It was Saturday morning. A sleek, jet-black Kamishiro family town car glided silently to a halt along the pristine, tree-lined avenues of the Aoyama district.
"We have arrived, Young Master," the driver said quietly from the front seat, already moving to step out and open the door.
"Got it," Renji replied smoothly, and stepped out onto the pristine sidewalk, casually adjusting the collar of his high-end, tailored charcoal trench coat. Beneath it, he wore a simple, perfectly fitted black turtleneck and dark trousers.
He looked up at the building in front of him. It was a stunning piece of modern architecture, a towering structure of dark, reflective glass and brushed steel that housed some of the most exclusive office apartments in the city.
Renji walked through the heavy glass doors into the main lobby. The space was a masterclass in minimalist luxury, featuring imported marble floors, quiet water features, and a security desk manned by two imposing guards in tailored suits.
As soon as the guards saw him approach, their posture straightened instantly. They offered deep, synchronized bows, not even asking to see his identification.
Renji returned a polite, measured nod and bypassed the main elevator bank entirely. Instead, he walked toward a discreet, polished steel door situated at the far end of the lobby. He pulled a heavy, matte-black keycard from his pocket, tapped it against the hidden scanner, and stepped into the private express elevator.
As the doors slid shut and the elevator began its rapid, silent ascent, Renji leaned back against the cool metal wall and simply let out a quiet breath.
He was entirely alone for the moment, which gave his mind the perfect opportunity to process once again, what he was actually doing here.
In the original script of the game, Kamishiro Renji was a successful teen model. It was a convenient background detail that explained why he was so popular, why he had an impeccable fashion sense, and why he occasionally (mostly) missed school events to let Takumi have the spotlight with the heroines.
But the game, intentionally or unintentionally, left out a very crucial detail. The agency he was heading to wasn't just some talent management company that had scouted him or anything. He didn't share a roster with a hundred other struggling actors and models fighting for scraps of screen time.
No, this agency belonged exclusively to him.
The memories of how it came to be still baffled his new adult sensibilities. When he was fifteen years old, in his first year of high school, he had casually mentioned over dinner that he had been approached by a magazine photographer and thought modelling "might be a neat hobby to try out".
Most wealthy parents would have simply hired a reputable manager or signed a contract with an established firm to ensure their son was protected in the industry.
Well, the Kamishiro parents were not most people.
When their son expressed a mild interest in the fashion industry, they hadn't just dipped their toes in the water. They had effectively bought the entire ocean. Within a month, his father had purchased an entire floor of this prime Aoyama office building — a real estate transaction that likely cost millions of yen. They had then established a completely bespoke, private management agency designed from the ground up to serve one single purpose: managing Kamishiro Renji.
To the old him, it had just been normal. It was exactly what he expected from his parents.
But to the current him, who used to agonize over whether he could afford to add an extra egg to his cheap instant ramen, the scale of this financial power was almost terrifying. His parents had essentially built a multi-million-dollar corporate fortress just to indulge his teenage hobby.
The soft chime of the elevator broke his train of thought.
The polished steel doors slid open seamlessly. Stepping out, Renji was greeted by a massive, frosted glass wall. Etched into the center of the glass in sleek, minimalist silver lettering was the name his parents had chosen: PRNC Agency.
Renji stepped through the glass doors into the expansive reception area. The aesthetic was immaculate, designed to impress high-end fashion executives. The floors were laid with wide planks of dark, reclaimed oak, contrasting beautifully with the stark white walls and the tasteful, modern art pieces illuminated by soft gallery lighting.
Because the entire floor was dedicated strictly to his management, the space was incredibly quiet. There were no ringing phones from dozens of clients, no chaotic interns running around with coffee, and no crowded waiting rooms.
Behind a minimalist desk carved from a single block of white marble sat the agency's receptionist and general assistant.
"Good morning, Kamishiro-sama."
