RED - miya atsumu

SIXTEEN

SIXTEEN

MISS RED TAPPED sat at her desk, tapping idly at the table with her perfectly manicured fingers. The rising sun cast a dazzling, scarlet glow across her pale face, its golden light glinting brightly off of the rim of her red sunglasses. High above the busy streets of Tokyo, it was quiet in Red's office–only the soft hum of the AC rippled through the otherwise silent atmosphere.

Watching the sun rise at the crack of dawn was something similar to a ritual to Red–every day, as the morning star slowly peeked over the horizon, the successful CEO would turn and watch as it slowly advanced into the sky, whose crimson streaks would eventually deepen into an inexplicably sad blue. In comparison to how hectic her days would be, dawn was always the calm before the storm.

But today, despite her calm appearance, a turmoil churned within the depths of the enigmatic woman. Albeit her facial muscles were relaxed and at peace, her mind was quite the contrary as they sped through thoughts.

Who wrote the article?

Do they have good intentions?

Bad intentions?

Are they on my side, or Akabane's side?

Will Akabane retaliate under the assumption that I wrote that article?

How will the public react to that article?

What will they think if they believe that I wrote it?

What should I do if they think it was me?

Will Akabane use this to his advantage?

The public might think that, despite my generous response to Akabane, I am bitter and wrote this. How should I respond to this?

What is the worst-case scenario?

Like the leaves that disturb the stillness of a puddle of rainwater collected beneath scarlet-leaved trees, Red's thoughts cluttered together and cast several ripples across the shrine-like atmosphere.

Biting her inner lip, Red leaned forward and flipped open her computer–her fingers clicked profusely against the keys as she typed, brows furrowed with concentration as she flipped through page after page.

A good ten minutes passed before she finally gave an exhaustive sigh, leaning back in her chair.

Whoever wrote this hid their tracks well, she concluded silently. The sunlight streaming in through the tinted windows lit her perfectly sculpted face. Her nose bridge, dimples, and wisps of hair cast shadows across her otherwise bright face. They don't want me to find them.

Why?

With a sudden start, Akikawa leaned forward and rested her elbows on her glass desk.

Why are they hiding from me?

Shadowed eyes hidden behind her sunglasses pierced through the abstract atmosphere.

Who are you?

"Miss Red?"

Said woman looked up, refocusing on the unforgiving reality before her. Her faithful secretary was looking down at her, short, wispy bangs just barely passing over her watchful, observant eyes. Akabane watched her employer with vague concern.

"Are you alright? You were zoning out just now," she noted.

Kogawa allowed the faintest of smiles to pervade her ruby lips. "I'm feeling quite fine," she assured her secretary. "Just... thinking." Upon uttering the last word, her hidden black eyes flitted over to the tinted windows that separated her from the Tokyo autumn air. In the distance, the infamous Skytree glinted darkly under the morning light.