Document Type: Internal Briefing
Prepared by: evie, Director of Narrative Operations
— a directory of all creative assets, active ventures, abandoned deals, and classified scenarios.
— primary subject: kyungdan from jinx; satoru gojo from jujutsu kaisen
— previous engagements: code geass, death note, yu-gi-oh, final fantasy xv, final fantasy vii, and final fantasy xiii
note: full list of previous engagements can be accessed via Public Filings
Public Filings:🔖 AO3 || 📖 FFN 1 || 📚 FFN 2
LEGEND:
Core Assets (faves): ✨
||||||| ACCESS THE CREATIVE PORTFOLIO INDEX ↓ |||||||
ACTIVE ENGAGEMENTS
— high-priority, ongoing multichapter initiatives receiving regular resource allocation and executive oversight.
‣ The Price of Us
‣ Jinx: Reimagined
Recent Releases:
I Promise I'll Win ✨
Five Thousand Miles ✨
see more under the cut ↓
MICROBRIEFS
— short-form internal memos and compact materials.
Jujutsu Kaisen:
Pop Goes My Question (satoru gojo)
Just a Man (satoru gojo) ✨
Pure Love (satoru gojo) ✨
This is How You Fall in Love (satoru gojo) ✨
Coming Home (satoru gojo)
What Those Eyes See (satoru gojo) ✨
I'm Already Yours (satoru gojo)
I Signed Up for This Casually, and Now…. (satoru gojo)
Code Geass:
For My Glory, and Mine Alone (julius kingsley) ✨
The Scarlet Masquerade (lelouch/c.c.) ✨
Their Happy Ever After (lelouch/c.c.)
Señorita (lelouch/c.c.)
And On This Day (lelouch/c.c.)
Sea Witch (lelouch/c.c.) ✨
The Last Siren Kiss (lelouch/c.c.) ✨
Thank You, C.C. (lelouch/c.c.)
It's About Time, Lelouch (lelouch/c.c.) ✨
I Promised, Didn't I? (lelouch/c.c.) ✨
To Find a Way (lelouch/c.c.)
Tachycardia (lelouch/c.c.)
The First and Not the Last (suzaku/kallen) ✨
Airport Fairytale (lelouch/c.c.) ✨
R&D OUTPUT AND SIMULATIONS
— conceptual work sourced from the creative think tank, imagination exercises, and audience-driven hypotheticals.
Jujutsu Kaisen:
Gojo goes on blind dates
Thinking of Gojo's Six Eyes ✨
Richfriend!Gojo spoiling Ieiri and Geto
Gojo's dessert refrigerator
SaShiSu working at Jujutsu High
SaShiSu: Shoko's first impressions ✨
SaShiSu: Chaotic teens will be teens
SaShiSu as housemates (imagines) ✨
SaShiSu in an Avatar: The Last Airbender AU (imagines)
SaShiSu: Satoru and Suguru step up to defend Shoko (imagine)
D&D with Gojo, Itadori, Kugisaki, and Fushiguro
TeenDad!Gojo with Baby Megumi and Best Sister Tsumiki ✨
Satoru and Suguru as YouTubers ✨
Husband!Gojo x Shy!S/O ✨
Serial-dater!Gojo
The Gojo Clan and their assets ✨
Ghost!Gojo haunting your apartment ✨
Rock Band AU - Satoru, Suguru, Choso, Sukuna ✨
Rock Band AU - Satoru is dating ✨
BoardDirector!Gojo (Imagines) ✨
COMPLETED DELIVERABLES
— narratives that have successfully reached closure, approval, and full sign-off. no further action required.
Jinx (Manhwa):
I Promise I'll Win ✨
Five Thousand Miles ✨
Code Geass:
The Emperor's Wish (lelouch/c.c.) || ao3 & ffn ✨
One Day at a Time (lelouch/c.c.) || ao3 & ffn
Everyday is Christmas (lelouch/c.c.) || ao3 & ffn
See You Again (lelouch/c.c.) || ao3 & ffn ✨
Five O' Clock (lelouch/c.c.) || ao3 & ffn
The Queen's Longing (lelouch/c.c.) ✨
The Chaining Booth (lelouch/c.c.)
ZOMBIE PROJECTS
— slow-moving initiatives that remain technically open. expect updates at irregular intervals; pending strategic bandwidth and executive whims.
‣ Never Grow Up (satoru gojo)
DEAD DEALS
— terminated ventures. reactivation pending. maintained in archive for transparency and historical documentation.
tags: 18+, AU Canon Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, What-if, Jinx Reimagination, Friends-to-lovers, Established Friendship, Established History, AU - Canon Divergence, Dan and Jaekyung met in college, Jaekyung dropped out, They reunite as adults, Yellow-green Flag Jaekyung :P, Slightly OOC Kim Dan (he’s not wimpy, nor a crybaby, has more pride, only half a people-pleaser)... adjusted their age gap a little bit so it fits the canon-divergent timeline… Dan is now only two years older than Jaekyung, banter as love language, “Two dudes chilling in the hot tub, 5 feet apart because they’re not gay” friendship vibe, Idiots in Love, Friends with benefits, Friends with sugar baby benefits for Dan, Down-bad Joo Jaekyung, Roommates, Emotional Constipation
Two friends/roommates, two people jinxed by life, and two emotionally constipated men slowly discovering that love sometimes moves in one day and refuses to leave.
“Dan, what the hell?! Who the fuck did this to you?!” Jaekyung bellowed — concern, frustration, and anger etched into every line of his face.
After last week’s string of unprofessional absences, Dan was now coming into work looking no different from one of the punching bags Jaekyung just finished whaling on, and that said a lot about how fucked up he looked right now.
Fresh bruises littered visible skin — an especially large one peeked out of the top of Dan’s black long-sleeved turtleneck shirt. Jaekyung had the sneaking suspicion that there was more underneath that top. Why else would Dan wear something that covered him up this much?
‘I just tripped on some stairs,’ Dan said. What a load of fucking bullshit!
“Um… I swear I’m fine. I just suffered a nasty fall,” Dan insisted, flashing a bright yet fake smile while the gauze covering his left eye shifted around with the movement of his face and screamed otherwise.
Annoyed, Jaekyung arched an eyebrow and clicked his tongue in disappointment. “You’re a fucking bad liar. Do you forget where you are?”
Acting like no one in this gym knew what a brutal beatdown looked like.
“I— Um…”
“Hyung,” Jaekyung addressed Coach Namwook, “—can we get a medic in here?” As Namwook hurried to do what was being asked, Jaekyung turned to Dan again and assessed him from head to toe, top lip curling up with thinly veiled disdain and disappointment at the situation. “And you. Get your ass to the recovery room.”
“You sound like a drill sergeant, hyung,” one of the guys piped up, laughing nervously.
But Jaekyung wasn’t having it and snapped, “Shut up! Get back to training and stop pissing me off.”
The gym’s on-call doctor arrived not long after Namwook picked up the phone, and the man was redirected towards the recovery room that usually housed fighters who suffered the awful consequences of sparring with Jaekyung.
Dan was in there right now, probably sitting on one of the examination beds, twiddling his thumbs. Jaekyung was inclined to blame Dan’s chosen residential address, but that can’t be the whole picture, can it?
Awful people stalked the alleys of shitty neighborhoods like that; no surprise there, but they didn’t go around singling people out to torment them for no reason — unless they were on something that day.
Overcome with curiosity for what was happening in the recovery room, Jaekyung swiftly discarded the training gear attached to his body. He entered just as the physician was leaving. The other man bowed to him as he passed by, leaving Jaekyung hovering at the threshold just as Dan finished putting his shirt back on.
Taking care of a shit-faced Dan, finding out about Dan’s grandmother’s awful condition, the hospital bills on a payment plan that were slowly accruing interest. And now this?
“I’m starting to see a pattern,” Jaekyung grumbled, voicing the conclusion in his head.
The fresh eye gauze patch over Dan’s eye made Jaekyung uncomfortable, but despite Jaekyung calling out his bluff, Dan still put up a valiant yet futile effort to pretend.
“Why are you worried?” Dan asked jokingly, scratching the back of his head.
Was he serious?
Jaekyung cast him a look. “Do you realize how bad this makes me look as an employer? Also, your grandma will be very disappointed.”
Dan laughed before agreeing. “You’re worried about her finding out? Like I’d show up in front of her looking like this?”
“Nice to see that that brain is still working,” Jaekyung snarked, stepping into the room fully and letting the door behind him close. “So, are you gonna tell me what happened or clam up again?”
Dan sighed, as if the next words were a heavy burden to reiterate. “I told you, it’s really nothing to worry about. I can handle it—”
“The black eye says otherwise,” Jaekyung interrupted. “You’re making me want to impose mandatory self-defense training on all non-fighting personnel.”
“It took me working here to get you to think of that?”
“Well, no one ever came into work looking like they just barely survived the first round in a boxing ring. So did the doc give you something?”
Dan raised his hand, showing a familiar treatment ointment for bruises. “Pretty standard for fighters, I’m guessing?”
“Right. Well… You aren’t going anywhere later. I’m driving you home.”
tags: 18+, AU Canon Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, What-if, Jinx Reimagination, Friends-to-lovers, Established Friendship, Established History, AU - Canon Divergence, Dan and Jaekyung met in college, Jaekyung dropped out, They reunite as adults, Yellow-green Flag Jaekyung :P, Slightly OOC Kim Dan (he’s not wimpy, nor a crybaby, has more pride, only half a people-pleaser)... adjusted their age gap a little bit so it fits the canon-divergent timeline… Dan is now only two years older than Jaekyung, banter as love language, “Two dudes chilling in the hot tub, 5 feet apart because they’re not gay” friendship vibe, Idiots in Love, Friends with benefits, Friends with sugar baby benefits for Dan, Down-bad Joo Jaekyung, Roommates, Emotional Constipation
Two friends/roommates, two people jinxed by life, and two emotionally constipated men slowly discovering that love sometimes moves in one day and refuses to leave.
The screech of the bus brakes could only do so much to jar Dan out of his rumination. It was late; he checked in on Grandma again after leaving the gym, and now, after a long day, Dan could feel the exhaustion settling on his bones.
He needed sleep… badly. It felt like someone had pumped lead into his body.
He barely even noticed the insistent buzz at his pocket until the repetitiveness began to feel bothersome. It was an unknown number.
Dan pressed the phone to his ear and answered with a faint, “Hello? Who’s this?”
“Hello. I’m calling from the redevelopment association. Am I speaking with Mr. Kim?”
Redevelopment association?
“Yes, that’s me.”
“We’re calling to confirm your vacancy status. The final eviction notice passed last Tuesday. Demolition crews are scheduled to block off your area next week. Why haven't you vacated the premises?"
The world seemed to tilt — skies above shimmering with lopsided specks of light, the distant hum of the road, the yowling of a cat on some random rooftop. For the second time in one day, the world vanished into a loud, ringing silence.
"What?" Dan choked out, freezing on the spot. "Next week? No... no, there has to be a mistake. I haven't received any notices."
"Sir, we’ve sent out multiple notices that the schedule has been moved forward. We reached out via text and mail," the voice clipped back, devoid of emotion and a little bit annoyed. "If you fail to clear your belongings by the end of next week, the association is not liable for destroyed property. Please cooperate so we don't have to involve structural security."
“What— No, wait—”
But the line went dead.
What the hell was he supposed to do now?
One problem after the next — a never-ending line of enforcers, each one with bats clutched in their hands, waiting for their turn to take a swing at him for no other reason than failing to be a functioning adult.
He couldn’t afford to move right now… He was only a month into his new job, and even there his position was shaky. He had loan interest payments to tackle on top of worrying about his grandmother’s condition in the hospital (even though the bills were already taken care of, the trepidation remained).
Where was he supposed to find money to pay a deposit for a new place — even the cheapest one?
Dan didn’t know how long he stood under the ugly yellow light of a rusty streetlamp, staring at the blank screen as a cold, paralyzing sense of unease flooded his chest. Life had been a blur of hospital corridors, frantic overtime shifts, endless part-time gigs, and relentless job hunts for the past couple of months. It was shaping up to be a shitty year, he could already tell.
But this…
This was so unfair!
Dan’s throat tightened as the world around him began to blur. He forced one foot forward and then the next, maintaining a trembling grasp around his phone. One problem cut off, and another grew in its place.
He gasped for air as he forced down a sob — crushed by the suffocating impossibility of scrounging together millions of won that he didn’t have.
He’d scored a high-paying job at an elite gym (4.3 million won a month), and even that wasn’t enough. It was always siphoned away by circumstances beyond his control.
God, what he wouldn’t give to have a cigarette between his fingers right now.
He was trapped.
Driven by mounting panic, Dan forced his legs to move — practically running up the final staircase that led toward his gross home. The one place he’d called home for so many years while living under grandma’s care.
But as he finished climbing the final stretch, Dan froze again with his breath caught entirely in his throat, dread consuming every inch of his being.
Loan sharks… These same men that had harassed him and his grandma for years and physically assaulted him in the name of twisted satisfaction. Their heavy leather jackets hung from grotesque frames — a menacing picture against the peeling paint and algae-crusted concrete. One of them, the ringleader, was busy flicking a gold lighter open and shut.
The clicking and clacking multiplied the horror.
Dan stepped back quietly… They couldn’t see him. He had to get away.
Maybe find some place else to spend the night?
"Well, look who finally decided to show up,” a familiar sickening voice purred.
Shit.
Dan’s attempt at retreat into the shadowy parts of the alley failed just as the lighter stopped clicking, and he knew he’d already been caught.
He had to run… He had to leave.
But—
The alley’s cold walls slammed against his back, and air came wooshing out of Dan’s lungs in one awful huff. Thick, calloused fingers dug into his shoulder joints like a dull drill bit, sending spikes of pain up his arm. Another hand gripped the front of his grey hoodie, twisting the fabric as he shoved Dan back further against the wall.
"Where’ve you been, kid? We’ve been waiting for you for hours," their ringleader said, deliberately violating Dan’s personal space. The heavy stench of cheap cologne and stale cigarettes assaulted Dan’s nostrils as the man leaned close and spat in his face. "You’re a hard one to find these days. Almost thought you skipped town."
“W-What were you doing outside my house? I made my payment on time this month,” Dan protested even if he knew his pleas were worthless.
The ringleader sneered as one of the other guys blew cigarette smoke in Dan’s face. The other carried a steel bat, and he grinned at Dan as he tapped the object against his open palm — a promise.
“True, true, you paid all that interest, but…”
“Agh!”
The cry of pain left him before he even knew it, dark concrete rushing up to meet his face after the hit. The wet smell of iron seeped into his lungs with every breath as something wet dripped down the side of his face.
Was he bleeding?
His cheek and the muscles around his eye hurt too. No broken bones, but he knew the beginnings of a horrid bruise when he felt it.
“—The question is, ‘how,’” the brute snarled as spit came flying into Dan’s face. “Are you laundering money for someone? This shit better not be dirty or we’ll break your fingers!”
Dan weakly stared up at them, vision a little blurry as he could feel one eye swelling shut already.
“I-It’s all legal, I swear,” Dan struggled to speak, pushing the words out despite the fear that encroached his entire being.
“Don’t fuck with me, kid!”
“I promise. Don’t worry, I can pay off my loan again next month, so—”
The words seemed to satisfy the brood of vermin, and a dry, humorless laugh followed as he raised his hand again. Dan flinched at the motion, but the horrid man only patted his cheek — a slow, humiliating tap that carried the explicit promise of even more violence.
“Keep up the good work, Dan-ah. Still, we came all this way. It would be a shame to leave without a proper goodbye…”
The walls closed in as his world flashed with blinding white light and succumbed to a nauseating tilt.
=OoOoO=
Dan had arrived early today — something he decided on to make up for his shitty hours this week. Coach Namwook was the first person Dan saw the moment those glass doors opened, and the familiar yet distinct smell of an MMA gym welcomed him into the space.
Jaekyung’s manager was talking to another fighter… Something about fried chicken from last night and how it was apparently stinking up the place.
Not that Dan could tell. The disinfectant smell was as sharp as ever.
“Hi, everybody, good morning.”
“Doc?!” Namwook gasped the moment Dan came into his field of vision. “Oh no, are you okay? What happened?”
“Ah…” Dan stalled. “I just tripped on some stairs, no big deal.”
“Right.” Namwook was still the picture of concern as he scratched the back of his head. “Maybe we should—”
“Dan, what the hell?! Who the fuck did this to you?!”
tags: 18+, AU Canon Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, What-if, Jinx Reimagination, Friends-to-lovers, Established Friendship, Established History, AU - Canon Divergence, Dan and Jaekyung met in college, Jaekyung dropped out, They reunite as adults, Yellow-green Flag Jaekyung :P, Slightly OOC Kim Dan (he’s not wimpy, nor a crybaby, has more pride, only half a people-pleaser)... adjusted their age gap a little bit so it fits the canon-divergent timeline… Dan is now only two years older than Jaekyung, banter as love language, “Two dudes chilling in the hot tub, 5 feet apart because they’re not gay” friendship vibe, Idiots in Love, Friends with benefits, Friends with sugar baby benefits for Dan, Down-bad Joo Jaekyung, Roommates, Emotional Constipation
Two friends/roommates, two people jinxed by life, and two emotionally constipated men slowly discovering that love sometimes moves in one day and refuses to leave.
Early Spring, 2022
Dan sighed heavily as he tapped on the ‘Confirm’ button and felt his misery climb higher.
There it went: what was left of his monthly paycheck drained after the last online banking transaction. He lived every day trying not to spiral about how his late twenties had devolved into an unforgiving series of unfortunate events, but it was kind of hard not to dwell on it sometimes.
Part of him wished he could travel back in time and still be an undergrad.
Dan was optimistic about the future back then. He’d had a stellar transcript, and picking up side gigs to drum up some cash wasn’t as bad. His grandmother was still relatively healthy; he’d had a social life, shared a dorm with a hoobae who used to nag Dan about his smoking and threatened to deck him in the face if he didn’t stop. (Jaekyung could have, but he never did).
Joo Jaekyung…
They had their differences and their gripes, but Dan would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the odd companionship he’d found with the younger man. Jaekyung was hot-headed, a little impulsive, gave off constant ‘I don’t give a fuck’ vibes, a bit of a delinquent, and, truthfully, scary, but for the most part, he reminded Dan of a surly and grumpy cat.
Shame that Jaekyung dropped out…
Dan never saw him again after he himself graduated, and only got one last text from Jaekyung, telling him that he had stopped going to university after his second year of undergrad.
Life just got harder after college graduation, what with his grandmother receiving a cancer diagnosis and especially after that incident in the hospital.
Dan could vomit just thinking about it.
He blinked and squinted at the back of the headrest in front of him as Dan tried to calm himself down. He was twenty minutes away from the next bus stop. He may have been blacklisted from several hospitals around Seoul, but at least they hadn’t revoked his physical therapy license.
Because those freelance PT jobs paid more than his stints at a convenience store, for sure.
And Dan’s latest assignment?
Come to a gym at a specific location in Seoul to treat professional athletes.
Part of him knew he should have known better than to trust a vague job description he found online, but the payout was too good to ignore, and they did emphasize that they needed a qualified physical therapist to carry out the job.
Dan had expected a lot more after the phone call interview, but apparently, that was all it took.
He was assuming today was the day of the final interview, and, if he was lucky, maybe even the first day on the job.
Maybe this could be his clean career restart? A chance to build it back up again after that creepy director tried to have his way with him and ruined Dan’s life in the process.
Shit…
Dan inhaled and exhaled, counting each breath to calm himself down again. He couldn’t get worked up over that now.
He had a job to do.
=OoOoO=
Park Namwook — the guy Dan had been on the phone with about the job — quickly advised Dan to head to the 5th floor: Team Black MMA Gym. Dan barely remembered exiting the elevator and rushing to the entrance.
He squeezed through the limited space he himself had created at the door, and the idea that he was in a professional MMA gym only sank in the moment the combined odor of sweat, blood, rubber flooring, old leather, and sharp disinfectants hit his nose.
That and someone’s cry of pain, accompanied by headgear flying across the room.
Dan flinched when the object rolled at his feet. It was splattered with blood.
“Huh? I thought I made it clear I don’t want anyone bringing strangers in here while I train. Which one of you clowns decided to invite a guest without clearing it first?”
Wait a minute…
That’s— No, it can’t—
Dan was not short by any means, but he caught himself craning his head back to properly address the owner of the familiar voice and the imposing presence towering over him.
“Jaekyung?!”
The name left him before he could stop himself. No way… This was unreal. Dan couldn’t remember his friend being this tall. Did he grow even more after dropping out? How long has it been? Six years? Seven years ago, maybe?
A myriad of expressions flew across the other man’s face. It started with confusion, eyes flicking towards the brass name tag clipped to Dan’s scrubs, and then the recognition dawned on his face.
tags: 18+, AU Canon Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, What-if, Established Relationship, Fluff, Angst, Yearning, Mutual Pining, MMA Violence, Long-Distance Relationship, Idiots in Love, Mutual Masturbation, Frotting, Making Out, Anal Sex, Established Dead Granny, Dual POV, Situationships
The 25th of December looms close and so does the inevitable date of Dan's departure. Dan leaves Seoul with a degree to earn, and a bright new future to build. Jaekyung lets him go the only way he knows how: by staying and waiting, and pretending that “friends” is enough when it painfully isn’t.OR Dan flies abroad to experience a new life for himself. FINALLY. And Jaekyung mopes in Seoul, yearning for Dan’s presence day and night. That's sweet revenge in my book.
read it on ao3 >>
Returning briefly to Jaekyung’s penthouse after more than a year of not being in it dredged up memories Dan would rather forget. But at the same time, he couldn’t deny that the place looked and felt different, despite it being the same.
It was warmer somehow…
Yes, it was still as austere as a showroom in an interior design magazine, but at the same time, his grandmother’s old Mother-of-Pearl wardrobe was still there, and Dan kept finding all the gifts he had given Jaekyung last year and this year, too. They were scattered around the penthouse like little Easter eggs.
The wacky Melbourne mugs and the personalized tumbler he’d gifted Jaekyung for his 27th birthday had their home on the kitchen counters. Dan spotted the tumbler sitting next to the gym duffel bag this morning while Jaekyung was out for his usual sunrise run.
AFL pins arranged in neat rows and columns in one of Jaekyung’s shelves, Hosier Lane stickers and handmade magnets on the fridge, bookmarks with Aboriginal designs sticking out of books left out on the coffee table or the nightstand, the coffee postcard pinned to a corkboard in Jaekyung’s bedroom.
The thin chain-link necklace made of tiny stichtites that Dan bought from a Salamanca market in Tasmania and gifted to Jaekyung for his 28th birthday lay on top of Jaekyung’s nightstand, next to a spare smartwatch.
The pair of stuffed hamsters he had bought from a boutique shop in Melbourne was also a mainstay in Jaekyung’s bedroom. Dan didn’t mention them or acknowledge their existence, but he spied the plush rodents lying side-by-side on the ottoman. Dan had the sneaking suspicion that Jaekyung kept them there only because Dan occupied the right side of the bed last night (after arriving late at night from the airport).
But above all, he was most surprised to discover the presence of a particular present proudly displayed among Jaekyung’s modest collection of expensive watches.
The Cartier keyring with the black and red leather tag gleamed under the warm lighting of Jaekyung’s walk-in closet. Propped up carefully beside the trinket and its red velvet case was the birthday card that still had Dan’s familiar handwriting — the ink was slightly faded now, but the words on it were as readable as the day Dan wrote them down.
It was a relic of Dan and Jaekyung’s tumultuous beginnings — a reminder of how things fell apart before the pieces came back together.
Jaekyung was busy readjusting the watch on his wrist when Dan stepped closer to scrutinize the first gift he’d ever given Jaekyung.
tags: 18+, AU Canon Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, What-if, Established Relationship, Fluff, Angst, Yearning, Mutual Pining, MMA Violence, Long-Distance Relationship, Idiots in Love, Mutual Masturbation, Frotting, Making Out, Anal Sex, Established Dead Granny, Dual POV, Situationships
The 25th of December looms close and so does the inevitable date of Dan's departure. Dan leaves Seoul with a degree to earn, and a bright new future to build. Jaekyung lets him go the only way he knows how: by staying and waiting, and pretending that “friends” is enough when it painfully isn’t.OR Dan flies abroad to experience a new life for himself. FINALLY. And Jaekyung mopes in Seoul, yearning for Dan’s presence day and night. That's sweet revenge in my book.
read it on ao3 >>
“I see… W-What about your pre-game ritual then?” Dan couldn’t help asking. Because if Jaekyung was neglecting to sleep with someone before a match, what did that mean?
“It’s changed… A little bit. I don’t—” Jaekyung paused and cleared his throat, like he was forcing the words out and fighting through his own hesitation. “I don’t have sex before a match anymore. Haven’t really done so since Christmas Eve last year. Don’t really need it.”
Dan remembered that night and the ache that had lived behind his ribs all evening at the prospect that it was his last night with Jaekyung, believing that was the end of them because he had chosen to start a new chapter in a different country and different city, only to be proven wrong.
“Do you know why?”
Jaekyung took a deep breath and held on to the mug a little tighter, while Dan waited with bated breath.
It seemed like forever had passed before Jaekyung turned to fix his eyes on Dan. “Want to hear something fucking nuts?”
“What?”
Jaekyung’s gaze roamed over every inch of Dan’s facial features again — a look highly reminiscent of last night. He reached out and gently brushed away strands of hair that got into Dan’s eyes, and said. “I think of you and fall asleep instead.
Dan’s breath hitched at the confession. A revelation so personal he didn’t know what to do with himself after hearing it — didn’t know what to feel either.
Didn’t dare to think about the possibilities behind such a statement.
But when Jaekyung leaned forward to kiss his lips again, Dan gave in and reciprocated the kiss anyway, simply because it felt like that was what his body was made to do: surrender itself to Joo Jaekyung whenever he asked. He stroked Dan’s face with his fingertips while Dan’s own hands moved like they had a mind of their own, cupping Jaekyung’s jaw in return and angling his head a little more so the kiss could deepen just a bit.
It felt so wrong yet so right at the same time — a dizzying puzzle.
In the end, it was Dan who pulled away first, breaking the kiss hesitantly.
Jaekyung pulled back and finally gauged the expressions on Dan’s face. He looked troubled — brows furrowed together with concern, eyes downcast, and shoulders slumped. He tried reaching for him again, an attempt to erase the doubt that lingered on Dan’s countenance, but he shied away from Jaekyung’s touch.
Dan stared at his own reflection in the coffee brew instead. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.”
tags: 18+, AU Canon Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, What-if, Established Relationship, Fluff, Angst, Yearning, Mutual Pining, MMA Violence, Long-Distance Relationship, Idiots in Love, Mutual Masturbation, Frotting, Making Out, Anal Sex, Established Dead Granny, Sporadic POV Switches, Situationships
The 25th of December looms close and so does the inevitable date of Dan's departure. Dan leaves Seoul with a degree to earn, and a bright new future to build. Jaekyung lets him go the only way he knows how: by staying and waiting, and pretending that “friends” is enough when it painfully isn’t.OR Dan flies abroad to experience a new life for himself. FINALLY. And Jaekyung mopes in Seoul, yearning for Dan’s presence day and night. That's sweet revenge in my book.
read it on ao3 >>
“Moon’s beautiful tonight, huh?” Dan whispered, head craned back to stare at its shape barely covered in shadow.
But while Dan fixated on the moon, Jaekyung was fixated on Dan. “Yeah, it is.”
Dan chanced a look at the beach, which didn’t diminish in its population. In fact, the number of people seemed to have doubled, attracted by the prospect of late-night beach parties and free-flowing alcohol.
“Should we go? They’re going to start lighting bonfires soon, and the music will get pretty loud,” Dan suggested, and didn’t move away even when he noticed Jaekyung’s sudden proximity.
“Yeah, we could.”
Jaekyung was still busy marveling at Dan. No, really, it was unfairly attractive. Wearing a loose cream collared T-shirt tucked into light blue jeans with dark aviators perched on top of his head, elbows casually resting on the railing behind him. And whenever he tilted his head back to savor the wind or soak up what was left of the dying light, Jaekyung had the most inappropriate urge to press the entire line of his body against his and litter that graceful neck with kisses, until purple flowers bloomed under his skin.
A finger leisurely tucked itself underneath Dan’s chin. It coaxed him to turn and look. Dan froze, too utterly taken by the warmth in Jaekyung’s darkening eyes. He barely noticed when the other man plucked the sunglasses off of his head and carefully folded the frames, tucking them both into Dan’s button-up shirt again, where they used to be.
Jaekyung didn’t know what possessed him, but he couldn’t resist brushing his thumb along Dan’s lower lip. And when he was looking at him like that?
“Are you going to kiss me?” Dan blurted out softly.
Jaekyung’s attention flitted from Dan’s eyes down to his mouth, roaming over his face before fixating on his lips again. “Do you want me to?”
tags: 18+, AU Canon Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, What-if, Established Relationship, Fluff, Angst, Yearning, Mutual Pining, MMA Violence, Long-Distance Relationship, Idiots in Love, Mutual Masturbation, Frotting, Making Out, Anal Sex, Established Dead Granny, Sporadic POV Switches, Situationships
The 25th of December looms close and so does the inevitable date of Dan's departure. Dan leaves Seoul with a degree to earn, and a bright new future to build. Jaekyung lets him go the only way he knows how: by staying and waiting, and pretending that “friends” is enough when it painfully isn’t.OR Dan flies abroad to experience a new life for himself. FINALLY. And Jaekyung mopes in Seoul, yearning for Dan’s presence day and night. That's sweet revenge in my book.
read it on ao3 >>
June 21, 20XX
His birthdays always came with fanfare that Jaekyung deemed unnecessary. He didn’t see the point of celebrating it — it was just another day. He never celebrated the day of his birth growing up, and the habit had solidified well into adulthood.
No one cared about it before, so why now? And why did people insist on giving him gifts when he could buy whatever he wanted?
The disdainful thoughts stewed in Jaekyung’s head as he eyed the pileup of presents crowding the foyer. It’s the same shit every year. Dozens of gifts, too much cake, fan letters (he didn’t mind those), and more gifts in the form of brand packages. He knew that 90% of them were given to him for the sake of PR, because at the moment, it was in a brand’s best interest to have him as an endorser. Jaekyung didn’t fancy the show-business side of being an athlete, but it came with the territory, and as long as he was marketable, the pandering would continue.
There were always two or three from the pile that Jaekyung would appreciate. The rest would be handed over to his social media and PR team to handle. Apparently, they used them as giveaways on his official account.
Shame that he never really cared for the birthday gifts. Well, except—
Except one.
Jaekyung had just finished his morning shower — the one he took after going on an 8-kilometer run around the neighborhood, and finished donning a fresh T-shirt and sweatpants. He shuffled into Air Max 720s and meandered over to the shelf with his watches and other wrist accessories.
The present was tucked away in its pristine velvet-red case, with the birthday dedication note sitting right beside it. He carefully reached for it again, like it was something fragile that could break at the slightest touch. The clasp popped open to reveal a tiny Cartier keyring, customized with a black-and-red leather tag.
The object by itself? Unremarkable.
The meaning behind said object? Absolutely priceless and probably worth more than his MMA career and assets combined.
Jaekyung could have bought the Cartier accessory with money he considered chump change.
Kim Dan bought this with every bit of cash he’d earned, trading away extra hours of his day that he could have spent resting just to acquire something he thought Jaekyung would like and wish him a happy 26th birthday.
But—
“Hey, Kim Dan. Who asked you to buy this for me? You should just stick to doing your job instead of wasting your time on useless things.”
Jaekyung let out a heavy exhale, his throat tightening at the phantom sound of his own sinister voice and at the sight of the delicate charm lying innocently in the middle of his palm.
He’d thrown this… He threw Dan’s gratitude and feelings back in his face.