The receptionist, a highly polished woman in her late twenties wearing a tailored designer suit, immediately stood up and offered a flawless, forty-five-degree bow.
"Good morning," Renji replied smoothly, his deep voice carrying effortlessly across the quiet room. "I hope your commute was smooth today."
She blinked, a fleeting look of surprise crossing her perfectly made-up face before she masked it with professional courtesy. Renji rarely engaged in small talk. "Yes, it was quite smooth. Thank you for inquiring, Kamishiro-sama. Kido-san is already waiting for you in your office."
Renji offered her a warm smile and walked past the desk, heading down the wide central corridor.
As he moved through the agency, he looked through the soundproof glass walls of the few occupied rooms. In one spacious studio, his dedicated stylist, Haruka, was quietly steaming a small, curated rack of high-end designer clothing shipped in for his upcoming seasonal shoot. In an adjacent office, a sole PR coordinator sat at a pristine desk, monitoring his official social media engagement and filtering interview requests.
It was a tiny, elite team. Just a handful of highly-paid, mid-career professionals whose entire forty-hour workweeks revolved around managing the schedule, image, and finances of one high school student.
Everyone he passed stopped their work, stood up, and bowed respectfully. Renji returned their greetings with polite, unhurried nods, his expression completely calm and composed.
The people working here were excellent at their jobs, but as Renji watched the way they looked at him, he realized something crucial. They didn't look at him with genuine, personal loyalty. They looked at him the way a team of museum curators might look at a highly valuable, incredibly fragile piece of art.
And why would they see him any differently? To them, he was just an eighteen-year-old high school student who happened to win the genetic and financial lottery. These elite handlers had been bought out by the Kamishiro family's endless checkbook to ensure the heir was insulated from the dark side of the entertainment industry.
Their loyalty wasn't to Kamishiro Renji, the person. Their loyalty was entirely tethered to the Kamishiro family payroll. He was simply the VIP product they were contracted to babysit and protect. If his father ever decided to shut the agency down tomorrow, these people would simply pack their briefcases, collect their massive severance packages, and move on to the next corporate gig without shedding a single tear.
'It makes perfect sense,' Renji thought, his polished black leather shoes making no sound against the oak floors. 'Mom and dad built this to protect me when I was a newbie. It's a smart, loving move from them.'
He reached the end of the corridor and stopped in front of the heavy frosted glass door of his private corner office.
'This staff is highly competent, but they are temporary,' Renji concluded internally, his jaw setting with quiet resolve. 'I'm eighteen now. I'm legally an adult, and soon their contract will end. '
After all, no one was sure at that time that whether Renji would continue modelling or was it just a whim of their otherwise smart and well-behaved child, so making a contract with a farther deadline might have resulted in a pure waste of money.
They concluded that if he still planned to continue modelling, they could just renew the contracts or bring in other professionals, depending on the situation.
'If I am going to survive in this world and truly take control of my own life, I can't rely entirely on my parents.'
'I will build a team that belongs to me.'
He needed people who didn't just respect his family's money, but respected him. Over the next year, he was going to find replacements for these outsourced corporate handlers and begin making his own team.
With that plan firmly locked into his mind, Renji pushed the glass door open and stepped into his office.
The corner office was massive, flooded with natural light from two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking, panoramic view of the Tokyo skyline. In the center of the room sat a heavy executive desk made of dark walnut, accompanied by a comfortable, modern seating area designed for casual meetings.
Sitting on one of the plush leather sofas, tapping rapidly on a sleek silver tablet, was his assigned chief manager, Kido.
Kido was a man in his mid-thirties, possessing the sharp, angular features and intense focus of a man who lived entirely on black coffee and industry stress. He wore a flawless, charcoal-grey suit, his hair slicked back into an impeccable style. He was the ultimate corporate handler — ruthlessly efficient, highly connected, and entirely devoid of any warm, fuzzy emotional attachments.
