Miyamoto Masami felt Ye Ziyun on the other end of the line wasn’t truly *her* friend—but Genno Ayumu’s. Though she’d never verbally acknowledged Ye as a “friend,” the usually dominant Miyamoto still felt a flicker of discomfort at being so casually sidelined by an outsider.

“Genno-san, let’s wrap up this chat for now.”

As she spoke, Miyamoto had already taken the phone from Genno’s hand—but didn’t hang up.

“Masami, where did you find this talent? I almost think he’s a genuine Chinese person! His Mandarin is *that* good!”

Ye Ziyun’s voice, carried away by excitement, rang clearly—even Genno could hear every word. Her effusive praise made him blush slightly. After all, he *was* Chinese; speaking fluent Mandarin was perfectly normal. Yet she was praising him for something any educated Chinese person could do. He wasn’t sure whether to accept it.

“He found me himself on a Saitama local job app. And don’t call me ‘Masami’!”

Though Miyamoto’s tone was sharp, Ye—well aware of her icy demeanor—didn’t take it personally at all.

“So, Masami, are you hiring him? If not, hand him over! My Japanese still needs work—I’d like a tutor too.”

Ye and Miyamoto had spoken entirely in Japanese the whole time, with Genno listening nearby. His fluency was flawless—native-level. *Saying her Japanese isn’t good? Yeah, right.*

Ye’s attempt to “poach” him instantly pricked Miyamoto’s pride. She never gave up anything that was hers—not even if she didn’t want it.

“Don’t even dream of it. I’ve already decided to hire him!” Miyamoto declared, firm and final.

Hearing this, Genno let out a slight sigh of relief. This was the crucial first step in his life plan. A solid start was everything.

“In that case… Masami, could I have Sensei Genno’s contact?”

“No.”

Miyamoto’s two-word reply was ice-cold. She hung up instantly—no room for protest.

After a brief pause to compose herself, Miyamoto turned to Genno. “Congratulations. You’ve passed. I’m very satisfied with your abilities. Two hours nightly, 6 to 8 PM. 2000 yen per hour (approx. 120 RMB), paid daily. One-month trial period. Acceptable?”

The rate was 500 yen above Saitama’s local standard—clear proof of her approval. Genno knew his sister Genno Eina earned only 1200 yen hourly at the mall, working ten-plus hours just to scrape by. For his *first* part-time job to offer 2000 yen? Unreasonably generous. No reason to refuse.

“Thank you, Ms. Miyamoto, for this opportunity. I accept!”

“Good. Here’s a simple contract. Review it before signing.”

Miyamoto filled in the hourly rate, signed as Party A, then handed it over.

Genno skimmed it. The only notable clause was the final note:

No tardiness or absences. Late under 30 minutes? Half-day pay deducted. Over 30 minutes? Counted as absence—full day’s pay forfeited. Leave requests require 24-hour notice; otherwise, absence. Three absences = immediate contract termination.

“I dislike unreliable people. So please, Genno-kun—do your best not to be late this month.”

Seeing him read the note, Miyamoto added the reason plainly. Truth was, Genno was *extremely* punctual—always arriving early for appointments. As long as he showed up on time, these terms were fair. Confident, he signed without hesitation.

Two copies were made. For a one-month part-time gig, the formality felt striking—perhaps Miyamoto’s professional rigor, or simply the Japanese instinct for precision.

“From today on, I shall address you as *Sensei Genno*. Sensei Genno… I look forward to your guidance this month.”

She gave a small, respectful bow.

Genno was flustered. He was younger than her—yet she used *Sensei*, and bowed? Such profound respect. In Japan, honorifics carried weight. Using a distant term for someone close, or a familiar one for a stranger, was deeply impolite.

The term *Sensei*—as defined in the 1984 *Kōjien* dictionary—refers to: elders; those of moral/academic stature who guide you; schoolteachers; doctors, lawyers, and others in instructive roles; or anyone deeply respected. Not all university staff earn this title—only full and associate professors. Call an admin “Sensei” before a professor? She’d quickly correct you: “Ah, no—I’m not *Sensei*.”

In daily life, *Sensei* is used for: teachers (all levels), doctors (not nurses), lawyers, high-ranking officials, artists (writers, painters, composers—rarely singers unless teaching), and experts in guiding roles.

For general respect, *-san* follows surnames (e.g., Suzuki-san). Neutral, genderless, used orally and in writing—Japan’s equivalent of “Mr./Ms. [Name].”

A higher tier is *-sama*, used formally for clients (e.g., “Tanaka-sama” in emails). Too stiff among friends.

*-Dono* appears only in official documents (e.g., appointment letters), strictly from superior to subordinate.

*-Kun* is for males—peers, classmates, or teachers addressing boys.

*-Chan* is for females, used only with given names (never surnames), often shortened (e.g., “Ayumu-chan” from “Ayumiko”). Reserved for close bonds: family, lovers, childhood friends. If a boss calls a female subordinate “-chan”? Office gossip ignites instantly.