What would have happened if he’d thanked Dan for the gift instead?
“I’m fucking awful.”
His phone buzzed with an app notification: someone was at the door.
It was the mailman. The guy handed over a package secured with bubble wrap, and Jaekyung didn’t care for it at first… until he spied the shipping label that had the sender’s name and address printed on it.
tags: 18+, AU Canon Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, What-if, Established Relationship, Fluff, Angst, Yearning, Mutual Pining, MMA Violence, Long-Distance Relationship, Idiots in Love, Mutual Masturbation, Frotting, Making Out, Anal Sex, Established Dead Granny, Sporadic POV Switches, Situationships
The 25th of December looms close and so does the inevitable date of Dan's departure. Dan leaves Seoul with a degree to earn, and a bright new future to build. Jaekyung lets him go the only way he knows how: by staying and waiting, and pretending that “friends” is enough when it painfully isn’t.
OR
Dan flies abroad to experience a new life for himself. FINALLY.
And Jaekyung mopes in Seoul, yearning for Dan’s presence day and night. That's sweet revenge in my book.
read it on ao3 >>
Jaekyung lifted the golden keychain from its red velvet box. He’d been taking out the trinket more and more these days, staring at it and remembering what Dan went through to get it. He’d been pulling nighttime deliveries to scrape together enough money for Jaekyung’s birthday gift, and his ungrateful past self threw it at Dan like it meant nothing.
He knew now that he didn’t just throw away a gift. He’d squandered Dan’s efforts and disregarded the thoughtfulness and care that came with the present.
In the face of what this gift represented, first-class plane tickets were nothing.
Ironic how he didn’t think much of it then, but now this little chain and its black-and-red leather tag was one of, if not the only, prized possessions he wanted to take to the grave.
Dan was insistent on moving out of Jaekyung’s penthouse one week after his rematch with Baek Junmin, and after that, Jaekyung would have to content himself with staring at this.
The embodiment of Dan’s past feelings.
Scraps of what could have been.
How would it have played out if Jaekyung hadn’t thrown the gift back then and just… thanked Dan for giving it to him?
His past self wouldn’t have used it, but he could have at least accepted it graciously and kept it.
Stupid. He was so fucking stupid.
Jaekyung finished up putting on a T-shirt and pajamas for bed before stashing away his treasure very carefully — in a display case next to some of his expensive watches.
He was supposed to have sex tonight — part of the pre-match preparation, a set formula for victory, but… he didn’t really feel like it at all.
He didn’t think he wanted to…
After a lovely evening out and dinner, he just wanted—
Jaekyung stepped out of his walk-in closet and paused at the sight of Kim Dan already sitting on top of his mattress, typing something in his phone — probably doing English vocabulary or grammar exercises in the language-learning app again.
He didn’t say anything and only sat cross-legged on the mattress, chin resting on the heel of his palm as he waited for Dan’s acknowledgement. The other man was frowning and pouting, visibly confused. Jaekyung straightened a little to peek at what had stolen Dan’s attention so thoroughly. Apparently, he was stuck on filling out an English sentence with the right verb tense.
“Past tense of ‘catch.’” Dan tapped a finger against the back of the phone, busy trying to rack his brain for an answer.
“‘Caught.’ C-A-U-G-H-T. Like, ‘I caught you slacking at work.’” Jaekyung prattled on in English, watching Dan with amusement as the meaning sank in and he started fumbling with his phone. “I’m kidding. Relax.” Jaekyung chuckled after switching back to Korean.
“N-No, you’re right.” Dan scooted far enough to deposit his phone on the nightstand. The sound of rustling sheets filled the tense silence as Dan became hyper aware of how intently Jaekyung stared. “So… Um— Should we get started then?”
After how many times they’d done it, you’d think Kim Dan would be a little less shy about initiating sex, but apparently, no… Jaekyung idly wondered how many more times they would have to do it before Dan’s shyness truly disappeared.
In the end, Jaekyung dignified Dan’s question with a shrug. “I’m not in the mood.”
Dan was kneeling in preparation when he suddenly sat back on his heels. “But don’t you need to? For the jinx? Mr. Joo, I’m here to help you with whatever you need, so maybe I can try getting you in the mood?”
Well, didn’t that sound familiar?
Memories of Dan, high out of his mind on potent aphrodisiacs back in the United States, came rushing back. He came to Jaekyung’s door unprompted back then, frustrated and in tears, pleading for sexual relief that Jaekyung made him work for because he “hadn’t been in the mood” when they first started.
That was then, and it wasn’t the same as now.
He didn’t feel up to doing it because… because Jaekyung didn’t have a name for how he felt tonight.
It was a confusing mix of disappointment, sadness, peace, and relief — four separate feelings that had no business being jumbled up worse than wires.
The sigh he released probably convinced Dan that he was giving in.
tags: 18+, Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Making Out, Wholesome JaeDan/KyungDan, Attempt at Humor, MMA Fighting, MMA Violence, Romantic Fluff, Flirting, Domestic Boyfriends
Jaekyung proves that he doesn't need to fuck to win; he just needs Dan.
OR
"Where's the trophy? He just comes running over to me..."
masterlist
Dan has seen this same song-and-dance multiple times by now.
The singing of the national anthem was always the worst part.
Outside, the atmosphere in the arena carries a stillness that feels rehearsed — thousands of people grouped in a heavy, hulking press of bodies, appearing respectful and unified as they sing in uneven harmony. Somewhere outside of this gargantuan building, thousands of others watched at home or in loud sports bars — maybe even streaming the fight on their phones.
The music swelled and echoed against the steel beams and LED screens, and Dan continued to stand off to the side of the locker room corridor with his hands clasped loosely in front of him, eyes fixed on the floor until the first note hit.
He knew every word, just like everyone did.
It was still a poor distraction, and it never made it any easier.
Jaekyung stepped out of the locker room, finally, with the South Korean flag hanging folded over his shoulders.
pairing: gojo x fem!reader or BoardDirector!Gojo X Assassin!FemReader
— You're an assassin, Toji Fushiguro's most prized protégé. And your next target? Satoru Gojo, Vice Chairman of the world's most influential conglomerate.
tags: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, fem!reader goes by the alias, 'rin matsui', 3rd person POV, she/her pronouns, reader/oc is a single mom, morally-gray protagonists, childhood-friends-to-lovers, slow-burn, mafia x corporate au, eventual smut, mutual yearning, drama, angst (check series masterlist to see all the tags)‼️PLEASE READ THE TAGS‼️
wc: 7.7k
series masterlist || << previous chapter || next chapter >>
Chapter 3: Too Close, Too Fast
Satoru’s Thursday morning was going fantastic.
His latest discovery? Arguments with new hires should be added to the company food hall breakfast menu. He hadn’t finished his plate yet, but the meal was… savory so far.
Nine out of ten. No notes. He’d take this over a venti cup of cola frappuccino any day.
Not.
“—Notice the timestamps? Whoever did this didn’t try to hide. They moved like they expected not to be seen.”
“So what I’m hearing is, you’re alleging the breach on Kaisen Tech wasn’t a brute-force hack or caused by a leak—”
“I’m not alleging, I’m stating.”
“Stating requires proof, you know.” Satoru finally raised an eyebrow after his last deadpan response.
“You already have it. You just haven’t been looking at it properly.”
Huh…
Satoru let the silence simmer for a hot minute, index finger tapping on the physical report. Her 15-page long report from yesterday.
He’d called Rin into his office five minutes after he’d arrived this morning, let her stand before him, and the entire time, she’d stood stock still across his desk with squared shoulders and her hands clasped lightly behind her back — the maddening posture of someone who didn’t mind waiting.
He wanted to test her tolerance for silence, sue him.
She presented herself exactly as she did last Friday night: unfazed, unnervingly calm when scrutinized.
Fine.
He broached the subject of her report, started off with one or two questions, and somehow the conversation had devolved into… this.
“Meaning?” Satoru prodded as he stared at her over the tops of his frameless blackout glasses.
Rin gestured towards the report with a tilt of her chin. “You’re not looking at hacking signatures—”
“Yes, I am.”
“—No, you’re not.”
Did she just snap at him? Satoru blinked… slowly.
Rin ignored his interjection and continued, “Look past the literal evidence. There’s a pattern of behavior there. Look at the consistency, the missing timestamps, the access level escalation. Whoever breached Kaisen Tech did not break into the system—”
“—They walked right through it.” Satoru couldn’t help interrupting again, because well, he had suspected the same thing last week and said as much to eleven other board directors.
But where his had been nothing more than speculation, she had racked up enough evidence to confirm her suspicions and his.
“Yes. Walking past every line of cybersecurity defense very comfortably.”
“Cute. There’s an insider in the company.” Satoru’s tone did nothing to hide his sarcastic amusement. “Dear uncle would be happy to hear this.”
If Rin was right, Core Operations and Support Division was going to have one hell of a week or two resolving this. Why’d he volunteer to fix this again for them in the first place? The issue had nothing to do with private equity or expansion.
“It’s a protected insider.”
Yes, Satoru already figured as much. “Someone with clearance helped them.”
Rin nodded once. “They had clearance and confidence.” She paused, tilted her head ever so slightly and eyed him curiously. It was kind of the same look that predators gave prey when they were deciding if they’d have them as a snack to stave off a craving. And then she said, “The confidence to commit a crime like that comes from believing no one will look too closely.”
Well then…
Satoru stared and laughed lowly — more out of disbelief than anything. “You’re implying we’re too arrogant to suspect our own people. For all I know, the culprit could be the CEO or the Chief Technology Officer that reports directly to me, that’s what you’re saying.”
“I didn’t say arrogant.” The corner of Rin’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “I said you were comfortable.”
At the correction, Satoru stilled. The gravity of the situation and the implications it could have, began taking hold. He slid off his glasses, so he could look at her properly.
“You realize what you’re suggesting, don’t you?”
“Gojo Group, as Kaisen Tech’s parent company, is powerful and has layers of bureaucracy. That’s perfect for hiding misconduct. Think about how many levels of management even a Senior Director at one of your PortCos has to go through if they want to bring a sensitive issue to corporate. 90% of the time, I bet you never even hear of it. The executives that report to you handle what they can, CEOs especially, just as you’re paying them to do. But then, who’s checking your C-suite executives? They answer to you, but everyone else in that company answers to them. There’s a gap there.”
At this point, should he be offended?
“Did you just insinuate that Nanami is bad at running audits?”
“No. However, people in positions of power are capable of hiding things. They can get away with a lot. Maybe a subordinate or two notices, but are they brave enough to speak up? That could be part of the problem too. Their refusal to raise red flags comes from self-preservation not loyalty.”
“Accountability isn’t vertical.” Satoru caught himself mumbling.
Her eyes twinkled — she heard that, and she knew exactly where his mind wandered to.
“—accountability is not vertical, Vice Chairman. It’s a loop… Or at least, it should be. Everyone should be watching everyone.”
He needed a system that supported universal checks and balances — not just from the people at the top. That was now second on the agenda.
The smile that crept across Satoru’s lips was sharp, dangerous. “You’re very comfortable insulting my corporate governance, Ms. Matsui.”
Rin cocked an eyebrow. “You hired me to challenge it, Vice Chairman. If you wanted compliance, you should have hired a strategist not a fixer.”
Touché.
And there it was: her independent consultancy flag waving in front of his face. She should have literally slapped him with it at this point. Maybe he should tell her to carry literal flags just to remind people what she was here for.
He liked that answer… maybe a little too much.
Satoru breathed a long exhale and stood up, still pretending like he couldn’t feel the weight of Rin’s observant eyes at his back as he moved to stare at the view beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass windows with his hands in his pockets.
“So… Now you’ve confidently alleged that the breach is internal.” He turned around and met her steady gaze. “How do we hunt someone who expects not to be hunted?”
After standing in place for what felt like hours, Rin finally moved and stepped a little closer. “You build a maze, and then you watch who walks through it like they’ve been there before. In the literal sense, set up unique, high-value data decoys for each suspect. Make it irresistible. For this case, everyone with security access to the stolen files should be treated as a suspect.”
Oh damn… That was actually good.
Now that… That could actually work. They might need to set up an entire investigation task force temporarily for it, but Satoru was sure there was another PortCo they could pull resources from. Maybe a cybersecurity team from Sentinel Dynamics could step in? Orion (another portfolio company of the Gojo Group) had an entire cybersecurity division they could mobilize. His uncle would have more control over centralized support functions and should be able to facilitate communication and interaction between two companies.
The question is, would Yasushi Gojo even sanction a strategy like that?
Another board meeting to discuss the Kaisen Tech issue was overdue. Maybe he should call for one? Shoot a text to his old man and give him an update?
He glanced at Rin and her schooled expression again.
“For someone with ‘consultant’ in their job description, you make hunting people sound easy.” Satoru mused and waited for any micro-reaction to flit across her face. There wasn’t any. She didn’t even flinch.
She either felt nothing, or she was really good at hiding it.
And if it was the latter, that could either be very useful or very dangerous.
Satoru was convinced something was wrong with him for liking both options.
“Going off of this,” she tapped the only paper stack on his desk — the report, “—you wanted someone who could audit intent, not systems like Director Nanami and his team usually do. Congratulations, Gojo, you hired the right person to find and fix the problem for you.”
The fuck?
“You think I hired you on a whim and wishful thinking?”
“There was no rhyme or reason for springing an offer letter on me the same night we met.”
Ha! That’s what she thought.
He’d hired her for a reason and his perceptions of her level of competence had been right.
And yet, who is to say she hadn’t meant to project herself that way, so she could score a good consultancy project? The possibility was not non-existent.
Satoru was used to people seeing his name and his position in the corporate world as a stepping stone or the height of achievement. His time and influence, his decision-making, was valuable. He knew that. The people that orbited him knew that.
And Rin likely knew that too… So if she had, then—
“I’m a fish that bit the bait you dangled. That’s what you’re saying.”
“Did I? And are you? I never said that or implied it, but if the shoe fits…” She trailed off with an infuriating little grin that told him maybe he wasn’t the only one enjoying this.
It was neither a confirmation nor a denial. And even if it was the former, he honestly respected the hustle.
“So, you read people, hm?”
“I read behaviors, spot blind spots, find patterns. That’s my job.” She enunciated each word and Satoru caught himself watching the way her lips moved around each syllable.
“Read me.”
“You’re unserious.” Well she wasn’t missing a beat, was she? Her eyes wandered to the top of his head and the complete lack of gel or wax to style it neatly and hold it together, to shimmering blue eyes blocked by dark sunglasses, to the complete lack of a formal tie and three-piece suit. “You violate company dress code and if you were anyone else, HR would have written you up for several penalties by now. That says a lot. You like projecting an image like that; maybe even pretend to be unpredictable. But you’re… not. You’re calculated — every word, every gesture, every pause, every outfit choice. You weaponize nonchalance.”
She wasn’t wrong… and she wasn’t entirely accurate either.
Satoru meandered closer. “You know what annoys me about you?”
“Several things by now, I assume.”
How were they standing so close already? Just a foot apart. He could smell her. Raspberry and vanilla — a delectable smell on pastries if he had to say so himself.
Satoru chuckled. “You talk like certainty is a personality trait.”
“You talk like deflection is a leadership strategy.”
Satoru was suppressing a grin. He was losing this and he knew it. He was starting to think that her eyes were prettier up close, and that was his cue to step back, drop into his chair, and sigh.
He was frustrated. He was entertained.
“You’re irritating.”
“You’re welcome.”
He laughed — an unabashed, unfiltered laugh. She looked like she was one more inhale from joining him. Instead, he had to content himself with watching a bright smile creep onto her face as she allowed a small chuckle to break through.
Wow… just wow.
But the amusement broke when his phone — that he’d abandoned on the desk — started buzzing.
RYOTA GOJO — INCOMING CALL
His eyes flicked towards the letters, and then at her. This was either spectacular timing, or it could be the worst, because if his father was calling him during business hours, and bypassing Ijichi completely, that meant one thing and one thing only…
He smiled slowly. “My father is going to want that analysis. Better hope you’re as convincing in a boardroom as you are in my office.”
“That’s your job. I’m just here to report the facts.”
“Mm. He won’t like your conclusions either.”
“Neither did you.”
God, this woman.
Satoru shook his head at her. He bit his lip to suppress another smile, finally picked up the still vibrating phone, accepted the call, and crooned in a chipper voice that would have probably unsettled Ijichi if he’d heard:
“Heeyyy there, Executive Chairman~”
=OoOoO=
Surprisingly, Satoru was not an overbearing boss…
Rin liked to think she wouldn’t have minded micro-managing anyway, because part of her was used to the constant surveillance. But it was refreshing to find out that although the Board did expect results, they would hardly meddle in her methods or the way she went about finding the mole in Kaisen Tech.
“Nanami, you’ll supervise the operation. She will run it.”
Satoru’s words from that day’s meeting crossed her mind again. He had been addressing Nanami, but the full weight of his gaze lingered on her.
Surprise, surprise, Satoru had been right about that day.
In the end, Yasushi Gojo, Head of Core Operations, sanctioned her plot, and the Executive Chairman signaled his approval through the tiniest of nods; however, both his father and uncle didn’t like her conclusions or the result of her analysis. It wasn’t because they weren’t fond of her personally, it was more so they didn’t like the confirmation of their suspicions in the beginning and that someone with high-level clearance was brazen enough to attempt a data heist such as this.
The succeeding two weeks and the few days that followed after unfolded in jagged fragments stitched together by daily commutes to the Gojo Group HQ, making time for herself and especially Megumi, late nights, board inquiries, end-of-day reports to Director Nanami, occasional midnight calls from a Board Director who was traveling overseas, surveillance reports, directing the taskforce assembled specifically for handling the Kaisen Tech data breach under her direction, and… Satoru Gojo.
He wasn’t always present, but she knew he was always watching.
Sometimes he literally watched from the doorway of the temporary operations room Nanami assigned her while she was doing work.
Other times, his eyes were on her metaphorically via precise email responses at unholy hours. (Does the man even sleep?)
During status report meetings with him, Nanami, and the rest of the Kaisen Tech breach taskforce, she’d turn, and Satoru would already be looking at her. She never detected an ounce of suspicion or hostility in the way he stared.
It was much worse.
He stared at her with curiosity.
She wished he would stop.
“You know, I was always under the impression that people like you had better things to do than watch someone else stare at a computer for eight hours a day.”
The click-clacking of keyboard keys filled the space between them as Rin busied herself locating particular files she’d want to include in her end-of-day report. Satoru stopped scrolling on his phone and looked up at her just in time to catch her eye.
“It’s only been an hour.”
“That wasn’t my point.”
“And excuse you, I am doing my job.”
“What job?”
“Supervising you.”
“Last time I checked, that was Director Nanami’s responsibility, not yours.”
“I’m your boss’ boss and I hired you.”
Smug bastard.
“Never pegged you for a micromanager.”
“You’re right, I’m not.”
“Then why are you hovering?”
Satoru shrugged, pushed the sleeve of his expensive jacket back to check his watch, and relaxed further against the back of the armchair like he owned the lounge. (Technically, he did, but that was besides the point).
“I’m curious and nosy and unfortunately for you, I have corporate downtime.”
So you decide to pick on me? For what?
Rin paused and raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Define corporate downtime, Vice Chairman.”
He waved a dismissive hand at her, flashing a megawatt grin that probably disarmed most department heads and executives. “An hour. I got a meeting with NEXGEN’s newly appointed CEO in thirty-five minutes actually. Riveting, huh?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
He called her irritating one week and a few days ago, and look at him now…
“So how long have you been doing independent consultancy?”
“Should have asked that question before you hired me.”
“I hire people based on potential and competency, not work experience.”
“HR must love you.” She did nothing to mask the sarcasm bleeding through her tone. Not that Satoru seemed to mind.
“They do, actually.”
“And who told you that?”
“360-degree surveys. You stay here long enough, you’ll be involved in that initiative too.”
“Can’t wait.”
“You’re snippy today.” He drawled.
“I’m trying to do my job.”
“You’re compiling an end-of-day report. I’ve seen your handiwork. That,” he jerked his chin towards her open laptop, “—hardly requires any effort from you. Also you’re here, not at a hotdesk.”
Ugh. Well, well. He was observant. Not surprising.
“Just because that’s how you operate, doesn’t mean it applies to everybody else. Stop projecting your ways of working onto other people.”
She glanced up again. Wrong move. He was already eyeing her — sunglasses pushed up to the top of his head.
“You’re not ‘everybody else’ though.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re holding a conversation with me while you’re ‘doing work.’” He lifted two fingers and did air quotes at her. “Without. Pause.”
Rin frowned a little. “Do you enjoy doing this to all your employees? Is Director Nanami subjected to this type of behavior too?”
“Not all the time, but I’m beginning to.”
Rin blinked. Slowly. Did he just smirk and poke his tongue out at her?
A memory of a much younger Satoru flashed before her mind’s eye. The same boyish smile and the same twinkle in his eyes. It had been a decade and a couple of years, but she knew from experience how relentless Satoru was when he was in a mischievous mood. Apparently, that carried over to adulthood.
Did he really not remember her?
Worse. Was he beginning to?
Nothing about his behavior so far clued her in or confirmed that he did. She couldn’t go and ask him directly either, could she? That would jeopardize the entire point of her undercover operation.
“You did not answer my question by the way. We would have moved on to something different by now if—”
“Six years.” Rin lied smoothly, maintaining a deadpan face before returning to her laptop screen. “And I can’t disclose anything about my previous projects, I’ve signed NDAs. You’re better off ambush-interviewing one of the interns at the Finance Department.”
Without missing a beat, he said, “Oh that’s on tomorrow’s afternoon agenda. You’re today’s lucky subject.”
“Oh fun.”
“Lighten up, Matsui.” Satoru threw his head back and groaned at the ceiling. Rin spotted a couple of employees and managers turning their heads toward the sound. Realization struck that it was the Vice Chairman himself and they quickly pretended not to notice again. “Take a break is what I’m saying. We both know you can finish that EOD report at home or later tonight if you wanted to.”
“I’m busy at night.”
“That’s not what your late night email correspondences say.” He was smirking at her in that infuriating way again. “Sending quick status reports at 2:30AM. Very diligent.”
“They were meant for the next workday. Why are you even awake at that hour?” She narrowed her eyes at him.
Because he certainly wasn’t shy about letting her know that he read her email and he would reply.
“Executive meetings at different time zones. What’s your excuse?”
“You hired me to stop one of your PortCos from bleeding another billion. Cyber criminals are more active around that hour. Ergo, you get the occasional live update.”
“Mm. Touché. It’s nice to know that someone bit your bait though.” Satoru’s tone shifted into something more sincere.
“They have.”
“Any persons of interest yet?”
“Soon I think. Maybe even tomorrow. One more piece of evidence and we have our suspect.”
“You’re quick.”
“Efficient.”
“Hiring you was one of my brilliant ideas.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Does this mean I should expect another live update from you at 1AM tomorrow?”
Rin shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Depends how the thief moves.”
“Perfect.” Satoru was checking his phone again. He exhaled and finally stood up from the leather armchair.
Rin couldn’t resist following the movement of his hand as he ran it through his hair and fixed his sunglasses back into place. The dastardly smirk was back, and those same hands disappeared into his pockets.
“Well, I gotta run. I’m late for my meeting, but it was nice talking to you.”
“Your tardiness isn’t my fault.” Rin returned his small smile.
Satoru chuckled. “Definitely not. It’s the cafe’s fault for delivering my coffee late. See ya around, Matsui!”
She watched his retreating back as he crossed the expanse of the food hall and disappeared through the frosted glass doors. And seriously? He waited for his coffee order to arrive first before he jumped in on that call?
The ironic part was that after he left, she actually took him up on his offer and did take a break. And like he casually predicted, at precisely 1:25AM the next day, Rin sat alone in her study — while her son slept soundly in the next room — busy sending live update emails to her Kaisen Tech breach taskforce, Director Nanami, and Satoru Gojo.
LIVE OPERATION UPDATE — K.T. DATA BREACH
Today, 1:25AM
From: Rin Matsui <[email protected]>
To: K.T. Taskforce 8+
CC: Kento Nanami, Satoru Gojo
Update:
Dummy file labeled Project Aura retrieved from a secured folder at 12:57AM, today.
Our suspect is confirmed — offshore contractor in Brazil, Ms. Pereira.
Next steps:
Taskforce meeting tomorrow at 11:00AM, Floor 37, Room 3A
Requesting floor authorization from:
Kento Nanami, Director of Corporate Security & Intelligence
-R. Matsui
A reply came five minutes later.
LIVE OPERATION UPDATE — K.T. DATA BREACH
Today, 1:30AM
From: Satoru Gojo <[email protected]>
Go to bed. 🤦♂️🤦♂️🤦♂️
-S.G.
Rin stared at his reply for a good ten minutes. That was rich coming from the same man who was emailing her within the exact same hour.
Was he serious?
Was their rough semblance of a conversation from earlier in the day the final catalyst?
Rin was used to silence and quick no-nonsense, formal replies — a hallmark of corporate professionalism. That was what was expected for a conglomerate with such a dignified reputation as the Gojo Group, and Satoru was out here tacking on facepalm emojis. It was such a far cry from his previous clinical responses.
Executive Chairman Ryota Gojo would never.
And on second thought, Amanai was right to warn her about the Vice Chairman’s… eccentric behavior.
She didn’t know what possessed her and she figured future Rin would chalk this up to late-night brashness, but she navigated towards the email system’s massive GIF library, found an appropriate response, and hit send anyway.
If she was any other employee, she would have found comfort in the way Satoru handled replies. It was surprisingly casual and refreshingly non-threatening.
But given the true purpose of Rin’s presence in the Gojo Group, it was… disconcerting.
Satoru wasn’t like that a fortnight and several days ago. So what changed?
=OoOoO=
“Ms. Matsui found our thief and the executive responsible for enabling her,” was Nanami’s latest in-person report as he stood where Rin did a week ago — before Satoru’s polished chocolate mahogany desk.
“Told you I had a good eye for talent.” Satoru said as he browsed through his emails.
He didn’t really mean to, but his eyes kept drifting back to his latest correspondence with Rin Matsui. A smirk kept ticking at the corners of his lips as he opened it for the seventh time that morning. Excessive? Sure, but no one had to know that. Her only response to his last email telling her to go to sleep was a GIF.
It was a simple GIF: an animated pot with a face contorted in chibi rage, pointing at a steaming kettle while shrieking, “BLACK!”
It was cute… and funny to him for some reason.
“I never doubted that, Vice Chairman.” Nanami gave his polite response and gingerly placed a neatly printed and compiled report enclosed in a folder on his desk. “Here are printed dossiers ready for distribution and review by the Board. Good day.”
Satoru watched Nanami leave and waited until the door behind him closed. He reached into the folder and took out a copy of the compiled evidence. It wasn’t a thick stack, but a quick scan through the pages revealed that Rin did indeed deliver on what she said she would.
The evidence pointed to the same source, same access trails, and the same internal authorization.
From the moment Rin told him that it was likely someone who reported directly to him, Satoru already thought of possible suspects. He left the investigation up to her and Nanami and the task force they patched together, of course, but Satoru preferred having a list of culprits of his own — a way to test how sharp his own intuition was when it came to these things.
Alas, the person responsible for the breach on Kaisen Tech that cost the PortCo billions of yen was someone from the inside.
It was someone powerful and trusted, and very very stupid.
Rin didn’t dramatize it and didn’t call for a meeting, even when the official email came through just after lunch today — clinical, sans fluff, just a single line on the email body.
KAISEN TECH DATA BREACH — IDENTIFIED
Today, 1:12PM
From: Rin Matsui <[email protected]>
To: GJ Board 12+
CC: Kento Nanami, K.T. Taskforce 8+
Attached: Proof of Internal Collaboration.pdf
Dossier attachment approved by Vice Chairman, Satoru Gojo.
-R. Matsui
The attacker: A freelance contractor hired for software diagnostics.
The accomplice: Kaisen Tech’s own Chief Technology Officer.
Motivation?
Money…
It was always for money.
It was a resource that Satoru had plenty of, and the CTO of a company as highly valued as Kaisen Tech was certainly not in any shortage of that.
It made it all the more pathetic.
But it can’t be helped, can it?
People like that wretch of a CTO would always exist — people with no regard for integrity or honesty.
=OoOoO=
Almost a whole month into working at Gojo Group HQ and she’d thought she’d have gotten used to the chaos that preceded lunch hour, but nope… No number of rapid-fire messages on the #foodhall-tracker channel could ever prepare her for unique pandemonium in tailored suits.
Lunch hour on the 50th floor meant every table had already been claimed. Anyone who managed to snag a decent seat guarded it with the ferocity of a fantasy dragon, while the buffet line snaked around the polished columns with the efficiency of people who’ve done this dance hundreds of times before.
Rin navigated the noisy crowd alongside Amanai with practiced ease.
With trays in hand and shoulders angling through gaps between busy bodies, they meticulously searched for free space.
“How’s that case you were handling by the way?” Amanai chirped as they narrowly avoided some guy carelessly passing over a glass of iced tea to his friend.
She couldn’t give her friend the specifics, but… “It’s done. I’ve already handed in the final report to Nanami and the other stakeholders. Not my problem anymore.”
“I know you’re not allowed to talk about it freely, but based on what you told me vaguely, it still sounded pretty intense.” Amanai commented, shaking her head.
‘Intense’ was one way of putting it.
It was the sort of situation where chaos existed under the calm surface. Anyone who wasn’t in the know wouldn’t have guessed that the Gojo Group had bled billions in the last month because of some CTO’s illegal motivations.
In any case, the situation was in the hands of the Legal Department, Kaisen Tech’s own team of executive leaders, and the Gojo Group Board of Directors now. Corporate Intelligence and Risk Assessment will only be involved again if Legal had additional questions or required additional supporting evidence to create an airtight defense in case the situation was brought to court.
“—Only for insurance though.” Nanami had said while straightening his already perfectly symmetrical solid-colored tie. “It doesn’t happen often, but Gojo likes to take care of these things quietly.”
She fell into step next to him, holding onto her company laptop as they both left Floor 40 — one of the executive floors in Gojo Tower that required private elevator access and special authorization issued to one’s corporate keycard.
“Which Gojo?” Rin asked when they were in the privacy of the descending elevator.
“All three of them.”
It made sense though…
Less outside meddling meant less public press coverage.
Finance and economic titans the likes of the Gojo Group would prefer to control narratives. Reputation was a currency that was as equally valuable as the kind people used to buy everyday items. A sullied reputation could easily cost millions of yen or dollars to fix.
So when she eventually fulfilled the purpose of her actual job, what sort of narrative would the Gojo Group spin then?
“It is.” Rin agreed in the present, further disappointed by the lack of good seating. “Guess the window table is a lost cause.”
Amanai turned towards where Rin was gesturing with her chin and snorted. “Yeah, we’re going to have to fight for that corner near the lounge.”
Rin gave her friend a knowing look. Amanai was nothing if not persistent. “You say that like you won’t absolutely bulldoze someone if you have to.”
“Oh, I will.” Amanai declared cheerfully, mischievous gleam in her dark blue eyes. “And no one will say anything because HR loves me.”
In the end, they managed to snag a small table near the edge of the lounge just as two data engineers stood up — a small victory earned through timing alone. They sit, relieved, knees nearly bumping beneath the table.
Around them, the food hall continued to buzz. Someone’s laughter rang loudly near the coffee bar while a pair of analysts argued animatedly over something on a tablet, and near the far end, a quiet ripple of attention moved through the room.
Rin didn’t care for whatever it was, too busy unwrapping her metal chopsticks and stealing one of Amanai’s fries, much to the younger woman’s amused exasperation.
“You know,” Amanai spoke between bits, “—if you keep doing that, I’m going to start charging you.”
“Add it to my tab.” Rin replied easily. “What’s another, when I’m already in debt to you for the tour, the coffee, and that time you saved me from accidentally sitting in the executive-only meeting room?”