"Good morning, Kamishiro-sama," Kido said immediately, standing up from the sofa and offering a crisp, professional bow. "Right on schedule, as always."
"Morning, Kido-san," Renji replied smoothly. He unbuttoned his trench coat, taking it off and draping it casually over the back of an armchair before taking a seat opposite his manager. "Let's skip the small talk. Walk me through the itinerary for the weekend."
Kido blinked, a minor, almost imperceptible flicker of surprise crossing his sharp eyes. Usually, Renji would sit in silence, occasionally sipping water, while Kido read the schedule aloud. He never showed much enthusiasm for his work other than mild amusement one would get by simply finding something worthy to pass time without being bored. So, this sudden, get straight to business behaviour was uncharacteristic.
"Of course," Kido recovered instantly, swiping a finger across his tablet. "This weekend is relatively contained, ensuring you have ample time to rest before classes resume on Monday. At 11:00 AM today, we have the final fitting for the 'Sapphire Line' autumn catalogue here in the studio. The head designer has forwarded the specifications to Haruka for tailoring."
Renji nodded slowly, crossing his long legs and resting his hands comfortably in his lap. "That's the high-end formal wear brand, correct? Who is the assigned photographer for the actual shoot next week?"
Kido looked up from his tablet, genuinely taken aback this time. The old Renji had never once asked who was behind the camera. He simply showed up, hit his marks flawlessly, and left the logistics entirely to the adults.
"It's… Matsumoto-sensei," Kido answered carefully, observing Renji's relaxed but highly focused posture. "The client specifically requested him due to his expertise with low-light, dramatic contrast photography."
"I see," Renji confirmed smoothly. "What about tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow is primarily administrative," Kido continued, scrolling further down his screen. "We have a preliminary review of a proposed endorsement contract for a luxury skincare line targeting the young adult demographic. The initial numbers offered by their corporate representatives are highly lucrative, but there are some restrictive exclusivity clauses hidden in the print that I am currently flagging for your father's legal team to review."
"Restrictive how?" Renji asked, his dark blue eyes narrowing just a fraction.
"They are requesting a strict, three-year non-compete clause across all cosmetic and grooming categories," Kido explained. "It means if you sign with them, you cannot endorse any other grooming products, colognes, or lifestyle brands in that sector until you are twenty-one. Given your current upward trajectory in the market, locking you out of that sector for three years could severely cap your potential earnings and brand growth."
Renji leaned back into the leather sofa.
This was exactly why his parents had hired someone like Kido. The man was a corporate drone, yes, but he was an incredibly sharp, competent one. He saw the trap in the contract and was actively working to protect the Kamishiro asset.
"I agree with your assessment, Kido-san. A three-year lock at this stage in my career is unacceptable," Renji said calmly. "Counter their offer directly. Tell them I'll agree to a strict eighteen-month exclusivity clause for the skincare sector only. Cologne and general lifestyle branding must remain completely open. If they balk at the reduction in time, offer them a guaranteed social media rollout campaign on my personal accounts to sweeten the immediate deal, but do not yield on the timeline."
Kido sat frozen for a full three seconds, staring at the eighteen-year-old boy in front of him.
The strategy Renji had just proposed was the exact strategy Kido had been planning to pitch to the senior legal team later that afternoon.
"I…" Kido started, clearing his throat to regain his professional composure. "I believe that is an exceptionally sound strategy, Kamishiro-sama. I will draft the counter-proposal immediately and send it to their representatives by Monday morning."
"Excellent," Renji smiled, standing up from the sofa. "Send the draft to my personal email before it goes to them. I want to read the final wording myself."
"Understood," Kido bowed his head, a new, genuine layer of professional respect colouring his actions.
Renji walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the sprawling, sunlit metropolis of Tokyo. Millions of people were out there, grinding through their weekend routines, completely unaware of the quiet, exclusive empire he was currently standing in.
The old him had possessed all the power but hadn't known what to do with it. But now, he knew exactly how to use it.