Chikusa Ward, Nagoya
The alarm ripped through the silence like a goddamn air raid siren.
Katsuki groaned, half-sitting up before gravity reminded him he'd fallen asleep at his desk. A sheaf of paper stuck to his forearm, and his laptop screen was still glowing-deposition transcripts. Right. He'd been reviewing cross-examination strategies for an upcoming fraud case before he'd blacked out at some point past three.
He peeled the paper off, cracked his neck, and pushed to his feet. The muscles in his back protested, stiff from sleeping in a chair. Fantastic. Another morning waking up feeling like a seventy-year-old war veteran.
The penthouse lights flickered on automatically as he moved. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, the pre-dawn light cutting through the high-rise buildings of Nagoya like a blade. Everything else was clean lines-minimalist furniture, dark hardwood floors, a kitchen that looked like something out of an architecture magazine. Expensive but practical. No clutter, no useless decor. He didn't like mess. Or distractions.
The coffee machine hummed as he grabbed beans from the pantry, setting up the espresso grinder. The smell of fresh grounds filled the air as he moved to the stove, pulling eggs and vegetables from the fridge.
Cooking was automatic. Chop, season, heat-something to do while his brain booted up. He was mid-way through flipping an omelet when his phone lit up with a voicemail.
Kai.
Katsuki exhaled through his nose. He tapped play and went back to the omelet.
"Hasegawa." Kai's voice came through the speaker, smug as always. "So, I've found you a new assistant last night. She took the job on the spot because I'm great. Please. I'm begging you-make this one last? We're running out of legal secretaries. I might have to go to Tokyo myself at this rate. She seemed competent. Give her a chance, yeah?"
Katsuki snorted. Seemed competent. Which meant either she was actually competent, or Kai had just found the only person insane enough to work under him.
He didn't need an assistant.
Except he did.
He flipped the omelet onto a plate, jaw tightening. The last one barely lasted a month. He'd fired her for screwing up his deposition schedule, and before that, there had been a string of others, none of them lasting long enough to be memorable. The only one who hadn't been completely incompetent was Naomi-who had been Kai's assistant until she got promoted into running the firm against
her will.
Now Kai used his assistants like a shared resource, just because he can.
Katsuki set his plate on the counter and dropped down to the floor, pressing his palms into the hardwood. The first push-up sent a burn through his arms, grounding him. He exhaled sharply, pushed up again.
Kai doesn't even have an assistant anymore, he reminded himself. He works just fine.
Another push-up.
Except Kai also uses mine, which is why I keep losing them.
Another.
Also except-I don't have time to deal with my own damn emails and calendar. I have actual work to do.
Another.
Which means I should hire someone competent. Which means I'll fire this one in a week.
He finished his set, stood up, and took his seat at the counter, pulling his plate toward him. The food was hot, well-balanced, and exactly the right amount of protein. He ate quickly, downing his coffee in long, scalding gulps before stripping off his shirt and heading to the shower.
Steam curled around him as the hot water hit his skin. He braced his hands on the tile, exhaling.
Maybe he should just go without an assistant. Just to prove a point.
Sure, it would mean his inbox would become a disaster zone, his meetings would get double-booked, and his filing system would collapse within the week-but he didn't need someone hovering over his schedule. He didn't need to rely on anyone.
For a fraction of a second, his mind flickered-not to work, not to his emails, not to his schedule. Just... silence.
Then he shut off the water and grabbed a towel
Fine. He'd give the new assistant a chance.
If she wasn't completely useless.
-----
Katsuki moved through the motions of getting dressed with the same precision he applied to everything else in his life-efficient, controlled, and calculated down to the last detail.
His closet was a study in minimalism. Rows of perfectly tailored suits, crisp dress shirts, and high-end ties arranged by shade and season. He reached for a navy suit-Tom Ford, structured to perfection-paired with a white shirt and a tie in a subtle diagonal pattern.
Cufflinks. Watch. Shoes. Each piece selected, fastened, and adjusted with muscle memory.
By the time he was buttoning his cuffs, his mind had already moved to the day ahead. A court hearing in the morning-some corporate fraud case that would be over before lunch. A meeting with a high-net-worth client after that. And at some point, dealing with whatever new assistant Kai had dumped on him.
His phone buzzed on the dresser. He glanced at the screen.
Misaki Hasegawa.
Katsuki smirked and ignored it.
Predictably, the ringing continued for a few seconds before cutting off. A beat of silence. Then-voicemail.
He sighed, rolling his shoulders as he grabbed his cologne, giving himself a single, measured spritz. A pause. Then the familiar voice filtered through the speaker.
"Katsuki." His mother's tone was clipped, imperious. "You didn't come to dinner. Again."
Here we go.
"Do you know how long it's been since you've spent time with your family? Weeks. No-months. You're always busy, always working, always turning your nose up at the idea of a personal life. You're thirty-two, Katsuki. Are you planning on staying single forever? Or is it that no one is good enough for you? Because let me remind you, the last woman I introduced to you left in tears."
That hadn't been his fault. She'd asked him - unironically - if he'd ever considered moving to a slower-paced firm for "better work-life balance." He had politely informed her that he would rather put his head through a wall.
"I swear, you are going to end up alone, and when that happens, do you think I'll be around to take care of you? No, because I will be dead from the hypertension you cause me."
Katsuki exhaled through his nose, pocketing his phone before she could launch into her closing arguments. He grabbed his keys, adjusted his cufflinks one last time, and headed for the elevator.
Dying alone. Right.
As if that was supposed to scare him.
Marriage was a logistical nightmare. Relationships required time, effort, and the ability to tolerate another human being in his personal space indefinitely. He barely had the patience to let his own staff breathe near him for too long.
The elevator doors slid open, and he stepped inside, exhaling slowly as they closed behind him.
Still. He supposed he could at least pretend to care the next time she tried to set him up.
Or-not.
-----
Katsuki slid into the driver's seat, the soft thud of the door closing sealing him off from the noise of the city. The Porsche's interior was a controlled environment-sleek, efficient, devoid of distractions. Unlike the hellscape waiting for him on the streets.
He started the engine, the low purr of horsepower vibrating under his hands. The navigation system flashed, but he didn't need directions. The route from Chikusa to Meieki was burned into his muscle memory-assuming, of course, that the collective incompetence of Nagoya's morning drivers didn't force him into an early grave.
It took exactly five minutes for his patience to wear thin.
The moment he merged onto the main road, he was met with the usual cast of idiots-someone braking for no reason, another driver switching lanes with all the grace of a drunk toddler, and, of course, the slow-moving plague known as people who refuse to use their goddamn indicators.
He gritted his teeth as a minivan ahead of him crawled forward like it was sightseeing.
Why.
Why did people drive as if they had nowhere to be? If he had a yen for every wasted second spent stuck behind these walking caution signs, he could buy out half of Meieki.
He changed lanes, accelerating smoothly. Predictably, a compact car cut him off.
Katsuki exhaled slowly through his nose, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
Every morning, the same war.
The Porsche wove through the mess with surgical precision, slipping into gaps the other drivers were too slow to take. He made a mental note to schedule a hearing later in the day-arguing in court would be a welcome relief from dealing with this level of incompetence.
Still, as much as he hated the commute, it gave him time to think.