[Renji’s POV—That Night, Alone in his Apartnt]
The lights of the city filtered weakly through my thin curtains, casting long, restless shadows across the room. They flickered with every passing car. Every gust of winter wind. Every breath I took didn’t feel like mine.
I sat on the edge of my bed, still in my café uniform, apron half untied, fingers trembling faintly as I stared at the card lying in my palm.
Hayato Kurosawa, CEO—Kurosawa Corporate
His na looked unreal. Too elegant. Too clean. Too far above the life I was barely holding together.
And yet—My thumb brushed the embossed letters again. And the mont I did, my heart thudded—once, loud, sharp. The sa rhythm it made when Alvar whispered my na for the first ti.
I shut my eyes tightly.
"No... this isn’t about him," I whispered into the dimness. "This is about . Surviving."
Because the truth was bitter, cold, and impossible to ignore: I had to live. I had to pay debts. I had to eat. A part-ti café job would not save .
"I... I have to grab this offer," I murmured to myself, voice barely more than a breath.
I picked up my phone, hesitated only a second, and then dialed the number printed at the bottom of the card.
Ring...Ring...Ring...
My heartbeat synced with every ring, pounding so loudly I almost didn’t hear the click on the other end.
Then—A low, cold, husky voice.
"...Hello?"
A shiver went through . Not fear. Recognition. Like my soul leaned toward the sound without my permission.
I swallowed hard. "Hello, Kurosawa-san. This is... Renji Takeda. I called you... about the offer you gave ."
Silence.
Not heavy enough to be rude. Not long enough to be strange.
Just asured.
As if he were listening to sothing in my voice. As if he were weighing sothing I couldn’t see. Then... His voice softened—barely. A shift, even small, yet unmistakable.
"Tomorrow. 8 AM. Sharp. I’ll send the address shortly," he continued, tone steady and composed. Then—sothing warr slipped through the edges, almost hidden. "Start tomorrow."
"Y—Yes, thank you—"
Click.
He ended the call before I could finish. I slowly lowered the phone, staring at the dark screen reflecting my faint expression back at .
My lips parted.
My heart trembled.
"Tomorrow... 8 AM..."
I looked down at the business card in my palm. Then pressed it to my chest. Because for the first ti in months—the future didn’t feel as small as my apartnt.
It felt terrifying.
And strangely, unexpectedly... like it was pulling toward him.
Toward Hayato Kurosawa. Toward a life I didn’t understand yet. But whatever it was—The truth remained: I got the job.
"I should... prepare for tomorrow," I mumbled to myself, rubbing my temples.
Should I research how personal assistants work? How to schedule corporate etings? How to handle an intimidating CEO with... blue eyes?
. . .
"...I should," I sighed.
Because if I walk in clueless tomorrow, I might actually combust on the spot.
I set my alarm. Prepared my clothes. Packed my bag. Then—finally—fell asleep ready for tomorrow.
***
[The Next Morning]
"WHAT. WHAT!!!!!!" Bright sunlight blasted through the window like a divine punishnt.
"NO—NO NO NO—"
I scrambled upright and grabbed my phone.
Black screen. Battery dead.
"...My alarm," I whispered in utter betrayal. "You traitor."
I clearly rembered setting it.
Quiet. Responsible. Simple. Just wake up at 6:30 AM.
But no. My battery decided to die in the middle of the night, like it was staging a rebellion against my future livelihood.
"It’s my first day," I groaned, hands in my hair. "MY FIRST DAY—AND I’M ALREADY LATE?!"
I threw on my clothes in a blur, almost putting my shirt on backwards, yanked on my shoes while half-hopping to the door, and practically flew out of my apartnt.
I ran down the street like—like a squirrel trying to protect thirty stolen nuts from the entire bird population.
"Hah—hah—why—why is the subway SO FAR today—?!"
The cold morning air slapped my face. My lungs burned. My bag bounced violently against my hip.
"I cannot be late—"
People turned to stare at . One man actually stepped aside as if I were a loose shopping cart rolling downhill.
But I kept sprinting, breathless and desperate.
Because knowing my luck? If I miss this subway, Hayato Kurosawa will descend from the heavens himself to fire on the spot.
And I haven’t even started yet.
***
[Later—Outside the Kurosawa Mansion]
"Stop here—!!" I yelped.
The taxi screeched to a halt in front of towering black gates wrapped in winter mist. I practically flew out before the driver could say the fare—shoes half on, bag bouncing behind .
And then—I froze.
Because walking out of the mansion gates, under the cold morning sun... was him.
