First Day, 10:00 AM - Hana vs. The Abyss (and Kai Sato)
Hana had exactly three seconds of peace before she faced her greatest enemy for the second time:
Katsuki Hasegawa's inbox.
14,763 unread emails.
Hana sighed. That wasn't an inbox. That was a crime scene.
What kind of psychopath just lets emails pile up like this? How did he function? Did he possess some kind of supernatural ability to filter out digital noise? Was he operating on pure spite and an internal legal database so advanced it bordered on a consciousness of its own?
She scrolled down. The sheer number of "Following up" emails was physically painful. Some poor associate had tried contacting him five times in a row. A partner from another firm had written a borderline poetic plea for a meeting slot. One email simply said, "Sir, please."
Hana exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face. Alright. Prioritization. Categorization. Battle strategy.
She could do this.
She would do this.
Just as soon as she-
"Hey, Sukehiro."
Hana flinched so violently she nearly knocked over her coffee.
Kai.
Standing behind her chair, looking every bit like the smug, corporate devil that he was.
"You look busy," Kai noted, which was rich coming from a man who did not look busy at all. "But I need a quick favor."
Hana narrowed her eyes. "Favor sounds suspiciously like work when it comes from you."
Kai smiled. Oh, she knew that smile. That was the I'm-about-to-trick-you-into-doing-something-you-don't-want-to-do smile.
"I just need you to draft a quick client summary," Kai said, smooth as silk. "Shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes."
Hana, still staring at the abyss that was Katsuki's inbox, gave him a deadpan look. "And by fifteen minutes, you mean half a day and my will to live?"
Kai grinned. "You're catching on fast."
Oh, absolutely not. Not today.
With expert-level speed and precision, Hana gathered her laptop, phone, and coffee and bolted-straight into Naomi's office.
Naomi, the only sane person in this law firm, barely reacted when Hana practically collapsed into the chair across from her desk.
"Kai is trying to make me work," Hana declared, like she had just survived an assassination attempt.
Naomi arched a single, unimpressed brow. "That is your job."
"My job," Hana corrected, holding up a finger. "is Hasegawa's job. Kai's got a whole army of associates. He can sacrifice one of them to his evil schemes."
Naomi gave her a look that was equal parts you're ridiculous and I respect the hustle.
"And what, exactly, are you doing in my office?"
"Hiding."
Naomi sighed, rubbing her temple. "You know he's going to find you."
"No, he won't," Hana said, already sipping her coffee like a woman who had solved all her problems. "He's busy."
Five minutes later, Kai found her.
"Aha!" Kai said, leaning against the doorway with all the ease of a man who had already won. "There you are."
Hana slowly, very dramatically, lowered her coffee cup. "How?"
Kai smirked. "You think you're the first person to hide from me in here?"
Naomi made no move to defend her. Traitor.
"I refuse," Hana announced.
Kai tilted his head. "Refuse what?"
"Whatever you're about to say. No. Absolutely not."
Kai hummed, tapping his chin. "That's unfortunate, because Hasegawa just called for you."
Hana immediately sat up. "Wait. Really?"
Kai grinned.
Hana scowled, "you liar," she accused.
Kai simply shrugged. "Didn't say when he called for you. Just that he will."
Oh, he was insufferable.
Before Hana could fight back, Kai was already pulling her up by the elbow and herding her back to her desk like some kind of highly trained Hana-wrangler.
"Back to work," Kai said cheerfully, plopping a folder onto her desk.
Hana glared at it like it was a live grenade. "This wasn't here before."
Kai patted her shoulder. "Oh? Must have landed there while you were out."
Hana scowled. "You are a menace to society."
Kai smirked. "And you work for Hasegawa. Good luck."
Hana groaned as he walked off, deeply regretting every decision that had led her to this moment.
Fine. Fine. She'd handle it.
But first-
She turned back to the abyss.
Hana inhaled. Alright, motherfucker. Let's do this.
__________
Time to get strategic.
Hana took one last, deep breath, squared up with Katsuki Hasegawa's abomination of an inbox, and cracked her knuckles.
Step one: Purge the dead.
If an email was over a year old and hadn't been responded to, it was getting archived. Goodbye, ancient unread messages from clients who had probably already gone bankrupt or jumped ship. You will not be missed.
Step two: Divide and conquer.
She needed to sort this chaos by sender, client, and the sheer level of urgency because Katsuki definitely wasn't answering a six-month-old "quick question" from an associate who had already quit. She was doing the Lord's work.
Step three: Destroy the weak.
She mass-deleted promotional spam, automated newsletters, and whatever the hell a firm from three prefectures away wanted to "collaborate" on. If it wasn't billable, it was gone.
