I do not expect you to sympathize with me.

I am, after all, a freak of nature, and the evolutionary weak link.

I cannot do what you all can do so easily, what you call love.

But I do expect you to be able to read the following account with unbiased eyes. To do anything else would show a lack of professionalism. Though I do realize that a great deal of you are most likely teenagers and therefore have never even entered the adult world yet, and so do not have any reason to be professional. Nevertheless, I will ignore your cringes and whispers. I can expect nothing less, I suppose.

"Mogami-san! Mogami-san! Mogami-san!"

"I hear you perfectly well, Taniguchi-san. You do not need to yell quite so loud."

"Pardon me for my enthusiasm, ma'am. However, the CEO has asked you to meet him tomorrow at ten o'clock in the conference room! And I've heard news that he's about to promote someone from our branch! Maybe you'll become his secretary, ma'am!"

Secretary? How on earth did this girl think that being a secretary would be considered a promotion? Admittedly, Taniguchi Ami, my secretary, would most likely consider it an insult to have her profession if I voiced such opinions aloud, but the fact remained. Secretary was no title I ever wanted to hold, having my sights and ambition set on the pinnacle of the corporation. If this meeting tomorrow was for a promotion to a secretary, I would decline. I was the manager of quality control in the Kyoto branch of Fushin Inc., and was never going to settle for anything less than a management position. Taking orders and filling out meaningless paperwork was something I had avoided for as long as I had made my way through the corporate ladder, and I had no intention of succumbing to it now.

"Thank you for telling me, Taniguchi-san. I will meet with him tomorrow. Good night."

Before she could even reply with her usual hasty response of "Good night, Mogami-san", I had already hung up.

The next morning I was presented to the conference room door, guided in by his assistant. He looked up from the paper in front of him, a memo from his associate in Germany, I saw from the heading. He was an older gentleman, and though his appearance was that of a kindly grandfather or gentle benefactor, he had a reputation throughout the business world as a shark with the flawless skills of a practiced politician. I had heard of many accounts, though it is not possibe to discern what is fact and what fabrication, of many deals made and broken with the subtle tilt of his head. Such was the power of our CEO. But his smile came easily and naturally, and he had not a shred of scandal to his name, despite his aging and homely wife. Whether the lack of gossip was due to truly upstanding love for his wife, or if he was simply discreet in his love affairs was unknown, and truly, I did not care. All I wanted from him was to know what I had been called in for.

Since Fushin Kyoto was not that powerful of a group, especially compared to Fushin Tokyo or Fushin Fukuoka, the home of the international group Fushin Inc., I had wondered why the CEO of Fushin Japan had come for a visit here, and not even for leisure. Of course I heard some of the rumors, despite my efforts to stay away from my coworkers. What seemed apparent, even to such insipid talents as Taniguchi-san, was that someone here was soon to be promoted. The fact that I was called into the second conference room, which had served as the man's office in the week he had been here, served to strengthen my secretary's opinion that I would be the one promoted.

"Ah, Mogami-san. Thank you for taking the time to come in here. Please, sit down."

Nodding once, I sat in the leather chair across from his. He set his memo face-down on the table, and laced his fingers together, looking straight at me. I met his gaze without flinching, not yielding to his power or experience. I was stronger than the flitting interns and weak-willed assistants whom he was expecting me to imitate. He would not find me bowing or scraping to him. If he wanted my respect, he would have to earn it. And even then, I would not defer to him by looking away when he gazed at me.

Smiling slightly at my unapologetic response, he gestured to the stack of papers to his left.

"These are your employee evaluations from the past twelve years, starting from when you were an accountant in the quality control section. If you would remember, Kishimoto-san was the manager then, and your superior."

"I remember him well, yes," I said, reigning in my disgust for the man. A philanthropist at heart, he had been indicted of insurance fraud so he could squeeze a few thousand extra yen from the company to give to a charity. He was currently serving twenty years in the Kyoto Correctional Center. His successor had a better control over his personal life, but his unfortunate liking for cigars gave him an early grave at forty-nine years of age three years ago. After his demise, I succeeded him, age thirty-one then, young for a manager.

