Kyoya Otori looked up from the manila file in his lap to the girl sitting opposite him. Unlike the other candidates who had sat in front of him she showed no outward sign that she was nervous—that is if she was at all nervous— except for a hyperactively waggling foot.
He steepled his fingers and cleared his throat. Her eyes flew towards his.
"You seem like a very desirable candidate," he began.
"Thanks, you do too," she replied, handing him a file with his name written on it in spiky kana.
He was mildly surprised: she was the only one of the girls who had done any homework about him; they were always so anxious that he'd accept them. And what else was surprising was that all of his personal information was under lock and key—only a skilled hacker could get to them.
Well, it was only to be expected from the daughter of the owner of the biggest IT company in Japan. She'd probably asked one of her father's numerous employees to extract the files for her.
"Ah… I see you found information on me as well," he remarked.
She shrugged. "No offense, Otori-san, but your security system is a bit on the lax side—all I had to do was figure out the password and decode the encrypted files… not very difficult."
Now he was more than mildly surprised. She had hacked into the files herself. How… intelligent… he thought. Another addition to her list of assets.
The truth of the matter was the candidates he had been interviewing the past 3 weeks were candidates for marriage. And like all his peers, Kyoya Otori had to make one that was financially successful. So far all the candidates were mainly families working in the niche market, importers and exporters of fine jewelry, fine flowers, fine cars, fine drinks…the list went on.
There had been a couple from families who ran major chains and businesses, but he had not been able to bear the few minutes he spent with them, and could not imagine spending his entire life with those spoiled, whining, pouting, sulking juveniles.
"Are you… happy with the description?" he found himself asking.
She shrugged again. "Happy or not, as long as I don't die in the process, I'll be all right.
"It's a win-win situation. Shirotsuki and Otori Incorporated will combine and become one enormously profitable company. Win," she gestured to herself, "Win," gesturing towards him.
He raised his eyebrows.
"Then we are in agreement?" he asked.
"Yes." she replied.
"Let this be a long and effective partnership," he said shaking her hand firmly.
Akari sat in the back of the limousine with her mother on the phone beside her and her brother Seizo blasting space invaders from Neptune on the other side.
She stared straight ahead out of the windshield, deep in thought.
Well, she'd pledged herself. No going back. Even though she was merely 16, most of the girls—and boys—in her class had fiancées. No biggie.
She really didn't know all that much about Otori Kyoya. She went to the same school, and saw him in the hallways sometimes, but had never actually spoken to him. She knew that the twin boys in her class, the Hitachiins, Fujioka Haruhi, and Otori-san all belonged to the same club—the Host Club—which the girls in her class were always talking excitedly about. She'd never gone to see it, although she understood that anybody could go.
Her family had just newly made a name for itself, so she'd gone to a different school before. But when Shirotsuki Industries had risen to fame, her father had enrolled her and her younger brother into Ouran School.
The limousine suddenly screeched to a halt in front of the Shirotsuki estate. Akari and her brother toppled out of their seats. Her mother gave a gasp and cried, "Masato!"
"Sorry," apologized the new driver sheepishly.
Akari smiled at him. She liked Masato. Sure he was clumsy and always mumbled, but he'd always get her sweets from his neighborhood on the poor side of Tokyo even though her house was stocked full of Swiss chocolates and Dutch strudels. Go figure.
The three left the car as Masato opened the door to the limo.
He stopped Akari once Seizo and her mother had left. A light blush suffused his youthful face. "M-my brother just got back from Hong Kong yesterday, a-and I, um, thought you'd like to try some of this," he stuttered, pulling out a cube wrapped in cheap-looking cellophane.
"Wow! Thanks, Masato!" she said, removing the wrapper. "Saltwater taffy? How did you know it was my favorite?"
He smiled, pleased with himself. "All sweets are your favorite," he replied, showing an unusual display of verbal bravery.
She grinned widely, "You're right! Thank you so much!" she hugged him enthusiastically.
"An-Anytime," he stammered, turning around quickly and getting busy with the car's antenna.
She popped the piece of candy into her mouth and chewed it thoughtfully.
"Hey, this is great! You're the best Masato!" she exclaimed, tugging his shirt for another hug-giving.
Masato waved her off, but she still hugged him from behind before running happily towards the mansion that was her home.
Kyoya sat in the armchair of his room reading a 6-page report on an Otori asset's income rate. Single-spaced. He read the third line for what could very possibly be the seven hundredth time.
He sighed, threw the thick sheaf of papers towards his desk and rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily.
It wasn't easy being the youngest. Especially if he wanted to take over the firm after his father retired.
He slumped in his chair looking around his plush room. He should probably go to sleep.
He would have to get up bright and early the next morning. He and Shirotsuki-san were headed to go get registered for a marriage license.
Although the actual wedding was still several years in the coming, he required something more binding than an oral agreement.
He thought briefly of the slender girl with the smooth black hair. Was she really to become his bride? The notion still felt foreign to him.
He sighed again, put his glasses away, and walked toward his four-poster bed and sunk into its luxurious depths gratefully.