Amanai laughed. “That was iconic! Your face when you realized—”
“Don’t.” Rin groaned and suddenly regretted bringing that incident up. Satoru had been in that meeting for sure and probably would have laughed his ass off or glowered at her (he could go either way, really) if Amanai didn’t save her from that potentially embarrassing mistake. “Please.”
They eat in companionable silence for a moment. It’s comfortable and familiar — a part of life that almost felt normal to Rin.
Almost.
“So,” Amanai started casually, nudging Rin’s foot under the table. “How’s your kiddo?”
At the mere allusion of her son, Rin smiled and didn’t hesitate giving an answer. Amanai caught her swiping through gallery photos of Megumi during lunchtime once and had been curious ever since — not that Rin minded.
Amanai was a good person — kind and open, a being of light and a beacon of normalcy.
“He’s doing good.” Rin replied, a soft warmth slipping into her voice without permission. “He’s in that phase where he asks why about everything. Kept asking me the other day why toast burned and why adults drink coffee when it tastes bad.”
Amanai giggled as she bit into a cheese egg roll. “Smart kid.”
“Too smart.” Rin agreed and added, “He figured out last week that bedtime is a social construct.”
Laughter rose between them, bright and carefree. They didn’t see the way a few heads nearby subtly turned, nor see Satoru Gojo passing by with Ijichi trailing behind him like a shadow.
Amanai leaned forward, intrigued. “How old is he now?”
“Turning six in December.” Rin replied, shaking her head. “But somehow, it feels like he’s going on 60. Dear boy has too many opinions.”
“Of course he does. Wait, what’s his name again?”
Rin smiled down at her plate, thumb brushing the edge. “Megumi.”
“That’s a unique naming choice.” Amanai commented sincerely.
Yes, she got that a lot. Rin would be the first to admit that she gave her son the name with no regard for his gender: it was simply the first name that came to mind that moment the nurse laid him in her arms almost six years ago.
Blessing.
That was what Megumi was to her, wasn’t he?
A blessing, and the first ray of hopeful light in a world entrenched in darkness. She would never tell her son this, but he saved her — in more ways than one.
“It is, and only because it suits him so perfectly.” Fondness shown on Rin’s countenance as she thought of her endearingly observant little boy. “He’s so stubborn. Likes to pretend he isn’t affectionate, but sometimes, when I work late, he waits up on the couch with his babysitter. Just refuses to sleep until I come home.”
Amanai was smiling at her, soft and admiring. “You’re a really good mom, Rin.”
Rin exhaled, quiet and steady. “I try.”
There was a pause right before Amanai perked up and grinned again. “You should bring him around sometime. Not here, obviously, but—”
“God, no.” Rin laughed. “Unless Gojo Group suddenly opens a daycare suddenly, I’d worry for Megumi’s sanity if I brought him here.”
“I’d like to meet him someday.” Amanai nodded enthusiastically.
Rin nodded, a bright smile still on her face. “Maybe someday.”
Whenever that would be…
If it ever happened in the first place…
=OoOoO=
Working after hours was not a strange concept for Satoru.
He knew how most people perceived his job: glamorous and convenient. The title attached to his name since undergrad graduation was like a bright neon sign at a Vegas strip — a humongous, flashing monstrosity that screeched, “MONEY!!!”
The public saw the prestige and the polished image, but completely neglected the un-sexy parts of being a board director.
Satoru was well-aware that he occupied a privileged position, but to be fair, the fancy title came with weighty expectations and heavy responsibilities that will crush anyone else ill-equipped for the job.
And sometimes, those heavy responsibilities entailed staying in the office after 5PM because he had a war room meeting with investors from Dubai at nine in the evening.
So Satoru killed time by wandering through general-access floors. Just don’t ask him why he’d chosen to wander through the 30th floor. He liked to think his feet had a mind of their own and wandered there more frequently these days.
Totally random… Definitely not because of a person. Nope.
He passed one of the closed off rooms, noticed a single employee hunched over an ominously glowing monitor, and stopped dead in his tracks. He knew her: Aya Nakamura, software engineering lead working exclusively under his division, looking bleary-eyed and clearly wired on instant coffee.
The fact that she didn’t notice him slink up behind her, peering over her shoulder like a goblin to see what had her muttering curses under her breath, revealed just how evidently exhausted she was. Aya grumbled something about a system update failing again and how a corrupted data sync was threatening one of their live analytics dashboards.
“You know,” Satoru spoke lightly and softly, “—most people leave this floor before ghosts start coming out right?”
Aya froze, shoulders stiffening as she slowly turned to acknowledge the owner of the voice. “Sir, I— I didn’t think anyone was still here.”
Satoru waved off her worries nonchalantly. “Apparently, you and I have that in common.” He perched on the edge of the desk beside her, eyes flicking over the scrolling lines of code. “System glitch?”
“Yes, Sir.” Aya sighed and turned back to her screen. “The new data pipeline keeps throwing duplicates during the sync. I’ve been trying to isolate it since four.”
Satoru nodded once, peering at the error logs. “Where’s your patch team?”
“They clocked out at five, but I didn’t want to leave this hanging.”
The Vice Chairman didn’t say anything for a long while, just watched the screen as Aya continued doing her job in spite of her exhaustion — wholly determined to see this job through to the end. And while it was admirable, Satoru himself wasn’t a huge fan of forcing oneself to keep up like this when you’re obviously at the end of the rope.
Satoru released a quiet breath and graced her with a soft smile. “You’ve got good instincts, Nakamura. But next time, delegate. You’ve got a patch team for a reason. You’ve been staring at the same line of code for, what, four hours?”
Aya stopped typing and slumped further into her chair, hands quickly wrapping around a mug of coffee that had grown cold. “I just— didn’t want you and the other analysts to wake up to a broken dashboard, Sir.”
“I’d rather wake up to a working engineer.” Satoru quipped, and a thoughtful silence hung between them. There was understanding there; no judgment. Finally, he gestured toward the empty hallway and the soft illumination that beckoned beyond. “Head home, Nakamura. Get some rest. The system can wait; your burnout can’t.”
Aya hesitated. “And you, Sir?”
Satoru’s lips quirked. “Board Director duties. I’m trapped.”
He gave her space to gather her things and leave, just glad that she was shutting down her computer and finally clocking out for the day. And as Satoru returned the polite farewell, he couldn’t help thinking that maybe he should take his own advice. Unfortunately, that was a luxury only employees could afford.
When an empire demanded time from its governor, it did not appreciate waiting.
He was passing by the main production floor and its many empty workdesks — empty except for one.
What is it with people and pulling overtime today?
Still sitting right there at her desk, with its trademark succulent and the ever growing collection of stacked sticky notes, was one Rin Matsui — fingers clacking over the keys, eyes focused on a monitor threatening to burn off her retinas.
Apparently, Satoru wasn’t just a Vice Chairman, he was an impromptu hall monitor now too.
He sauntered towards Rin’s desk and rapped his knuckles on the hardwood to get her attention. Surprise flitted across her face for a second, but she quickly recovered and schooled herself into donning the familiar mask of professionalism.
“May I help you, Vice Chairman?”
“It’s late.” Satoru deadpanned, fondly exasperated at the fact that he had to repeat the same spiel he’d just spouted at Nakamura. “Go home.”
At his tone, the professionalism dropped, and the Rin he was used to seeing around the food hall lounge showed up. She scoffed. “The Board wants this latest assessment by tomorrow, yes?”
Satoru frowned. “Did Nanami put you up to that? Even the overtime?”
She leaned back in her seat, swayed the chair from side to side slowly. “Yes and no. Late nights are due diligence.”
“Corporate hates overtime, you know.”
“Pfft. You can afford 40 hours worth of overtime pay, shut up.” She rolled her eyes and returned to her work, completely missing the smirk that unfurled across Satoru’s lips.
“Ooh you’re feisty again today. Telling your boss to ‘shut up?’”
He caught her stiffening for a brief moment before she relaxed again and sighed. “Didn’t mean to sound insubordinate, Sir.”
Satoru was under the impression that they were engaging in a casual conversation without the hierarchical labels, but then again… They were in the office, and he had caught her in the middle of doing work at her actual desk — not like the other few times he’d chatted her up at the lounge.
“Relax, Matsui, you’re not in trouble. If I cared, HR would have texted by now.”
“Thats… quite the exaggeration.”
“Anyway, point still stands. Pulling overtime’s a bad habit you ought to stop doing.” Satoru preached solemnly while wagging a finger at her.
“Well, this one’s for good reason.”
“What even is that?” He stepped closer, peered over her shoulder just to check what she was doing — an assessment report. “You can finish that tomorrow, what are you talking about?”
“No, I can’t make time for it tomorrow. I’ve got two back-to-back meetings penciled in with your M&A recon team and intelligence analysts.”
Satoru cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t recall the Board ever being notified about that.”
“It’s for your uncle.”
“Oh. Well, push it to the day after tomorrow, I’ll let him know.”
She eyed him skeptically. “Are you sure?”
“Yep. What’s he going to do if I say so?” She looked hesitant still, so he continued with a smirk. “He’ll complain, but only to me and my dad.”
“They’ll give you flack for this.”
“Eh, who cares? They’ll fold anyway. Go home, Rin. Isn’t someone waiting up for you?”
He saw recognition and realization flash across her gaze. She didn’t even look surprised, just strangely knowing. Although, knowing her and her penchant for observing things, plus the nature of her independent career, he shouldn’t be surprised about how perceptive she actually was.
Didn’t he hire her for that reason in the first place?
“You eavesdropped at some point huh.”
He didn’t even bother refuting anything; just shrugged and said, “Is it eavesdropping if I was close enough to hear you and Amanai talking anyway?”
He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop; he just so happened to be in the food hall just like everyone else during lunch hour.
The 50th floor was notorious for noise layered over noise, but whenever Rin was in the vicinity, her voice cut through it anyway and Satoru would instinctively pay attention no matter the circumstance.
It was not the fact that Rin was a mother that caught his attention, it was in the way her voice had tightened, how bright her eyes had shone as she spoke to Amanai of the little boy who depended on her and loved her fiercely and quietly, how relaxed she had looked — a rare occurrence in the office even around him, how every anecdote had conveyed maternal love, unguarded.
Rin had a son.
At the time of hearing it and finding out about it the way he did, Satoru felt… strange.
It wasn’t information meant for his ears, but he treated it like a fragile truth meant to be held carefully anyway.
She was a mom… She had a family. She had a man already.
Without thinking too much about it, Satoru patted her shoulder. “Seriously though, just go home. It’s fine. Your kid will hate me and your job if I keep you from him any longer.”
For a brief second, she looked like she wanted to say something but the smartphone on her desk vibrated loud enough to break the flow of their conversation. It lit up with a notification. Rin glanced at it, turned it over, and checked the clock on her computer.
“You know, it’s really not a problem, Vice Chairman. It’s only 8PM, but if you’re sure, then I’ll take you up on the offer.” She smiled slowly, putting her computer to sleep while she started gathering her things. “And I’ll put the blame on you when your uncle chases down Nanami’s department for the slight delay.”
“He’s a grown man, he’ll survive one more day without a PDF to read.” Satoru shook his head, gaze softening behind his glasses without meaning to.
“Thank you, Vice Chairman.”
“Good night, Rin.”
=OoOoO=
“Good night, Rin…”
Such a simple greeting — a send-off — that had a bit of heft to it, more than she could admit. His voice tinged with displaced softness, still echoed in her head when she’d arrived home.
Rin left her shoes on the genkan, aligned neatly next to Megumi’s small sneakers and the babysitter’s flats. The lights were already dimmed while the faint scent of rice and ginger still lingered in the air. She abandoned her belongings and the small laundry bag she’d picked up on the way home from Marunouchi on the kitchen counter when Tsumiki, Megumi’s babysitter, noticed her.
The girl switched off the TV and rose from the couch to come and greet her. “Megumi fell asleep early tonight. The playtimes from school tired him out.”
The two women glanced at the sleeping boy on the couch, fists curled underneath his chin as he nestled into the warmth of the throw pillows arranged around him like a bird nest. Her son and Tsumiki’s doing no doubt.
“That’s all right. He needs the sleep.” Rin rooted around her slacks’ pocket, taking out the envelope that housed Tsumiki’s babysitting fee. She smiled as she pressed the object to the younger girl’s palm. “Thank you, Tsumiki.”
After bidding farewell and scheduling another babysitting appointment for Megumi next week, Rin began her nightly ritual: washing up before bed, donning comfier lounge wear, plugging her dying phone to an outlet on the wall, and gathering up Megumi in her arms to take him to his bedroom and tuck him in properly.
He awoke very briefly, bleary-eyed and a little confused, but relaxed the instant he caught a glimpse of her face.
Smiling, she brushed overgrown strands of dark hair away from his cheek and sent him to dreamland with an affectionate kiss on his forehead. Only when his bedroom door closed softly behind her did she make her way back to the laundry bag she’d neglected to unpack.
There wasn’t much in there — just freshly folded and ironed blouses and button-up shirts… and a non-descript vial no bigger than her thumb wrapped in wax paper, tucked between the layers of neutral fabric.
She’d gone through the meticulous trouble of procuring the toxin over a week ago.
She wasn’t in the position to fulfill the kill contract right then and there, but it was good to have the… instrument on-hand.
Rin brought the vial up to eye-level, scrutinizing the harmless-looking liquid encased within.
“It’s almost too easy.”
series masterlist || << previous chapter || next chapter >>
pairing: gojo x fem!reader or BoardDirector!Gojo X Assassin!FemReader
— You're an assassin, Toji Fushiguro's most prized protégé. And your next target? Satoru Gojo, Vice Chairman of the world's most influential conglomerate.
tags: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, fem!reader goes by the alias, 'rin matsui', 3rd person POV, she/her pronouns, reader/oc is a single mom, morally-gray protagonists, childhood-friends-to-lovers, slow-burn, mafia x corporate au, eventual smut, mutual yearning, drama, angst (check series masterlist to see all the tags)‼️PLEASE READ THE TAGS‼️
wc: 7.7k
series masterlist || << previous chapter || next chapter >>
Chapter 3: Too Close, Too Fast
Satoru’s Thursday morning was going fantastic.
His latest discovery? Arguments with new hires should be added to the company food hall breakfast menu. He hadn’t finished his plate yet, but the meal was… savory so far.
Nine out of ten. No notes. He’d take this over a venti cup of cola frappuccino any day.
Not.
“—Notice the timestamps? Whoever did this didn’t try to hide. They moved like they expected not to be seen.”
“So what I’m hearing is, you’re alleging the breach on Kaisen Tech wasn’t a brute-force hack or caused by a leak—”
“I’m not alleging, I’m stating.”
“Stating requires proof, you know.” Satoru finally raised an eyebrow after his last deadpan response.
“You already have it. You just haven’t been looking at it properly.”
Huh…
Satoru let the silence simmer for a hot minute, index finger tapping on the physical report. Her 15-page long report from yesterday.
He’d called Rin into his office five minutes after he’d arrived this morning, let her stand before him, and the entire time, she’d stood stock still across his desk with squared shoulders and her hands clasped lightly behind her back — the maddening posture of someone who didn’t mind waiting.
He wanted to test her tolerance for silence, sue him.
She presented herself exactly as she did last Friday night: unfazed, unnervingly calm when scrutinized.
Fine.
He broached the subject of her report, started off with one or two questions, and somehow the conversation had devolved into… this.
“Meaning?” Satoru prodded as he stared at her over the tops of his frameless blackout glasses.
Rin gestured towards the report with a tilt of her chin. “You’re not looking at hacking signatures—”
“Yes, I am.”
“—No, you’re not.”
Did she just snap at him? Satoru blinked… slowly.
Rin ignored his interjection and continued, “Look past the literal evidence. There’s a pattern of behavior there. Look at the consistency, the missing timestamps, the access level escalation. Whoever breached Kaisen Tech did not break into the system—”
“—They walked right through it.” Satoru couldn’t help interrupting again, because well, he had suspected the same thing last week and said as much to eleven other board directors.
But where his had been nothing more than speculation, she had racked up enough evidence to confirm her suspicions and his.
“Yes. Walking past every line of cybersecurity defense very comfortably.”
“Cute. There’s an insider in the company.” Satoru’s tone did nothing to hide his sarcastic amusement. “Dear uncle would be happy to hear this.”
If Rin was right, Core Operations and Support Division was going to have one hell of a week or two resolving this. Why’d he volunteer to fix this again for them in the first place? The issue had nothing to do with private equity or expansion.
“It’s a protected insider.”
Yes, Satoru already figured as much. “Someone with clearance helped them.”
Rin nodded once. “They had clearance and confidence.” She paused, tilted her head ever so slightly and eyed him curiously. It was kind of the same look that predators gave prey when they were deciding if they’d have them as a snack to stave off a craving. And then she said, “The confidence to commit a crime like that comes from believing no one will look too closely.”
Well then…
Satoru stared and laughed lowly — more out of disbelief than anything. “You’re implying we’re too arrogant to suspect our own people. For all I know, the culprit could be the CEO or the Chief Technology Officer that reports directly to me, that’s what you’re saying.”
“I didn’t say arrogant.” The corner of Rin’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “I said you were comfortable.”
At the correction, Satoru stilled. The gravity of the situation and the implications it could have, began taking hold. He slid off his glasses, so he could look at her properly.
“You realize what you’re suggesting, don’t you?”
“Gojo Group, as Kaisen Tech’s parent company, is powerful and has layers of bureaucracy. That’s perfect for hiding misconduct. Think about how many levels of management even a Senior Director at one of your PortCos has to go through if they want to bring a sensitive issue to corporate. 90% of the time, I bet you never even hear of it. The executives that report to you handle what they can, CEOs especially, just as you’re paying them to do. But then, who’s checking your C-suite executives? They answer to you, but everyone else in that company answers to them. There’s a gap there.”
At this point, should he be offended?
“Did you just insinuate that Nanami is bad at running audits?”
“No. However, people in positions of power are capable of hiding things. They can get away with a lot. Maybe a subordinate or two notices, but are they brave enough to speak up? That could be part of the problem too. Their refusal to raise red flags comes from self-preservation not loyalty.”
“Accountability isn’t vertical.” Satoru caught himself mumbling.
Her eyes twinkled — she heard that, and she knew exactly where his mind wandered to.
“—accountability is not vertical, Vice Chairman. It’s a loop… Or at least, it should be. Everyone should be watching everyone.”
He needed a system that supported universal checks and balances — not just from the people at the top. That was now second on the agenda.
The smile that crept across Satoru’s lips was sharp, dangerous. “You’re very comfortable insulting my corporate governance, Ms. Matsui.”
Rin cocked an eyebrow. “You hired me to challenge it, Vice Chairman. If you wanted compliance, you should have hired a strategist not a fixer.”
Touché.
And there it was: her independent consultancy flag waving in front of his face. She should have literally slapped him with it at this point. Maybe he should tell her to carry literal flags just to remind people what she was here for.
He liked that answer… maybe a little too much.
Satoru breathed a long exhale and stood up, still pretending like he couldn’t feel the weight of Rin’s observant eyes at his back as he moved to stare at the view beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass windows with his hands in his pockets.
“So… Now you’ve confidently alleged that the breach is internal.” He turned around and met her steady gaze. “How do we hunt someone who expects not to be hunted?”
After standing in place for what felt like hours, Rin finally moved and stepped a little closer. “You build a maze, and then you watch who walks through it like they’ve been there before. In the literal sense, set up unique, high-value data decoys for each suspect. Make it irresistible. For this case, everyone with security access to the stolen files should be treated as a suspect.”
Oh damn… That was actually good.
Now that… That could actually work. They might need to set up an entire investigation task force temporarily for it, but Satoru was sure there was another PortCo they could pull resources from. Maybe a cybersecurity team from Sentinel Dynamics could step in? Orion (another portfolio company of the Gojo Group) had an entire cybersecurity division they could mobilize. His uncle would have more control over centralized support functions and should be able to facilitate communication and interaction between two companies.
The question is, would Yasushi Gojo even sanction a strategy like that?
Another board meeting to discuss the Kaisen Tech issue was overdue. Maybe he should call for one? Shoot a text to his old man and give him an update?
He glanced at Rin and her schooled expression again.
“For someone with ‘consultant’ in their job description, you make hunting people sound easy.” Satoru mused and waited for any micro-reaction to flit across her face. There wasn’t any. She didn’t even flinch.
She either felt nothing, or she was really good at hiding it.
And if it was the latter, that could either be very useful or very dangerous.
Satoru was convinced something was wrong with him for liking both options.
“Going off of this,” she tapped the only paper stack on his desk — the report, “—you wanted someone who could audit intent, not systems like Director Nanami and his team usually do. Congratulations, Gojo, you hired the right person to find and fix the problem for you.”
The fuck?
“You think I hired you on a whim and wishful thinking?”
“There was no rhyme or reason for springing an offer letter on me the same night we met.”
Ha! That’s what she thought.
He’d hired her for a reason and his perceptions of her level of competence had been right.
And yet, who is to say she hadn’t meant to project herself that way, so she could score a good consultancy project? The possibility was not non-existent.
Satoru was used to people seeing his name and his position in the corporate world as a stepping stone or the height of achievement. His time and influence, his decision-making, was valuable. He knew that. The people that orbited him knew that.
And Rin likely knew that too… So if she had, then—
“I’m a fish that bit the bait you dangled. That’s what you’re saying.”
“Did I? And are you? I never said that or implied it, but if the shoe fits…” She trailed off with an infuriating little grin that told him maybe he wasn’t the only one enjoying this.
It was neither a confirmation nor a denial. And even if it was the former, he honestly respected the hustle.
“So, you read people, hm?”
“I read behaviors, spot blind spots, find patterns. That’s my job.” She enunciated each word and Satoru caught himself watching the way her lips moved around each syllable.
“Read me.”
“You’re unserious.” Well she wasn’t missing a beat, was she? Her eyes wandered to the top of his head and the complete lack of gel or wax to style it neatly and hold it together, to shimmering blue eyes blocked by dark sunglasses, to the complete lack of a formal tie and three-piece suit. “You violate company dress code and if you were anyone else, HR would have written you up for several penalties by now. That says a lot. You like projecting an image like that; maybe even pretend to be unpredictable. But you’re… not. You’re calculated — every word, every gesture, every pause, every outfit choice. You weaponize nonchalance.”
She wasn’t wrong… and she wasn’t entirely accurate either.
Satoru meandered closer. “You know what annoys me about you?”
“Several things by now, I assume.”
How were they standing so close already? Just a foot apart. He could smell her. Raspberry and vanilla — a delectable smell on pastries if he had to say so himself.
Satoru chuckled. “You talk like certainty is a personality trait.”
“You talk like deflection is a leadership strategy.”
Satoru was suppressing a grin. He was losing this and he knew it. He was starting to think that her eyes were prettier up close, and that was his cue to step back, drop into his chair, and sigh.
He was frustrated. He was entertained.
“You’re irritating.”
“You’re welcome.”
He laughed — an unabashed, unfiltered laugh. She looked like she was one more inhale from joining him. Instead, he had to content himself with watching a bright smile creep onto her face as she allowed a small chuckle to break through.
Wow… just wow.
But the amusement broke when his phone — that he’d abandoned on the desk — started buzzing.
RYOTA GOJO — INCOMING CALL
His eyes flicked towards the letters, and then at her. This was either spectacular timing, or it could be the worst, because if his father was calling him during business hours, and bypassing Ijichi completely, that meant one thing and one thing only…
He smiled slowly. “My father is going to want that analysis. Better hope you’re as convincing in a boardroom as you are in my office.”
“That’s your job. I’m just here to report the facts.”
“Mm. He won’t like your conclusions either.”
“Neither did you.”
God, this woman.
Satoru shook his head at her. He bit his lip to suppress another smile, finally picked up the still vibrating phone, accepted the call, and crooned in a chipper voice that would have probably unsettled Ijichi if he’d heard:
“Heeyyy there, Executive Chairman~”
=OoOoO=
Surprisingly, Satoru was not an overbearing boss…
Rin liked to think she wouldn’t have minded micro-managing anyway, because part of her was used to the constant surveillance. But it was refreshing to find out that although the Board did expect results, they would hardly meddle in her methods or the way she went about finding the mole in Kaisen Tech.
“Nanami, you’ll supervise the operation. She will run it.”
Satoru’s words from that day’s meeting crossed her mind again. He had been addressing Nanami, but the full weight of his gaze lingered on her.
Surprise, surprise, Satoru had been right about that day.
In the end, Yasushi Gojo, Head of Core Operations, sanctioned her plot, and the Executive Chairman signaled his approval through the tiniest of nods; however, both his father and uncle didn’t like her conclusions or the result of her analysis. It wasn’t because they weren’t fond of her personally, it was more so they didn’t like the confirmation of their suspicions in the beginning and that someone with high-level clearance was brazen enough to attempt a data heist such as this.
The succeeding two weeks and the few days that followed after unfolded in jagged fragments stitched together by daily commutes to the Gojo Group HQ, making time for herself and especially Megumi, late nights, board inquiries, end-of-day reports to Director Nanami, occasional midnight calls from a Board Director who was traveling overseas, surveillance reports, directing the taskforce assembled specifically for handling the Kaisen Tech data breach under her direction, and… Satoru Gojo.
He wasn’t always present, but she knew he was always watching.
Sometimes he literally watched from the doorway of the temporary operations room Nanami assigned her while she was doing work.
Other times, his eyes were on her metaphorically via precise email responses at unholy hours. (Does the man even sleep?)
During status report meetings with him, Nanami, and the rest of the Kaisen Tech breach taskforce, she’d turn, and Satoru would already be looking at her. She never detected an ounce of suspicion or hostility in the way he stared.
It was much worse.
He stared at her with curiosity.
She wished he would stop.
“You know, I was always under the impression that people like you had better things to do than watch someone else stare at a computer for eight hours a day.”
The click-clacking of keyboard keys filled the space between them as Rin busied herself locating particular files she’d want to include in her end-of-day report. Satoru stopped scrolling on his phone and looked up at her just in time to catch her eye.
“It’s only been an hour.”
“That wasn’t my point.”
“And excuse you, I am doing my job.”
“What job?”
“Supervising you.”
“Last time I checked, that was Director Nanami’s responsibility, not yours.”
“I’m your boss’ boss and I hired you.”
Smug bastard.
“Never pegged you for a micromanager.”
“You’re right, I’m not.”
“Then why are you hovering?”
Satoru shrugged, pushed the sleeve of his expensive jacket back to check his watch, and relaxed further against the back of the armchair like he owned the lounge. (Technically, he did, but that was besides the point).
“I’m curious and nosy and unfortunately for you, I have corporate downtime.”
So you decide to pick on me? For what?
Rin paused and raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Define corporate downtime, Vice Chairman.”
He waved a dismissive hand at her, flashing a megawatt grin that probably disarmed most department heads and executives. “An hour. I got a meeting with NEXGEN’s newly appointed CEO in thirty-five minutes actually. Riveting, huh?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
He called her irritating one week and a few days ago, and look at him now…
“So how long have you been doing independent consultancy?”
“Should have asked that question before you hired me.”
“I hire people based on potential and competency, not work experience.”
“HR must love you.” She did nothing to mask the sarcasm bleeding through her tone. Not that Satoru seemed to mind.
“They do, actually.”
“And who told you that?”
“360-degree surveys. You stay here long enough, you’ll be involved in that initiative too.”
“Can’t wait.”
“You’re snippy today.” He drawled.
“I’m trying to do my job.”
“You’re compiling an end-of-day report. I’ve seen your handiwork. That,” he jerked his chin towards her open laptop, “—hardly requires any effort from you. Also you’re here, not at a hotdesk.”
Ugh. Well, well. He was observant. Not surprising.
“Just because that’s how you operate, doesn’t mean it applies to everybody else. Stop projecting your ways of working onto other people.”
She glanced up again. Wrong move. He was already eyeing her — sunglasses pushed up to the top of his head.
“You’re not ‘everybody else’ though.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re holding a conversation with me while you’re ‘doing work.’” He lifted two fingers and did air quotes at her. “Without. Pause.”
Rin frowned a little. “Do you enjoy doing this to all your employees? Is Director Nanami subjected to this type of behavior too?”
“Not all the time, but I’m beginning to.”
Rin blinked. Slowly. Did he just smirk and poke his tongue out at her?
A memory of a much younger Satoru flashed before her mind’s eye. The same boyish smile and the same twinkle in his eyes. It had been a decade and a couple of years, but she knew from experience how relentless Satoru was when he was in a mischievous mood. Apparently, that carried over to adulthood.
Did he really not remember her?
Worse. Was he beginning to?
Nothing about his behavior so far clued her in or confirmed that he did. She couldn’t go and ask him directly either, could she? That would jeopardize the entire point of her undercover operation.
“You did not answer my question by the way. We would have moved on to something different by now if—”
“Six years.” Rin lied smoothly, maintaining a deadpan face before returning to her laptop screen. “And I can’t disclose anything about my previous projects, I’ve signed NDAs. You’re better off ambush-interviewing one of the interns at the Finance Department.”
Without missing a beat, he said, “Oh that’s on tomorrow’s afternoon agenda. You’re today’s lucky subject.”
“Oh fun.”
“Lighten up, Matsui.” Satoru threw his head back and groaned at the ceiling. Rin spotted a couple of employees and managers turning their heads toward the sound. Realization struck that it was the Vice Chairman himself and they quickly pretended not to notice again. “Take a break is what I’m saying. We both know you can finish that EOD report at home or later tonight if you wanted to.”
“I’m busy at night.”
“That’s not what your late night email correspondences say.” He was smirking at her in that infuriating way again. “Sending quick status reports at 2:30AM. Very diligent.”
“They were meant for the next workday. Why are you even awake at that hour?” She narrowed her eyes at him.
Because he certainly wasn’t shy about letting her know that he read her email and he would reply.
“Executive meetings at different time zones. What’s your excuse?”
“You hired me to stop one of your PortCos from bleeding another billion. Cyber criminals are more active around that hour. Ergo, you get the occasional live update.”
“Mm. Touché. It’s nice to know that someone bit your bait though.” Satoru’s tone shifted into something more sincere.
“They have.”
“Any persons of interest yet?”
“Soon I think. Maybe even tomorrow. One more piece of evidence and we have our suspect.”
“You’re quick.”
“Efficient.”
“Hiring you was one of my brilliant ideas.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Does this mean I should expect another live update from you at 1AM tomorrow?”
Rin shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Depends how the thief moves.”
“Perfect.” Satoru was checking his phone again. He exhaled and finally stood up from the leather armchair.
Rin couldn’t resist following the movement of his hand as he ran it through his hair and fixed his sunglasses back into place. The dastardly smirk was back, and those same hands disappeared into his pockets.
“Well, I gotta run. I’m late for my meeting, but it was nice talking to you.”
“Your tardiness isn’t my fault.” Rin returned his small smile.
Satoru chuckled. “Definitely not. It’s the cafe’s fault for delivering my coffee late. See ya around, Matsui!”
She watched his retreating back as he crossed the expanse of the food hall and disappeared through the frosted glass doors. And seriously? He waited for his coffee order to arrive first before he jumped in on that call?
The ironic part was that after he left, she actually took him up on his offer and did take a break. And like he casually predicted, at precisely 1:25AM the next day, Rin sat alone in her study — while her son slept soundly in the next room — busy sending live update emails to her Kaisen Tech breach taskforce, Director Nanami, and Satoru Gojo.
LIVE OPERATION UPDATE — K.T. DATA BREACH
Today, 1:25AM
From: Rin Matsui <[email protected]>
To: K.T. Taskforce 8+
CC: Kento Nanami, Satoru Gojo
Update:
Dummy file labeled Project Aura retrieved from a secured folder at 12:57AM, today.
Our suspect is confirmed — offshore contractor in Brazil, Ms. Pereira.
