The morning had been a hard-won victory.
She had tamed the abyss (barely). She had successfully tricked her terrifying new boss into eating (a feat she would be adding to her resume, right between Excellent Legal Research Skills and Professional Bullshitter).
For exactly two minutes, Hana allowed herself to bask in the illusion of control.
Then, at 3:02 PM, her first real disaster hit.
It started with a single, innocuous ping.
Hasegawa, Katsuki: Sukehiro.
She had learned two things about her boss in the last few hours.
If he actually looked at you, it meant you had either impressed him or pissed him off (there was no in-between).
If he Teams-messaged you, it meant he did not want to speak to you out loud—which meant something was about to go terribly wrong.
She hesitated—which was mistake number one.
Ping.
Hasegawa, Katsuki: Now.
Okay. Bad.
Hana rushed to open Teams, clicking into his chat.
Sukehiro: Yes, boss? :)
A full minute passed.
Hasegawa, Katsuki: Explain.
He then forwarded an absolutely cursed email thread.
Hana frowned, opening it—
Oh, fuck.
The email chain in front of her was long. As in, 30+ messages long, spanning the last two hours. And every single one of them was a disaster.
Mistake #1: She had forwarded an internal firm memo—containing highly confidential litigation strategy notes—to the wrong person.
Mistake #2: That wrong person was a client.
Mistake #3: The client had immediately replied-all with a confused and deeply concerned "?????"
Mistake #4: A junior associate had tried to fix it but had only made it worse.
By the time Katsuki saw the mess, it had already become a firm-wide crisis.
Shit, shit, shit.
Her hands flew over the keyboard, damage control mode activated.
Sukehiro: I can fix this.
A beat.
Hasegawa, Katsuki: You have two minutes.
Hana broke into a sweat.
3:10 PM – Crisis Response Mode
She immediately sent a corrected, extremely professional follow-up:
Dear Client,
Apologies for the oversight. The email you received was sent in error and does not pertain to your case. Please disregard the previous message.
We appreciate your understanding.
Best, Hana Sukehiro
She called the client's secretary, pulling every ounce of customer service charm out of her exhausted soul.
"I need you to delete that last email from your inbox," she lied beautifully, voice honeyed and unshakable. "It was meant for internal discussion and does not reflect any formal legal strategy on your case."
The secretary hesitated. "Um, I don't think—"
"Please." Softer. More urgent. "It's a formatting issue. We just want to avoid any confusion."
A long pause.
"…Alright."
Hana let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.
3:15 PM – The Aftermath
She wiped her palms on her skirt and pinged Katsuki.
Sukehiro: Crisis contained.
This time, his response was immediate.
Hasegawa, Katsuki: Come to my office.
…Shit.
Hana walked into Hasegawa's glass-walled lair like a soldier entering enemy territory.
Katsuki was leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes sharp as a scalpel.
The moment she stepped in, he didn't ask what happened. He didn't ask if she fixed it.
He simply asked:
"What the fuck was that?"
Hana inhaled sharply. "It was an accident," she admitted. "A very bad accident. But I fixed it."
Katsuki's eyes didn't waver.
"You think 'fixing it' makes it acceptable?" His voice was quiet. Dangerous.
Her brain, unfortunately, responded with:
Yes?
No?
I would like to be anywhere but here, please.
She squared her shoulders. "I won't make the same mistake again."
Katsuki leaned forward, forearms braced on the desk. "You'd better fucking not."
A long, excruciating silence.
Then—
He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Sit down."
"What?"
Katsuki gestured impatiently to the chair. "Sit. Now."
Confused, on edge, but not about to argue, Hana sat.
Katsuki clicked his mouse a few times, pulled up her Teams chat, and turned his monitor slightly toward her.
Her name. A list of her messages to him.
Specifically—her response times.
"You took three minutes to respond the first time," Katsuki said flatly. "You hesitated."
