PRETEND PRINCESS

Yuki's pov

The sharp smack of my resume hitting the floor echoed like a gunshot in the room. My eyes darted to the crumpled paper lying there, a small but loud reminder of how this day had already gone to shit.

I stood there, mouth slightly open, staring at the manager like she’d just cursed my ancestors. What the actual hell?

“I’m sorry,” she said, though her tone suggested she wasn’t sorry at all. She crossed her arms, her nails clicking against her sleeve like a countdown to my dismissal. “We’re not hiring.”

I blinked, thrown off. “Not hiring?” I echoed, incredulous. “I saw the vacancy notice. Like… this vacancy notice.” I held up my phone, scrolling to the job listing I’d literally applied for two days ago.

She didn’t even glance at it. “Well, the position’s been filled.”

What? No. No, that didn’t make sense. I’d prepped for this interview for days. I’d ironed my pink blazer to perfection, styled my hair like I was meeting the love of my life, and walked into this cold, soulless office thinking, Yeah, today’s my day.

“But I just saw—”

“Listen.” She sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose as if I were the most exhausting human she’d ever met. “We’re. Not. Hiring. No guys, no gals, no bodies. Got it?”

I felt the words hit me square in the chest. The confusion, the embarrassment—it all bubbled up into this weird cocktail of frustration. “Right,” I said slowly, trying to piece together the situation without totally losing my shit. “So, you’re saying this place isn’t hiring anyone?”

“Yes,” she said sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument.

And then it happened.

“Oh my god! I got the job?! Thank you so much!”

The squeal came from beside me, piercing and bright, and I turned just in time to see a woman bouncing up and down like she’d won the lottery. She was grinning ear to ear, clutching her bag like it contained the secrets to the universe.

My stomach dropped.

The manager was shaking her hand, her face painted with a smile I hadn’t even known she could manage. “Welcome aboard,” she said warmly.

I couldn’t help it. I stared. Then I pointed—not at her, but between the two of them. “Wait. You’re hiring?”

The manager’s smile evaporated as she turned to me. “Please excuse us. Thank you.”

She said it like I was some unwelcome insect buzzing around her desk. I couldn’t even process the level of disrespect as I stumbled out of the office, my cheeks burning with humiliation.

By the time I hit the street, I was a mess of emotions. Confusion. Anger. Hurt. My styled hair felt too tight, my blazer too loud, and the city too bright.

The subway home was an endless blur of screeching brakes and hollow stares. I sat there, gripping the pole like it was the only thing tethering me to reality. I didn’t even care about the weird looks I got—probably because my lemon-yellow pants were practically glowing under the fluorescent lights.

When I finally reached the apartment, the smell of jasmine tea and the soft patter of Suzu’s tiny paws greeted me. My three-legged wonder pup bolted over as soon as I opened the door, her tail wagging like she hadn’t seen me in years.

“Hey, Suzu,” I said, scooping her up and pressing my face into her fur. Her warmth grounded me, just a little.

Grandpa was sitting in his favorite armchair by the window, staring blankly at the skyline. His once-sharp eyes were now clouded, his expression distant. But when he noticed me, his face lit up, even if just for a moment.

“Yuki!” he said, his voice crackling like an old record. “You’re home.”

“Yeah, Grandpa. I’m home,” I replied, forcing a smile. I set Suzu down, and she hobbled over to him, curling up at his feet.

“How was work today?” he asked, his head tilting slightly as he studied me.

I swallowed hard. “It wasn’t work, Grandpa. I went for that interview, remember?”

He blinked, his brow furrowing as if trying to piece together a puzzle. “Interview? Oh, yes. Of course. Did you get the job?”

The question hit like a sucker punch. “No,” I admitted quietly, sitting on the couch beside him. “I didn’t get it.”

He frowned, his thin fingers tapping the armrest. “That’s a shame. You’re a smart boy, Yuki. Any place would be lucky to have you.”

“Yeah.” My voice wavered despite my best effort. “Thanks, Grandpa.”

He smiled at me, though it faded as his gaze drifted back to the window. “Did I eat lunch today?”

I nodded, my throat tightening. “Yeah, I made you rice and miso soup. You liked it.”

“Ah, yes,” he murmured, though I could tell he didn’t remember. “You take such good care of me, Yuki.”

I excused myself before the lump in my throat could choke me. Suzu followed me into my room, her three little legs padding softly against the floor. I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling as she jumped up and nestled beside me.

The apartment was too quiet, the weight of responsibility pressing down on me like a ton of bricks. The bills were piling up on the counter, and Grandpa’s medication wasn’t getting any cheaper.

I picked up my phone, scrolling aimlessly through job listings. Every one of them felt like another closed door. My fingers tightened around the device as a bitter thought crept into my mind: What’s the point?

“Hey, Suzu,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “Do you think we can just… not pay rent? Like, what are they gonna do? Kick us out? I dare them.”

She tilted her head, her big eyes staring at me like I’d lost it.

I sighed, rubbing her ears. “Yeah, you’re right. They’d totally kick us out.”

The thought of leaving Grandpa in some care home where strangers wouldn’t know how he liked his tea or how to calm him during his episodes… it wasn’t an option.

I rolled onto my side, my fingers brushing against the butterfly tattoo on my wrist. It was supposed to symbolize hope, change, and resilience, but right now, it just felt like a hollow reminder of how hard I was trying to stay afloat.

“Tomorrow’s a new day,” I told Suzu, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll figure something out. I always do.”

She licked my hand in response, her little tail wagging softly.

As the city buzzed outside, I closed my eyes, holding onto the fragile hope that somewhere, somehow, things would get better.