Next steps:
Taskforce meeting tomorrow at 11:00AM, Floor 37, Room 3A
Requesting floor authorization from:
Kento Nanami, Director of Corporate Security & Intelligence
-R. Matsui
A reply came five minutes later.
LIVE OPERATION UPDATE — K.T. DATA BREACH
Today, 1:30AM
From: Satoru Gojo <[email protected]>
Go to bed. 🤦♂️🤦♂️🤦♂️
-S.G.
Rin stared at his reply for a good ten minutes. That was rich coming from the same man who was emailing her within the exact same hour.
Was he serious?
Was their rough semblance of a conversation from earlier in the day the final catalyst?
Rin was used to silence and quick no-nonsense, formal replies — a hallmark of corporate professionalism. That was what was expected for a conglomerate with such a dignified reputation as the Gojo Group, and Satoru was out here tacking on facepalm emojis. It was such a far cry from his previous clinical responses.
Executive Chairman Ryota Gojo would never.
And on second thought, Amanai was right to warn her about the Vice Chairman’s… eccentric behavior.
She didn’t know what possessed her and she figured future Rin would chalk this up to late-night brashness, but she navigated towards the email system’s massive GIF library, found an appropriate response, and hit send anyway.
If she was any other employee, she would have found comfort in the way Satoru handled replies. It was surprisingly casual and refreshingly non-threatening.
But given the true purpose of Rin’s presence in the Gojo Group, it was… disconcerting.
Satoru wasn’t like that a fortnight and several days ago. So what changed?
=OoOoO=
“Ms. Matsui found our thief and the executive responsible for enabling her,” was Nanami’s latest in-person report as he stood where Rin did a week ago — before Satoru’s polished chocolate mahogany desk.
“Told you I had a good eye for talent.” Satoru said as he browsed through his emails.
He didn’t really mean to, but his eyes kept drifting back to his latest correspondence with Rin Matsui. A smirk kept ticking at the corners of his lips as he opened it for the seventh time that morning. Excessive? Sure, but no one had to know that. Her only response to his last email telling her to go to sleep was a GIF.
It was a simple GIF: an animated pot with a face contorted in chibi rage, pointing at a steaming kettle while shrieking, “BLACK!”
It was cute… and funny to him for some reason.
“I never doubted that, Vice Chairman.” Nanami gave his polite response and gingerly placed a neatly printed and compiled report enclosed in a folder on his desk. “Here are printed dossiers ready for distribution and review by the Board. Good day.”
Satoru watched Nanami leave and waited until the door behind him closed. He reached into the folder and took out a copy of the compiled evidence. It wasn’t a thick stack, but a quick scan through the pages revealed that Rin did indeed deliver on what she said she would.
The evidence pointed to the same source, same access trails, and the same internal authorization.
From the moment Rin told him that it was likely someone who reported directly to him, Satoru already thought of possible suspects. He left the investigation up to her and Nanami and the task force they patched together, of course, but Satoru preferred having a list of culprits of his own — a way to test how sharp his own intuition was when it came to these things.
Alas, the person responsible for the breach on Kaisen Tech that cost the PortCo billions of yen was someone from the inside.
It was someone powerful and trusted, and very very stupid.
Rin didn’t dramatize it and didn’t call for a meeting, even when the official email came through just after lunch today — clinical, sans fluff, just a single line on the email body.
KAISEN TECH DATA BREACH — IDENTIFIED
Today, 1:12PM
From: Rin Matsui <[email protected]>
To: GJ Board 12+
CC: Kento Nanami, K.T. Taskforce 8+
Attached: Proof of Internal Collaboration.pdf
Dossier attachment approved by Vice Chairman, Satoru Gojo.
-R. Matsui
The attacker: A freelance contractor hired for software diagnostics.
The accomplice: Kaisen Tech’s own Chief Technology Officer.
Motivation?
Money…
It was always for money.
It was a resource that Satoru had plenty of, and the CTO of a company as highly valued as Kaisen Tech was certainly not in any shortage of that.
It made it all the more pathetic.
But it can’t be helped, can it?
People like that wretch of a CTO would always exist — people with no regard for integrity or honesty.
=OoOoO=
Almost a whole month into working at Gojo Group HQ and she’d thought she’d have gotten used to the chaos that preceded lunch hour, but nope… No number of rapid-fire messages on the #foodhall-tracker channel could ever prepare her for unique pandemonium in tailored suits.
Lunch hour on the 50th floor meant every table had already been claimed. Anyone who managed to snag a decent seat guarded it with the ferocity of a fantasy dragon, while the buffet line snaked around the polished columns with the efficiency of people who’ve done this dance hundreds of times before.
Rin navigated the noisy crowd alongside Amanai with practiced ease.
With trays in hand and shoulders angling through gaps between busy bodies, they meticulously searched for free space.
“How’s that case you were handling by the way?” Amanai chirped as they narrowly avoided some guy carelessly passing over a glass of iced tea to his friend.
She couldn’t give her friend the specifics, but… “It’s done. I’ve already handed in the final report to Nanami and the other stakeholders. Not my problem anymore.”
“I know you’re not allowed to talk about it freely, but based on what you told me vaguely, it still sounded pretty intense.” Amanai commented, shaking her head.
‘Intense’ was one way of putting it.
It was the sort of situation where chaos existed under the calm surface. Anyone who wasn’t in the know wouldn’t have guessed that the Gojo Group had bled billions in the last month because of some CTO’s illegal motivations.
In any case, the situation was in the hands of the Legal Department, Kaisen Tech’s own team of executive leaders, and the Gojo Group Board of Directors now. Corporate Intelligence and Risk Assessment will only be involved again if Legal had additional questions or required additional supporting evidence to create an airtight defense in case the situation was brought to court.
“—Only for insurance though.” Nanami had said while straightening his already perfectly symmetrical solid-colored tie. “It doesn’t happen often, but Gojo likes to take care of these things quietly.”
She fell into step next to him, holding onto her company laptop as they both left Floor 40 — one of the executive floors in Gojo Tower that required private elevator access and special authorization issued to one’s corporate keycard.
“Which Gojo?” Rin asked when they were in the privacy of the descending elevator.
“All three of them.”
It made sense though…
Less outside meddling meant less public press coverage.
Finance and economic titans the likes of the Gojo Group would prefer to control narratives. Reputation was a currency that was as equally valuable as the kind people used to buy everyday items. A sullied reputation could easily cost millions of yen or dollars to fix.
So when she eventually fulfilled the purpose of her actual job, what sort of narrative would the Gojo Group spin then?
“It is.” Rin agreed in the present, further disappointed by the lack of good seating. “Guess the window table is a lost cause.”
Amanai turned towards where Rin was gesturing with her chin and snorted. “Yeah, we’re going to have to fight for that corner near the lounge.”
Rin gave her friend a knowing look. Amanai was nothing if not persistent. “You say that like you won’t absolutely bulldoze someone if you have to.”
“Oh, I will.” Amanai declared cheerfully, mischievous gleam in her dark blue eyes. “And no one will say anything because HR loves me.”
In the end, they managed to snag a small table near the edge of the lounge just as two data engineers stood up — a small victory earned through timing alone. They sit, relieved, knees nearly bumping beneath the table.
Around them, the food hall continued to buzz. Someone’s laughter rang loudly near the coffee bar while a pair of analysts argued animatedly over something on a tablet, and near the far end, a quiet ripple of attention moved through the room.
Rin didn’t care for whatever it was, too busy unwrapping her metal chopsticks and stealing one of Amanai’s fries, much to the younger woman’s amused exasperation.
“You know,” Amanai spoke between bits, “—if you keep doing that, I’m going to start charging you.”
“Add it to my tab.” Rin replied easily. “What’s another, when I’m already in debt to you for the tour, the coffee, and that time you saved me from accidentally sitting in the executive-only meeting room?”
Amanai laughed. “That was iconic! Your face when you realized—”
“Don’t.” Rin groaned and suddenly regretted bringing that incident up. Satoru had been in that meeting for sure and probably would have laughed his ass off or glowered at her (he could go either way, really) if Amanai didn’t save her from that potentially embarrassing mistake. “Please.”
They eat in companionable silence for a moment. It’s comfortable and familiar — a part of life that almost felt normal to Rin.
Almost.
“So,” Amanai started casually, nudging Rin’s foot under the table. “How’s your kiddo?”
At the mere allusion of her son, Rin smiled and didn’t hesitate giving an answer. Amanai caught her swiping through gallery photos of Megumi during lunchtime once and had been curious ever since — not that Rin minded.
Amanai was a good person — kind and open, a being of light and a beacon of normalcy.
“He’s doing good.” Rin replied, a soft warmth slipping into her voice without permission. “He’s in that phase where he asks why about everything. Kept asking me the other day why toast burned and why adults drink coffee when it tastes bad.”
Amanai giggled as she bit into a cheese egg roll. “Smart kid.”
“Too smart.” Rin agreed and added, “He figured out last week that bedtime is a social construct.”
Laughter rose between them, bright and carefree. They didn’t see the way a few heads nearby subtly turned, nor see Satoru Gojo passing by with Ijichi trailing behind him like a shadow.
Amanai leaned forward, intrigued. “How old is he now?”
“Turning six in December.” Rin replied, shaking her head. “But somehow, it feels like he’s going on 60. Dear boy has too many opinions.”
“Of course he does. Wait, what’s his name again?”
Rin smiled down at her plate, thumb brushing the edge. “Megumi.”
“That’s a unique naming choice.” Amanai commented sincerely.
Yes, she got that a lot. Rin would be the first to admit that she gave her son the name with no regard for his gender: it was simply the first name that came to mind that moment the nurse laid him in her arms almost six years ago.
Blessing.
That was what Megumi was to her, wasn’t he?
A blessing, and the first ray of hopeful light in a world entrenched in darkness. She would never tell her son this, but he saved her — in more ways than one.
“It is, and only because it suits him so perfectly.” Fondness shown on Rin’s countenance as she thought of her endearingly observant little boy. “He’s so stubborn. Likes to pretend he isn’t affectionate, but sometimes, when I work late, he waits up on the couch with his babysitter. Just refuses to sleep until I come home.”
Amanai was smiling at her, soft and admiring. “You’re a really good mom, Rin.”
Rin exhaled, quiet and steady. “I try.”
There was a pause right before Amanai perked up and grinned again. “You should bring him around sometime. Not here, obviously, but—”
“God, no.” Rin laughed. “Unless Gojo Group suddenly opens a daycare suddenly, I’d worry for Megumi’s sanity if I brought him here.”
“I’d like to meet him someday.” Amanai nodded enthusiastically.
Rin nodded, a bright smile still on her face. “Maybe someday.”
Whenever that would be…
If it ever happened in the first place…
=OoOoO=
Working after hours was not a strange concept for Satoru.
He knew how most people perceived his job: glamorous and convenient. The title attached to his name since undergrad graduation was like a bright neon sign at a Vegas strip — a humongous, flashing monstrosity that screeched, “MONEY!!!”
The public saw the prestige and the polished image, but completely neglected the un-sexy parts of being a board director.
Satoru was well-aware that he occupied a privileged position, but to be fair, the fancy title came with weighty expectations and heavy responsibilities that will crush anyone else ill-equipped for the job.
And sometimes, those heavy responsibilities entailed staying in the office after 5PM because he had a war room meeting with investors from Dubai at nine in the evening.
So Satoru killed time by wandering through general-access floors. Just don’t ask him why he’d chosen to wander through the 30th floor. He liked to think his feet had a mind of their own and wandered there more frequently these days.
Totally random… Definitely not because of a person. Nope.
He passed one of the closed off rooms, noticed a single employee hunched over an ominously glowing monitor, and stopped dead in his tracks. He knew her: Aya Nakamura, software engineering lead working exclusively under his division, looking bleary-eyed and clearly wired on instant coffee.
The fact that she didn’t notice him slink up behind her, peering over her shoulder like a goblin to see what had her muttering curses under her breath, revealed just how evidently exhausted she was. Aya grumbled something about a system update failing again and how a corrupted data sync was threatening one of their live analytics dashboards.
“You know,” Satoru spoke lightly and softly, “—most people leave this floor before ghosts start coming out right?”
Aya froze, shoulders stiffening as she slowly turned to acknowledge the owner of the voice. “Sir, I— I didn’t think anyone was still here.”
Satoru waved off her worries nonchalantly. “Apparently, you and I have that in common.” He perched on the edge of the desk beside her, eyes flicking over the scrolling lines of code. “System glitch?”
“Yes, Sir.” Aya sighed and turned back to her screen. “The new data pipeline keeps throwing duplicates during the sync. I’ve been trying to isolate it since four.”
Satoru nodded once, peering at the error logs. “Where’s your patch team?”
“They clocked out at five, but I didn’t want to leave this hanging.”
The Vice Chairman didn’t say anything for a long while, just watched the screen as Aya continued doing her job in spite of her exhaustion — wholly determined to see this job through to the end. And while it was admirable, Satoru himself wasn’t a huge fan of forcing oneself to keep up like this when you’re obviously at the end of the rope.
Satoru released a quiet breath and graced her with a soft smile. “You’ve got good instincts, Nakamura. But next time, delegate. You’ve got a patch team for a reason. You’ve been staring at the same line of code for, what, four hours?”
Aya stopped typing and slumped further into her chair, hands quickly wrapping around a mug of coffee that had grown cold. “I just— didn’t want you and the other analysts to wake up to a broken dashboard, Sir.”
“I’d rather wake up to a working engineer.” Satoru quipped, and a thoughtful silence hung between them. There was understanding there; no judgment. Finally, he gestured toward the empty hallway and the soft illumination that beckoned beyond. “Head home, Nakamura. Get some rest. The system can wait; your burnout can’t.”
Aya hesitated. “And you, Sir?”
Satoru’s lips quirked. “Board Director duties. I’m trapped.”
He gave her space to gather her things and leave, just glad that she was shutting down her computer and finally clocking out for the day. And as Satoru returned the polite farewell, he couldn’t help thinking that maybe he should take his own advice. Unfortunately, that was a luxury only employees could afford.
When an empire demanded time from its governor, it did not appreciate waiting.
He was passing by the main production floor and its many empty workdesks — empty except for one.
What is it with people and pulling overtime today?
Still sitting right there at her desk, with its trademark succulent and the ever growing collection of stacked sticky notes, was one Rin Matsui — fingers clacking over the keys, eyes focused on a monitor threatening to burn off her retinas.
Apparently, Satoru wasn’t just a Vice Chairman, he was an impromptu hall monitor now too.
He sauntered towards Rin’s desk and rapped his knuckles on the hardwood to get her attention. Surprise flitted across her face for a second, but she quickly recovered and schooled herself into donning the familiar mask of professionalism.
“May I help you, Vice Chairman?”
“It’s late.” Satoru deadpanned, fondly exasperated at the fact that he had to repeat the same spiel he’d just spouted at Nakamura. “Go home.”
At his tone, the professionalism dropped, and the Rin he was used to seeing around the food hall lounge showed up. She scoffed. “The Board wants this latest assessment by tomorrow, yes?”
Satoru frowned. “Did Nanami put you up to that? Even the overtime?”
She leaned back in her seat, swayed the chair from side to side slowly. “Yes and no. Late nights are due diligence.”
“Corporate hates overtime, you know.”
“Pfft. You can afford 40 hours worth of overtime pay, shut up.” She rolled her eyes and returned to her work, completely missing the smirk that unfurled across Satoru’s lips.
“Ooh you’re feisty again today. Telling your boss to ‘shut up?’”
He caught her stiffening for a brief moment before she relaxed again and sighed. “Didn’t mean to sound insubordinate, Sir.”
Satoru was under the impression that they were engaging in a casual conversation without the hierarchical labels, but then again… They were in the office, and he had caught her in the middle of doing work at her actual desk — not like the other few times he’d chatted her up at the lounge.
“Relax, Matsui, you’re not in trouble. If I cared, HR would have texted by now.”
“Thats… quite the exaggeration.”
“Anyway, point still stands. Pulling overtime’s a bad habit you ought to stop doing.” Satoru preached solemnly while wagging a finger at her.
“Well, this one’s for good reason.”
“What even is that?” He stepped closer, peered over her shoulder just to check what she was doing — an assessment report. “You can finish that tomorrow, what are you talking about?”
“No, I can’t make time for it tomorrow. I’ve got two back-to-back meetings penciled in with your M&A recon team and intelligence analysts.”
Satoru cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t recall the Board ever being notified about that.”
“It’s for your uncle.”
“Oh. Well, push it to the day after tomorrow, I’ll let him know.”
She eyed him skeptically. “Are you sure?”
“Yep. What’s he going to do if I say so?” She looked hesitant still, so he continued with a smirk. “He’ll complain, but only to me and my dad.”
“They’ll give you flack for this.”
“Eh, who cares? They’ll fold anyway. Go home, Rin. Isn’t someone waiting up for you?”
He saw recognition and realization flash across her gaze. She didn’t even look surprised, just strangely knowing. Although, knowing her and her penchant for observing things, plus the nature of her independent career, he shouldn’t be surprised about how perceptive she actually was.
Didn’t he hire her for that reason in the first place?
“You eavesdropped at some point huh.”
He didn’t even bother refuting anything; just shrugged and said, “Is it eavesdropping if I was close enough to hear you and Amanai talking anyway?”
He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop; he just so happened to be in the food hall just like everyone else during lunch hour.
The 50th floor was notorious for noise layered over noise, but whenever Rin was in the vicinity, her voice cut through it anyway and Satoru would instinctively pay attention no matter the circumstance.
It was not the fact that Rin was a mother that caught his attention, it was in the way her voice had tightened, how bright her eyes had shone as she spoke to Amanai of the little boy who depended on her and loved her fiercely and quietly, how relaxed she had looked — a rare occurrence in the office even around him, how every anecdote had conveyed maternal love, unguarded.
Rin had a son.
At the time of hearing it and finding out about it the way he did, Satoru felt… strange.
It wasn’t information meant for his ears, but he treated it like a fragile truth meant to be held carefully anyway.
She was a mom… She had a family. She had a man already.
Without thinking too much about it, Satoru patted her shoulder. “Seriously though, just go home. It’s fine. Your kid will hate me and your job if I keep you from him any longer.”
For a brief second, she looked like she wanted to say something but the smartphone on her desk vibrated loud enough to break the flow of their conversation. It lit up with a notification. Rin glanced at it, turned it over, and checked the clock on her computer.
“You know, it’s really not a problem, Vice Chairman. It’s only 8PM, but if you’re sure, then I’ll take you up on the offer.” She smiled slowly, putting her computer to sleep while she started gathering her things. “And I’ll put the blame on you when your uncle chases down Nanami’s department for the slight delay.”
“He’s a grown man, he’ll survive one more day without a PDF to read.” Satoru shook his head, gaze softening behind his glasses without meaning to.
“Thank you, Vice Chairman.”
“Good night, Rin.”
=OoOoO=
“Good night, Rin…”
Such a simple greeting — a send-off — that had a bit of heft to it, more than she could admit. His voice tinged with displaced softness, still echoed in her head when she’d arrived home.
Rin left her shoes on the genkan, aligned neatly next to Megumi’s small sneakers and the babysitter’s flats. The lights were already dimmed while the faint scent of rice and ginger still lingered in the air. She abandoned her belongings and the small laundry bag she’d picked up on the way home from Marunouchi on the kitchen counter when Tsumiki, Megumi’s babysitter, noticed her.
The girl switched off the TV and rose from the couch to come and greet her. “Megumi fell asleep early tonight. The playtimes from school tired him out.”
The two women glanced at the sleeping boy on the couch, fists curled underneath his chin as he nestled into the warmth of the throw pillows arranged around him like a bird nest. Her son and Tsumiki’s doing no doubt.
“That’s all right. He needs the sleep.” Rin rooted around her slacks’ pocket, taking out the envelope that housed Tsumiki’s babysitting fee. She smiled as she pressed the object to the younger girl’s palm. “Thank you, Tsumiki.”
After bidding farewell and scheduling another babysitting appointment for Megumi next week, Rin began her nightly ritual: washing up before bed, donning comfier lounge wear, plugging her dying phone to an outlet on the wall, and gathering up Megumi in her arms to take him to his bedroom and tuck him in properly.
He awoke very briefly, bleary-eyed and a little confused, but relaxed the instant he caught a glimpse of her face.
Smiling, she brushed overgrown strands of dark hair away from his cheek and sent him to dreamland with an affectionate kiss on his forehead. Only when his bedroom door closed softly behind her did she make her way back to the laundry bag she’d neglected to unpack.
There wasn’t much in there — just freshly folded and ironed blouses and button-up shirts… and a non-descript vial no bigger than her thumb wrapped in wax paper, tucked between the layers of neutral fabric.
She’d gone through the meticulous trouble of procuring the toxin over a week ago.
She wasn’t in the position to fulfill the kill contract right then and there, but it was good to have the… instrument on-hand.
Rin brought the vial up to eye-level, scrutinizing the harmless-looking liquid encased within.
“It’s almost too easy.”
series masterlist || << previous chapter || next chapter >>
pairing: gojo x fem oc/reader or BoardDirector!Gojo X Assassin!FemReader
— You're an assassin, Toji Fushiguro's most prized protégé. And your next target? Satoru Gojo, Vice Chairman of the world's most influential conglomerate.
tags: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, fem!reader goes by the alias, 'rin matsui', 3rd person POV, she/her pronouns, reader/oc is a single mom, morally-gray protagonists, childhood-friends-to-lovers, slow-burn, mafia x corporate au, eventual smut, mutual yearning, drama, angst (check series masterlist to see all the tags)‼️PLEASE READ THE TAGS‼️
wc: 9.2k
series masterlist || << previous chapter || next chapter >>
Chapter 2: The Gojo Group Survival Guide
It was a short elevator ride from Floor 32 to Floor 30, and Rin had been waiting patiently for all of five minutes before the elevator chimed again with the arrival of another person. A blur of black hair and bright eyes skidded to a stop right in front of her just as the elevator doors were opening.
“Ms. Matsuiiii~”
This must be Riko Amanai?
“Welcome to the Gojo Group! I’m Riko Amanai, Corporate Compliance Assistant and your official tour guide! Or at least… that’s what Director Nanami might have said.”
“...Thank you?”
Amanai giggled at her show of hesitance, waved it off, and looped her arm through Rin’s before the other woman could object. “Director Nanami said you’re joining us as an independent intelligence consultant, and I’m supposed to show you the ropes—”
“Why do I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere?”
Amanai laughed — a bright genuine sound that brought warmth to an otherwise stern and unforgiving corporate hallway.
“You’re getting the real tour. Not the boring ones from the handbook. Rule number one: walk fast. Private equity floors are a battlefield.”
She began tugging Rin along, turning them away from the elevator and towards the east-side of the corridor.
=OoOoO=
Instead of starting the tour elsewhere in the building at first, like Amanai first thought of doing, their first stop ended up being the pantry on Floor 30 — Rin’s first introduction to what life would really be like within the glass and steel walls of the Gojo Group.
There were a handful of people in the Floor 30 pantry already. A pair was rooting around in the cupboards, one was nose-deep in the fridge, Amanai took the liberty of snatching up a package of peanuts and crackers from the tray next to the water dispenser, and the other two…
“He said we can’t use Comic Sans on presentations—”
“Because it’s a crime—”
“But it’s friendly!”
The protest died under the sound of a colleague noisily tapping away on the keyboard — desperate to drown out the other man’s verbal convictions about fonts. Rin eyed them warily: two men dressed in formal business attire arguing by the coffee machine of all places, laptop on the standing tables, one of them gesticulating wildly as if the viability of Comic Sans as an effective presentation font hinged on his movements.
They were preparing a deck it sounded like?
Amanai caught Rin staring and whispered, “These two argue every day. They’re basically married. HR is taking bets.”
“Who touched my bento?!”
Their brief conversation was swiftly interrupted by Refrigerator Guy yelling his heartbreak and despair over his stolen lunch.
Amanai flinched at the interruption, leaned closer, and murmured, “Rule number two: never trust the fridge labels. People lie,” before pulling her away again.
As much as Rin wanted to stick around and see what other shenanigans could come out of the isolated communal space, she didn’t have much of a choice as Amanai quickly took them back down to the lobby to, as Amanai would put it, show Rin everything. The woman had rules for every general access floor — 90% of which Rin doubted were actually on the handbook, but probably far more relevant and too important.
Gojo Tower was an elegant monstrosity of glass and concrete, rising 65 floors above ground — easily one of the tallest towers in Marunouchi. Every art piece decorating the walls screamed wealth, and each beep of an employee’s access card on one of sixteen elevators was a reminder of the level of exclusivity this building could command. Everyone who worked here dressed according to the handbook — neat and pristine, bright smiles at the front desk reception, walking in different directions with purpose.
This was a building that communicated hierarchy and structure and formality.
And yet Amanai was turning every expectation Rin had had about Gojo Group HQ over on its head.
Apparently the biometric turnstiles at the entrance judge you, the scent signature pumped from diffusers are rumored to cost more than someone’s full car payment, no one understands the kinetic art hanging on the walls and existing as partitions but everyone pretends to anyway, and executives pass through like migrating deities.
“Front desk gets word about all the drama that happens in the lobby. Oh! And fun fact: the lobby fragrance changes quarterly. Also, if you ever see Satoru Gojo or Yasushi Gojo walking through at the same time, the building goes silent like a funeral reception.”
“Dark… But why?” Rin blinked as they passed by the front desk and Amanai shot a friendly wave at the concierge that was returned with equal enthusiasm.
Amanai shrugged. The answer eluded her as well. “Power, drama, fear, fascination… It’s a collective experience, but who knows?
When they reached floors two and three, Amanai affectionately called them, “The Cult Floors.” And to be honest, she was right to. The Gojo museum and heritage gallery was curated no differently from a national museum, and in all her years doing infiltration work in similar environments, Rin could confidently say she hadn’t seen a lot of corporate buildings that dedicated floors to a company’s history let alone its founders’ stories.
Normally, these things lived in company websites and not on physical floors.
But apparently, the Gojo Group had more than enough budget for a Gojo museum.
“This is where they bring professors, investors, and foreign dignitaries to show them the Gojo legacy.” Amanai spoke sagely and nodded towards the array of legacy pieces lining the walls and the display cases that housed peculiar-looking objects. “No employees come here unless forced. The portraits watch you. I swear one blinked at me.”
Rin stared up at a massive oil painting of the Gojo Group’s Executive Chairman, Ryota Gojo. “He looks like he could sue me.”
And the tour progressed just like that — riddled with more lore instead of a formal description of how each department or floor functioned.
The formal conference room on the fourth floor apparently had chairs more expensive than a studio apartment, the medical suite on floor five was the spa version of a hospital where executives apparently get IV drips of vitamin cocktails after 80-hour work weeks, plus a weird rumor that the Vice Chairman donated blood there to flirt with the corporate nurses (Rin actually doubted the validity of that), and the corporate library on floor six was deemed the quietest place in the skyscraper according to Amanai.
It tracked. Rin swore she could hear her own footsteps the moment they peeked into the space.
“No one knows who the librarian is, actually. Someone from Legal theorized they might be immortal. You can request for any book and it’s here within the day. Also Vice Chairman Gojo comes here sometimes to read financial journals… for fun.”
“He what?”
Amanai didn’t linger longer than they had to in the public and semi-public floors. She quickly led Rin to the elevator and started on her tour of operations and business floors ‘where most of the magic happened.’
Rin studied the younger woman closely as she prattled on about who is responsible for what and how each department interacted with the other, all while they passed by employees scurrying about in formal suits — some carried laptops, others carried tablets, and there were a few who walked like they were two presentations away from crashing and burning.
Amanai had to have been here for years right? For her to know this much?
She was like a less hostile version of the Cheshire Cat — an overflowing well of deep understanding and cryptic wisdom she was, and Rin was determined to retain every piece of information Amanai threw her way.
HR was a department that knew everything and saw everything, and they will gossip if they like you.
“So HR divides into five subteams. Floor eight is the ‘Divorce Floor,’ where people go to air out grievances. No one knows who started the whole ‘Divorce Floor’ label. Floor nine is ‘The Gossip Engine.’ If you want rumors confirmed, ask them.”
Rin, like a good scholar, asked follow-up questions. “Should I… avoid them?”
“Absolutely not.” Amanai declared with all the conviction of a minister on a Sunday morning podium. “They’re delightful. Just don’t date anyone publicly.”
“…Right.”
Rin was fascinated to know that the night shift team at the IT department held Mario Kart tournaments, and the day shift team feared the Vice Chairman because apparently the man tried hacking his own password-protected documents ‘for fun.’ The hack failed, but it did cause more than a few migraines for the underpaid IT interns and defense analysts who absolutely did not deserve that.
They passed by a frosted glass door with a whole sheet of bondpaper taped on the front, filled with someone’s frustrated handwriting that said: “STOP SPILLING COFFEE ON KEYBOARDS I’M BEGGING YOU.”
“See these guys?” Amanai jerked her chin towards a production floor and its columns of desks as far as the eye could see. Each desk had a personality — a reflection of the employee who sat at it. “They are saints. They once recovered an entire M&A file Gojo accidentally deleted while trying to send a meme.”
“Which Gojo?”
Amanai looked at her funny, like the answer was supposed to be obvious, and maybe Rin just didn’t want to think of Satoru being that way. “The one that looks like he would send memes. But yeah, he actually meant to attach a dog picture.”
Rin didn’t even want to ask further questions, and she didn’t have to as they passed a woman in terrifying heels strutting hurriedly down the hallway, looking murderous.
Amanai gripped her arm and whispered, “That’s Ms. Yorozu, and if she asks you what your sign is, RUN.”
Floors 14 to 17 were dedicated to the Gojo Group’s Legal Department.
But in Amanai’s words, these floors were hell…
Nests of eternal suffering…
The denizens that resided here had the strongest caffeine dependency in the entire building and would gnash their teeth and groan whenever the Vice Chairman “improvises” during hostile takeovers or would go viral for dating someone famous without warning the PR Department first (but that was years ago).
And if the Legal department was hell, the Finance Department was purgatory.
Everyone here was tired — even the plants.
Each analyst here followed and feared the Vice Chairman’s financial instincts and tendencies to play 5D chess while everyone else was still busy setting up the board.
Amanai gestured towards the hallway lined with frosted glass doors, and spoke in a hushed voice. “Don’t talk to any of these people when they’re doing quarterly reports.”
She waved Rin over so they could peek through a transparent door and see 30 analysts sitting perfectly still, staring at screens like possessed dolls in a haunted shop.
“I bet they haven’t blinked in three hours. If you disturb them, one of them will cry.”
Rin stepped back, sporting an odd look in her face. “Duly noted.”
The next floor they visited was a PortCo floor that Rin had gotten familiar with last week — Sentinel Dynamics. It was their event that she had infiltrated to get close to her target, and it may have worked out a little too well.
Now she was touring the same office building where that target was probably moving around, and one of his employees was showing her every floor and willingly providing rich information that she could exploit.
It was surreal seeing Sentinel Dynamics and how it operated as the Gojo Group’s cybersecurity command center on top of serving their other clients.
And according to Amanai…
“This floor houses a separate company but is still owned by the Gojo Group.” She gestured towards the doors protected by biometric scanners and separate access cards. “These guys sleep even less than Finance. They talk like cryptids and drink energy drinks that should be illegal. Aaannd theyflaggedmelastyearbecauseIGoogled‘whatisSatoruGojo’sskincareroutine.’”
Rin snorted and tried not to laugh — half to stop herself from making noise and half to spare Amanai of the secondhand embarrassment she still felt over the incident. But then again, she’d willingly offered up that information to Rin without being asked.
“They thought you were a stalker, huh?”
Amanai sighed heavily and held up her phone screen where a Google image of Satoru was pulled up. “In my defense… look at him.”
The next floors they toured belonged to the Private Equity Division — otherwise known as Satoru Gojo’s dominion. Even if the man himself was not physically present, you can feel him there.
