"..."
It took Akira and the crew-cut man sitting across from him nearly ten minutes to move from polite small talk to chatting about everyday life.
"Miyamura-sensei, shall we get straight to today's main topic?" the woman beside them finally interrupted with a smile, clearly losing patience.
The crew-cut man fell silent. In those ten minutes he'd already realized how difficult this negotiation might be, and quietly put aside the naïve thoughts he'd had at the start.
"Mm," Akira nodded. He could tell at a glance that the woman — Funo Jun — was the one really in charge, while the man beside her was more of an assistant.
The man opposite him looked only a year or two older than Funo Jun, though he affected an air of forced maturity. Akira had gathered that much from their brief conversation; the assistant had practically revealed his background in those ten minutes.
"Ahem…" the crew-cut man cleared his throat and asked cautiously, "Miyamura-sensei, have you given any thought to adapting Anohana: The Flower We Saw That Day into an anime?"
"..."
Silence fell across the room. Funo Jun gave a soft laugh to cut the tension, while Akira felt a mix of amusement and bemusement. If he hadn't entertained the idea, would he even be sitting here now?
For the next half hour Funo Jun conducted the negotiation with practiced subtlety. Nothing decisive was resolved: the studio reps hinted they'd revisit the project after seeing the second volume's sales, and they asked Akira to consider their studio first if he decided to license the adaptation.
Akira smiled and remained politely noncommittal as they left.
"Akira, weren't you nervous at all?" Shouko asked once the door closed behind the visitors, relief clear in her voice.
"Not really." He shrugged and handed her a candy from his pocket. "I didn't expect the first meeting to be a smooth success, so there wasn't much to be nervous about. I'm the one selling the copyright — they're the ones who should be nervous. If I panic, everything falls apart. Honestly, it's not that different from chatting about everyday things."
Shouko blinked. For a moment, that actually made sense.
"Let's go," Akira said, rising. "We'll bike to Akihabara now. Send me the address."
"Shouldn't we wait for Funo Jun to come back?" Shouko asked.
He waved his phone. "She's busy. If we run into her, we'll say hello. If not, I'll text her."
Shouko slipped her hand into his and the two left the conference room together.
They took the elevator down, and because Funo Jun was still occupied Akira sent her a quick message:
"Funo-san, Shouko and I have something to do — we're heading out first."
No reply came, but he didn't mind. He opened the navigation app to the address Shouko had sent.
"Akira, do you think the person who arranged the meeting at the maid café is male or female?" Shouko shouted over the wind as they pedaled.
Akira stopped at an intersection, took off his helmet, and looked back. "Probably a guy. Who else would pick a maid café as a meeting place, huh?"
"Mm…" Shouko nodded; it made sense.
The route took longer than expected — Akihabara's backstreets, a GPS hiccup, and a couple of wrong turns — but after an hour they stood in front of the three-story café, pink sign crowned with a giant cat ear.
"Akira… will you talk to him?" Shouko asked nervously as they neared the entrance.
"Nope." Akira crossed his arms in an exaggerated X. "This is your battlefield. I'll stay and back you up, but you should learn to handle this yourself."
Shouko bit her lip, hesitated, and then nodded: "Mm."
Neon and noise filled the main street. An ita-bag parade shuffled past; a Miss Maid in a frilly black-and-white uniform handed out flyers, bows bouncing as she moved.
"Does it look good, Akira?" Shouko asked quietly.
"It's fine," he said seriously. "But I'd rather see you wear it."
Shouko whacked him without hesitation, then stole a quick glance at the maid's outfit.
They pushed open the café door; tiny bells chimed and a blast of cool air mixed with the smell of fried chicken washed over them. The room was dense with mint-green decor, paw-print tablecloths, polaroid walls, and twinkling string lights. A slightly off-key pop tune played overhead.
"Welcome home, Master!" three cat-eared maids called in perfect unison. Shouko jumped so hard she almost collided with a gashapon machine.
A round-faced maid with twin tails approached with two markers tucked into her apron: "Would you like a healing seat by the window?"
She handed them a menu with a scrolling cartoon cat on the cover and fluorescent-highlighted "Moe Recommendations" inside. Couples were common here; the place made no fuss about it.
"Three people," Shouko managed, clutching the menu. "One more friend is coming."
"Understood. Please command us anytime," the maid chirped and flitted away.
Akira lowered his voice. "Shouko, text the client and tell him where we're sitting."
"Mm-hm." Shouko tapped her phone as Akira scanned the room.
At the next table an uncle in an ita-shirt lost rock-paper-scissors to a maid and ended up with Pikachu stickers across his forehead. Three high school girls filmed a maid in pink Lolita teaching them heart poses, squealing "Kawaii~!" between giggles.
Before they could breathe, the maid leader with rabbit ears grabbed a microphone: "Table three! Birthday bonus time!"
Akira rubbed his temples as the café erupted in harmless chaos. Admiring cute maids was the last thing on his mind — especially with Shouko sitting so close and watching him intently.
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