I never thought paradise could rot into purgatory so fast.
Just this morning, I was standing in the marble-bright halls of my dream company—bowing left and right like an overenthusiastic intern in a coming-of-age anime, convinced the world was finally about to witness my professional glow-up.
And now?
Now I was buried alive.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
The mountain of paperwork on my desk looked like it had been airlifted straight from a bureaucratic warzone. File folders stacked like tectonic plates. Sticky notes fluttering like warning flags. Somewhere beneath it all, I was pretty sure my soul had tapped out.
"Aizawa-kun, could you process these for me? Thanks."
"You're such a big help, Aizawa! Here, just a few more forms."
"Do you mind running these to HR, Accounting, and maybe across the street to the post office? Oh, and while you're at it—"
Each voice was cheerful. Polite. Relentlessly sunny.
Each one chipped away at what remained of my will to live.
It was the Curse of Competence. I said yes once—once—and now I was the office mule, the paperwork prince, the sacrificial lamb at the altar of corporate goodwill.
"Why...why did I say yes to everything?" I muttered, voice cracking like my sanity as I stared at the Everest of bureaucracy before me. My smile had withered hours ago, replaced by the hollow expression of someone who's accepted his fate like a houseplant forgotten on a windowsill.
I glanced at the clock. Break ended in fifty-three minutes.
I hadn't even finished a third.
My hands, once full of dreams, now trembled with fatigue as I pushed back from my desk and staggered toward the stairwell like a war veteran retreating from the front lines. The air felt thinner. My vision swam. I was pale, swaying slightly, ready to auction off both kidneys for a fifteen-minute nap and maybe a juice box.
And then—because fate clearly had a personal grudge against me—she appeared.
Takamura Reina.
My new boss.
My terrifyingly beautiful, sadistically unpredictable boss.
She stood there like a final boss on the stairwell landing, one heel casually resting on the step behind her, arms crossed as though she had all the time in the world to toy with her prey. Her long blonde hair spilled over her shoulders like sunlight poured over silk, contrasting with the sharp lines of her expensive, high-quality suit. The hallway lights glinted off her eyes—dark, merciless, amused. And those crimson lips? Curled into a smirk that could make grown men weep and call their mothers.
"Oh? We meet again, Aizawa-kun," she purred, her voice a slow drag of velvet laced with arsenic.
It wasn't just a greeting. It was a warning. A flirt. A loaded gun with a silencer.
I stopped dead. My whole body locked up like a deer in an Armani-scented headlight. Every single neuron in my brain fired at once:
DANGER. HIGH-RANKING PREDATOR. RETREAT IMMEDIATELY.
But I couldn't even summon the strength to panic. I was past fear. Beyond dread. Running purely on caffeine and regret.
"Excuse me," I murmured hoarsely, eyes glazed, brushing past her like she was a vending machine I didn't have coins for.
I didn't look at her.
I didn't dare look at her.
I. Ignored. Her.
And the temperature dropped three degrees.
Because hell hath no fury like a seductress scorned—especially one with executive power and an impeccable sense of style.
"AIZAWA-KUN!"
Her voice cracked through the stairwell like divine judgment. Thunderous. Unforgiving. Impossible to ignore.
I flinched mid-step. My foot slipped.
Gravity betrayed me.
"WAAAH—!"
I plummeted down the stairs like a cursed anime protagonist—arms flailing, limbs everywhere, dignity evaporating with each bounce. My tie whipped around and blindfolded me mid-fall. My bag exploded like a popcorn machine, papers swirling in the air like cherry blossoms in a tragedy.
I prayed to every god I could think of.
Then came the final blow.
BAM!
I landed.
Head-first.
Soft. Warm.
Between something.
For a second, time itself held its breath.
I blinked slowly as the world tilted back into focus—and there she was.
Takamura Reina.
Towering above me.
A goddess sculpted in fury and silk.
Long, flawless legs. A tight skirt that defied gravity and common sense. And me—lodged in the most humiliating, inappropriate, life-ending position imaginable.
Blood surged straight from my nose like a broken faucet.
"G-GAH—!"
I shot up so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. I scrambled backward like a scorched insect, arms flailing in apology, voice cracking from sheer panic.
"I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! I'M SO, SO, SO SORRY! I DIDN'T MEAN TO—I WAS FALLING—MY LIFE FLASHED—MY DIGNITY'S DEAD—PLEASE DON'T FIRE ME!"
Reina stood frozen. Her cheeks burned crimson. One hand shot to cover her lower half, the other trembling, clenched into a tight fist. Her lips parted, somewhere between shock, fury, and utter disbelief.