Floors 24 through 28 were where CEOs’ dreams lived and died, Floor 29 had more screens than a stock exchange, Floor 33 affectionately earned the moniker, “The Mad Scientist Floor,” Floor 34 hosted a special room that was only ever activated in the event of a financial crisis that would have any Gojo scream, and all ten floors were infamous for having the worst temperature control in the whole building.
It was always cold, even in December.
Beside Rin, Amanai was silently thanking every god in existence for it being June. All the same, the younger woman clutched each flap of her blazer closer to ward off the chill.
The pair stopped near the executive elevator sealed with biometric locks as they waited for the general access one to come down from the upper floors.
Here, Amanai lowered her voice and leaned closer to Rin as she said, “Rule 15: Do not stare at Vice Chairman Gojo. It encourages him.”
What?
“Encourages him to do what?”
Amanai shrugged. “Anything. Everything. He thrives on attention.”
If this rule was based on a stereotype or another rumor, Rin was not surprised, but there was something about the way that Amanai said it that made it sound like she was describing the behavior of a very tall, very rich yet excitable Belgian Malinois… Or Siberian Husky… Or both.
When she didn’t say anything, Amanai added, “He’s not scary, I promise.” Then she paused and thought about it for a split second before rushing to amend herself. “Well… Okay, he is scary, but not in the way most people think. You’ll see.”
Amanai waved a dismissive hand just as the elevator they had been waiting for arrived and opened its doors.
They skipped the executive and governance floors, because employees including Amanai and Rin did not have access to those. Next to her, Amanai was vibrating with excitement at the idea of showing Rin the essential floors. She meant the ones dedicated to fostering company culture and housing amenities that would make any residential apartment jealous.
Her tour guide went on to show her the corporate spa on the 48th floor (as if the medical suite on floor five wasn’t enough) where employees book appointments because they’re either burned out or saw an executive’s workload, a fitness lounge on the 49th floor where mid-level managers vented their frustrations through boxing or Krav Maga, three floors’ worth of function rooms, a training theater where townhall meetings or leadership lectures sometimes happened, and of course, the most sacred place of all by Amanai’s standards: the hallowed grounds of the private food hall on the 50th floor.
“This is the true beating heart of the Gojo Group.”
Amanai proudly announced and presented the wide entrance like they were in an Architectural Digest feature. But from the looks of it, they might as well be. It wasn’t lunch hour yet, but Rin spied silhouetted figures in slacks and blazers sitting in the lounge. There were a few employees huddled over laptops and sketched out graphs on pieces of paper on one of the tables, and at the buffet area near the center of the room, staff was busy prepping for lunch.
“If you want to people-watch or see any of the Gojos in person, this is a good place to spot them.” Rin blinked. Why was Amanai talking about the top-level executives as if they were safari creatures? She opened her mouth to ask, but Amanai continued with, “The Board Directors come up here to snack every so often… or cause fear. Except Vice Chairman Gojo… You never know where he pops up.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes he appears on general access floors at random—”
“To supervise or…?”
Amanai shrugged and led Rin towards the bar (that was currently closed) while she tapped on her phone. “He just shows up and randomly checks in. No one really knows why.”
Well that was… odd.
Rin’s newly issued company tablet that she’d been holding all this time buzzed with a notification. Amanai sidled up next to her to check and grinned when Rin tapped on the latest Slack channel she’d been added to.
A private channel called #foodhall-tracker where messages like, “Window seats free on north side. MOVE PEOPLE MOVE,” and “Director Nanami spotted wearing a suit worth my annual salary,” lived.
Rin scrolled quickly through a few more messages, eyebrows raising a millimeter at a time with every rumor of free mochi and back-and-forth texts between multiple people hatching a plan to boot a snooty Board Director out of the executive lounge because “the chenille armchairs don’t deserve to suffer under Gakuganji’s musty condescending ass.”
“It’s… fascinating.” Rin concluded.
Amanai nodded along with her. “It’s a survival map. I have friends from different departments and this is where they sometimes shoot messages to tell us that there are free seats we snag up here for lunch. Otherwise, it’s either the pantry on Floor 11 or the other cafes across the street.”
“Why the Floor 11 pantry?”
“Because they have the best snacks and Kuroi works there.”
When her tour of the food hall/Floor 50 Hunger Games arena ended, Rin and Amanai found themselves in the general-access elevator once again. This time, the other employees who had been in the food hall were with them. Everyone took turns pressing floors, and Amanai gently steered Rin around them; only pausing to press the button for the 30th floor. Hurried murmurs suddenly filled the enclosed space and Rin tried not to mind the flares of anxiety from the people to her left.
“Elevator protocol.” Amanai whispered. “Don’t make eye contact and don’t breathe too loudly.”
Rin tucked a hand into her slack pocket and held the tablet and handbook closer to her side. “Your company culture is interesting.”
Someone coughed as if to acknowledge Rin’s conclusion.
Amanai nodded solemnly. “And you’re going to survive it just fine.”
=OoOoO=
“I’m sorry, Amanai, do you mind if I ask? How long have you worked here?”
The pair had left the crowded elevator behind and returned to the floor where Rin would be spending most of her time for the next couple of months… or however long her contract with the Gojo Group lasted. (Hopefully long enough for her to accomplish her real objective).
“As a full-time employee? One year. I just graduated. But I was an intern here for two years during my undergrad. It’s one of those programs where they rotate the department you’re assigned to every quarter.”
“So you’ve worked in most of them.”
“Yep! Don’t tell anyone, but Finance was my least favorite.”
“I don’t think I’d get to even if I wanted to.”
Amanai led Rin towards an empty workstation — a desk waiting for the next occupant’s personality stamp. It was blank save for a potted succulent sitting on the table next to the computer terminal with a tiny name tag: WELCOME RIN! ☺️
“Did— Did you prepare this?”
Amanai nodded enthusiastically and pulled out the ergonomic chair tucked neatly into the desk. “Yes! I work on Floor 22, but I want us to be friends.”
I want us to be friends…
Rin stalled for a fraction of a second at the implications of that and the repercussions that could stem from such a connection. She didn’t have many friends for good reason. It was not from a lack of wanting friends — she wished she had them. But when your main source of income came from illegal activity, forming genuine friendships was hard. Ensuring that that friendship could thrive over the years, even harder.
And finding a friend without ulterior motives? Nigh impossible.
Amanai didn’t notice the shadow that fell over her countenance or how Rin’s mood dampened a little, still animatedly shooting ideas about stuff Rin could do with Amanai and her group of friends. The assassin schooled her expression back to normalcy before her latest acquaintance could catch wind.
She would never say ‘no’ to a social connection that could benefit her mission, but Rin did have reservations about Amanai being involved with her in any shape or form.
She would just have to keep her at arm’s length… That’s it.
“Well then!” Amanai put her hands to her hips and struck an adorable pose that coaxed a smile out of Rin’s face. “That ends the orientation tour. I sincerely hope I told you everything you need to know to survive.”
She winked and Rin shook her head and laughed. “I appreciate your guidance.”
“I’m off to Floor 22 now, but if you ever need anything or just want to chat, hit me up on Slack. I’ll be there.”
The Floor 30 production floor suddenly felt barren at Riko Amanai’s departure. Her gaze passed curiously over the other employees; everyone busy poring over dissecting competitors’ financial reports and tracking investment patterns across global markets.
And even as Rin started browsing the more complete file of the Kaisen Tech data breach that Nanami had told her would be waiting for her after the tour with Amanai, the succulent kept drawing Rin’s gaze long after the younger woman left.
It was a gift — a sweet and wholesome gesture unbecoming of Rin’s true purpose within the Gojo Group.
If Amanai knew what Rin was really here for, she would not have welcomed her so warmly.
=OoOoO=
By the time the elevator reached the 41st floor, a 23-year-old Ijichi had already decided on two things: one, the job posting implied a building; he had walked into a skyscraper, and two, if this job interview went badly, he was going to pretend it never happened.
His classmate had been vague, and the job posting he’d sent Ijichi had not been helpful. It was as fuzzy as job descriptions on the internet could get, and if Ijichi had not been already waist-deep in the line of work he’d tumbled into post university graduation, he would have chalked this supposedly lucrative opportunity as sketchy and moved on.
But desperation had a way of convincing people to do insane things, so Ijichi pretended not to notice the lack of information.
No company name nor executive name on the job post? No problem!
Ijichi swallowed the nerves that made his hands shake. He instinctively reached for the tie that suddenly felt too tight around his neck, straightened it anyway out of old habit, and prayed he didn’t just leave sweat stains on the silk. He didn’t want to check if he did either.
The receptionist smiled politely and asked him to wait after he told her what he was here for — an interaction he barely remembered because he was convinced his body was operating on autopilot by now. He trudged to the waiting room, sat up straight, and decided he would use what minimal time he had left to muster up some much needed confidence.
Oh God, what if a condescending abusive stuck-up was waiting to interview him? What if it was one of those bosses that liked to torment their underlings for fun?
Shit…
What if his potential employer was unreasonable and would ask him to do outrageous things like procure 80,000 batches of caviar for a dinner party happening on the same day? Or acquire unpublished manuscripts because their kid wanted to know what happened next in Rick Riordan’s latest book series?
That would be such an awful job to put yourself through.
But if he was being honest with himself, he’d take it as long as the pay was good. Maybe save up just enough to live comfortably for the next three or four months before quitting and finding another job that wouldn’t kill him within the first year? That was a sound plan, wasn’t it?
For the next five minutes, Ijichi did his best to distract himself with the interior design choices around him.
It was not helping.
Textured glass walls, art that looked expensive because it didn’t explain itself, a panoramic view of Marunouchi district that felt almost rude to look at for too long. The waiting area alone would have probably funded his previous department for a year. He could see himself rushing down these hallways at the ass crack of dawn to do his boss’ bidding.
Oh God, he really needed to focus.
Ijichi fidgeted in his seat once, twice — inwardly feeling sorry for the suede because he was probably sweating through it. He thumbed through the CV folder perched on his knees and planted his feet firmly on the ground while he looked at the wall and rehearsed possible questions and answers in his head.
Whatever ridiculous and awful assumptions he’d had about the job could wait. He truly needed employment right now, and as of today, this executive assistant job was the only thing that stood between him and the embarrassing reality of having to crawl back home to face his family’s disappointment.
A door opened and Ijichi thanked every deity in existence that he did not jump like a skittish cat. That would have tanked the interview before it even started.
A man stepped out — absurdly tall, white-haired, dark sunglasses indoors, no tie, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, tailored slate gray suit jacket over remarkably pressed slacks and expensive shoes — like a fashion editorial cover model who wandered in from a high-gloss photoshoot.
And he was… young.
If Ijichi wasn’t mistaken, they looked to be around the same age — except there was an obvious gap in clothing prices between them.
“Ah hi! You must be Kiyotaka Ijichi.” The man was smiling as he greeted him casually.
Ijichi stood up so fast, his calves hit the chair. The other man surely noticed but didn’t say a word when he actively ignored the pain. “Yes! Yes, Sir— I mean— Good morning, I—”
The man extended a hand and introduced himself lightly with a firm yet casual handshake. “Satoru Gojo. Nice to meet you.”
Gojo…
Of course… of fucking course!
Ijichi swore he’d seen the white hair and the sunglasses from somewhere before — a Business Insider article perhaps?
It was that Gojo.
Vice Chairman Satoru Gojo — heir to the Gojo Group.
Ijichi bowed too deeply — almost folding himself in half and dropping his folder in the process.
“I— I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize—”
Satoru Gojo cut him off with a laugh. “Oh good,” he said cheerfully. “You didn’t Google me. That already puts you ahead of the last five.”
That did not make Ijichi feel better. You were supposed to Google your future employers to make a good first impression, the fuck.
But there was no time to contemplate on the pros and cons of looking up your future boss’ name on the internet, because Gojo waved him inside the office.
Ijichi didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it was… surprisingly normal. It was large, yes, but lived-in. There was a half-empty coffee mug sitting on the gleaming desk, papers stacked neatly on top of an organizer, a suede black couch that looked slept on, a wide variety of pens in a holder — some with silly cartoon characters as caps (why the Vice Chairman had Cinnamoroll and Deadpool pen caps, no one knew), and floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the entire district like it belonged to him.
Gojo flopped into his chair and spun around once lazily.
Was this a test? Was there a trap waiting to be sprung if Ijichi so much as breathed the wrong way?
“Hey, relax.” Gojo chuckled. “You look like you’re about to confess to a crime.”
“I— I’m not,” Ijichi rushed to defend himself too quickly, realized what that implied, and panicked, “I mean— I haven’t— !”
Satoru grinned wider and tilted his head slightly towards an empty chair. “Perfect. Sit.”
Ijichi sat down way too quickly — movement that Satoru Gojo absolutely did not miss.
But the interview did not go the way that Ijichi expected.
Vice Chairman Gojo didn’t ask about his GPA, whether he graduated university with honors, or where he saw himself in the next five years. He didn’t ask Ijichi why he thought his skills would benefit the company, or bombard him with inquiries related to how Ijichi might contribute to the success of the Gojo Group.
Instead, Satoru asked him how he might handle an instance where someone might have deadlines, and what he would do in a situation where he had to mediate between two departments that both insisted they were in the right.
Questions like, “If your boss does something reckless but totally legal, will you stop them? How would you do it?”
It was less an HR-prompted interview and more of a casual conversation where Gojo threw him hypotheticals and he expected honest answers out of Ijichi. And because it seemed like that was what the Vice Chairman wanted, that was what Ijichi had readily given. He answered honestly and carefully, admitted when he didn’t know something, explained how he always did his best to stay calm in spite of panic, shared how he had tendencies to rigorously document everything, and expressed his belief that organization was a form of respect.
And Vice Chairman Gojo listened — really listened, watching him with a closeness that Ijichi almost found terrifying. This man was assessing him, cataloguing every answer and possibly turning it over in his head to understand Ijichi’s logic with his chin propped on his hand, eyes sharp behind the dark lenses that obscured part of his face.
At one point, Ijichi admitted, “I don’t like surprises.”
And Gojo laughed again, but it was softer this time. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”
The room went quiet. Three seconds passed where Ijichi felt a twinge of disappointment grow at the idea that he did fail the interview in the end. Perhaps Gojo thought him too skittish, too honest about his anxieties, but to be fair, the interview had felt like a casual chat instead of a formal interrogation masquerading as a corporate acquaintance party exercise.
Perhaps it had been a test after all; the casual vibe meant to throw Ijichi off and expose his vulnerabilities and he’d done just that.
Gojo leaned forward suddenly and pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, so he could peer into Ijichi’s soul. “I’ll be honest with you, Ijichi. This job is not normal.”
Ijichi nodded slowly. He’d already figured it wouldn’t be normal from the moment he first stepped into the lobby of the tower.
Gojo continued. “I travel abroad without warning, I change meetings mid-meeting, people lie to me for sport, and more often than not, you have to work past eight hours because I’m pulling a 16-hour workday too.” Ijichi swallowed, and Gojo kept talking. “You’ll have access to things you didn’t ask for, and you’ll be a silent listener in plenty of conversations you shouldn’t repeat. And then you need to tell me when I’m being an idiot. Can you do that?”
Ijichi thought of unemployment, of polite rejection emails, of pretending everything was fine for the next couple of months while he gritted his teeth and pushed his way through the slush of ghosted job applications. And then he thought of this man — impossibly powerful, smiling like this was all a game — and realized what Gojo was telling him without saying it out loud.
The Vice Chairman didn’t need another yes-man. He wanted a buffer, maybe even a human firewall.
“I think—” Ijichi said carefully, “—that if you’re asking me to tell you when you’re wrong, then yes. Yes, I can do that.”
Gojo’s smile changed, visibly satisfied with the answer he’d heard.
The interview ended quickly after that, and as Ijichi stood to leave, still half-dazed, Gojo added casually:
“Oh, and one more thing. If you accept the offer, you’ll start on Monday.”
What? Did he just— “I— I haven’t been offered—”
“You have.” Gojo said with a casual wave of the hand. The sunglasses were back in front of his eyes. “HR will call, so try not to faint.”
Speechless, Ijichi bowed again and was relieved when he pulled off a less clumsier one this time. He had reached the door when Gojo called out again.
“Oh, Ijichi?”
“Yes, Sir?”
Gojo peered at him over the frames of his glasses with gleaming blue eyes.
“Welcome to the worst decision of your life.”
The door closed just in time, like a scene straight out of a movie. And Ijichi stood in the hallway with a pounding heart in his throat, hands shaking, mind screaming, because holy shit—
He had just agreed to work for Satoru Gojo.
And then Monday morning came, and Ijichi was a new man with a new job. He was chipper, slightly nervous, but eager to please, and he was left sitting around in Satoru’s waiting room for a good hour because the Vice Chairman neglected telling him that he flew back to the UK on the same day of Ijichi’s job interview.
Gojo had been in the middle of taking his second fast-tracked master’s degree in the University of Warwick — crucial information for an executive assistant to know.
But nope… Gojo casually skipped it, and just called Ijichi later that day to tell him he’d be acting as Satoru’s virtual assistant for the majority of the year until Gojo would officially return to Tokyo from the outskirts of Coventry after earning his degree.
Saying ‘yes’ to being Gojo’s executive assistant was, indeed, the worst (and the best) decision of Ijichi’s life.
Against all odds, Ijichi had stayed, and before he even knew it, the days and months had come and gone in a blur of full calendars and 11PM espresso shots. He was now Vice Chairman Gojo’s assistant for four years and counting.
It took a particular person to survive working for the Gojo Group.
You had to be incredibly driven if not a little insane to survive the requests of a demanding manager, the urgent deadlines that never seem to end, the occasional nosy deskmate or coworker who wants to know everything about you, the awful and unfortunately competent people who will steal any food you leave in the pantry fridges, the suffocating silences in elevators, the mini heart attacks you get whenever Yasushi Gojo issues a memo via HR, the stroke you will inevitably suffer the moment Executive Chairman Ryota Gojo stares you down at a non-executive meeting, and the burnout you’ll eventually feel when you think about all of those things at once.
No wonder the company had mental health professionals on call.
That being said, Ijichi would never say ‘no’ to an afternoon chat with the company-employed therapists on the fifth floor.
And if he was being honest with himself, Ijichi didn’t think he’d survive his first year working as Vice Chairman Gojo’s assistant either. There were days where he’d gone home with the anxiety that he wouldn’t have a job the next day, only for Gojo to call at 6:30 in the morning to ask what flavor of mochi he liked and to come in to work an hour earlier than the usual because they had a lot to do that day apparently.
Ijichi learned that Vice Chairman Gojo wasn’t as fazed with trivial mistakes as he’d first assumed. There had been a moment four years ago when Ijichi fumbled a logistics schedule for a board event, and the moment he realized, he’d sheepishly gone to Gojo’s office to admit his mistake and pray he wouldn’t get the tongue-lashing of a lifetime (even if he had it coming).
“Sir, I… I forgot to forward the schedule adjustments to the directors. They arrived 30 minutes early.”
Ijichi stopped short of twiddling his thumbs only because that made him look guiltier. But Vice Chairman Gojo didn’t look angry; just mildly disappointed. He gulped nervously when the man set his pen down and leaned back in his chair.
“All right. What did we learn?”
The reprimand that Ijichi had been dreading never came. Instead, his boss was quizzing him like an elementary teacher.
“To… to double-check communications?”
“No, to anticipate people.” Gojo sighed and picked up his pen to continue writing again. “You’re good at reacting, Ijichi, but I need you to start predicting. Prevent mistakes instead of scrambling to fix them. Do that, and you’ll save yourself years of apology emails.”
Ijichi was stunned to say the least. His old manager would have yelled at him, maybe even call him stupid in the heat of the moment.
“Now go make it right; I’ll cover the delay.”
Vice Chairman Gojo wasn’t one for scolding. Instead, he expressed disappointment where situations called for it, but his level of calm reinforced the fact that mistakes were survivable as long as you were willing to learn, and boy did Ijichi learn.
As demanding as his job was, Ijichi had learned to take the highs and lows for what they were — waves in a roiling sea and he was the ship. Sure, the ocean water may occasionally leak into the deck and he had to patch up life-threatening holes here and there, but it was ultimately never that bad.
Plus, the job did come with some luxurious perks.
A 23-year-old Ijichi would never have imagined working this high-pressure job and spending more than 40 hours a day on top floors of skyscrapers, but at the same time, hitching on regular chopper rides, cruising around town on a Phantom for free, frequently visiting Michelin-star restaurants, hopping from one continent to the next (sometimes in a single day), and the pay was great.
Really great.
Sometimes Ijichi couldn’t believe he was acknowledging it to himself on some days, but working for Vice Chairman Gojo was definitely a better job than he ever thought to ask for.
So when the elevator doors opened at Floor 30 that afternoon and Gojo stepped out prattling instruction after instruction, Ijichi didn’t even flinch.
“Cancel my 2:15 and set up a replacement meeting for that timeslot. Raw numbers from Axiom can tell me more of what’s happening there than their executives could. Odyssey’s finance exec on the other hand has explaining to do. What do you mean we’re doing ‘monetization optimization’? ‘Adjusting applied EBITDA multiple by approximately 25%’ my ass. Give me hard dollar figures — approximations won’t cut it. Why are they even there if they don’t have the balls to come out with the precise amount of the portfolio write-down? Might need a word with my uncle just for that.”
Ijichi fell into step beside Gojo and tried his best to keep up with his boss’ longer strides, while sending a silent prayer to the gods above for the poor C-suite executives at Odyssey Sports Group who had landed themselves on Satoru Gojo’s shit list.
It was a bad day to screw up, especially after the man spent the majority of his morning holed up in his home study, held hostage by a four-hour virtual board meeting. Ijichi had been working with Vice Chairman Gojo for four years and some CEOs have been around for longer. Didn’t they know better than to send subpar reports with imaginary numbers during the end of a financial quarter?
Gojo was still muttering under his breath, and though he spoke in the same chipper tone he usually did, the underlying frustration and the simmering anger still bubbled underneath the façade. Ijichi let him rant while he tapped away on his trusty company-issued tablet to accommodate his boss’ latest change in schedule.
“What even is this? They call this a report?” Gojo clucked his tongue in disappointment, skimmed the confidential memorandum one more time, and dismissed the document from his phone screen entirely. “Anyway… The meeting with Odyssey will take priority this afternoon, but don’t cancel my 3:30 please. Hayate needs to tell me what he plans to do now that his projections from two months ago are off the mark by 18%. Ouch.”
Ijichi spied an unchecked item from his personal list and looked up to ask, “What do you want to do with Veridia?”
“The merger proposal? Yeah, call Jana for me, would you? I don’t mind delays in the interest of being thorough, but we’re nearing the end of the quarter, and I want that done before Q3 begins. If it helps, tell them the rest of the Board is not as patient as me.”
The assistant noted the latest instruction down with fingers that were all too used to typing 93 words per minute.
“Sir, about NEXGEN Logistics—” Ijichi started again as Gojo paused at an empty desk near the outskirts of the Floor 30 production floor.
“Ah— Interim leadership appointment, right?”
Four years into this and it still took Ijichi aback whenever Gojo so much as demonstrated a hyper-awareness of everything that went on under his jurisdiction. He made overseeing a private equity division look like a walk in the park — and that was the farthest thing from the truth. The nonchalant façade and blasé attitude concealed the predatory attention to detail.
Ijichi stepped forward with the physical papers, presenting them at the empty desk. “This needs your physical sign-off by the end of the day.”
Gojo had already affixed his approval and slid the papers back to the assistant before Ijichi had finished speaking.
“I know the guy. Has nothing to lose and everything to prove. The Board made an impressive choice for once. Can’t say the same for their previous appointments for NEXGEN though. Feels like they want to fuck that company over with poor choice of CEOs. Oh, before I forget, call Fujita’s secretary for me too, would you? Confirm dinner at that one table at Nihonryori Ryugin. My guest is picky, and—”
Gojo trailed off, failing to finish whatever he’d been about to say.
“Sir?” Ijichi followed his boss’ line of sight, right towards a familiar-looking woman sitting at a desk, laser-focused on reading what looked like a PDF document.
“And it looks like Nanami’s newest subordinate is settling in nicely.”
He couldn’t see Gojo’s eyes behind the sunglasses, but Ijichi was willing to bet his entire month’s salary that they had that gleam about them — that gleam that said he was about to go disrupt someone’s peace. For Ms. Matsui’s sake, Ijichi hoped Gojo wouldn’t give in to his impulsive tendencies to greet new hires he was familiar with.
But of course, Gojo unknowingly dashed his hopes and dreams to pieces as the man drifted away from the assistant to do exactly what Ijichi feared he would do.
=OoOoO=
She was having a slow afternoon, but that was to be expected during the first day. Sure, she was plunged straight into a project, but Vice Chairman Gojo did hire her and require her expertise for a reason. Besides, Rin figured the faster she could demonstrate her competence and plant herself deep enough in his life, the faster everyone around him and with him would let their guard down.
And maybe she could finish off her target sooner, then walk away from this life for good.
Rin went back to going over the Kaisen Tech data breach that Nanami sent over this morning, presumably before her tour of the building even began, when she spotted a particular someone moving through Floor 30. It was hard to miss him.
That shock of white hair on top of his head was like a homing beacon. Plus, the sight of close-protection personnel stationed around him dressed like regular office workers was a dead giveaway, not to mention Ijichi trailing behind him.
She averted her gaze in time, just as she noted the faintest sparks of recognition in his body language.
She was pretending to read when Satoru Gojo materialized to the right of her desk, friendly smile plastered across his face, dark sunglasses perched on the tall bridge of his nose.
“My congratulations on landing the job, Ms. Matsui.” His fingers tapped the edge of her desk idly as he remained blind to the few heads on the production floor that turned towards the Vice Chairman’s voice. The other employees turned away quickly after confirming who it was. “How are you finding Gojo Group hospitality?”
The grin on his face was the extreme opposite of corporate nicety. Should she play along?
“Vice Chairman Gojo. Good afternoon, Sir.”
“Well?” He prodded further, head tilting the slightest bit towards her computer and the open data breach report displayed on it.
“The onboarding process has been pleasant and efficient.”
“That’s cool. So how soon can I expect that diagnosis and solutions report?”
Demanding, wasn’t he? But that shouldn’t be a surprise, should it?
“You’ll have it by Wednesday, Sir.”
“Perfect. The Board’s impatient and wants updates. It’s a sensitive issue; you understand.”
Satoru released one long dramatic sigh and made a gesture towards Ijichi. The assistant nodded at her once before disappearing to go do… whatever it was Satoru was telling him to do.
“I’d love to stay and chat, but… I’ve somewhere I need to be.” He tapped on the wood twice and began to leave — as if he hadn’t just disrupted an entire production floor’s concentration with his presence alone. “Counting on you, Matsui. Don’t disappoint me.”
Rin tore her gaze away from the group of children playing at the adjacent park to stare at her friend. Dark sleeveless shirt over dark jeans and heels, fair hair styled into a side braid, almond burgundy nails on elegant-looking hands that hid a capacity for violence that Rin knew all too well.
Mei Mei was as striking as ever — a fellow underworld mercenary on her day off.
Rin snorted. “That’s your fault. Four years and only sparse texts? You had it coming.”
She quickly returned to watching the playground and its many occupants for a moment. Megumi was among them, slowly but surely building a tower made of sticks, pebbles, and leaves while the other boys and girls crowded around him and shouted to each other — something about trapping princesses in wooden castles and dragons coming to burn it down.
Mei Mei’s thrilled laughter cut through her musings and drifted over the drawl of saxophone music blaring from inside the cafe. “Touché.”
The impish grin that split Rin’s face disappeared, replaced by genuine curiosity. She hadn’t seen this woman in a while. So when she got the text from Mei Mei last night inviting her to a catch-up, Rin didn’t want to say ‘no.’
Quite generous of the Gojo Group to allow hybrid working arrangements too. She’d expected Nanami to bristle when she called him to ask (quite the audacious request from a two-day-old subordinate), but his only reply over the phone was to send in her end-of-day report and that was it.
Rin didn’t wait. She grabbed her chance to have some relaxation time — sit at an outdoor table of a cafe on a Wednesday afternoon, catch up with an old friend, let Megumi have the time of his life at the nearby park, and do her job in the meantime.
“Long contracts?” Rin prodded a little as she continued going through patch logs, proxy trails, and deleted timestamps in the Kaisen Tech breach report. Her fingers moved swiftly and silently over the tracking pad.
Mei Mei nodded once, drumming her fingers leisurely on top of the iron table. “Private security for some rich heir in Sri Lanka.”
And that was explanation enough. People like her and Mei Mei — they were used to cutting communication for the sake of a job.
Sometimes, it was the safest way to go about it.
“And you? How’s work?”
Rin shrugged, pretending not to notice the way her friend assessed her. “Work is work.”
“Everything is work with you.” True. Mei Mei personally witnessed Rin’s constant lineup of applications for blue collar jobs around the city plus the underworld contracts they passed to each other over the years to determine which woman had the necessary skills that would fit. “Playing detective for the Gojo Group?”
Now how would Mei Mei know about that?
“I wasn’t aware the Gojo Group liked to post their new hires on social media.”
Mei Mei folded her arms across her chest and leaned back. She ignored the slight furrow that appeared between Rin’s brows and fixed her friend with that familiar smug look — the look that said, ‘I know you know where I get my information from.’
“They don’t. I’m just in the business of knowing things about everyone.”
The frown disappeared, replaced by amusement because— “Of course.”
“How is it?”
“Hm?”
“Working for men who make choices that mobilize billions of yen.”
Oh Mei Mei… The woman did love a hefty payout. It was the first thing she would ask about.
A group of university students from the nearby Seikei University passed by carrying bags of fried meat cutlets. Their laughter gradually subsided and Rin caught one of them casting a curious look at Mei Mei after they’d heard her latest question.
Rin shrugged. “It’s more of the same; just at a larger scale.”
“Is this a gig or is it for something else?”
Technically, she was being paid to kill the Vice Chairman. And she’d said ‘yes’ for the sake of clearing her father’s debt to Sukuna’s syndicate. This whole independent consultancy thing was no more than a means to an end, but Mei Mei had no business knowing that — for her own safety and everyone else’s.
“A gig.” Rin lied with the ease of someone who’d told countless ones all her life. “You and I could do with cleaner jobs once in a while.”
For a fraction of a minute, she caught the way Mei Mei’s eyes softened. “That’s true. How’s the money?”
“Good. Too good.”
Lavish, actually. Twelve million yen a month for an independent consultant was generous. It was base compensation on top of a completion bonus, medical insurance, a level of corporate clearance data thieves would envy her for, and access to Gojo Group mode of transportation whenever she so needed it. The Glassdoor job reviews online weren’t lying when former and current employees alike rated the compensation with five stars.
Scoring employment at Gojo Group was a jackpot.
“How good are we talking?”
“Eight figures.” Rin’s smile was modest.
Mei Mei sipped her coffee slowly, eyes twinkling with approval. “Hush money and a regular salary rolled into one.”
She wasn’t wrong. Gojo apparently threw in the discretionary bonus with the base pay.
“Given my parallel field of expertise, I’d say they’re getting their money’s worth.”
Mei Mei’s trilling laughter filled the space between them again, and she reached over to clink the ceramic coffee cup with hers. “To big payouts.”
Rin chortled, putting on a bright smile for the friend who knew too much and too little at the same time. And for as much as she trusted Mei Mei, she would rather her friend stay in the dark about this one, not just for safety reasons, but for the sake of her mission succeeding as well.
The fewer people who knew about her true purpose, the better.
Secrecy left less room for meddling. Little to no meddling, meant lesser chances for surprises.
And Rin was not a big fan of surprises…
She’d much rather things go her way. It made everything less complicated and infinitely less messier. The variables were easy to control. After last Friday night’s happenings, Rin’s Plan B had been to wait two to four business days before she would invite Nanami to a coffee hangout in lieu of finishing their conversation and maybe weasel her way into employment via a personal recommendation from the Director of Corporate Security & Intelligence himself.
