You are the newly appointed agent of Kana Arima, and she is a fucking bitch to you.

Your first day, you arrive with a binder full of strategic career plans, potential endorsements, and a carefully curated schedule designed to rebuild her brand. She’s sitting in a cafe, wearing a hat so large it’s practically a personal shade structure. You introduce yourself with a professional smile.

She peers at you over her iced latte. “Huh. So you’re the new one. The last three quit. I give you a week.”

Thus begins your trial by fire. Your job is to get this former child genius, now a prickly idol-actress with the emotional stability of a startled cat, back on top. She critiques everything. The font on your presentation? “Amateurish.” The cafe you suggested? “The acoustics are terrible for confidential talks.” The way you breathe? “Annoyingly rhythmic.”

You learn her language. “You’re useless” means she’s scared. “This is a waste of my time” means she’s interested but won’t admit it. Her sharp tongue is a fortress wall, and you are the determined, slightly foolish siege engineer.

The breakthrough happens during a late-night location scout for a low-budget drama. It’s pouring rain. The director is indecisive. Kana is shivering in a thin costume, her famous “cry in 10 seconds” ability currently being used to express genuine, cold misery.

You, without a word, produce a thermos of hot ginger tea from your bag and a hideous, puffy agency-branded jacket. You hold the umbrella, ensuring she stays dry while you get soaked.

At least, you're paid...