And yet, despite her best efforts, the sheer magnitude of this mess was unholy.
Half an hour in, her Outlook client crashed.
She reopened it. It crashed again.
She sighed. Okay. Okay, fine. Maybe this was too much power for one email system to handle.
Another deep breath.
Time to optimize.
She started building rules. If it was from Kai or Katsuki, it went into Direct Partners. If it was from the firm's VIP clients, it went to Immediate Review. If it was from a junior associate panicking, it was funneled into a Future Problem folder.
And bless it all, Kai—for once in his godforsaken, manipulative life—was actually useful.
He clarified which clients were his and Katsuki's personal nightmares and which ones could be tossed over to senior or junior partners. That single act of cooperation saved so much time that Hana almost, almost, forgave him for trapping her in this job.
Another Outlook crash.
Hana let out a long, slow exhale through her nose, staring at the frozen screen.
She rebooted. Again.
And then—light.
For the first time since stepping into this firm, she saw the tiniest sliver of corporate salvation.
The unread count dropped from 14,763 to a much less horrifying 3,211.
Was it perfect? No.
Did it look like she had just wrestled an IT demon and barely crawled out alive? Yes.
But was this progress?
Oh, hell yes.
__________
By 12:15, she was actually reading emails instead of fighting for her life. She skimmed contracts, took notes, flagged who needed a response ASAP, and compiled everything that actually mattered.
And then—new problem unlocked.
Hasegawa.
As in, he was still alive. Still working. Still doing that thing where he bulldozed through tasks like a corporate war machine powered entirely by nicotine and spite.
And, most concerningly—
He hadn't eaten.
At exactly 12:30, Hana's eyes darted toward his glass-walled office.
He was still at his desk, focused, unreadable, and very much ignoring the concept of basic human survival.
She frowned. That can't be good.
People who worked like this burned out. People who thought they didn't need food ended up being unreasonably cranky and difficult to deal with. And considering this particular workaholic was already at max-level difficulty, that was not an option.
Fine. Fine.
She could fix this.
Hana tapped her fingers on the desk, thinking fast.
Step one: Locate Food.
Step two: Somehow trick Hasegawa into consuming it.
Step one was easy. A quick search through Naomi's emergency contact list led her to the firm's go-to takeout spots. A fancy bento place. Some high-end sushi. And a hole-in-the-wall soba joint that had five stars and exactly one customer complaint about the owner being "too honest."
That one. She liked that one.
A quick order later, she had lunch on the way.
Now for step two.
She couldn't just tell him to eat. He'd ignore her out of pure principle.
So she needed to be smarter.
A distraction? No, he was too sharp for that. A direct order? Also no, she wasn't suicidal.
Hana tapped her pen against her notepad. Think, think, think.
And then—
Oh.
A truly evil little idea slithered into her mind. Hana did not technically have an evil laugh. But if she did, this would be the time for it.
__________
By 1:15, the food had arrived, and she had five minutes tops before Hasegawa entered the point of no return—the dreaded workaholic tunnel vision where hunger ceased to exist, and he became a corporate terminator fueled entirely by his own ego and nicotine.
She had to be smart.
He wouldn't eat just because she told him to. That was too direct. Too obvious. He'd override his body's needs just to prove a point—and she wasn't about to lose to a man who looked like he actively bullied junior associates for fun.
No, if she wanted him to eat, she had to manipulate the manipulator.
So she set the trap.
The moment the delivery arrived, Hana didn't just place it in his office—no, no, that would be too easy. Instead, she set it right outside his line of sight. Close enough for him to catch the smell, far enough that he'd have to actually move to acknowledge it.
Hana very, very deliberately did not mention it.
She went about her business. Typing. Clicking through emails. Organizing schedules.
And waited.
1:25 PM.
Bingo.
Through the glass wall, Hana caught the exact moment Katsuki Hasegawa's focus wavered.
It was a flicker. A brief, minute hesitation in his typing.
Then, a sharp exhale. His jaw tensed.
He smelled it.
Hana kept her face carefully neutral. Do not react. Do not smirk. Let him come to the conclusion himself.
For exactly two minutes, he pretended not to notice.
Then, finally—finally—he pushed back his chair, exhaled sharply through his nose like he was offended by hunger, and stood.
Hana did not look up as he stepped out of his office.
She absolutely did, though. From the corner of her eye, she saw the moment he spotted the soba. His brows twitched, eyes narrowing just slightly.
And then—without acknowledging her at all—he took the soba and went back to his office.
Hana bit back a grin.
That's right, boss man. Eat your damn lunch.
She went back to her emails.
Mission success.