"Despite his many faults, Kishimoto-san regards you very well here, even from the beginning. All his evaluations praise your hardworking work ethic and no-nonsense attitude. He does express trepidation at your, ah…regrettable decision to stay single, but otherwise says that your presence is, and I quote from his January 1995 evaluation, "a refreshing change to the normally empty-headedness of many of our new female recruits". At the time of his incarceration, he had plans for approaching you of a promotion to his personal secretary."

Saved by Lady Justice, I regarded, and my distaste must have trickled into my facial expression, because his smile widened.

"After Tsuru-san's untimely death, you were unanimously decided by the board to succeed him, and have kept your department one of the sanest and organized floors of the building. All of the employees you have hired have interesting future prospects and an exceptional educational background.

"Now, tell me, Mogami-san," he leaned in forward, "Why do you put so much effort into this?"

"Excuse me, sir? Am I not supposed to put effort into my job?"

"No, no, no, of course we all appreciate your efforts. I merely find it odd that someone of your talents is not using them to further your name in the corporation. Many of your peers do so, as a way to ensure a faster promotion."

Are you referring to the idiots who can never seem to get anything done? But I didn't say that aloud, instead saying, "I believe my own department should be my priority. If my work is satisfactory, my name will spread by itself."

The CEO, pleased at this answer, then asked the question I had been expecting.

"So, then, are you interested in moving up in our company? Our QC manager will retire in a few months, and if you take a position as his assistant now, you'll succeed him when he leaves. You'll be responsible for finding your replacement here, though. Of course I don't expect you to answer now, so take a few days before you give me your answer. I'll be in Kyoto until the fifth of the month, so you've got plenty of time."

"Thank you for asking me," I said, letting my gratitude show in my voice rather than in my words. I was pleased he had asked me, after all, and though I would take a few days, I knew my answer already. What else had I been preparing for all these years, other than this offer? A few things had to be settled, yes, but other than that, I was practically already packed. "But, sir, what branch of Fushin Japan will I be in if I accept?"

"Oh? Did I neglect that?" It was clear from his tone that he hadn't neglected in the least, but had instead been delaying that until I asked. Maybe he had a dramatic streak in him, "The position you would fill would be QC manager for Fushin Fukuoka."

Being the type of woman who thinks things out thoroughly and is constantly keeping track of events, I am unaccustomed to feeling shock. But shock I felt at his statement. I'm sure my eyes widened at the thought, but I honestly cannot tell you what my face appeared as when he said those words. Fushin Fukuoka? Admittedly, it was technically another branch of Fushin Japan, and therefore on the same level as my habituated Fushin Kyoto, except for a few small, undeniable facts. Fukuoka was Fushin's hometown, where some oft-glorified, ne'er-remembered entrepreneurs jumpstarted a sleepy seaside neighborhood into a moneyed and sophisticated district, with Fushin's trademark triple skyscraper complex dominating the horizon. The largest and best of the many branches of Fushin, Fukuoka was also the residence of Fushin Japan's headquarters. In fact, every office and role filled in Fushin Fukuoka could, for all intents and purposes, be considered as junior positions for their Fushin Japan counterparts. It was a apprentice/master relationship, if you will. By taking the position of quality control manager of Fushin Fukuoka, I would be the first pick to become Fushin Japan's QC manager when the current manager retired. And though Fushin Inc. is very much a Japanese company, we have a great deal of foreign interest, and anyone with a post above that of secretary was involved, in some way, with international affairs. Quite the leap, even for someone of my ambition. The workload would certainly make my current stress level skyrocket through the glass ceiling, and I would surely end up yearning for the few relaxation minutes I currently received. And yet…Fukuoka.

The CEO, leaning back in his chair, appraised the look on my face, and nodded in approval. He and I were of the same mind, after all. Given the circumstances, only one action was acceptable for those of our kind. For we were of one kind. Had he been thirty or so years younger, I would have married him for our like-mindedness. We were both driven, talented, and unsatisfied people who were always striving for more. So as he nodded his dismissal, his eyes were twinkling in response to the fire in my own.

"I look forward to working with you, Mogami-san," he said, and I left, without saying a word, yet having expressed everything I could possibly communicate.

I, Mogami Saena, daughter of a storekeeper and his housewife, was set on the fast-track to the top of the Japanese business industry.