Her voice, when it finally came, was low. Dangerous.
"…You… perverted little—"
I didn't wait to hear the rest.
I ran.
Bolted.
Vanished.
Like a guilty man escaping a firing squad, heels pounding down the corridor, leaving behind a tornado of paperwork, regret, and a very, very angry boss.
Hours later, I finally slammed down the last completed form.
My fingers were trembling. My wrists ached with every twitch. My spine had officially filed for retirement. And my soul? Long gone—probably floating above the city, questioning all my life choices.
"Done… finally…" I whispered, collapsing into my chair like a man who had just escaped a war zone.
"SURVIVOR!!"
A hand smacked my back with the grace and power of a wrecking ball.
"GAH—!" I shot forward, eyes nearly popping out. For a second, I thought I'd been assassinated.
And then he appeared.
Shogo Yamadera.
My overly dramatic, entirely too energetic coworker. With his glimmering fake rose pinned to his chest and his eyes alight with theatrical fire, he looked like he belonged more on a stage than in an office.
"Bravo, my gallant comrade! You have conquered the mountain—no, the volcano of paperwork! A feat no mortal could hope to achieve!"
"I think you shattered my spine…" I groaned, still trying to breathe.
"Ah! A thousand apologies!" he cried, bowing with exaggerated flair—then immediately locked me in a headlock like I was his long-lost wrestling rival.
"BUT ANSWER ME THIS, HERO! What ancient charm have you used? Hinata-chan, walking you home, making you lunch, gifting you with that radiant smile—it's sorcery, isn't it?! Dark magic, straight from the abyss!"
"There's nothing between us!" I croaked, flailing helplessly. "She's just being kind! Stop grinding your knuckles into my skull—I'm seeing lights!"
"You devil in disguise! You live under the same roof as the sunbeam of my dreams! I hereby forbid you from falling for her!"
"How can I not?! I literally live in her house!"
"…Eh?"
Shogo froze.
Color drained from his face like someone had unplugged him.
And then, with all the drama of a dying prince, he collapsed backward onto the floor.
"My heart… shattered… into seventeen pieces…"
I scratched my head, too numb to be surprised anymore. "Why seventeen?"
No answer. Just the sound of his soul leaving his body in slow motion.
And then—
"Haruki-kun?"
Her voice was like a breath of spring after a blizzard.
Hinata stood at the doorway, her expression soft, worried. She smiled—warm, gentle, effortlessly kind.
I forced myself up, bones cracking like old wood. "Yeah… Just a little… pulverized."
She giggled. A light, sparkling sound that made the air feel warmer.
"I'll walk you home."
And somehow, in that moment, after all the chaos, all the exhaustion—
That simple offer felt like a miracle.
"Actually—"
"Aizawa."
The air shifted.
We both turned at the sound of that voice. Sweet. Too sweet.
Takamura Reina stood at the end of the hallway, bathed in the soft glow of the corridor lights like some ethereal executioner. Her voice was laced with honey, but the kind that hides a blade.
A shiver crawled down my spine.
"Hinata-chan," she said, her smile warm—but her eyes were anything but. "Would you mind if I borrowed your boyfriend for a little while?"
"B-boyfriend?!" Hinata's entire face turned red, the word slamming into her like a freight train.
"E-EH?! We're not—!" I stammered, hands flailing as panic surged through my veins.
But Reina only tilted her head, that hypnotic smile never wavering. A slow, dangerous curl of her lips.
"Oh? Is that so?" she mused, stepping closer, her heels echoing like a countdown. "Then I suppose I'll just borrow this poor, exhausted little darling, if that's alright."
Every syllable dripped with playful menace. Her voice wrapped around me like velvet and barbed wire.
She raised her hand—and as if summoned by royalty, two elegant women appeared behind her, dressed immaculately in black. Their gazes were calm, composed... and terrifyingly efficient.
"Yuzu. Kaori. Would you kindly escort Hinata-chan home? And call my driver."
"Yes, Miss Takamura," they replied in perfect unison, bowing with professional grace.
Hinata blinked, overwhelmed. She looked at me, then at Reina, her brows furrowed with uncertainty.
"I-it's okay, Haruki-kun..." she said quietly. "I'll see you at home."
I wanted to protest—to say something, anything—but my mouth refused to cooperate.
As she walked away, flanked by two graceful shadows, I felt like I was being left behind on the battlefield. Or worse—marched to the guillotine by a queen who enjoyed the sound of the blade.
Reina turned back to me, her smile widening as she closed the distance.