This wasn't about the email. This was about reaction time.
"You don't hesitate," Katsuki continued. "Not with me. If I message you, you respond immediately. If there's a crisis, I expect you to flag it before I fucking see it in my inbox."
Hana stared.
That was—okay. That was insane.
"You want me to predict disasters?"
Katsuki narrowed his eyes. "I want you to anticipate them."
Hana's jaw clenched. That deep-seated, bitter little fear of failure—the one she tried so hard to drown under competence and spite—clawed at her throat.
She wasn't used to messing up.
She wasn't used to letting people down.
And Katsuki? He would not tolerate failure.
Her mouth felt dry. But she forced herself to nod. "Understood."
Katsuki didn't respond right away. Just watched her, expression unreadable.
Then—
"Good." He leaned back, tone clipped and final. "Now get out."
Hana exhaled sharply, stood, and left before he could change his mind.
She collapsed into her chair, heart still hammering.
That was—that was a disaster.
She clicked into her email. Checked her messages.
Started writing down a plan to prevent another fuck-up.
If Katsuki Hasegawa wanted a legal secretary who could predict the future?
Fine. Challenge fucking accepted.
-----
The office had long since emptied, leaving only the hum of the city beyond the windows and the soft clink of ice against glass.
Katsuki sat behind his desk, fingers loosely wrapped around a glass of whiskey, half-listening as Kai settled into the chair across from him, exuding that insufferable, lazy ease he always had at this hour.
"How's your new assistant?" Kai asked, swirling his drink.
Katsuki didn't answer right away. He could feel Kai watching him, waiting for a reaction, like a cat waiting to knock something off a table just to see what happened.
Finally, he exhaled through his nose. "Not useless."
Kai huffed a quiet laugh. "High praise from you."
Katsuki ignored him, sipping his drink.
Kai smirked, tipping his head back against the chair. "She's been a little busy, you know. In case you missed it while glaring at your screen." He lifted a hand, counting off fingers. "Cleaned up the inbox catastrophe you created, wrestled your calendar into something resembling linear time, dealt with at least five junior associates who thought she was an easy mark—oh, and she had the audacity to make me help."
Katsuki's brows twitched slightly.
Kai grinned. "She forced me to help her sort through your mess. No hierarchy, no hesitation, just ′Sato-san, if you're not going to leave me alone, at least be useful.'" He chuckled, shaking his head. "Could've been offensive, but it was too damn funny."
Katsuki let that sit for a moment, processing. He shouldn't be surprised that Kai had been dragged into the chaos, but the fact that she'd managed to pull him in so effortlessly…
"Chaotic," Kai continued, leaning forward slightly, eyes sharp with amusement. "Slightly unhinged. Mouthy as hell. But she pulled through."
Katsuki tapped a finger against the side of his glass, considering.
Pulled through.
He set his drink down, nudging his laptop toward Kai. "Look at that."
Kai leaned in, eyes flicking across the screen.
Katsuki's inbox—his disaster of an inbox—was… sorted.
Emails were filed, priorities were clear, and—most disturbingly—everything was findable.
Kai let out a low whistle. "Impressive."
Katsuki didn't answer, just drummed his fingers once against the desk.
Kai exhaled, shaking his head. "You realize if you mess up the rules she set, you won't have an assistant tomorrow."
"I'm tempted."
Kai hummed, taking a slow sip of whiskey.
Of course Katsuki would see a system and immediately want to test its breaking points, just to see if it would hold. He wasn't someone who left things untouched. He pushed. He prodded. He found weaknesses. It was how he functioned.
-----
The second Hana stepped through the apartment door, she dropped her bag, kicked off her shoes with the grace of a feral goblin, and collapsed face-first onto the couch with a groan so deep it could have cracked the foundation of the building.
Yuna, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a cup of tea, barely looked up. "So I'm guessing the first day was a raging success?"