As I walked back to my office, I cleared my mind. I was about to be promoted, but that was hardly cause to break out the champagne and confetti. I had a few things to take care of before I left. First, the problem of my successor. I couldn't very well leave the office empty, after all. But there were no workers in my department that I would entrust the position to, and that problem was what kept me at my desk well into the night. I reviewed every file of every employee that answered to me, and pulled everything I could to find at least one person who met at least half of my expectations.

One of the more serious problems I have encountered with my perfectionism is not within myself, but within others. Over the years, the countless minor disappointments have honed my skills and discipline, and so I can often perform at the level I require myself to perform at. However, when the focus shifts to those around me, I cannot help but feel dissatisfied. How can I be so alone in my talents? Surely there is someone who can do the work I have done. And yet there were none such people under my direct command. But this pitifully low position had to be filled by someone, and that someone had to be chosen by myself.

I was the last one to leave the building that day, my desk lamp staying on far longer than my doctor recommends. And yet even I did eventually leave, forced into being contentedly frustrated with the circular pattern of my thoughts. When I finally came to the apartment I called home, I made the maddening discovery that my daughter had fallen asleep at the coffee table…again. Seemingly waiting for my return.

You see, if there is one thing on this green earth I have extreme difficulty understanding, with all my education and training, it is the female mind.

Now, as is plainly obvious, I am female myself. However, I suspect there is something flawed in my personality, because I have never felt any need for human contact. Friends, family, potential lovers, all slip into and out of my life with such distaste and apathy that I have found myself where I have always wanted to be: alone with only business partners to intermingle with. With one notable exception. You see, despite my personality and reputation, indeed, in spite of all odds, I have conceived, and am attempting to raise, a daughter.

Mogami Kyouko.

Yes, I see that flicker of recognition in your eyes, my reader. You know her, and your face says you know her very well. Possibly better than I, her mother, know her. But what you have seen occurs years in the future, a full decade in advance of this current story. And so I ask your patience as I bring you out of your romantic delusions and excited chattering, instead having you focus on the situation at hand: the girl you are so interested in reading about is asleep against the cold wood of the living room coffee table, and is only six years old.

As I was saying, I do not understand the female mind. Males I have difficulty comprehending as well, but females even more so. Especially females like my daughter. Fairy tales and true love are for those with the constitution for it, and I have never felt any inkling of desire for that. The books that line her walls are picture books with colorful depictions of princes, princesses, and benign magic. The heroine, no matter her struggles and hardships before the climax, finds herself happily wed to a handsome gentleman at the last page. My daughter laps those tales up as if they were sweet, life-giving elixir instead of the trite bedtime stories that they are.

But her fondness for stories is not the only difference between the two of us. She has enthusiasm, a blunt happiness for life itself, whilst I only wish to twist that very life into my servant. She smiles as easily as the sun rises, and is perfectly content to live for others, as exemplified in her absolute devotion to a local brat. Her soul is as clear as a well-polished mirror, and it is the simplest thing in the world to stare within her and divine her thoughts.

I hear your yells, yes, you there to my left, you are the most vocal. "She's only a child," you say, "It's only natural that you can see right through her." But youthful innocence is not what gives her this translucency. Didn't I just say I could see right through her? And I can see her future in that as well, the woman she will one day blossom into. It is that woman I feel disdain for. How can a mature woman be so utterly childlike? Her personality, years from now, will still be so utterly blatant as it is at this current moment, as she sits in my apartment, head resting on my furniture. All of her thoughts will be read as easily as if they were printed across her forehead in neon lighting. She is not one who will keep secrets hidden easily.

Maybe that is what I find most disappointing in her. She will never be wholly camouflaged, as I can be. Her soul is only too easy to glance into. And so, though she is intelligent enough, for despite her rather dull appearance she is at the top of her class, I have doubts that I can ever call her my own.

I was once asked, by a superior who I could not deny answering, if I loved the daughter I claimed as dependent on my taxes. Having no choice but to give him some sort of reply, I told him "She's my daughter, sir." But he and I both knew that, by evading the question, I had answered it. No, I do not love my daughter. I have never loved someone in my life. My own parents, my classmates, my associates, and God forbid I should ever love a man. Why should I start with one little twerp?

I told you I had a personality defect.

