep up without breaking a sweat.