What she had not been expecting was an offer letter straight from the office of the Gojo Group’s Vice Chairman. It arrived in her inbox hours after Friday night’s event had concluded.
That quick…
Someone from Gojo Group’s HR department had called her Saturday morning while she was busy fixing hers and Megumi’s breakfast, asking for confirmation if she’d received said letter and whether or not she had intentions of signing it. They were very professional, but going off of the way they spoke over the phone, Rin had heard a hint of, “Please sign the offer letter as soon as possible because someone is asking me to hire you ASAP.”
They were very insistent. That was the kindest way to put it.
It was a little baffling. But as was her SOP, a way in was a way in. She was never the type to look a gift horse in the mouth, so she’d signed the offer letter and sent in her ID for good measure.
Funny… She had them pegged for exclusivity, not desperation.
But then a time-sensitive case summary entitled, “Kaisen Tech Data Breach — URGENT (Confidential)” had arrived via email on Monday and suddenly it all made sense.
The urgent hire had Satoru’s fingerprints all over it, but it seemed she had captured his attention enough to consider her opinion seriously if they were asking her to look over a case such as this.
And now here she was, two days into contractual employment with the Gojo Group.
Aside from the regular check-ins with Nanami, things were bafflingly quiet on the Vice Chairman’s end after the brief Monday afternoon run-in she’d had with him.
Nanami had told her on Monday that the Kaisen Tech data breach was an issue brought up by the Executive Chairman — Satoru’s father — during a board meeting last week; meaning the issue was startling, urgent, and demanded the Vice Chairman’s attention since the Board left this up to him apparently.
Satoru said as much before bidding her farewell with a thinly veiled warning.
For something that was supposedly “urgent,” the two-day timeframe to complete a full diagnosis report was quite lenient.
By the time Rin was close to finishing up the last of her work for the day, the lazy afternoon light had faded to the softened color palette of dusk, and Mei Mei had to say ‘goodbye.’
“I have to go.” Mei Mei rose from her seat with an elegance that reminded Rin of a swan. “But let’s do this again next time, yes? I take it you’re staying a little longer.”
Rin gestured towards the adjacent park and at Megumi who was now absorbed in his own game of make-believe in the sandpit. “That and I’ll be finishing up a couple of things.”
Mei Mei bid her friend ‘good luck,’ and left in a nondescript sedan, and Rin finally hit send on a 15-page diagnosis and proposed solution report to Nanami and Gojo.
She released a long exhale and eyed the Gojo Group ID badge lying innocently beside her open laptop and her unfinished cup of caffeine.
It was a sweet cover, wasn’t it?
An office desk, a security clearance badge, a consistent paycheck — for once.
It was almost enough to make her forget what it was really for… Almost.
The inbox refreshed — a new reply on her report:
KAISEN TECH DATA BREACH DIAGNOSIS & PROPOSED SOLUTIONS REPORT
Today
From: Satoru Gojo <[email protected]>
Keep your reports under 10 pages.
I don’t like noise.
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pairing: gojo x fem oc/reader or BoardDirector!Gojo X Assassin!FemReader
— You're an assassin, Toji Fushiguro's most prized protégé. And your next target? Satoru Gojo, Vice Chairman of the world's most influential conglomerate.
tags: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, fem!reader goes by the alias, 'rin matsui', 3rd person POV, she/her pronouns, reader/oc is a single mom, morally-gray protagonists, childhood-friends-to-lovers, slow-burn, mafia x corporate au, eventual smut, mutual yearning, drama, angst (check series masterlist to see all the tags)‼️PLEASE READ THE TAGS‼️
wc: 9.2k
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Chapter 2: The Gojo Group Survival Guide
It was a short elevator ride from Floor 32 to Floor 30, and Rin had been waiting patiently for all of five minutes before the elevator chimed again with the arrival of another person. A blur of black hair and bright eyes skidded to a stop right in front of her just as the elevator doors were opening.
“Ms. Matsuiiii~”
This must be Riko Amanai?
“Welcome to the Gojo Group! I’m Riko Amanai, Corporate Compliance Assistant and your official tour guide! Or at least… that’s what Director Nanami might have said.”
“...Thank you?”
Amanai giggled at her show of hesitance, waved it off, and looped her arm through Rin’s before the other woman could object. “Director Nanami said you’re joining us as an independent intelligence consultant, and I’m supposed to show you the ropes—”
“Why do I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere?”
Amanai laughed — a bright genuine sound that brought warmth to an otherwise stern and unforgiving corporate hallway.
“You’re getting the real tour. Not the boring ones from the handbook. Rule number one: walk fast. Private equity floors are a battlefield.”
She began tugging Rin along, turning them away from the elevator and towards the east-side of the corridor.
=OoOoO=
Instead of starting the tour elsewhere in the building at first, like Amanai first thought of doing, their first stop ended up being the pantry on Floor 30 — Rin’s first introduction to what life would really be like within the glass and steel walls of the Gojo Group.
There were a handful of people in the Floor 30 pantry already. A pair was rooting around in the cupboards, one was nose-deep in the fridge, Amanai took the liberty of snatching up a package of peanuts and crackers from the tray next to the water dispenser, and the other two…
“He said we can’t use Comic Sans on presentations—”
“Because it’s a crime—”
“But it’s friendly!”
The protest died under the sound of a colleague noisily tapping away on the keyboard — desperate to drown out the other man’s verbal convictions about fonts. Rin eyed them warily: two men dressed in formal business attire arguing by the coffee machine of all places, laptop on the standing tables, one of them gesticulating wildly as if the viability of Comic Sans as an effective presentation font hinged on his movements.
They were preparing a deck it sounded like?
Amanai caught Rin staring and whispered, “These two argue every day. They’re basically married. HR is taking bets.”
“Who touched my bento?!”
Their brief conversation was swiftly interrupted by Refrigerator Guy yelling his heartbreak and despair over his stolen lunch.
Amanai flinched at the interruption, leaned closer, and murmured, “Rule number two: never trust the fridge labels. People lie,” before pulling her away again.
As much as Rin wanted to stick around and see what other shenanigans could come out of the isolated communal space, she didn’t have much of a choice as Amanai quickly took them back down to the lobby to, as Amanai would put it, show Rin everything. The woman had rules for every general access floor — 90% of which Rin doubted were actually on the handbook, but probably far more relevant and too important.
Gojo Tower was an elegant monstrosity of glass and concrete, rising 65 floors above ground — easily one of the tallest towers in Marunouchi. Every art piece decorating the walls screamed wealth, and each beep of an employee’s access card on one of sixteen elevators was a reminder of the level of exclusivity this building could command. Everyone who worked here dressed according to the handbook — neat and pristine, bright smiles at the front desk reception, walking in different directions with purpose.
This was a building that communicated hierarchy and structure and formality.
And yet Amanai was turning every expectation Rin had had about Gojo Group HQ over on its head.
Apparently the biometric turnstiles at the entrance judge you, the scent signature pumped from diffusers are rumored to cost more than someone’s full car payment, no one understands the kinetic art hanging on the walls and existing as partitions but everyone pretends to anyway, and executives pass through like migrating deities.
“Front desk gets word about all the drama that happens in the lobby. Oh! And fun fact: the lobby fragrance changes quarterly. Also, if you ever see Satoru Gojo or Yasushi Gojo walking through at the same time, the building goes silent like a funeral reception.”
“Dark… But why?” Rin blinked as they passed by the front desk and Amanai shot a friendly wave at the concierge that was returned with equal enthusiasm.
Amanai shrugged. The answer eluded her as well. “Power, drama, fear, fascination… It’s a collective experience, but who knows?
When they reached floors two and three, Amanai affectionately called them, “The Cult Floors.” And to be honest, she was right to. The Gojo museum and heritage gallery was curated no differently from a national museum, and in all her years doing infiltration work in similar environments, Rin could confidently say she hadn’t seen a lot of corporate buildings that dedicated floors to a company’s history let alone its founders’ stories.
Normally, these things lived in company websites and not on physical floors.
But apparently, the Gojo Group had more than enough budget for a Gojo museum.
“This is where they bring professors, investors, and foreign dignitaries to show them the Gojo legacy.” Amanai spoke sagely and nodded towards the array of legacy pieces lining the walls and the display cases that housed peculiar-looking objects. “No employees come here unless forced. The portraits watch you. I swear one blinked at me.”
Rin stared up at a massive oil painting of the Gojo Group’s Executive Chairman, Ryota Gojo. “He looks like he could sue me.”
And the tour progressed just like that — riddled with more lore instead of a formal description of how each department or floor functioned.
The formal conference room on the fourth floor apparently had chairs more expensive than a studio apartment, the medical suite on floor five was the spa version of a hospital where executives apparently get IV drips of vitamin cocktails after 80-hour work weeks, plus a weird rumor that the Vice Chairman donated blood there to flirt with the corporate nurses (Rin actually doubted the validity of that), and the corporate library on floor six was deemed the quietest place in the skyscraper according to Amanai.
It tracked. Rin swore she could hear her own footsteps the moment they peeked into the space.
“No one knows who the librarian is, actually. Someone from Legal theorized they might be immortal. You can request for any book and it’s here within the day. Also Vice Chairman Gojo comes here sometimes to read financial journals… for fun.”
“He what?”
Amanai didn’t linger longer than they had to in the public and semi-public floors. She quickly led Rin to the elevator and started on her tour of operations and business floors ‘where most of the magic happened.’
Rin studied the younger woman closely as she prattled on about who is responsible for what and how each department interacted with the other, all while they passed by employees scurrying about in formal suits — some carried laptops, others carried tablets, and there were a few who walked like they were two presentations away from crashing and burning.
Amanai had to have been here for years right? For her to know this much?
She was like a less hostile version of the Cheshire Cat — an overflowing well of deep understanding and cryptic wisdom she was, and Rin was determined to retain every piece of information Amanai threw her way.
HR was a department that knew everything and saw everything, and they will gossip if they like you.
“So HR divides into five subteams. Floor eight is the ‘Divorce Floor,’ where people go to air out grievances. No one knows who started the whole ‘Divorce Floor’ label. Floor nine is ‘The Gossip Engine.’ If you want rumors confirmed, ask them.”
Rin, like a good scholar, asked follow-up questions. “Should I… avoid them?”
“Absolutely not.” Amanai declared with all the conviction of a minister on a Sunday morning podium. “They’re delightful. Just don’t date anyone publicly.”
“…Right.”
Rin was fascinated to know that the night shift team at the IT department held Mario Kart tournaments, and the day shift team feared the Vice Chairman because apparently the man tried hacking his own password-protected documents ‘for fun.’ The hack failed, but it did cause more than a few migraines for the underpaid IT interns and defense analysts who absolutely did not deserve that.
They passed by a frosted glass door with a whole sheet of bondpaper taped on the front, filled with someone’s frustrated handwriting that said: “STOP SPILLING COFFEE ON KEYBOARDS I’M BEGGING YOU.”
“See these guys?” Amanai jerked her chin towards a production floor and its columns of desks as far as the eye could see. Each desk had a personality — a reflection of the employee who sat at it. “They are saints. They once recovered an entire M&A file Gojo accidentally deleted while trying to send a meme.”
“Which Gojo?”
Amanai looked at her funny, like the answer was supposed to be obvious, and maybe Rin just didn’t want to think of Satoru being that way. “The one that looks like he would send memes. But yeah, he actually meant to attach a dog picture.”
Rin didn’t even want to ask further questions, and she didn’t have to as they passed a woman in terrifying heels strutting hurriedly down the hallway, looking murderous.
Amanai gripped her arm and whispered, “That’s Ms. Yorozu, and if she asks you what your sign is, RUN.”
Floors 14 to 17 were dedicated to the Gojo Group’s Legal Department.
But in Amanai’s words, these floors were hell…
Nests of eternal suffering…
The denizens that resided here had the strongest caffeine dependency in the entire building and would gnash their teeth and groan whenever the Vice Chairman “improvises” during hostile takeovers or would go viral for dating someone famous without warning the PR Department first (but that was years ago).
And if the Legal department was hell, the Finance Department was purgatory.
Everyone here was tired — even the plants.
Each analyst here followed and feared the Vice Chairman’s financial instincts and tendencies to play 5D chess while everyone else was still busy setting up the board.
Amanai gestured towards the hallway lined with frosted glass doors, and spoke in a hushed voice. “Don’t talk to any of these people when they’re doing quarterly reports.”
She waved Rin over so they could peek through a transparent door and see 30 analysts sitting perfectly still, staring at screens like possessed dolls in a haunted shop.
“I bet they haven’t blinked in three hours. If you disturb them, one of them will cry.”
Rin stepped back, sporting an odd look in her face. “Duly noted.”
The next floor they visited was a PortCo floor that Rin had gotten familiar with last week — Sentinel Dynamics. It was their event that she had infiltrated to get close to her target, and it may have worked out a little too well.
Now she was touring the same office building where that target was probably moving around, and one of his employees was showing her every floor and willingly providing rich information that she could exploit.
It was surreal seeing Sentinel Dynamics and how it operated as the Gojo Group’s cybersecurity command center on top of serving their other clients.
And according to Amanai…
“This floor houses a separate company but is still owned by the Gojo Group.” She gestured towards the doors protected by biometric scanners and separate access cards. “These guys sleep even less than Finance. They talk like cryptids and drink energy drinks that should be illegal. Aaannd theyflaggedmelastyearbecauseIGoogled‘whatisSatoruGojo’sskincareroutine.’”
Rin snorted and tried not to laugh — half to stop herself from making noise and half to spare Amanai of the secondhand embarrassment she still felt over the incident. But then again, she’d willingly offered up that information to Rin without being asked.
“They thought you were a stalker, huh?”
Amanai sighed heavily and held up her phone screen where a Google image of Satoru was pulled up. “In my defense… look at him.”
The next floors they toured belonged to the Private Equity Division — otherwise known as Satoru Gojo’s dominion. Even if the man himself was not physically present, you can feel him there.
Floors 24 through 28 were where CEOs’ dreams lived and died, Floor 29 had more screens than a stock exchange, Floor 33 affectionately earned the moniker, “The Mad Scientist Floor,” Floor 34 hosted a special room that was only ever activated in the event of a financial crisis that would have any Gojo scream, and all ten floors were infamous for having the worst temperature control in the whole building.
It was always cold, even in December.
Beside Rin, Amanai was silently thanking every god in existence for it being June. All the same, the younger woman clutched each flap of her blazer closer to ward off the chill.
The pair stopped near the executive elevator sealed with biometric locks as they waited for the general access one to come down from the upper floors.
Here, Amanai lowered her voice and leaned closer to Rin as she said, “Rule 15: Do not stare at Vice Chairman Gojo. It encourages him.”
What?
“Encourages him to do what?”
Amanai shrugged. “Anything. Everything. He thrives on attention.”
If this rule was based on a stereotype or another rumor, Rin was not surprised, but there was something about the way that Amanai said it that made it sound like she was describing the behavior of a very tall, very rich yet excitable Belgian Malinois… Or Siberian Husky… Or both.
When she didn’t say anything, Amanai added, “He’s not scary, I promise.” Then she paused and thought about it for a split second before rushing to amend herself. “Well… Okay, he is scary, but not in the way most people think. You’ll see.”
Amanai waved a dismissive hand just as the elevator they had been waiting for arrived and opened its doors.
They skipped the executive and governance floors, because employees including Amanai and Rin did not have access to those. Next to her, Amanai was vibrating with excitement at the idea of showing Rin the essential floors. She meant the ones dedicated to fostering company culture and housing amenities that would make any residential apartment jealous.
Her tour guide went on to show her the corporate spa on the 48th floor (as if the medical suite on floor five wasn’t enough) where employees book appointments because they’re either burned out or saw an executive’s workload, a fitness lounge on the 49th floor where mid-level managers vented their frustrations through boxing or Krav Maga, three floors’ worth of function rooms, a training theater where townhall meetings or leadership lectures sometimes happened, and of course, the most sacred place of all by Amanai’s standards: the hallowed grounds of the private food hall on the 50th floor.
“This is the true beating heart of the Gojo Group.”
Amanai proudly announced and presented the wide entrance like they were in an Architectural Digest feature. But from the looks of it, they might as well be. It wasn’t lunch hour yet, but Rin spied silhouetted figures in slacks and blazers sitting in the lounge. There were a few employees huddled over laptops and sketched out graphs on pieces of paper on one of the tables, and at the buffet area near the center of the room, staff was busy prepping for lunch.
“If you want to people-watch or see any of the Gojos in person, this is a good place to spot them.” Rin blinked. Why was Amanai talking about the top-level executives as if they were safari creatures? She opened her mouth to ask, but Amanai continued with, “The Board Directors come up here to snack every so often… or cause fear. Except Vice Chairman Gojo… You never know where he pops up.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes he appears on general access floors at random—”
“To supervise or…?”
Amanai shrugged and led Rin towards the bar (that was currently closed) while she tapped on her phone. “He just shows up and randomly checks in. No one really knows why.”
Well that was… odd.
Rin’s newly issued company tablet that she’d been holding all this time buzzed with a notification. Amanai sidled up next to her to check and grinned when Rin tapped on the latest Slack channel she’d been added to.
A private channel called #foodhall-tracker where messages like, “Window seats free on north side. MOVE PEOPLE MOVE,” and “Director Nanami spotted wearing a suit worth my annual salary,” lived.
Rin scrolled quickly through a few more messages, eyebrows raising a millimeter at a time with every rumor of free mochi and back-and-forth texts between multiple people hatching a plan to boot a snooty Board Director out of the executive lounge because “the chenille armchairs don’t deserve to suffer under Gakuganji’s musty condescending ass.”
“It’s… fascinating.” Rin concluded.
Amanai nodded along with her. “It’s a survival map. I have friends from different departments and this is where they sometimes shoot messages to tell us that there are free seats we snag up here for lunch. Otherwise, it’s either the pantry on Floor 11 or the other cafes across the street.”
“Why the Floor 11 pantry?”
“Because they have the best snacks and Kuroi works there.”
When her tour of the food hall/Floor 50 Hunger Games arena ended, Rin and Amanai found themselves in the general-access elevator once again. This time, the other employees who had been in the food hall were with them. Everyone took turns pressing floors, and Amanai gently steered Rin around them; only pausing to press the button for the 30th floor. Hurried murmurs suddenly filled the enclosed space and Rin tried not to mind the flares of anxiety from the people to her left.
“Elevator protocol.” Amanai whispered. “Don’t make eye contact and don’t breathe too loudly.”
Rin tucked a hand into her slack pocket and held the tablet and handbook closer to her side. “Your company culture is interesting.”
Someone coughed as if to acknowledge Rin’s conclusion.
Amanai nodded solemnly. “And you’re going to survive it just fine.”
=OoOoO=
“I’m sorry, Amanai, do you mind if I ask? How long have you worked here?”
The pair had left the crowded elevator behind and returned to the floor where Rin would be spending most of her time for the next couple of months… or however long her contract with the Gojo Group lasted. (Hopefully long enough for her to accomplish her real objective).
“As a full-time employee? One year. I just graduated. But I was an intern here for two years during my undergrad. It’s one of those programs where they rotate the department you’re assigned to every quarter.”
“So you’ve worked in most of them.”
“Yep! Don’t tell anyone, but Finance was my least favorite.”
“I don’t think I’d get to even if I wanted to.”
Amanai led Rin towards an empty workstation — a desk waiting for the next occupant’s personality stamp. It was blank save for a potted succulent sitting on the table next to the computer terminal with a tiny name tag: WELCOME RIN! ☺️
“Did— Did you prepare this?”
Amanai nodded enthusiastically and pulled out the ergonomic chair tucked neatly into the desk. “Yes! I work on Floor 22, but I want us to be friends.”
I want us to be friends…
Rin stalled for a fraction of a second at the implications of that and the repercussions that could stem from such a connection. She didn’t have many friends for good reason. It was not from a lack of wanting friends — she wished she had them. But when your main source of income came from illegal activity, forming genuine friendships was hard. Ensuring that that friendship could thrive over the years, even harder.
And finding a friend without ulterior motives? Nigh impossible.
Amanai didn’t notice the shadow that fell over her countenance or how Rin’s mood dampened a little, still animatedly shooting ideas about stuff Rin could do with Amanai and her group of friends. The assassin schooled her expression back to normalcy before her latest acquaintance could catch wind.
She would never say ‘no’ to a social connection that could benefit her mission, but Rin did have reservations about Amanai being involved with her in any shape or form.
She would just have to keep her at arm’s length… That’s it.
“Well then!” Amanai put her hands to her hips and struck an adorable pose that coaxed a smile out of Rin’s face. “That ends the orientation tour. I sincerely hope I told you everything you need to know to survive.”
She winked and Rin shook her head and laughed. “I appreciate your guidance.”
“I’m off to Floor 22 now, but if you ever need anything or just want to chat, hit me up on Slack. I’ll be there.”
The Floor 30 production floor suddenly felt barren at Riko Amanai’s departure. Her gaze passed curiously over the other employees; everyone busy poring over dissecting competitors’ financial reports and tracking investment patterns across global markets.
And even as Rin started browsing the more complete file of the Kaisen Tech data breach that Nanami had told her would be waiting for her after the tour with Amanai, the succulent kept drawing Rin’s gaze long after the younger woman left.
It was a gift — a sweet and wholesome gesture unbecoming of Rin’s true purpose within the Gojo Group.
If Amanai knew what Rin was really here for, she would not have welcomed her so warmly.
=OoOoO=
By the time the elevator reached the 41st floor, a 23-year-old Ijichi had already decided on two things: one, the job posting implied a building; he had walked into a skyscraper, and two, if this job interview went badly, he was going to pretend it never happened.
His classmate had been vague, and the job posting he’d sent Ijichi had not been helpful. It was as fuzzy as job descriptions on the internet could get, and if Ijichi had not been already waist-deep in the line of work he’d tumbled into post university graduation, he would have chalked this supposedly lucrative opportunity as sketchy and moved on.
But desperation had a way of convincing people to do insane things, so Ijichi pretended not to notice the lack of information.
No company name nor executive name on the job post? No problem!
Ijichi swallowed the nerves that made his hands shake. He instinctively reached for the tie that suddenly felt too tight around his neck, straightened it anyway out of old habit, and prayed he didn’t just leave sweat stains on the silk. He didn’t want to check if he did either.
The receptionist smiled politely and asked him to wait after he told her what he was here for — an interaction he barely remembered because he was convinced his body was operating on autopilot by now. He trudged to the waiting room, sat up straight, and decided he would use what minimal time he had left to muster up some much needed confidence.
Oh God, what if a condescending abusive stuck-up was waiting to interview him? What if it was one of those bosses that liked to torment their underlings for fun?
Shit…
What if his potential employer was unreasonable and would ask him to do outrageous things like procure 80,000 batches of caviar for a dinner party happening on the same day? Or acquire unpublished manuscripts because their kid wanted to know what happened next in Rick Riordan’s latest book series?
That would be such an awful job to put yourself through.
But if he was being honest with himself, he’d take it as long as the pay was good. Maybe save up just enough to live comfortably for the next three or four months before quitting and finding another job that wouldn’t kill him within the first year? That was a sound plan, wasn’t it?
For the next five minutes, Ijichi did his best to distract himself with the interior design choices around him.
It was not helping.
Textured glass walls, art that looked expensive because it didn’t explain itself, a panoramic view of Marunouchi district that felt almost rude to look at for too long. The waiting area alone would have probably funded his previous department for a year. He could see himself rushing down these hallways at the ass crack of dawn to do his boss’ bidding.
Oh God, he really needed to focus.
Ijichi fidgeted in his seat once, twice — inwardly feeling sorry for the suede because he was probably sweating through it. He thumbed through the CV folder perched on his knees and planted his feet firmly on the ground while he looked at the wall and rehearsed possible questions and answers in his head.
Whatever ridiculous and awful assumptions he’d had about the job could wait. He truly needed employment right now, and as of today, this executive assistant job was the only thing that stood between him and the embarrassing reality of having to crawl back home to face his family’s disappointment.
A door opened and Ijichi thanked every deity in existence that he did not jump like a skittish cat. That would have tanked the interview before it even started.
A man stepped out — absurdly tall, white-haired, dark sunglasses indoors, no tie, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, tailored slate gray suit jacket over remarkably pressed slacks and expensive shoes — like a fashion editorial cover model who wandered in from a high-gloss photoshoot.
And he was… young.
If Ijichi wasn’t mistaken, they looked to be around the same age — except there was an obvious gap in clothing prices between them.
“Ah hi! You must be Kiyotaka Ijichi.” The man was smiling as he greeted him casually.
Ijichi stood up so fast, his calves hit the chair. The other man surely noticed but didn’t say a word when he actively ignored the pain. “Yes! Yes, Sir— I mean— Good morning, I—”
The man extended a hand and introduced himself lightly with a firm yet casual handshake. “Satoru Gojo. Nice to meet you.”
Gojo…
Of course… of fucking course!
Ijichi swore he’d seen the white hair and the sunglasses from somewhere before — a Business Insider article perhaps?
It was that Gojo.
Vice Chairman Satoru Gojo — heir to the Gojo Group.
Ijichi bowed too deeply — almost folding himself in half and dropping his folder in the process.
“I— I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize—”
Satoru Gojo cut him off with a laugh. “Oh good,” he said cheerfully. “You didn’t Google me. That already puts you ahead of the last five.”
That did not make Ijichi feel better. You were supposed to Google your future employers to make a good first impression, the fuck.
But there was no time to contemplate on the pros and cons of looking up your future boss’ name on the internet, because Gojo waved him inside the office.
Ijichi didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it was… surprisingly normal. It was large, yes, but lived-in. There was a half-empty coffee mug sitting on the gleaming desk, papers stacked neatly on top of an organizer, a suede black couch that looked slept on, a wide variety of pens in a holder — some with silly cartoon characters as caps (why the Vice Chairman had Cinnamoroll and Deadpool pen caps, no one knew), and floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the entire district like it belonged to him.
Gojo flopped into his chair and spun around once lazily.
Was this a test? Was there a trap waiting to be sprung if Ijichi so much as breathed the wrong way?
“Hey, relax.” Gojo chuckled. “You look like you’re about to confess to a crime.”
“I— I’m not,” Ijichi rushed to defend himself too quickly, realized what that implied, and panicked, “I mean— I haven’t— !”
Satoru grinned wider and tilted his head slightly towards an empty chair. “Perfect. Sit.”
Ijichi sat down way too quickly — movement that Satoru Gojo absolutely did not miss.
But the interview did not go the way that Ijichi expected.
Vice Chairman Gojo didn’t ask about his GPA, whether he graduated university with honors, or where he saw himself in the next five years. He didn’t ask Ijichi why he thought his skills would benefit the company, or bombard him with inquiries related to how Ijichi might contribute to the success of the Gojo Group.
Instead, Satoru asked him how he might handle an instance where someone might have deadlines, and what he would do in a situation where he had to mediate between two departments that both insisted they were in the right.
Questions like, “If your boss does something reckless but totally legal, will you stop them? How would you do it?”
It was less an HR-prompted interview and more of a casual conversation where Gojo threw him hypotheticals and he expected honest answers out of Ijichi. And because it seemed like that was what the Vice Chairman wanted, that was what Ijichi had readily given. He answered honestly and carefully, admitted when he didn’t know something, explained how he always did his best to stay calm in spite of panic, shared how he had tendencies to rigorously document everything, and expressed his belief that organization was a form of respect.
And Vice Chairman Gojo listened — really listened, watching him with a closeness that Ijichi almost found terrifying. This man was assessing him, cataloguing every answer and possibly turning it over in his head to understand Ijichi’s logic with his chin propped on his hand, eyes sharp behind the dark lenses that obscured part of his face.
At one point, Ijichi admitted, “I don’t like surprises.”
And Gojo laughed again, but it was softer this time. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”
The room went quiet. Three seconds passed where Ijichi felt a twinge of disappointment grow at the idea that he did fail the interview in the end. Perhaps Gojo thought him too skittish, too honest about his anxieties, but to be fair, the interview had felt like a casual chat instead of a formal interrogation masquerading as a corporate acquaintance party exercise.
Perhaps it had been a test after all; the casual vibe meant to throw Ijichi off and expose his vulnerabilities and he’d done just that.
Gojo leaned forward suddenly and pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, so he could peer into Ijichi’s soul. “I’ll be honest with you, Ijichi. This job is not normal.”
Ijichi nodded slowly. He’d already figured it wouldn’t be normal from the moment he first stepped into the lobby of the tower.
Gojo continued. “I travel abroad without warning, I change meetings mid-meeting, people lie to me for sport, and more often than not, you have to work past eight hours because I’m pulling a 16-hour workday too.” Ijichi swallowed, and Gojo kept talking. “You’ll have access to things you didn’t ask for, and you’ll be a silent listener in plenty of conversations you shouldn’t repeat. And then you need to tell me when I’m being an idiot. Can you do that?”
Ijichi thought of unemployment, of polite rejection emails, of pretending everything was fine for the next couple of months while he gritted his teeth and pushed his way through the slush of ghosted job applications. And then he thought of this man — impossibly powerful, smiling like this was all a game — and realized what Gojo was telling him without saying it out loud.
The Vice Chairman didn’t need another yes-man. He wanted a buffer, maybe even a human firewall.
“I think—” Ijichi said carefully, “—that if you’re asking me to tell you when you’re wrong, then yes. Yes, I can do that.”
Gojo’s smile changed, visibly satisfied with the answer he’d heard.
The interview ended quickly after that, and as Ijichi stood to leave, still half-dazed, Gojo added casually:
“Oh, and one more thing. If you accept the offer, you’ll start on Monday.”
What? Did he just— “I— I haven’t been offered—”
“You have.” Gojo said with a casual wave of the hand. The sunglasses were back in front of his eyes. “HR will call, so try not to faint.”
Speechless, Ijichi bowed again and was relieved when he pulled off a less clumsier one this time. He had reached the door when Gojo called out again.
“Oh, Ijichi?”
“Yes, Sir?”
Gojo peered at him over the frames of his glasses with gleaming blue eyes.
“Welcome to the worst decision of your life.”
The door closed just in time, like a scene straight out of a movie. And Ijichi stood in the hallway with a pounding heart in his throat, hands shaking, mind screaming, because holy shit—
He had just agreed to work for Satoru Gojo.
And then Monday morning came, and Ijichi was a new man with a new job. He was chipper, slightly nervous, but eager to please, and he was left sitting around in Satoru’s waiting room for a good hour because the Vice Chairman neglected telling him that he flew back to the UK on the same day of Ijichi’s job interview.
Gojo had been in the middle of taking his second fast-tracked master’s degree in the University of Warwick — crucial information for an executive assistant to know.
But nope… Gojo casually skipped it, and just called Ijichi later that day to tell him he’d be acting as Satoru’s virtual assistant for the majority of the year until Gojo would officially return to Tokyo from the outskirts of Coventry after earning his degree.
Saying ‘yes’ to being Gojo’s executive assistant was, indeed, the worst (and the best) decision of Ijichi’s life.
Against all odds, Ijichi had stayed, and before he even knew it, the days and months had come and gone in a blur of full calendars and 11PM espresso shots. He was now Vice Chairman Gojo’s assistant for four years and counting.
It took a particular person to survive working for the Gojo Group.
You had to be incredibly driven if not a little insane to survive the requests of a demanding manager, the urgent deadlines that never seem to end, the occasional nosy deskmate or coworker who wants to know everything about you, the awful and unfortunately competent people who will steal any food you leave in the pantry fridges, the suffocating silences in elevators, the mini heart attacks you get whenever Yasushi Gojo issues a memo via HR, the stroke you will inevitably suffer the moment Executive Chairman Ryota Gojo stares you down at a non-executive meeting, and the burnout you’ll eventually feel when you think about all of those things at once.
