Just a couple of days after the fireworks festival, Takuya Nakayama received a call from Studio Ghibli.
It was none other than Toshio Suzuki himself on the line.
His voice carried a hint of relieved excitent as he invited Takuya to attend the upcoming premiere of Kiki's Delivery Service.
As soon as the call ended, Takuya didn't hesitate for a second.
The first thing that ca to his mind was the image of Eri Nakagawa's sparkling eyes under the fireworks that night, and the longing and ambition she'd revealed when she spoke about her career.
Without thinking twice, he dialed her number.
"Eri."
Her voice on the other end was soft and teasing, a smile audible in her tone—it made his chest tighten.
"Yes, Takuya-kun."
"Are you free in a few days? I want to take you to a movie."
A light laugh ca from the other end, tinged with mischief.
"Just a movie? I don't believe that for a second. The great Executive Nakayama of Sega doesn't do things that... inefficiently."
"Ahem."
Takuya cleared his throat. This woman was getting sharper by the day.
"It's the premiere of Kiki's Delivery Service. Miyazaki and Suzuki personally invited ."
"Oh?"
Her tone shifted, filled with surprise and excitent.
Of course she knew how highly anticipated this new film was—and she also knew that Takuya's connection with Studio Ghibli was anything but ordinary.
After a pause, Takuya's voice grew gentler, more sincere.
"Think of it as… the first ti you officially attend as my date?"
There was a brief silence.
For a mont, all he could hear was the sound of both their heartbeats through the phone.
Then her voice ca, clear and warm, filled with quiet affection.
"All right."
A few days later, outside the Tokyo Imperial Theatre—
A sleek black luxury car belonging to Sega pulled up, instantly drawing a storm of cara flashes.
The door opened, and Takuya stepped out in a tailored dark Armani suit, sharp and confident, his presence commanding the crowd.
Then, turning back, he reached a hand toward the car.
As Eri stepped out, holding his hand lightly, the flashes reached their peak.
She wore a champagne-colored evening gown, elegant and refined, her long hair styled into a soft updo that revealed the graceful curve of her neck.
Under the glitter of spotlights, she looked like a moon goddess—poised, radiant, breathtaking.
"That's Takuya Nakayama! The genius Sega producer Miyazaki ntioned!"
"And the woman with him—wow, who is she? She's stunning!"
Toshio Suzuki, who had been waiting by the entrance, brightened as soon as he saw them and hurried over with a grin.
"Nakayama-san, finally! Miyazaki's been muttering your na in the dressing room all day!"
His gaze shifted to Eri, and admiration flashed across his eyes.
"It's been a while, Suzuki-san," Takuya greeted warmly, giving Eri's hand a reassuring squeeze. "This is Eri Nakagawa."
"Welco, Nakagawa-san," Suzuki said with a smile.
Eri bowed politely, her smile gentle and graceful. "Suzuki-san, it's an honor to et you."
Her poise and calm composure impressed him imdiately.
Inside the dressing room, a man in a white shirt and his trademark mustache stood with arms crossed, brows furrowed—like a volcano about to erupt.
"Miyazaki-san," Takuya called cheerfully.
Miyazaki looked up. At the sight of Takuya, his frown softened slightly.
But when his gaze landed on Eri, that sharp, artist's instinct flared up again—keen, analytical, and brutally honest.
He studied her from head to toe with open scrutiny before grunting,
"Hmph."
"I thought your brain was only capable of thinking about video gas."
He paused just long enough for everyone in the room to hear him add,
"Your taste… not bad."
Takuya chuckled awkwardly, scratching his head.
Eri, however, couldn't help but laugh. The legendary animator's gruff but genuine complint was so endearingly awkward that her eyes curved like crescents.
That soft laugh broke the tension in the room like a breeze through spring air.
Then, the lights dimd.
The screening began.
When Joe Hisaishi's ethereal score filled the theatre and the black cat Jiji spoke for the first ti, the audience fell into a deep, enchanted silence.
Eri was utterly absorbed.
She watched as Kiki left her ho, flying to the city of Koriko to start her own life.
Watched her face setbacks and doubts—her magic failing, her confidence wavering.
That struggle—to prove herself to the world, yet feel powerless and lost—hit Eri right in the heart.
It was her story too.
She, the so-called "mascot" of a major TV station, blessed with privilege but trapped in a gilded cage, had longed for a chance to prove her worth.
In the dark, a warm, steady hand slipped into hers.
Eri shivered slightly and turned her head.
The flickering light of the screen painted Takuya's face in soft gold. His eyes stayed fixed on the movie, but the strength of his grip spoke volus—gentle, reassuring, unshakable.
He understood.
He didn't just see the film's ssage—he saw her. Her quiet struggles, her ambitions, her unspoken loneliness.
That silent empathy was more powerful than any word.
Eri clasped his hand back, intertwining her fingers with his. She didn't let go.
The premiere was a resounding success.
At the afterparty, the atmosphere buzzed with excitent.
The entire elite of Japan's animation world was there—Toei, Sunrise, Tatsunoko—virtually every heavyweight studio had sent representatives.
Takuya didn't talk business that night.
He simply held a glass of wine in one hand and Eri's hand in the other, weaving gracefully through the crowd.
He introduced her simply and sincerely: "My girlfriend, Eri Nakagawa."
He never ntioned her background. But the seasoned veterans in the room weren't fools.
They saw his pride, her grace, and the chemistry between them—and they imdiately understood.
When they heard her surna, "Nakagawa," knowing smiles spread among them.
Eri, for her part, stayed composed and charming, greeting and chatting naturally with the industry's biggest nas.
And she noticed sothing profound—
The way these people looked at Takuya wasn't just respectful. It was admiring.
They didn't talk about profits or market shares.
They discussed animation cuts, storyboarding, character arcs.
For the first ti, she saw clearly—Takuya Nakayama wasn't just a successful businessman.
He was an artist. A visionary who truly loved his craft.
And that promise he'd once made to her at dinner—that he'd open doors for her—wasn't an empty one.
He was keeping it now, in the most natural, graceful way possible—by bringing her into his world, and quietly laying before her a vast web of opportunity.
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