Hayato Kurosawa. Long coat. Cold breath fogging the air. Black gloves. Blue eyes sharp as winter glass.
Our eyes t.
And oh god—he looked pissed.
Not furious. Not unprofessional.
Just... annoyed. Which was sohow worse. I dropped into the deepest bow my spine allowed.
"I—I sincerely apologize, sir!" I burst out, nearly choking. "My—my phone battery died overnight. I swear I set the alarm. I—I didn’t an to—"
"Renji."
My rambling died instantly.
Because I felt warmth—right in front of . Slowly... cautiously... I lifted my head, and he was close. Too close. Standing a breath away from —like I was soone he had the right to stand this close to.
I swallowed.
His hand extended toward . A white handkerchief.
"Wipe your sweat," he said softly. "You’re sweating in the cold."
His voice wasn’t stern. It wasn’t irritated. It was—gentle.
Startlingly gentle.
I took the handkerchief with trembling fingers. "Th-thank you... sir."
His eyes softened for a second—just a second—before his expression shifted back into the calm, cold professionalism of a CEO.
"You were late on your first day. But," he continued, "I can let it go once."
I blinked in shock.
He stepped slightly closer—enough that the warmth of his breath mingled with the winter air, enough for to see flecks of silver in his irises.
"But as your employer," he said, voice lowering, "it is my responsibility to remind you: my ti is very precious."
His gaze didn’t leave mine.
"And since you’ll be organizing that ti from today onward..." His tone sharpened. "I expect you to be punctual, Renji."
My breath snagged.
His voice was firm—unforgiving even—but underneath it... There was sothing else. Sothing warm. Sothing... familiar.
"I—I understand," I said quickly, bowing again. "I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again."
He nodded, satisfied, then slipped a hand into his coat. A sleek ID badge appeared between his fingers.
"This is yours."
I took it carefully—our fingers almost brushing—and clipped it around my neck. Sothing hot rushed through at the contact my body imagined but didn’t have.
Hayato turned toward the sleek black car waiting at the curb.
"We’re leaving," he said.
I exhaled shakily and hurried into the sleek black car behind him. The door clicked shut, muffling the winter cold outside.
My first day had officially begun.
The car eased onto the road—smooth, silent, and expensive enough that I was scared to breathe too loudly. I gripped my bag tightly as the city blurred past the tinted windows.
Hayato Kurosawa sat in the back seat, legs crossed neatly, a stack of docunts open in his gloved hands. His posture was perfect. His focus, razor-sharp. The morning sun painted soft highlights across his hair.
He didn’t look up.
Not at first.
Then—"Renji."
His voice cut through the quiet like a soft blade.
My back straightened. "Y-Yes, sir?"
He finally lifted his gaze. Our eyes t in the rearview mirror. Cold. Calm. Calculated. But beneath that stillness—sothing flickered. A familiarity I didn’t dare acknowledge.
"I hired you," he said slowly, "without the usual screening process."
"Y-Yes... sir."
"So," he continued, eyes narrowing slightly, "I expect only one thing from you."
His gaze sharpened in the mirror—direct, unyielding.
"Professionalism," he said, voice low. "And knowledge."
"...Knowledge?" I echoed.
"Yes. Especially knowledge about ."
His tone didn’t waver. Not demanding. Not arrogant. Just a simple statent—as if it were a basic requirent for breathing in his world.
"Every detail you need will be provided to you the mont we arrive at the office—my history, my projects, my schedule, my preferences, and my etings."
He paused.
"Everything."
My fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
"Do you understand, Renji?"
I nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. I’ll study everything thoroughly."
"Good."
There was no warmth in the word. No softness. Just an expectation. A standard set impossibly high. He shifted his attention back to his docunts, flipping a page with precise, asured movents.
Inside the car, silence thickened.
Not awkward.
Not hostile.
Just... heavy.
"Today’s schedule was arranged by HR." Another page turned. "But beginning tomorrow, it becos your responsibility."
"I understand, sir."
"You will handle my calls, my etings, my travel arrangents, my correspondence—everything."
I nodded again. "Yes, sir. I’ll do my best."
He didn’t respond.
Not verbally. But in the mirror, I saw the briefest flicker of approval cross his eyes before he looked back at his docunts.
I let out a breath—quiet, shaky—one he didn’t notice.
Or maybe he did.
It’s hard to tell with him.
Either way... Wow.
He was so damn serious. So intense. So... impossibly competent.
Would I even survive this job?
Would I even survive him?
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