No wonder the company had mental health professionals on call.
That being said, Ijichi would never say ‘no’ to an afternoon chat with the company-employed therapists on the fifth floor.
And if he was being honest with himself, Ijichi didn’t think he’d survive his first year working as Vice Chairman Gojo’s assistant either. There were days where he’d gone home with the anxiety that he wouldn’t have a job the next day, only for Gojo to call at 6:30 in the morning to ask what flavor of mochi he liked and to come in to work an hour earlier than the usual because they had a lot to do that day apparently.
Ijichi learned that Vice Chairman Gojo wasn’t as fazed with trivial mistakes as he’d first assumed. There had been a moment four years ago when Ijichi fumbled a logistics schedule for a board event, and the moment he realized, he’d sheepishly gone to Gojo’s office to admit his mistake and pray he wouldn’t get the tongue-lashing of a lifetime (even if he had it coming).
“Sir, I… I forgot to forward the schedule adjustments to the directors. They arrived 30 minutes early.”
Ijichi stopped short of twiddling his thumbs only because that made him look guiltier. But Vice Chairman Gojo didn’t look angry; just mildly disappointed. He gulped nervously when the man set his pen down and leaned back in his chair.
“All right. What did we learn?”
The reprimand that Ijichi had been dreading never came. Instead, his boss was quizzing him like an elementary teacher.
“To… to double-check communications?”
“No, to anticipate people.” Gojo sighed and picked up his pen to continue writing again. “You’re good at reacting, Ijichi, but I need you to start predicting. Prevent mistakes instead of scrambling to fix them. Do that, and you’ll save yourself years of apology emails.”
Ijichi was stunned to say the least. His old manager would have yelled at him, maybe even call him stupid in the heat of the moment.
“Now go make it right; I’ll cover the delay.”
Vice Chairman Gojo wasn’t one for scolding. Instead, he expressed disappointment where situations called for it, but his level of calm reinforced the fact that mistakes were survivable as long as you were willing to learn, and boy did Ijichi learn.
As demanding as his job was, Ijichi had learned to take the highs and lows for what they were — waves in a roiling sea and he was the ship. Sure, the ocean water may occasionally leak into the deck and he had to patch up life-threatening holes here and there, but it was ultimately never that bad.
Plus, the job did come with some luxurious perks.
A 23-year-old Ijichi would never have imagined working this high-pressure job and spending more than 40 hours a day on top floors of skyscrapers, but at the same time, hitching on regular chopper rides, cruising around town on a Phantom for free, frequently visiting Michelin-star restaurants, hopping from one continent to the next (sometimes in a single day), and the pay was great.
Really great.
Sometimes Ijichi couldn’t believe he was acknowledging it to himself on some days, but working for Vice Chairman Gojo was definitely a better job than he ever thought to ask for.
So when the elevator doors opened at Floor 30 that afternoon and Gojo stepped out prattling instruction after instruction, Ijichi didn’t even flinch.
“Cancel my 2:15 and set up a replacement meeting for that timeslot. Raw numbers from Axiom can tell me more of what’s happening there than their executives could. Odyssey’s finance exec on the other hand has explaining to do. What do you mean we’re doing ‘monetization optimization’? ‘Adjusting applied EBITDA multiple by approximately 25%’ my ass. Give me hard dollar figures — approximations won’t cut it. Why are they even there if they don’t have the balls to come out with the precise amount of the portfolio write-down? Might need a word with my uncle just for that.”
Ijichi fell into step beside Gojo and tried his best to keep up with his boss’ longer strides, while sending a silent prayer to the gods above for the poor C-suite executives at Odyssey Sports Group who had landed themselves on Satoru Gojo’s shit list.
It was a bad day to screw up, especially after the man spent the majority of his morning holed up in his home study, held hostage by a four-hour virtual board meeting. Ijichi had been working with Vice Chairman Gojo for four years and some CEOs have been around for longer. Didn’t they know better than to send subpar reports with imaginary numbers during the end of a financial quarter?
Gojo was still muttering under his breath, and though he spoke in the same chipper tone he usually did, the underlying frustration and the simmering anger still bubbled underneath the façade. Ijichi let him rant while he tapped away on his trusty company-issued tablet to accommodate his boss’ latest change in schedule.
“What even is this? They call this a report?” Gojo clucked his tongue in disappointment, skimmed the confidential memorandum one more time, and dismissed the document from his phone screen entirely. “Anyway… The meeting with Odyssey will take priority this afternoon, but don’t cancel my 3:30 please. Hayate needs to tell me what he plans to do now that his projections from two months ago are off the mark by 18%. Ouch.”
Ijichi spied an unchecked item from his personal list and looked up to ask, “What do you want to do with Veridia?”
“The merger proposal? Yeah, call Jana for me, would you? I don’t mind delays in the interest of being thorough, but we’re nearing the end of the quarter, and I want that done before Q3 begins. If it helps, tell them the rest of the Board is not as patient as me.”
The assistant noted the latest instruction down with fingers that were all too used to typing 93 words per minute.
“Sir, about NEXGEN Logistics—” Ijichi started again as Gojo paused at an empty desk near the outskirts of the Floor 30 production floor.
“Ah— Interim leadership appointment, right?”
Four years into this and it still took Ijichi aback whenever Gojo so much as demonstrated a hyper-awareness of everything that went on under his jurisdiction. He made overseeing a private equity division look like a walk in the park — and that was the farthest thing from the truth. The nonchalant façade and blasé attitude concealed the predatory attention to detail.
Ijichi stepped forward with the physical papers, presenting them at the empty desk. “This needs your physical sign-off by the end of the day.”
Gojo had already affixed his approval and slid the papers back to the assistant before Ijichi had finished speaking.
“I know the guy. Has nothing to lose and everything to prove. The Board made an impressive choice for once. Can’t say the same for their previous appointments for NEXGEN though. Feels like they want to fuck that company over with poor choice of CEOs. Oh, before I forget, call Fujita’s secretary for me too, would you? Confirm dinner at that one table at Nihonryori Ryugin. My guest is picky, and—”
Gojo trailed off, failing to finish whatever he’d been about to say.
“Sir?” Ijichi followed his boss’ line of sight, right towards a familiar-looking woman sitting at a desk, laser-focused on reading what looked like a PDF document.
“And it looks like Nanami’s newest subordinate is settling in nicely.”
He couldn’t see Gojo’s eyes behind the sunglasses, but Ijichi was willing to bet his entire month’s salary that they had that gleam about them — that gleam that said he was about to go disrupt someone’s peace. For Ms. Matsui’s sake, Ijichi hoped Gojo wouldn’t give in to his impulsive tendencies to greet new hires he was familiar with.
But of course, Gojo unknowingly dashed his hopes and dreams to pieces as the man drifted away from the assistant to do exactly what Ijichi feared he would do.
=OoOoO=
She was having a slow afternoon, but that was to be expected during the first day. Sure, she was plunged straight into a project, but Vice Chairman Gojo did hire her and require her expertise for a reason. Besides, Rin figured the faster she could demonstrate her competence and plant herself deep enough in his life, the faster everyone around him and with him would let their guard down.
And maybe she could finish off her target sooner, then walk away from this life for good.
Rin went back to going over the Kaisen Tech data breach that Nanami sent over this morning, presumably before her tour of the building even began, when she spotted a particular someone moving through Floor 30. It was hard to miss him.
That shock of white hair on top of his head was like a homing beacon. Plus, the sight of close-protection personnel stationed around him dressed like regular office workers was a dead giveaway, not to mention Ijichi trailing behind him.
She averted her gaze in time, just as she noted the faintest sparks of recognition in his body language.
She was pretending to read when Satoru Gojo materialized to the right of her desk, friendly smile plastered across his face, dark sunglasses perched on the tall bridge of his nose.
“My congratulations on landing the job, Ms. Matsui.” His fingers tapped the edge of her desk idly as he remained blind to the few heads on the production floor that turned towards the Vice Chairman’s voice. The other employees turned away quickly after confirming who it was. “How are you finding Gojo Group hospitality?”
The grin on his face was the extreme opposite of corporate nicety. Should she play along?
“Vice Chairman Gojo. Good afternoon, Sir.”
“Well?” He prodded further, head tilting the slightest bit towards her computer and the open data breach report displayed on it.
“The onboarding process has been pleasant and efficient.”
“That’s cool. So how soon can I expect that diagnosis and solutions report?”
Demanding, wasn’t he? But that shouldn’t be a surprise, should it?
“You’ll have it by Wednesday, Sir.”
“Perfect. The Board’s impatient and wants updates. It’s a sensitive issue; you understand.”
Satoru released one long dramatic sigh and made a gesture towards Ijichi. The assistant nodded at her once before disappearing to go do… whatever it was Satoru was telling him to do.
“I’d love to stay and chat, but… I’ve somewhere I need to be.” He tapped on the wood twice and began to leave — as if he hadn’t just disrupted an entire production floor’s concentration with his presence alone. “Counting on you, Matsui. Don’t disappoint me.”
Rin tore her gaze away from the group of children playing at the adjacent park to stare at her friend. Dark sleeveless shirt over dark jeans and heels, fair hair styled into a side braid, almond burgundy nails on elegant-looking hands that hid a capacity for violence that Rin knew all too well.
Mei Mei was as striking as ever — a fellow underworld mercenary on her day off.
Rin snorted. “That’s your fault. Four years and only sparse texts? You had it coming.”
She quickly returned to watching the playground and its many occupants for a moment. Megumi was among them, slowly but surely building a tower made of sticks, pebbles, and leaves while the other boys and girls crowded around him and shouted to each other — something about trapping princesses in wooden castles and dragons coming to burn it down.
Mei Mei’s thrilled laughter cut through her musings and drifted over the drawl of saxophone music blaring from inside the cafe. “Touché.”
The impish grin that split Rin’s face disappeared, replaced by genuine curiosity. She hadn’t seen this woman in a while. So when she got the text from Mei Mei last night inviting her to a catch-up, Rin didn’t want to say ‘no.’
Quite generous of the Gojo Group to allow hybrid working arrangements too. She’d expected Nanami to bristle when she called him to ask (quite the audacious request from a two-day-old subordinate), but his only reply over the phone was to send in her end-of-day report and that was it.
Rin didn’t wait. She grabbed her chance to have some relaxation time — sit at an outdoor table of a cafe on a Wednesday afternoon, catch up with an old friend, let Megumi have the time of his life at the nearby park, and do her job in the meantime.
“Long contracts?” Rin prodded a little as she continued going through patch logs, proxy trails, and deleted timestamps in the Kaisen Tech breach report. Her fingers moved swiftly and silently over the tracking pad.
Mei Mei nodded once, drumming her fingers leisurely on top of the iron table. “Private security for some rich heir in Sri Lanka.”
And that was explanation enough. People like her and Mei Mei — they were used to cutting communication for the sake of a job.
Sometimes, it was the safest way to go about it.
“And you? How’s work?”
Rin shrugged, pretending not to notice the way her friend assessed her. “Work is work.”
“Everything is work with you.” True. Mei Mei personally witnessed Rin’s constant lineup of applications for blue collar jobs around the city plus the underworld contracts they passed to each other over the years to determine which woman had the necessary skills that would fit. “Playing detective for the Gojo Group?”
Now how would Mei Mei know about that?
“I wasn’t aware the Gojo Group liked to post their new hires on social media.”
Mei Mei folded her arms across her chest and leaned back. She ignored the slight furrow that appeared between Rin’s brows and fixed her friend with that familiar smug look — the look that said, ‘I know you know where I get my information from.’
“They don’t. I’m just in the business of knowing things about everyone.”
The frown disappeared, replaced by amusement because— “Of course.”
“How is it?”
“Hm?”
“Working for men who make choices that mobilize billions of yen.”
Oh Mei Mei… The woman did love a hefty payout. It was the first thing she would ask about.
A group of university students from the nearby Seikei University passed by carrying bags of fried meat cutlets. Their laughter gradually subsided and Rin caught one of them casting a curious look at Mei Mei after they’d heard her latest question.
Rin shrugged. “It’s more of the same; just at a larger scale.”
“Is this a gig or is it for something else?”
Technically, she was being paid to kill the Vice Chairman. And she’d said ‘yes’ for the sake of clearing her father’s debt to Sukuna’s syndicate. This whole independent consultancy thing was no more than a means to an end, but Mei Mei had no business knowing that — for her own safety and everyone else’s.
“A gig.” Rin lied with the ease of someone who’d told countless ones all her life. “You and I could do with cleaner jobs once in a while.”
For a fraction of a minute, she caught the way Mei Mei’s eyes softened. “That’s true. How’s the money?”
“Good. Too good.”
Lavish, actually. Twelve million yen a month for an independent consultant was generous. It was base compensation on top of a completion bonus, medical insurance, a level of corporate clearance data thieves would envy her for, and access to Gojo Group mode of transportation whenever she so needed it. The Glassdoor job reviews online weren’t lying when former and current employees alike rated the compensation with five stars.
Scoring employment at Gojo Group was a jackpot.
“How good are we talking?”
“Eight figures.” Rin’s smile was modest.
Mei Mei sipped her coffee slowly, eyes twinkling with approval. “Hush money and a regular salary rolled into one.”
She wasn’t wrong. Gojo apparently threw in the discretionary bonus with the base pay.
“Given my parallel field of expertise, I’d say they’re getting their money’s worth.”
Mei Mei’s trilling laughter filled the space between them again, and she reached over to clink the ceramic coffee cup with hers. “To big payouts.”
Rin chortled, putting on a bright smile for the friend who knew too much and too little at the same time. And for as much as she trusted Mei Mei, she would rather her friend stay in the dark about this one, not just for safety reasons, but for the sake of her mission succeeding as well.
The fewer people who knew about her true purpose, the better.
Secrecy left less room for meddling. Little to no meddling, meant lesser chances for surprises.
And Rin was not a big fan of surprises…
She’d much rather things go her way. It made everything less complicated and infinitely less messier. The variables were easy to control. After last Friday night’s happenings, Rin’s Plan B had been to wait two to four business days before she would invite Nanami to a coffee hangout in lieu of finishing their conversation and maybe weasel her way into employment via a personal recommendation from the Director of Corporate Security & Intelligence himself.
What she had not been expecting was an offer letter straight from the office of the Gojo Group’s Vice Chairman. It arrived in her inbox hours after Friday night’s event had concluded.
That quick…
Someone from Gojo Group’s HR department had called her Saturday morning while she was busy fixing hers and Megumi’s breakfast, asking for confirmation if she’d received said letter and whether or not she had intentions of signing it. They were very professional, but going off of the way they spoke over the phone, Rin had heard a hint of, “Please sign the offer letter as soon as possible because someone is asking me to hire you ASAP.”
They were very insistent. That was the kindest way to put it.
It was a little baffling. But as was her SOP, a way in was a way in. She was never the type to look a gift horse in the mouth, so she’d signed the offer letter and sent in her ID for good measure.
Funny… She had them pegged for exclusivity, not desperation.
But then a time-sensitive case summary entitled, “Kaisen Tech Data Breach — URGENT (Confidential)” had arrived via email on Monday and suddenly it all made sense.
The urgent hire had Satoru’s fingerprints all over it, but it seemed she had captured his attention enough to consider her opinion seriously if they were asking her to look over a case such as this.
And now here she was, two days into contractual employment with the Gojo Group.
Aside from the regular check-ins with Nanami, things were bafflingly quiet on the Vice Chairman’s end after the brief Monday afternoon run-in she’d had with him.
Nanami had told her on Monday that the Kaisen Tech data breach was an issue brought up by the Executive Chairman — Satoru’s father — during a board meeting last week; meaning the issue was startling, urgent, and demanded the Vice Chairman’s attention since the Board left this up to him apparently.
Satoru said as much before bidding her farewell with a thinly veiled warning.
For something that was supposedly “urgent,” the two-day timeframe to complete a full diagnosis report was quite lenient.
By the time Rin was close to finishing up the last of her work for the day, the lazy afternoon light had faded to the softened color palette of dusk, and Mei Mei had to say ‘goodbye.’
“I have to go.” Mei Mei rose from her seat with an elegance that reminded Rin of a swan. “But let’s do this again next time, yes? I take it you’re staying a little longer.”
Rin gestured towards the adjacent park and at Megumi who was now absorbed in his own game of make-believe in the sandpit. “That and I’ll be finishing up a couple of things.”
Mei Mei bid her friend ‘good luck,’ and left in a nondescript sedan, and Rin finally hit send on a 15-page diagnosis and proposed solution report to Nanami and Gojo.
She released a long exhale and eyed the Gojo Group ID badge lying innocently beside her open laptop and her unfinished cup of caffeine.
It was a sweet cover, wasn’t it?
An office desk, a security clearance badge, a consistent paycheck — for once.
It was almost enough to make her forget what it was really for… Almost.
The inbox refreshed — a new reply on her report:
KAISEN TECH DATA BREACH DIAGNOSIS & PROPOSED SOLUTIONS REPORT
Today
From: Satoru Gojo <[email protected]>
Keep your reports under 10 pages.
I don’t like noise.
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a/n: yes, this is a repost. i rewrote everything, because i was rereading and hated how i wrote stuff so take 2! 🤦♀️😅 reblogs and comments are appreciated ❣️
pairing: gojo x fem oc/reader or BoardDirector!Gojo X Assassin!FemReader
— You're an assassin, Toji Fushiguro's most prized protégé. And your next target? Satoru Gojo, Vice Chairman of the world's most influential conglomerate.
tags: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, fem!reader goes by the alias, 'rin matsui', 3rd person POV, she/her pronouns, reader/oc is a single mom, morally-gray protagonists, childhood-friends-to-lovers, slow-burn, mafia x corporate au, eventual smut, mutual yearning, drama, angst (check series masterlist to see all the tags)‼️PLEASE READ THE TAGS‼️
wc: 9.2k
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Chapter 1: Baiting the Shark
The cursor blinked against the search bar, the name, Satoru Gojo, already autofilled before she’d even finished typing. Hundreds of articles listed across sixty plus search pages, images on images, Business Insider interviews on YouTube, exclusive interviews on Forbes, quotes he’d said at a press conference or in a magazine, an AI summary that glorified his achievements and venerated his name.
Satoru Gojo, worth approximately US$3 billion (JPY 461 billion approx).
His entire net worth, the client had promised and Sukuna had said. On a 50-50 split.
More than enough to pay the debt.
She blinked once, twice; clicked on one of the more recent eye-catching headlines from Tokyo Confidential Online and scanned through the tabloid fluff for an idea of the general public’s perception of him.
Gojo Heir or Ice King? Japan’s Most Elusive Executive Still Refuses to Melt Hearts
Few men turn down Tokyo’s golden elite, but Satoru Gojo seems to have made it an art form.
The 27-year-old president of the Gojo Group was seen last weekend at the Grand Hyatt, where guests report he “barely looked up from his phone.” Sources close to the family insist he’s “too married to the company” to think about romance. Others whisper that he’s “impossible to please.”
Whether heartbreak or genius fuels him, one thing’s clear — Gojo’s as cold as the markets he rules.
Cold, or just appropriately private…
Utahime Iori and Business Magnate Satoru Gojo End Relationship After Two Years
Utahime Iori and Satoru Gojo have officially parted ways after two years together, representatives for the singer confirmed this week.
“The split was mutual and respectful,” a source tells People Japan, adding that both “remain focused on their respective careers.”
Gojo, 26, is the Vice Chairman of the Gojo Group, one of Japan’s most influential private equity and technology firms. Iori, currently promoting her upcoming album Silver Hour, has been open about her challenges balancing love and the limelight.
The couple maintained a low profile during their relationship, appearing together only a handful of times at public events. Despite public curiosity, Gojo has consistently kept his personal life private, rarely granting interviews outside of business circles.
Anja Blomstedt and Fortune 500 Heir Satoru Gojo Seen Getting Cozy at Chi Spacca
Billionaire Heartbreaker? VS Model Yuki Tsukumo Splits from Mysterious Tycoon Satoru Gojo!
Hollywood Royalty Mary Shelly Appears at the Red Carpet with Billionaire Boyfriend Satoru Gojo
General public awareness: sporadic.
She clicked through a few more celebrity gossip articles and noted the dates. Always spaced apart, never frequent. Scattered. Isolated. His name never appeared first in news articles of this nature. It always came second to someone more famous — names and faces that generated buzz and occupied the public consciousness more regularly than he did. An A-list actress, a high-profile model, music artists…
A quick scan through each excerpt also painted him as nothing more than a rich heir or a business tycoon. Either-or. No in-betweens, no details.
“Makes sense.” She muttered to herself as she scanned through a couple more. “He’s not a pop culture figure.”
She redid her search, this time, specifying Satoru Gojo and inquiring about what he does. The search engine returned results chock full of business articles, puff pieces from journalists, videos of him speaking at the World Economic Forum, or in public global summits, news articles with his name wrapped up next to other members of the business elite.
She scanned article headline after article headline:
Inside the Gojo Group: Navigating Growth Amid Leadership Spotlight
Beyond the Boardrooms Made of Glass: Inside the World of Satoru Gojo
Gojo Group Vice Chairman on the Economics of Foresight
Satoru Gojo and the Art of Anticipation: How Japan’s Youngest Conglomerate Vice Chairman Masters the Market
This… This was Satoru Gojo’s domain — where the Gojo name carried the heaviest weight and flaunted its influence in the average consumers’ life.
He could be your CEO’s boss, and you wouldn’t even know it.
The AI summary at the very top of the page listed well-known companies that belonged to the Gojo Group’s private equity division — a sea of advanced tech, real estate, cybersecurity, renewable energy, entertainment and media, travel and luxury, and shipping and logistics industries.
A sphere of influence too large. A level of involvement in the economy that was too big to ignore.
Someone made a Wikipedia page of him too — a rundown of his parents, his known relationships, his job, his achievements. Born into generational wealth with a glowing educational background one would expect for someone who was obviously groomed for corporate leadership from the moment he could walk and talk. An MIT, INSEAD, and Warwick Uni graduate.
The profile photo: startling blue eyes, a handsome face framed with locks of stylishly tousled hair that resembled freshly fallen snow, a smug smirk.
She clicked through a carousel of photos and took silent notes — shelving each one for use later. He never appears uptight, rarely wears a necktie. Style of choice? Always a handsomely tailored jacket over shirts with the top two buttons undone. Fitting slacks and expensive shoes — Berluti probably or Loro Piana. There were photos of him wearing smartwatches or expensive time pieces. Only wears his hair one way — loose like he just rolled out of bed, and it’s never the classic, short, side-parted hairstyle stereotypical of his peers, but he’s always clean shaven.
The man honestly had the face of a K-Pop idol. Maybe in another life he’d be dazzling crowds of adoring fans instead of terrorizing business rivals at executive board meetings.
She decided to watch videos of him next. They were sparse, but there were enough that let her observe how he interacted with fellow elites — charming smile, firm handshakes, and how he gave speeches. There were shaky videos where the camera caught snippets of conversation while he sipped on what looked to be a carbonated drink.
Her “business” phone that she’d placed facedown next to her notes began to vibrate, interrupting her musings. It was from an unknown number — it always was, but she had been expecting a call.
“It’s Rin.”
“Yes, hello. This is Kenjaku’s office.” A smooth, masculine voice greeted her frankly, moving straight to the point. She could hear paper rustling faintly on the other line. “Your Friday’s been approved.”
Translation: He’d succeeded at slipping her name into the guest list.
No surprise there.
Rin had spent the last four days combing the internet and social media for any tip or public event that she could smuggle her presence into. A single announcement post — easily missable — went up on LinkedIn, posted not by the Gojo Group, but by a Chief Social Media Officer working for one of the Group’s portfolio companies, Sentinel Dynamics.
A merger and acquisition, a celebration of the “unity between two thriving entities in the AI tech industry.”
It had been her only lead, but it was more than enough.
She’d tipped one of Sukuna’s lieutenants off about it, but they already knew… Of course they did. Shinsei Holdings — Sukuna’s multinational conglomerate — had insider reach that she did not possess.
All the same, an in was an in.
“That was fast. Who’s vouching?” Rin inquired, snagging a pen and paper to take notes, so she could memorize the information and burn it later.
No electronic records of her movements. No trails.
“A mutual… resource. Think of it as a favor from an old acquaintance. You’re on the guest list as an independent corporate intelligence consultant. No family connections. No established relationships.”
Clean. Disposable. The type of cover that was preferable for a mission as long as hers.
The words ‘Independent Corporate Intelligence Consultant’ materialized in the form of her rushed handwriting; mind hurrying to catalogue the department she’d likely run into or work with when she succeeded on Friday. (No ifs. No failures — only success).
A conversation with Satoru Gojo was far from the books still, but a well-placed interaction with the Corporate Security Head would do nicely.
Kenjaku continued, “Concierge will expect you under the name Rin Matsui.”
“Dress code?”
“Nothing flashy. Neutral pieces, formal business attire, wear the brooch. A Mr. Ino from investor relations will make your acquaintance at the lobby of the venue. Take his cues.”
Her handwriting quickly filled the paper as she tucked a loose lock of hair behind an ear. “And security?”
“The standard sweep. Just an ID will do. Don’t use your phone in the lobby.”
A fake ID, that is. She’d have to manufacture one after this. “Noted.”
“If any guest asks about prior work, say ‘risk assessment’ for a startup that has been bought. Small roster and international clients. Don’t elaborate further than that. We’ll send a car, so your transportation’s covered.”
“Unnecessary. I have plans to book a hotel room in the venue itself.”
There was a beat of silence on the other end where she could picture him raising an eyebrow at her. “If you’re sure.”
“Without a doubt.”
“Do you have questions?”
“No. All clear.”
“Good. Have fun on Friday.”
The line went dead after that, and she sighed as she pressed play again on the video she’d been reviewing. Satoru was laughing — a polite, practiced laugh that she guessed didn’t betray his intentions, but existed for the purpose of charming the other party into submission.
It was…not at all like the laugh she’d heard years and years ago.
What else had changed? And what remained the same?
With barely a thought — almost out of habit, she caught herself reaching for the second drawer on her desk, pulling the compartment out. She told herself it didn’t mean anything — it was just something she automatically did for whatever reason. But all the same, she reached for the nondescript, faded leather box kept inside. Opening the thing revealed stack upon stack of memorabilia — remnants of a different life and a different person.
Handwritten letters addressed to a long dead name she hadn't used in years in messy scrawls and loops that betrayed the age of the sender, photographs of smiling children, a music box that lost its ability to sing decades ago, dirtied rubber phone charms, cutouts from magazines that she knew were intended for scrapbooks, pebbles that used to have a story, a tiny bottle of sand from some beach she was sure she frequented when she had been younger, the dried petals of what once had been a yellow rose, and a delicate silver bracelet. It was nothing fancy, just plain silverwork with kanji characters engraved on the inside, looking a little worn and slightly chipped if you squinted at it.
How long has it been?
Thirteen felt so far away — so far removed.
“Mom?”
The tiny voice jolted her out of the unwanted introspection. The small, finely aged charm from a boy long gone glinted under the weak light of her desklamp. She set it down just as the world slowly came back — the quiet hum of her computer, the whirring of the ceiling fan, the muffled buzz of household appliances, her cluttered desk full of pens and office supplies, the corkboard with stick figure drawings, the almost inaudible pitter-patter of small bare feet on hardwood floors.
“Megumi, what are you doing up? It’s late.” A genuine smile stretched across her lips as she abandoned her research in favor of giving her boy the full attention he deserved.
Megumi clutched the stuffed wolf closer to his chest and without another word, came over and climbed onto her knees. She gathered him in her arms just as he pressed himself close to her and laid his head on her shoulder, curling in on himself. She knew what this was now, even if he didn’t say.
Too many nights have had similar occurrences.
“A bad dream.” She spoke softly, threading her fingers gently through her child’s bed-rumpled hair. It was sticking up everywhere, and had this been any other time, she would have cracked a joke or tried to make her grumpy five-year-old smile. But not tonight… Tonight he deserved quiet care and steady assurance. “Do you want to tell me what it was about?”
Megumi shook his head ‘no’ and just burrowed closer. She could feel his little heart beating rapidly, and it slowed down the longer he stayed in her arms.
“It’s just a dream.” She whispered and rubbed slow, comforting circles on his back. “You’re safe.”
Wordless, he nodded, one hand held on to his comfort plushy and the other gripped her night shirt like he was afraid she’d disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.
Yet even as she promised him — comforted him with the assurance that no harm would come to him as long as she was there, that no one and nothing would take her from him, she couldn’t help but ponder on what safety even meant for her and her child. Couldn’t recall how safety even felt like.
The seconds ticked by as she held Megumi close in this little pocket of space and time. Neither of them said a word, and Rin hoped to whatever deity existed that the feel of her beating heart and the sound of her own quiet breaths would be enough to comfort her child who refused to cry — even if it was perfectly fine to shed a tear or two once in a while.
Megumi’s breathing started to slow.
Smiling, Rin pressed a kiss to his hair, eyes wandering to the memory box and the trinket she’d abandoned on the desk — a relic from a life where blood contracts did not exist and evil was naught but a concept in a fairytale book that was all black and white; the only proof she had that she once lived normally, maybe even righteously.
A precious keepsake from a life that had been full of far-off dreams and genuine happiness.
A life that was no longer hers.
Her phone buzzed on the table again, the screen lighting up momentarily to display a clipped message via notifications: Friday. 19:00. Gojo Group M&A Gala. THE AOYAMA GRAND HOTEL.
Rin closed her eyes and tightened her arms around her only love: her Megumi — the one person in this world worth dirtying her hands for.
She had a long way to go, but…
“Just one day,” she murmured. “It’s all I need, then you and I can disappear.”
And you’ll never have to live under your father’s influence or the shadow of your mother’s wrongdoings ever again.
=OoOoO=
As the clock ticked past 8PM, Rin suddenly wished she’d chosen to meet her contact at the hall outside of the top floor restaurant instead. The queen suite she’d booked was at the 4th floor, and her contact was waiting for her at the lobby, supposedly. The change in location could have reduced the drag, but alas it was what it was.
She adjusted the lapels of her tailored blazer, fingers subtly brushing over the brooch she’d pinned to the fabric — just like Kenjaku instructed. It was another ID, in its own discreet way — a carving of a black feather set against a brass ring.
The elevator doors opened to a lobby rife with movement and filled with hectic conversation. A bellboy hustled by, pushing a luggage trolley full of suitcases and heavy equipment towards another waiting elevator. Guests in varying states of dress dotted the expanse of the hotel’s lobby: tourists at the front desk, guests in loungewear sitting on sofas and scrolling through their phones, people in formal corporate attire coming in and out or chatting each other up at the bar.
Soft blues music filtered in from surround sound speakers — a poor attempt at masking the hubbub of bustling bodies.
Rin scanned the crowd, searching for a head of straw-colored hair and an identical brooch pinned to a breast pocket. She’d just been readjusting her hold on her evening purse when she finally caught sight of him. Her contact, Ino, standing close to the open bar, steeped in a conversation with another stranger who was dressed to the nines. Three-piece suit and all. Probably a mid-level manager or clearly someone who stood to gain for looking impeccable and put together in an event where shareholders and directors were present.
For many, tonight wasn’t just a celebration, it was a networking event.
Perhaps a chance to snag a promotion, engage a wealthy executive in conversation and leave a good impression, or if you’re lucky, seduce someone into offering you a good deal.
Spotting her, Ino immediately excused himself with a bright smile and wave, turning to her with a grin of his own.
He was oddly chipper. “Ms Rin!”
She took his outstretched hand and gave him a firm handshake, not missing the way his eyes glided over her. “Mr. Ino, pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Just Takuma’s fine. But shall we? I believe the people we’re meeting are already up top.”