Perhaps I developed it because my father was abusive. Yes, he routinely hit my mother and myself. Once one of his drinking friends even raped me while my father laughed at the sight. I learned how to pick myself up, patch myself together and deal with whatever happened to me by myself. I was self-sufficient by the time I was ten years old. When my father finally did himself in by getting involved in a drunken fight in the slums of Kyoto, I attended the funeral, yes. And no, I didn't spit on his body or pronounce his evils for the world to hear. I was composed, disciplined, and learned that my normally somber attitude actually convinced attendees that I was in mourning. When my mother, who had developed a curious case of Stockholm Syndrome, committed suicide a scarce month later, that idea was only reinforced as many distant relatives commented on my grieving face. In reality, I was comparing the priest's words from my father's funeral to my mother's, had found both rather lackluster, and was dying to return to my laptop, and my term paper. I couldn't care less for either of them at that point.

Oh, you may think that I told you that to earn your sympathy, but in all honesty, your sympathy can remain impotently unborn. I realize that some of my actions later on will be thought of as inexcusable, and that to those of the more cunning sort among you will immediately think I told you this to soften you towards what will come later. But that is not the case. I merely told you as a possible explanation for my apathy. In reality, I actually believe that I truly am handicapped with a personality defect, for I cannot recall a single time when I was not this way, even before the abuse began.

But, whatever the cause is, the facts remain: I did not wish to take this girl with me to Fukuoka. I was certain that she would not raise a fuss if I told her she was to move, she was well-behaved after all. And I was certainly not concerned with her losing her precious friends (which only consisted of that little brat I referred to earlier). And perhaps Fukuoka and Fushin would give her a better grasp of the business world. But I chafed at the idea of having her around often, a living, breathing testimony that I was inadequate in one area, even if that area never mattered to me. In the area of maternity, she was the only challenge Fate had given me, and I had failed. Why should I keep that failure around, as if I could somehow come from behind and triumph over her?

I retired to my room that night, leaving her in the living room, still thinking of that promotion, and what I had to do to prepare for it. Somehow, I was already conscious of what my plans entailed.

When I gave my official answer to the CEO three days later, he asked when I was ready to leave. My answer was short and simple: whenever he wanted me there. To test this, he asked if I would accompany him that evening as he returned to Fukuoka. I acquiesced, left, finished the little bit of packing I had left undone, determined that my successor was comfortable in his newly-installed position as quality control manager, and could be found knocking at the conference room door a full hour before the train left. He was surprised at my punctuality, and as we loitered at the station, and as we sat on the way there, we talked of many things, all having to do with the corporation. If he was surprised at my promptness, he was astounded by what I had to say. But I will record none of it here. Why? Well, for two reasons. First, a large portion of what I told him and what we discussed have been turned into plans for the future, and I cannot be candid with trade secrets. Second, I won't bore you with it. I know you have come here for only one thing, and that is the story of my daughter. Advertising techniques and customer feedback are the last things you want to hear about.

Well, where did the girl end up? I have no family, my parents and I all being only children, and my grandparents departed this earth years before their children followed suit. And I had never known her father. I hesitate in telling you this, but necessity compels me to--I was involved with several affairs around the time of her conception. I'm not proud of what I did, and for the most part consider it dead and in the past. But, at the time, I was curious as to what the big fuss was about when it came to lovemaking, and, not being tied down to any moral reasons as to why not, engaged in a few nights of it. There were several men involved, and I have never discovered who it was precisely who fathered the girl. The only thing that she knows is what I told her; that he's as good as dead.

And so, with no family members to take care of her, where did she go?

I would sooner bring her with me than turn her over to social services, and have it put on a record somewhere that I am quantifiably unfit to be a mother, and so the authorities were not involved. I also have a dearth of friends to call on, and, with the few I have had, it would be undiplomatic to call them up now, after the way they shrieked at me on graduation day in college.

Interestingly, it was the girl herself provided the situation. Or, should I say, her brat of a friend's family.

Two days after I had heard of my promotion, I had an unexpected visitor at my office. It took a moment to recognize her, though in all honesty she didn't look very different. She was wearing a business suit, complete with navy blue pumps, and looked remarkably comfortable in them, considering her usual work yukata and obi.

"Hello Mogami-san," she greeted, with a gentle smile.

"Good afternoon, Fuwa-san," I said back, immediately closing the file I was poring over. It would be rude to keep her waiting when the paperwork could easily wait, "Please, sit."