Hana let out a muffled noise against the cushion. "If raging success means I aged ten years, was verbally obliterated before lunch, and am now one bad decision away from arson, then yes. Absolutely."
Yuna hummed, sipping her tea. "And here I thought you'd thrive in chaos."
Hana flipped over dramatically, limbs splayed, staring at the ceiling. "There is thriving in chaos, and then there is whatever this is. This is corporate hell on steroids. My boss—oh my god, my boss—he's insufferable. He has the warmth of a malfunctioning vending machine and the patience of a man actively plotting war crimes."
Yuna perked up.
Hana threw an arm over her eyes. "The human embodiment of a labor law violation waiting to happen."
Yuna set down her tea, resting her chin on her hand. "But… hot labor law violation?"
Hana groaned. "Tragically."
Yuna grinned. "I knew it."
"No, you don't understand," Hana said, sitting up suddenly, her hair half-feral, eyes wide with the kind of exhaustion only inflicted by an absurdly attractive yet entirely unbearable man. "I was prepared for him to be awful. I was not prepared for him to look like a high-end hitman moonlighting as a CEO. He's built like a walking lawsuit—broad shoulders, sharp suit, that whole 'I could destroy your life with a single contract clause' energy. And he's got these forearms. Yuna, his forearms—"
Yuna cackled. "You're suffering."
"I am," Hana said, throwing herself back against the couch. "Because all of that would be fine—manageable—if his personality wasn't purely designed to ruin my life."
Yuna wiggled her eyebrows. "You love a challenge."
Hana glared. "No, see, a challenge is fun. This man? Not fun. He's like if God took every Type A personality trait, cranked them to a hundred, and then gave them a law degree. He hates inefficiency. He expects perfection. He demands answers immediately, like I've been training for this job in my sleep."
"So… basically you with a little more rage?"
Hana made an offended noise. "Excuse me, I am delightful."
"You just spent two minutes ranting about a man's forearms."
Hana waved a hand dismissively. "The point was he's too hot for the level of evil he embodies. It's a violation of workplace rights. I'm filing a complaint."
"To who?" Yuna grinned. "Hasegawa?"
Hana let ut a suffering groan. "He'd probably draft the legal response himself."
Yuna snorted. "So… would you quit? If he's really that bad?"
Hana hesitated.
A normal person would have walked out by now. A sane person would have taken one look at that inbox, at the way Katsuki Hasegawa ran his office like a goddamn war room, and decided this is not my problem.
And yet…
Hana exhaled. "No. Because as much as he is a nightmare, he's also the most competent nightmare I've ever worked for. And I can't—" She stopped, teeth pressing together. "I can't fail at this."
Yuna watched her quietly for a moment, expression thoughtful.
Then, instead of pushing, she pivoted.
"So, how's Kai?"
Hana groaned again. "You."
Yuna smirked, tucking her legs, "I like to know what I'm getting into before I dedicate my soul to a man," Yuna said solemnly. "So? What's the verdict?"
"He's—ugh, he's smooth. It's infuriating."
Yuna raised an eyebrow. "Good smooth or bad smooth?"
"The kind of smooth that makes you think he's harmless, but you know he's absolutely orchestrating everything behind the scenes. He looks at people like they're chess pieces, and he's already twenty moves ahead."
Yuna sighed, dreamy. "God, I love that."
Hana made a face. "You would."
Yuna grinned. "So, did he mess with you?"
"Oh, absolutely." Hana sat up, gesturing wildly. "He was useless but in a way that made me think he was being useless on purpose. Every time I turned around, he was 'checking in' just to 'see how I was settling in.' Except that always resulted in me doing extra work. And when I caught on, he grinned. Like it was a game."
Yuna leaned in. "So he was testing you."
Hana huffed, arms crossing. "I think he was just trying to see if I'd crack under pressure. But joke's on him—I thrive under pressure. I dragged him into my mess just to spite him."
Yuna cackled. "You're my hero."