Together, they left the busy hotel lobby and found themselves in the elevator again, alongside others who were also dressed in tailored suits, silk blouses, pencil skirts, expensive loafers, and chic high heels. All headed for the same destination apparently. Beside her, Ino fidgeted with the cuffs of his suit, looking anywhere but her. She could tell he wanted to ask her something, but in the interest of holding a more private conversation, he held his tongue, and for that Rin was grateful.
14… 15… 16…
This was probably the slowest elevator ride of her life. Rin stood quietly at the very back, next to a quiet Takuma, with her gaze trained on glowing numbers that gradually climbed to the top.
The gameplan: Make contact with Satoru Gojo or someone who works with him.
His assistant or anyone who reports directly to him would do. Any contact that would put her in his office or in a closer proximity to him would work just fine. Multiple ins and several contingencies — that was her SOP.
Behind every polite smile and corporate pleasantry was a hierarchy that never really changed. The predators lounged at the top, prey cowered at the bottom, and in between, a thousand shades of ambition — jockeying for the chance to influence a predator.
Rin had wandered to the Gojo Group’s official website last night — a treasure trove of information on the conglomerate’s press releases, newsletters, its portfolio companies and their equity earnings (among other pieces of information that were not relevant to Rin’s work), and the dedicated page for its leadership — who reported to who, and who sat at the Board of Directors’ table.
Even there, Satoru Gojo had been the outlier — the only youthful face among seasoned men and women who sat in international business councils and have served corporate giants for decades.
Minus the obvious privilege of being the only son of the Executive Chairman, it was actually quite impressive that the Gojo patriarch trusted his son’s capabilities enough to let him oversee the Group’s entire private equity division. And that division was not small.
Satoru Gojo had a short tenure compared to his peers in the Board, but clearly nothing to scoff at when Rin had taken the liberty of going back and retracing the Gojo Group’s PE performance in the years since Satoru had stepped up to the plate.
Needless to say, Satoru Gojo was at the very top, a Vice Chairman presiding over several C-suite executives.
She wasn’t supposed to touch him… Not yet anyway.
Her real target tonight was Gojo’s Head of Corporate Intelligence, Kento Nanami.
Efficient. Measured. Principled, by reputation. She didn’t know him personally, but Ino apparently did, according to Kenjaku.
Nanami: a man who valued competence and hated waste.
Her thoughts halted just as the elevator doors finally slid open at the 20th floor.
It’s semi-crowded, men and women in formal business attire, a venue draped in mid-century modern elegance. Uniformed security detail at every point of entry and exit — two guarded the elevators, three at the entrance to the restaurant, another three at the threshold to the rooftop bar. There were more outside, and she could see shadows of them silently moving about in the restaurant. Ino waited until they were distant enough from the closest person in the vicinity before he quietly spoke.
“Nanami and most of his team are at the bar.”
“Let’s not keep him waiting.”
Rin glanced at him and noted the way Ino fiddled with the brooch pinned to his own clothing. She discreetly slipped hers off at the elevator and tucked it into her purse. It was for identifying Ino, and now that they were walking side-by-side, it was useless.
Less points of identification, the better.
The mingling had already begun — well before she’d even arrived. The rooftop bar was a lush, botanical oasis floating above Tokyo, the space filled with an exotic collection of plants. The floor was sleek, polished to the point of Rin seeing her own reflection whenever she looked.
“Impressive choice of venue.” She commented under her breath, eyeing the way a group of employees huddled together over cocktails and bottles of beer. They were laughing — at ease.
“Isn’t it?” Ino agreed, nodding along with his hands tucked into his pockets. “It’s less a gala and more of a high-brow corporate dinner party though.”
“Well that’s one way to put it.” Otherwise, she would have shown up in something floor-length or cocktail.
“Don’t know what’s up with that.”
“Maybe the executives forgot to consult a thesaurus before handing out invites.” Rin cracked a smile at Ino’s lighthearted quip and continued following him at a leisurely pace. “Lag behind a bit, yeah? I’ll give Nanami the heads up.”
This was it…
She stopped at one of the less occupied standing tables and watched her companion beeline towards the area with the low-slung lounge sofas. Around her, conversation fell and rose in hushed murmurs, stage whispers, and loud exclamations. Nothing like good old alcohol that loosens lips and lowers inhibitions.
“Did you hear? The Zen’in Corporation declined their invitation again,” A woman in a tailored velvet blazer and chic pencil skirt whispered to her companion, voice lowered but sharp enough to cut through the noise.
“Can you blame them?” The man snorted and took a sip from his beer bottle. “After Gojo blocked their government bid? They’d rather eat shit than show up as guests for any formal whatever the hell this is.”
The woman agreed and said something else, but Rin tuned most of it out. Even so, the name lingered.
Zen’in.
It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it since arriving in Tokyo.
She glanced at Ino again to find him coming towards her. She let him escort her to a small group of men and women sharing stories over hors d'oeuvres and cocktails.
Nanami looked exactly like his file photo — precise to the point of discomfort. Impeccable suit, calm gaze, a glass of wine pinched between his fingers.
“Director Nanami,” Ino began with an easy tone. “This is Rin Matsui, the independent intelligence consultant I mentioned. She’s been doing contract work for a few of our mutual partners in the private sector.”
There was a brief flicker of recognition behind Nanami’s glasses. So Ino had laid the groundwork for her, after all. She made a mental note to thank him again later. Nanami rose from his seat and outstretched his hand towards her.
Rin smiled and returned the firm handshake, noting how Nanami made the effort to keep his expression neutral and generally unreadable.
“Pleased to meet you, Ms Matsui.” Nanami gestured towards the empty space next to him. “Please.”
“Thank you. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Director Nanami.” Rin gave him her easy smile, casually motioning to a passing waiter who carried trays of Manhattans. “Ino has told me much about you.”
Ino didn’t… But Nanami didn’t need to know that.
“Has he?” Nanami cocked an eyebrow at Ino.
Rin watched them closely as she sipped from her newly acquired drink. Ino rubbed the back of his neck shyly. To his credit, he was playing the part of a mutual acquaintance very well — pretending as if he hadn’t just met Rin an hour ago.
“Mm. Absolutely. A stellar track record, digital espionage expertise. What’s not to rave about?” She grinned.
Nanami turned the questions on her, deliberately shining the spotlight away from himself. “I do what I can. But corporate intelligence? That’s… not a field most people casually enter.”
“No,” Rin replied lightly, “But most corporations underestimate how much they give away. I don’t mean through breaches, but through behavior. The patterns people leave behind are far more revealing than the data itself.”
Nanami’s brows rose slightly. That caught his attention. He crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat, all too aware of passing glances and curious gazes leveled his way.
Ino cleared his throat and stood. “If you’ll excuse me. I have business on the other side of the room.”
Rin thanked him graciously, promising to meet again later for drinks when he concluded his dealings. Ino nodded once, polite corporate grin in place. He gave her and Nanami a mock salute before heading off.
She knew they won’t meet again after this, but the ‘goodbye’ sold the front.
“You believe in behavioral analytics, then?” Nanami prodded.
“I believe people are predictable,” Rin said. “The trick is making them think they aren’t.”
His mouth twitched. It was the smallest ghost of amusement — a win in her book if she managed to wriggle that out of Nanami. “Gojo would agree with you. He calls it strategic empathy. Understanding someone well enough to either help them… or destroy them.”
The last few words were mumbled around the rim of the wine glass, a hushed reminder of what organizations as big as theirs were willing to do to protect the interests and profits of the Group.
“Sounds like a man who knows exactly what he’s doing,” Rin replied, her voice steady, though the name hit her like a pulse under her skin.
“He usually does,” Nanami said. “Would you be open to consulting on behavioral risk for our M&A task force? We’ve been restructuring due diligence workflows — among other things. Someone with your expertise might see blind spots we don’t.”
“I’d be honored,” Rin answered smoothly. “Though I’m not sure I’d blend in among your executives.”
“You’d be surprised,” Nanami said. “The Gojo Group values people who can see through masks.”
Of course they did…
Their conversation continued in hushed tones, discussions on industry best practices, M&A cybersecurity pit falls, corporate governance red flags and the like, eventually devolving into industry gossip that made waves last quarter and is making lasting impacts now.
It was easy. Natural. Smooth as aged scotch, Rin almost convinced herself this had been her line of work since graduating a non-existent uni.
Her and Nanami ended up standing by the open bar, just as their conversation drew in a few others — a cluster of mid-level executives from M&A, and eventually a man with square-framed glasses materialized next to Nanami.
Rin remained cautious and welcoming, eyeing the way the newcomer clutched a tablet to his chest and the way he frequently wiped his forehead clean of non-existent sweat. A nervous habit almost, but it was a stark contrast to the way he spoke to Nanami.
The man knew what he was doing, even if he was a little frazzled.
An assistant of sorts, she guessed. Perhaps a mid-level manager? Either of the two, really.
“He’s ten minutes delayed; had to take a call from Director Gakuganji, but he’s arriving. Is Sentinel Dynamics’ M&A team ready for the photo op? PR needs photos.”
“Mm.” Nanami nodded once, swirling his nth glass of red vintage. She already noted three conversation topics ago that Kento was the type of man who could hold his liquor. Not even tipsy yet. “They’ve been waiting if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“That’s good. They’re not annoyed yet, are they?”
Nanami cocked an eyebrow while Rin continued to nurse her third drink, quietly listening to the conversation happening before her. “Hardly. You speak as if the new PortCo’s execs won’t fall over themselves trying to impress him. His tardiness is not the issue, if there was any to begin with in the first place.”
The man with the tablet breathed a huge sigh of relief. He was obviously comfortable enough around Nanami to speak this candidly — even expressing his anxieties. Rare for corporate. Dangerous if the wrong ears hear.
“Nerves that’s all.”
Nanami’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “Ijichi, you’re acting like you haven’t worked for him for four years.”
Ijichi — she now knew — gave a nervous chuckle and wiped his forehead with a kerchief again. “I’m used to it, but you know how he is.”
“Only all too well.” Nanami sighed — long and exasperated, the hallmark of a man who had probably witnessed too much and dealt with a lot. “Oh my apologies.” Nanami gestured towards Rin, quietly smiling and waiting to be addressed. “Rude of me to not introduce pleasant company.”
“That’s quite all right.”
“No no. Ijichi, I’m pleased to introduce Ms Matsui. She does corporate intelligence.”
“Independent consultancy.” Rin filled in quickly, shaking Ijichi’s outstretched hand. “Lovely to meet you, Mr. Ijichi.”
Ijichi returned her pleasantries just as Nanami interjected, “Ijichi is Mr. Gojo’s PA.”
Ah. That explained a lot.
“Must be endlessly stimulating?” Rin teased him a little. “Never a dull moment, I’m sure.”
“One of the many ways to put it.” Ijichi visibly deflated before straightening himself again. “You’re an independent consultant?”
“Absolutely.” Rin put her glass down on the polished wooden counter.
“The Vice Chairman does like proactivity. If you’ve managed to intrigue Nanami, I’m sure he’d like to hear from you too.”
Nanami didn’t contest or refute the comment, and Ijichi just offered her a friendly grin.
If she hadn’t known better, she was almost tempted to say that this was easy… Too easy. But then again, this wasn’t her first attempt at being a social chameleon. It was sort of a requirement for people like her — a lesson she’d learned very early into her actual work.
“Intrigue him?” Nanami cut in dryly. “She knows her field.”
Rin’s eyebrows raised, but she flashed them both a faint smile. “Flattery from both of you? I should be careful.”
Ijichi opened his mouth to say something else, but whatever it had been had died on the tip of his tongue the moment the air in the room shifted.
No hushed entrance, no over-the-top displays, no rising whispers as if a creature from mythical legend had descended upon them. No, there was none of that… But Rin could feel it all the same. It was a ripple in the air, like someone just muted the music so all ambient noise could highlight his arrival.
And judging from the way Ijichi stiffened for a split second before hastily excusing himself, Rin didn’t have to turn around to know who just entered the premises.
She didn’t have to turn, but she did anyway.
Satoru Gojo.
What minimal light existed at the venue seemed to follow him, catching on the strands of his fair hair, glinting slightly against black sunglasses that he wore regardless if he was indoors — his trademark style. His presence filled the room, and he moved through the crowd while it parted for him. He’s Moses in a sea of employees, mid-level managers, executives, and exclusive business journalists.
Confident, draped in a tailored navy suit that was worn casually. No tie — just like his pictures on the internet. He had paused and was engaged in conversation with someone — a foreign investor, maybe — laughing easily as Ijichi hovered near him.
She thought she had prepared herself for this moment. She knew he was going to be here. She just hadn’t anticipated how much the sight of him in person could still affect her after all.
He had that same sharp smile she remembered from the boy who’d once shared his snacks with her under the summer sun. He was just… taller now and broader. The years had refined his sharpness into something magnetic, effortlessly authoritative. And yet, the faint tilt of his smile, the line of his jaw — those were traces of the boy she’d once known.
Her hand twitched around her glass, and she tightened her grip a little as she turned her head — careful to keep him in her peripheral vision. He hasn’t changed. Not really.
Engrossed in her own thoughts, she barely noticed Nanami excusing himself. And for a fleeting, irrational second, Rin wanted to believe that she could vanish into the crowd, that he’d never look her way (even if that was actually her goal).
She had to get Nanami’s business card after this — exchange contact information with him, and then she could dip. To be fair, she’d accomplished what she’d come here to do. Her foot was in the door now, conversation with Gojo or not. She had Nanami’s ear, and had met Ijichi, she could work on that for the next few days until she could get invited into the Gojo Tower at Marunouchi to offer her services.
Nanami could recommend her or she could pitch her services to Nanami over the course of a week.
There was no need to interact or establish a personal connection with Satoru Gojo yet…
She just needed to be close enough. Work in his office. Report to him.
Establish a professional relationship that would let her in just enough, spend months undercover, and then she could set the stage, finish the job, pay the debt, and leave with her son.
That’s all. That’s it.
Just a name crossed off of a list — the final one.
Just a target. He’s just a target.
A target with a familiar face.
Oh her mind was treacherous.
“Vice Chairman Gojo, let me introduce someone you might want to meet: Ms. Rin Matsui. She specializes in corporate intelligence, particularly risk analysis and information security when mergers are involved.”
Fuck.
Rin’s heart went cold and it beat loudly in her ears. In the time that Nanami had left her side, she had wandered away from the bar and into the restaurant — subconsciously distracting herself to drown out her spiraling thoughts the moment he appeared.
But just like that, Plan A was out the window.
Nanami had presented her before Satoru. And here she was, sans drink or snack. And for the first time in fourteen long years, their eyes met.
For all the training, the layers, the false name, something in Rin cracked, just for an instant.
It was the same face from her girlhood, but she could tell from a single look into those striking cerulean eyes…
He does not remember.
Thank God.
Rin smiled a perfectly rehearsed, perfectly neutral smile, and extended her hand. “Mr. Gojo. It’s an honor.”
If Satoru Gojo noticed her hesitation, he didn’t show it. His handshake was courteous, perfunctory — another face in a sea of them. She could easily recall the last time she’d felt the warmth of his hand, but it was obvious to her now that he didn’t remember.
And that was her mercy.
“Likewise. I hope you’re enjoying your evening, Ms. Matsui? Nanami was telling me about how he loved talking to you.”
There was a teasing glimmer in the way Satoru glanced between her and Nanami, and she caught the other man’s eye twitching slightly.
Nanami did not appreciate the insinuation there, but cleared his throat politely. “It was quite the productive conversation as I have relayed to you, Vice Chairman. We could use her expertise.”
“Mm. An independent corporate intelligence consultant,” Satoru mused with a faint, teasing lilt in his voice, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Sounds expensive.”
She would have snorted. That was rich coming from someone like Satoru. Rin’s lips curved in polite amusement. “Only when my clients insist on being difficult.”
Nanami glanced sideways at her, the corner of his mouth almost twitching just as Satoru laughed lightly — a sound that was both polished and genuine.
“Well,” Satoru adjusted the sunglasses resting on top of his head, “I can already tell Nanami appreciates someone who speaks fluent risk assessment. That’s his love language.”
“I prefer efficiency,” Nanami muttered.
“Same thing,” Satoru grinned wide. He turned back to Rin and jerked a thumb at one of his subordinates. “You’ll have to forgive him. He’s allergic to small talk and corporate nonsense, which is what I love about him actually. Indispensable Nanami.”
“From what I’ve heard—” Rin said smoothly, “—it’s precisely that discipline that keeps Gojo Group’s operations clean. That, and strong leadership.”
Nanami gave her a mildly suspicious look — flattery was wasted on him — but Satoru only tilted his head with faint curiosity. “You’ve done your homework.”
“I like knowing who I’ll be dealing with,” Rin said in a measured tone.
Satoru nodded slowly. “Good policy. Most people don’t bother. They think knowing the logo is good enough.”
He meant it casually, but his gaze lingered on her a fraction too long. She caught him assessing her, as if something about her didn’t quite fit the usual mold of consultants who hovered at corporate events hoping for clients. For one heartbeat, Rin wondered if he felt the recognition tugging at the edges of memory.
But then Ijichi cleared his throat. “Vice Chairman, the M&A Task Force is waiting for introductions and photos. You’re on in two minutes.”
“Right.” Satoru’s attention flicked back to Nanami, then to Rin. That assessing gaze continued, the subtle profile check. She should have known the next words that left his mouth. “I have to go, but you’re free to join us for the after-dinner panel. The more opinions we have on there, the better. Nanami will have your pass arranged.”
“That won’t be necessary—” Rin started, but Nanami was already giving Ijichi a subtle nod.
“Consider it done.” Ijichi said politely.
Satoru gave her a final, effortless smile. “In that case… See you later, Ms. Matsui.”
Here was a man who was never told ‘no.’
Satoru had framed it as a suggestion, but she could discern the real meaning hidden underneath his words. He wanted her there, and while he’d take ‘no’ for an answer (if Nanami hadn’t acquiesced with the snap of a finger), he would find a way to drag her back in if he wanted to.
The noise of the venue filtered back in — laughter, conversation, quiet jazz music, applause, clinking glasses and cutlery, cameras flashing at the far end of the room.
Nanami was watching her with the level of quiet calculation that he didn’t have before. “You handled yourself well.”
“I try.” Rin shrugged, adjusting her clutch in a bid to distract herself.
He studied her for a moment longer. “You and I should talk again. You mentioned AI anomaly detection earlier, I’d like to hear your insights on that. We’ve been revisiting internal security frameworks since Q2’s recent acquisitions.”
“Looking forward to it, Director Nanami.”
“I’ll see you at the panel. We can exchange business cards then.”
When he walked away, Rin let her expression fall. For a breath, the mask slipped to reveal exhaustion and the faint ache of something she’d long since buried.
She’d faced death in alleys, negotiated with killers, and infiltrated heavily guarded places that smelled like danger dressed in someone’s gourmand or woodsy cologne. But that…
That had nearly undone her.
=OoOoO=
This initial infiltration plot had gone on longer and deeper than she could have ever anticipated. Because if you told the Rin from this morning that she would be attending as a guest to a private after-dinner panel hosted by none other than the CEO of one of the Gojo Group’s portfolio companies, she would have scoffed in your face.
But alas, here she was, seated in a room full of analysts, exclusive journalists, other executive officers, the company’s M&A taskforce, investors, and the Vice Chairman of the Gojo Group himself — there to represent the interests of the parent company, of course.
Rin fiddled with the lanyard slung around her neck, the one carrying her exclusive pass to tonight’s final affair. As far as the uninvited guests knew, the corporate dinner party was still in full swing; it’s just that the important people had filtered out and gathered here: at the Building Trust in AI-driven Enterprises panel.
She sat at the front row, poised and observant as the moderator — a corporate journalist from The Nikkei Review guided discussions between the panelists.
Gojo and Nanami let the CEO of Sentinel Dynamics (Mr. Hayama) and CTO of Francine Dot AI (Dr. Carver) take the lead where discussions were relevant, and Rin, in turn, watched them.
Nanami sat prim and proper, the picture of focus and interest. Satoru, on the other hand, was busy twirling a pen between his fingers, looking for all the world like he wasn’t paying attention. His perceived nonchalance would have been an insult had he been anyone else, but Rin guessed people were more forgiving of others’ shortcomings when they occupied positions of power and influence — when one stood to gain from pandering to them instead of opposing them.
The moderator eventually moved on to fielding questions from the guests in attendance. Hands rose one after the other, and questions were answered. Brief. Concise. Details where details were necessary. Satoru Gojo barely spoke — only cracking small smiles here and there when the CEO or CTO resorted to humor, but she could swear, she caught him glancing at her once in a while (though it was hard to tell when his eyes were hidden behind dark lenses).
A journalist, clutching their phone for notetaking, raised their hand and asked, “I pose this question to any one of you. When companies like yours move faster than the rules can catch up, what happens to trust? How do we keep people — employees working for and with the tech — from getting left behind?”
Satoru tilted his head slightly towards the CEO, Mr. Hayama. The man smiled confidently, folding his hands together in front of him as he said, “Trust comes from consistency. When people know what to expect from you — your product, your policies, your data — they’ll believe in what you build. That’s how we scale confidence in our systems, our tech, and in our people.”
Polite applause filled the room, just as cameras flashed and journalists started jotting down. A statement worthy of a quote in their book.
Before Rin could stop herself, she spoke, “Mr. Hayama, Sir, when people know what to expect, they also know what to exploit.”
The silence that followed was a little deafening. There were a few nods, low hums of approval. Nanami raised an eyebrow. Dr. Carver, CTO of the acquired company, looked at her like she was a bug underneath his shoe, CEO Hayama gave her a tight smile, the moderator looked slightly affronted, and Satoru…
Satoru stopped toying with the pen he’d been amusing himself with and started silently drumming the tips of his fingers at the top of the table.
Rin continued. “Predictability builds comfort. Comfort breeds complacency, and the people with wrong intentions will exploit that complacency.”
The Vice Chairman of the Gojo Group pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. Oh he wanted her to know that he was looking at her now. His gaze was heavy, probing. It felt like an unseen hand reaching out to poke and prod at her.
“You think consistency is a weakness?” Satoru pushed.
In her world, yes… Yes it was. Consistencies are patterns.
Patterns are predictable.
‘Predictability will kill you.’
It was something her old handler used to say. In a room full of corporate juggernauts and analysts, she could almost hear his gruff voice. He’d drilled that into her head from the moment he first pushed her towards petty crime that eventually escalated to what she was doing now.
Rin cleared her throat and spoke in an even, measured tone. “No, but I think consistency is a luxury. In tech, in security, the moment you stop questioning how things work, someone else already is.”
“Soooo what I’m hearing is, you expect leaders and every other stakeholder to be on constant suspicion? That’s your model of trust?” Satoru questioned even further — no different from a surgeon taking a scalpel to flesh.
“Not constant suspicion. You don’t want paranoia, you want awareness. The best systems aren’t the ones that never break, they’re the ones that notice when something’s wrong before anyone else does.”
The audience chuckled quietly while some nodded along. Even Hayama looked partly convinced. Yet Satoru’s expression didn’t change, his gaze only sharpening the longer he stared at her.
“And who decides what’s wrong, hm? The system? Or the people running it? When leadership is the one holding the reins, who is auditing the auditors?”
“The people, always. Machines can tell you what’s wrong, but only people can ask why. And accountability is not vertical, Vice Chairman. It’s a loop… Or at least, it should be. Everyone should be watching everyone.”
In an information extraction mission, when she’d had a handler, he monitored her. She vetted intel, and that same intel circled back to her handler. A perfect, silent loop of accountability that predators at the top of the corporate food chain tended to ignore.
Satoru paused, and studied her with eyes that could easily strip a soul. Under his gaze like this, it felt like being slid under a microscope. Honestly, not at all that different from the way a pair of distinct garnet eyes would scrutinize her. She was used to this.
“You’ve done this before.” She could tell that he knew he wasn’t referring to just consultancy anymore, but neither of them cared to acknowledge that. “And you make it sound like the evolution of tech or tech itself isn’t the problem at all.”
“It isn’t. It’s the people behind it. It’s the ones chasing progress faster than they can handle it. You would know, wouldn’t you, Vice Chairman Gojo? Innovation isn’t dangerous, but arrogance and hubris is.”
It was a pointed statement cloaked behind an easygoing smile — a fact that none of the attendees missed, and especially not the panelists. A low ripple of laughter followed it, and even Sentinel Dynamics’ CEO looked more intrigued instead of offended now. Some of the executives in attendance were just a tad bit wary that if this went on longer and she kept trying a Gojo’s patience, Ms. Matsui could find herself blacklisted from any corporate event at the end of this.
The moderator had to step in. “So, if innovation outpaces trust, what happens next?”
Rin turned to the woman at the podium instead. The answer came as easy as breathing. “You slow down. Not the tech, the people. It’s the people behind the system that fail people, so make them catch up.”
Rin pretended not to notice the way Satoru was watching her still. He was silent — contemplative as he resumed spinning the pen between his agile fingers again.
Phase 1 of this mission was exhausting…
=OoOoO=
The view outside of the Phantom’s tinted windows whizzed past him in a blur of red bobbing tail lights and tiny lit up squares that dotted façades of skyscrapers. At half past ten in the evening, the city was still alive, and Satoru himself was just on his way home from a rather riveting event at Aoyama. Certainly more interesting than the usual droll of board meetings.
“Sir, the consultant from the event tonight — Ms. Rin Matsui?” Ijichi commented from the front seat. Satoru closed the stock report that he had been reviewing in vain on his phone.
“What about her, Ijichi?”
“Should I send a thank you note from Corporate Affairs?”
Satoru hummed thoughtfully — legs crossed, left foot tapping idly against the right shin. “Nah. She gave you her card, didn’t she?”
Ijichi reached into one of the inner pockets of his blazer and produced the stiff paper Rin had handed to him earlier that night. He squinted at her contact details and job description, written in three languages: English, Japanese, and Chinese.
“She’s listed herself as an independent corporate intelligence consultant. Looks to be a small portfolio — mostly risk assessment and due diligence for startups that have since been acquired. Singapore-based, apparently.”
Interesting…
“Hm. Sounds vague.”
Ijichi nodded along to his observations, but added. “Most independents prefer it that way. Keeps them flexible across clients.”
“That or she’s very, very careful. Either way, she’s interesting.” Satoru picked up his phone again to resume his habitual reading. “And smart. I want her on the Kaisen Tech issue.”
He pretended not to notice the look of uncertainty on his assistant’s face. Whether Ijichi thought that first statement was praise or warning, Satoru would leave it up to him to interpret. He could take it as both, and it’d be just as fair.
Ijichi nodded once and turned to his table. “I’ll flag her name for HR.”
“Yes. I need her in by Monday morning, she’s with Nanami. Contact her ASAP and have HR expedite the paperwork.”
Satoru glanced at the rearview mirror in time to see his driver and Ijichi exchange a glance. It was fun to watch them react to his decisions sometimes. The best part? They knew better than to question his whims; he has a reputation for decisiveness, after all.
“Understood, Sir.”
=OoOoO=
Monday morning saw Kento Nanami settling down on his office chair to get started on work for the day. It wasn’t too bad. No emergencies this morning, and he knew his list of priorities by heart mostly because he’d dedicated an hour or two organizing everything at the beginning of the month.
His computer quietly blinked to life and Nanami made a mental note to follow up on the last thing he’d said to Rin — the latest acquaintance he’d made last Friday night.
An interesting woman, that one.
He would have tried reaching out to her over the weekend, but immediately remembered that he hadn’t given her his contact information. She’d slipped away before he could rope her into another conversation after the panel ended, and like a ghost, she’d gone into the night. Nanami thought no more of it until this Monday morning, when he stared at the red dots above the envelope icon on his taskbar.
Networking with likeminded people could wait… He had work.
NEW CONTRACTOR ONBOARDING REQUEST
Friday, 22:40 (3 days ago)
From: HR <[email protected]>
CC: Satoru Gojo, Yasushi Gojo, Ryota Gojo
Rin Matsui
Service: Corporate Intelligence Consultancy
Duration: 6 months (Renewable at direct supervisor’s discretion)
Assignment: Kaisen Tech Data Breach
Reporting to: Kento Nanami, Director of Corporate Security & Intelligence
Compensation: consultancy-compensation-matsui.pdf
Authorized by: S. Gojo, Vice Chairman
Well then…
“Of course he did.” Nanami muttered under his breath, exasperated but accepting of his fate.
Typical Satoru Gojo behavior…
Probably had some poor HR team member work overtime just for this over the weekend too.
=OoOoO=
The woman who was escorted into his glass-walled office two hours later was the same woman he’d met Friday night, and not at the same time.
There, she had been charming, articulate, sharp, and clearly communicated her expertise with every word she’d said. It was informed opinion and knowledge that caught Nanami’s attention and had him genuinely interested. It was that same display that had prompted Gojo to bring her in as well.
But here, and now, Rin Matsui still donned that polite smile, but this time there was a stillness and an air of reticence that didn’t make her unapproachable, just a tad bit more serious.
Which, he supposed, was appropriate given the setting.
They were no longer at a social gathering where practiced smiles were currency and casual conversations were a must, she was a new hire and he was her direct superior.
Rin outstretched a hand, and he greeted her with the same courteousness he’d extended when they’d first met.
“It’s an honor to see you again, Director Nanami.” No pretension, no exaggerated charm as they shook hands — just stillness that made it look like she learned politeness from manuals.
“Likewise, Ms. Matsui.”
As he gestured for her to have a seat, she spoke again.
“I’ve reviewed the case summary you sent, but your internal report has a fifteen-minute timestamp gap. I’d like the unedited version.”
Nanami blinked. “You went through it already?”
She nodded once, like they weren’t here to discuss terms of her contract, walk her through her compensation package, and do formal onboarding.
“Half of it.” Rin’s smile was clipped, polite. “Just enough to know what’s missing.”
Nanami leaned back in his chair, lips pressing together. “I knew you were competent the first time we spoke, but I think you’ve undersold yourself. We’ll discuss further later. For now, let’s review your contract and facilitate a signing.”
The conversation came to a halt — a non-awkward silence punctuated by the rustling of paper and the clicking of keyboard keys. Nanami began discussing the important points as Rin fixated on reading her copy of the contract. It was all standard legalese for an independent consultant: set timeframes, strict key performance indicators, job description, code of conduct around the office, airtight NDAs, penalties and consequences for violating any clauses in the contract, and the compensation.
“Twelve million yen a month. It’s a generous offer, wouldn’t you agree?” Nanami glanced up.
She caught his eye just barely and simply nodded once. “It’s proportional to the risk.”
“Is it? Most people would ask for hazard insurance or a bonus structure before they sign.”
“Well, most people aren’t temporary.”
He wasn’t sure what to make of the fleeting smile she flashed his way, but all the same, she signed her name steadily and cleanly first on the tablet, and next on the physical papers.
“I’m sure I don’t need to warn you, it’s going to be like stepping into a fire.” Nanami set his intertwined hands on the table, studying the Gojo Group’s newest consultant with renewed interest.
“Lucky you, I’ve seen bigger fires.”
“I would hope so.”
After all, Gojo personally sought her out after Friday’s panel, and if there’s one thing that Nanami trusted about Gojo’s instincts, it was the man’s ability to point out useful potential in people. Men like Gojo liked getting their hands on capable assets before they could be snatched up by others.
“You’ll be reporting to me directly.” Nanami continued. “You’ve received the case summary already, Kaisen Tech’s breach data and other details will be uploaded to your terminal on Floor 30 in half an hour, maybe less. I’ve assigned someone who can guide you, so for today, please shadow Ms. Riko Amanai. She’ll be waiting for you at the elevators on Floor 30.”
“Got that. I’ll find her.” Rin smiled again while adjusting the sleeves of her olive green button up shirt.
Nanami closed the file, slid the stylus back into its slot in the tablet, and tucked the physical folder away in one of his desk drawers, while he willfully ignored the odd feeling in his gut that told him something was just a little bit off.
“Welcome to the Gojo Group, Ms. Matsui.”
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