"Thank you," she said as she sat gracefully in the chair across my desk, her posture erect and hands demurely folded. Let it never be said that the proprietress of the Fuwa Ryokan had no decorum.

"What brings you here?" I asked politely.

"First, a well-deserved congratulations are in order," she said, nodding her head toward me, "I've heard of your promotion."

"Thank you," I said, and I could feel the genuine emotion behind her words. This was no snake of a woman; she had not a cunning bone in her body. I am sure she has given out her fair share of empty compliments in her time, especially considering her profession, but this was not one of them.

"What will be your new position?" she asked, and I was starting to regret the small talk. I would have preferred she had just sprung for the jugular. But, hostesses will be hostesses...

"Quality control manager in Fukuoka," I gestured to the stack of folders and files, "As you can see, it's quite the process."

"Yes, I can," she conceded, "You must be quite busy. I apologize for taking some of your time."

"It's nothing to worry about," I assured her, though I was practically itching for her to state her business, a solution worked out, and I saw the back of her as she left my office. It had nothing to do with the woman herself, I actually found her to be fairly good company, under other circumstances.

"Yes, you are a very talented woman, Mogami-san. I'm sure you'll complete everything on time."

The type of back-handed comment I'd expect from petty rivals. From her, it sounded like a gentle compliment.

"My husband and I…" she began, then paused, as if unsure how to word things delicately. I waved her on; I was a tough enough woman to take it, "…are worried about Kyouko-chan."

Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived at the jugular.

Of course she'd be worried about my daughter. She was always the mother hen, constantly fussing over her own son, with some of that excessive love spilling over to my child. The perfect mother I could never be, and I thought that without jealousy.

"Fukuoka's a perfectly safe city," I said reassuringly, though in all honesty I had no idea what the crime statistics there were.

"I'm sure it is," she said, "but we were wondering if Kyouko would…'take' to the move. She's strong enough, surely, but my husband and I have always agreed that a stable environment is necessary for a child to be raised. And, seeing how the guests at our ryokan are fond of her, we were wondering--"

"If you could adopt her?" I asked, following her train of thought.

"Not quite," she said, and an odd gleam entered her eye. Was she scheming something? "My husband and I would look after her as if she were our own daughter, take care of all expenses, and teach her all the aspects of our business. But we would not adopt her."

"That sounds like quite a lot of work for you," I stated, and was surprised at her willingness to take on another child, "What would you want in return?"

"Your word that, if and when the time comes, you will give your permission for our Shotaro to marry her."

My eyebrows raised entirely of their own accord. So that was what the gleam meant, and also why she refused adoption. She wanted my daughter to marry her son. The child was a decade away from the legal age of marriage for women, and I was already discussing her future husband. Who would have thought the girl was so desirable a daughter-in-law?

"Neither of us want any official word, you see," she assured me, "but merely a verbal agreement. If it turns out that she is more unsuited for this work than we think, or she decides to do something else with her life, then we will be content to let her go. But it would save both of us a bit of work later if you give your blessing now."

Not be suited? For the ryokan industry? Good grief, the girl might have been doing this in past lives for the competency of her work. Six years old, and she was already being tipped by the customers. I had no difficulty visualizing her becoming the okami of the ryokan.

"But, I have to admit, I believe Kyouko-chan will one day take over in my stead as the co-owner. Call it woman's intuition, if you like."

And she doted on the boy. The few times I had seen him, she had been as devoted as a golden retriever, and she never flinched or denied him anything, despite his loud and prideful attitude and frequent demands. Would she think it so horrible to be married to him? No, she would probably be thrilled.

"Mogami-san?" her voice called me back to the present and I realized I had yet to say anything.

"That sounds like a brilliant plan, Fuwa-san. I'll be willing to pay for her living expenses, though, so you don't need to worry about that. You can expect bimonthly checks in your mailbox. Concerning the engagement, what paperwork do you want me to sign? I admit, I have never dealt with an arranged marriage before…Forgive me, I understand that this is an unofficial agreement?"

But we both comprehended each other perfectly: someday, unless some unforeseen incident occurred, Fuwa Shotaro and Mogami Kyouko would marry, and I would be the grandmother of the next Fuwa family heir.

Send out the wedding invitations.