"Now then, Aizawa-kun..." she purred, her voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear. "Shall we have some... quality time?"
My knees buckled slightly.
I was doomed.
Her office was dimly lit.
Soft amber light spilled across marble floors, casting shadows like whispered secrets. Every inch of the room screamed luxury—cold, elegant, and unmistakably hers. The scent of polished wood and a faint, floral perfume hung in the air like an enchantment. It didn't feel like an office.
It felt like a trap.
The door clicked shut behind us.
The air grew heavy.
Reina Takamura changed.
The poised, professional woman vanished in an instant.
In her place stood something far more dangerous—
A seductress cloaked in power.
She looked at me.
Her eyes—hungry, commanding—like she wanted something from me. No, begged for it. Demanded it.
Her smile twisted into something cruel and playful, sweet like poisoned honey.
"Well then…" she purred, her voice dipping like warm wine over bare skin. "Let's talk about earlier, shall we?"
"I—I'm sorry!" I stammered, flustered, both hands up in surrender like I was facing a wild animal. "I didn't mean to land there! I swear on my ancestors, my dignity, my lunch money—whatever sacred object you want!"
She laughed.
Not kindly.
It was rich, low, velvet-smooth—
The laugh of someone who owned the room, and me along with it.
A predator delighting in the fear she'd stirred.
She took a step forward.
I took one back—until my legs hit the edge of her sleek black desk.
She didn't stop.
Her hand closed around my tie.
With one firm tug, she pulled me in.
Our faces now hovered inches apart.
Her breath, warm and fragrant, slid over my skin like silk. My pulse screamed.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move.
"Oh?" she whispered, tilting her head. "Closing your eyes like that? Hiding your lips?"
Her voice dropped further.
"You're adorable when you're terrified."
She laughed again—low and seductive, like she already owned my body, my thoughts, my soul.
Her fingers trailed slowly from my back to my chest, her touch featherlight and electric. Then they climbed up my neck, curling into my hair—lazy, confident, possessive.
She didn't just touch.
She claimed.
Our bodies brushed.
Her heat seeped into me.
I didn't want any of this.
But I had no choice.
"So…" she breathed, her lips barely grazing the curve of my ear. "Are you ready to apologize… for bumping into me that day?"
**Her fingers still played along my chest—**slow, teasing strokes, like she was searching for something hidden under my skin. Something only she was allowed to find.
My heart detonated in my chest.
"N-no! I mean—yes! I mean—!"
Panic won.
Somehow—through divine mercy or raw terror—I slipped from her grip like a terrified eel.
"I'm sorry for today's incident!" I yelped, bowing so low my brain nearly fell out. "But I won't apologize for the bumping accident! That was fate, not harassment!"
I bolted for the door.
Her laughter followed me—
low, seductive, echoing like velvet shackles in the dark.
I'm gonna die.
I'm going to be seduced to death.
When I got home, I must've looked like I'd just crawled out of a battlefield.
My shirt was wrinkled. My tie hung limp.
My soul? Halfway to the afterlife.
Hinata paused at the doorway, eyes wide.
"…Haruki-kun? You look… pale."
I tried to smile. It twitched instead.
"Me? I'm fine. Great. Totally intact—mentally and physically. Yep. All good."
From the kitchen, Sayaka-san's voice chimed cheerfully, as if nothing was on fire.
"Welcome home, sweetheart! Want miso or a straight trip to bed?"
"Soldier returns!" Daichi-san roared as he lunged in for a suffocating bear hug.
"You reek of trauma, boy! Did the corporate gods test your manhood today?"
"Why didn't you come home with Hinata?" Nami asked, blinking up at me with curious innocence as she clutched a stuffed animal like a judge with a gavel.
I froze.
The image of Reina's smirk, her fingers trailing across my chest, flickered behind my eyes.
"…I took the scenic route," I muttered, barely above a whisper.
---
That night, I lay in bed, unmoving, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
The silence wasn't peaceful.
It was haunted.
Her voice curled through my mind like smoke I couldn't blow away.
"So... ready to apologize…?"
Her breath had been so close.
Her fingers—cool, deliberate—had traced every ounce of my panic.
And that laugh.
That laugh.
Sultry. Victorious. Laced with something wickedly sweet.
I turned, shoved my face into the pillow, and groaned like a man possessed.
"Ghhhhh—!"
My entire body buzzed with embarrassment, confusion, and something dangerously close to—
No. No, we are not naming that feeling.
I'm not gonna survive this job.
Not with her around.
Please.
God.
If you're listening.
Send help.
Or holy water.
Either works.