My name is Sakura Masafumi, 43, and though it sounds boastful, I'm exceptional—an elite.
A University of Tokyo Law graduate, I've since embraced the arts. I live in a villa in northeastern Minato Ward, married. I hold a managerial role at a top design firm, doubling as legal counsel.
I'll go independent soon, having quietly rallied key team members for years in this class war.
I leave work at 6 p.m. sharp, never staying late. I smoke minty Marlboros, drink only premium champagne or red wine at gatherings.
I sleep at 11 p.m., ensuring eight hours, leaving exhaustion to newbies desperate to prove themselves.
Doctors say I'm in peak health. Staff respect me. The mediocre CEO? I'll replace him soon—a promise to my daughter.
I'm a family man, ignoring secretaries' flirtations, even sacrificing career gains for this warm, peaceful life. That's my stance, my happiness.
But if I must fight, no workaholic elite can outmatch me.
Right now, I'm teasing a bird.
This cockatiel, bought six months ago, still can't hum The Bell. Named Beethoven, it's a letdown.
Sakura Masafumi sighed, refilled its water and feed, then sank into the living room sofa, skimming a newspaper halfheartedly.
The TV played the hit workplace romance drama Capture Your Heart. The lead, a trending idol, radiated sunny charm, the universal boyfriend type, slaying all ages.
The plot had twisted to where the shy, gentle male lead finally confessed to the elegant heroine.
"Oh, Shoichi-kun's so dreamy—his eyes hold stars, his smile's irresistible. His new single's amazing. Too perfect," His young wife gushed, clutching a handkerchief, crying over the screen's tortuous love story.
Sakura Masafumi watched coldly.
Hmph, all flash, no substance. "Once-in-a-millennium" pretty boy? Just a corporate cash cow, a puppet.
He reset, smiling at life.
"Dear, it's late. Dinner? Shall I rinse the rice?"
"Wait, it's the big moment!" Her eyes were glued to the TV.
"Bet he gets a call—side girl's in a car crash, he runs to her, leaving the heroine waiting for hours, back to square one," Sakura Masafumi scoffed.
"No way! They're getting together today!"
Her gaze didn't flicker, wholly invested in the virtual couple, emotions swaying with the scenes.
Shoichi ran under the sunset, panting, resolute, sweat tracing his chiseled neck, memories of her flashing in his mind. The heroine waited at their spot, cheeks flushed with anticipation.
The theme song hit its cue, the mood peaking.
Then Shoichi stopped, pulling out his phone.
"What?! Shinko's hurt!"
The close-up caught his exaggerated shock.
The music cut off.
Silence. The screen flashed his past with Shinko, her words—"Keep chasing, don't worry about me"—echoing. He looked afar, teary, and turned back.
"Told you. What's good about this garbage?" Sakura Masafumi said.
A sofa pillow hit his face.
"Your fault! Jinx! They've suffered enough—why block them? You're heartless!" His wife cried.
"It's the writer's fault. Normal people can guess this cliché," He argued.
"Shut up! No dinner—fend for yourself!"
She changed and stormed out, likely to Roppongi with friends, pocketing his credit card.
Alone at the entrance, the door's slam echoing, Sakura Masafumi felt a pang of sorrow.
Was their love fading, too? Oaths, blushes, heartbeats—all dulled by time, now just a yellowed wedding photo and an empty house.
His strive, his hustle, no match for Shoichi's fake smile. When money and love couldn't hold her, their bond was done.
How to explain this to their underage daughter?
I'm useless, failing to keep our family whole.
Snapping back, he checked his Rolex.
Almost evening news time.
Order takeout—cooking's out. Until it arrives, watch TV.
That stunning, poised anchor in black stockings was back on this channel. Heh.
But the TV was occupied. His lively, elfin daughter had taken her mother's spot.
Staring at the screen, just like her.
Not that national boyfriend again?!
Sakura Masafumi's face twisted, a dark aura rising. Creeping closer… vibrant effects, dramatic lines, dynamic shots—an anime. False alarm.
His fatherly doting smile returned, darkness gone. Sitting beside her, he asked gently, "What're you watching?"
"Last night's Dark Rebirth Fantasy," Sakura said lazily.
Never heard of it, but he nodded.
As long as it wasn't that family-threatening, rank-stealing idol nonsense.
Healing my wounded heart—my innocent, angelic daughter, my past-life love.
"Nice, anime's great, didn't you mention acting in something? When's it airing? Dad wants to see you shine."
"Huh? That's embarrassing. I'm not telling."
"You're an actor! That's unprofessional. No promotion, how's the crew paid?" He lectured. "Need me to rally? I can organize staff to watch as team-building!"
"No, no! Go do your thing in the study."
"What's wrong with a parent watching anime with their kid?"
"I'm working—studying performances to improve."
Minutes later, the family pillar stood in the backyard, staring at the sky, pondering life.
She's grown up, shooing me away.
She used to be so delicate, sensitive. Lately, she's busier, less patient with her old man.
Am I, an elite, hitting a midlife crisis?
Inside, Sakura hugged her arms, dissecting the episode like a reading comprehension test.
Alfredo's flashback cameo got about ten seconds of screen time.
Princess Penelope's performance felt overdone to her.
The rest didn't matter much.
She opened her phone, browsing online.
Dark Rebirth Fantasy had sustained high-quality, thrilling plots, gaining solid buzz. Hashtags and discussions grew, the official account tirelessly posting ads and engaging.
They'd just reposted a Dark Dream Talk promo—the memorable first episode.
Beyond basics, it included a limited work photo: a petite girl in a sailor suit and a tall, fresh-faced guy holding the source novel, smiling at the camera.
[Surprisingly fun, in and out of character.]
[The VAs are too good-looking?!]
[Real Alfredo and Penelope (lol).]
[Heard episode four, thanks for the self-roast, dying laughing. For the fans, please guest more!]
[You ditched your childhood sweetheart, didn't apologize, and demanded the ring back, Sword King of Night? So low.]
[Young vibes—both look like they love the work.]
[Two love-talk episodes—seem close.]
[Got the special merch, keep it up, always supporting!]
[Sony-san, hurry with episode one's commentary track—I need Forbidden Double Starfall Blaze.]
The comments were all joy and giggles.
Sakura sank into thought.
"Ayane, what's for dinner?" Her father returned, smiling.
"No clue why, but I'm kinda full."
***
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