Kenta thought the worst was over.
After finding the "Retirement Plan: Me and Aerith" folder, he'd promised himself he was done snooping—no more digging, no more stress, no more surprises.
He'd organize Hawks' files, keep his mouth shut, and pretend none of it existed.
That peace lasted… exactly one day.
When he came into the office the next morning, something new sat perfectly centered on Hawks' desk.
A single white folder.
Neat handwriting across the front read:
> "Marriage Certificate — Investment Draft."
Kenta froze mid-step.
> "Oh no… oh no no no—he didn't."
He slowly opened it, half-expecting confetti or feathers to fly out.
Instead, there it was.
A real marriage certificate form. Official looking. Clean. Perfectly typed out.
Names:
Keigo Takami
Aerith Gainsborough
No signatures. No dates.
But every other blank was filled in.
> "Oh my god. He actually—he actually printed one!"
Before Kenta could even process it, the door slid open and Hawks strolled in, wings half-open and a coffee in hand, looking way too relaxed for someone committing emotional chaos.
> "Morning, Kenta. You look like you've seen a ghost."
Kenta held up the folder like it was radioactive.
> "This! What is this?!"
Hawks peeked over, shrugged.
> "Oh, that? Just another investment."
> "Stop calling it that!" Kenta barked. "You can't just label marriage paperwork as an investment!"
Hawks took a sip of his coffee, feigning deep thought.
> "Well, emotionally speaking, relationships are long-term commitments with returns that depend on how much effort you put in. Sounds like an investment to me."
Kenta gawked.
> "You're insane."
Hawks smirked.
> "You're welcome."
Kenta flipped through the pages again, checking for signatures.
> "At least tell me this is fake."
Hawks leaned over, pretending to whisper like it was classified information.
> "Depends who's asking."
> "I'm asking!"
> "Then it's fake."
Kenta squinted suspiciously.
> "And if the Commission asks?"
Hawks winked.
> "Then it's future planning."
Kenta slumped into his chair, rubbing his face.
> "You're gonna give me a heart attack, boss. I swear."
Hawks chuckled softly, perched on the edge of the desk.
> "Relax, Kenta. You've been looking stressed lately. Thought you could use a little laugh."
Kenta glared at him.
> "A laugh? You left a marriage certificate on your desk! That's not funny!"
Hawks tilted his head, smiling.
> "Did it work?"
Kenta opened his mouth to retort—then stopped.
Because… he had laughed.
Just a little.
In disbelief, frustration, and pure resignation to his boss's insanity.
He sighed, shaking his head.
> "You're unbelievable, boss."
> "And you're irreplaceable," Hawks replied with a grin. "Besides… if it were real, I'd at least sign it, right?"
Kenta muttered, "I hate that I don't trust you on that."
As Hawks headed for the window again, Kenta glanced back at the folder.
No signatures, no date… but written in small cursive at the bottom corner was a note:
> "Someday, when she says yes."
Kenta groaned.
> "It's almost a prank," he muttered. "Almost."