The laugh echoed-short, sharp, incredulous. Like she'd heard something so fundamentally wrong it deserved its own genre of mockery.
Katsuki stared at her.
Did he say something stupid?
No. He didn't do stupid. Everything that came out of his mouth was calculated, precise, laced with enough dry venom to kill a lesser man's ego. He'd simply pointed out the obvious: she'd thrown out that "too much" line, and when he mirrored it back, she flinched like he'd called her a personal failure.
Apparently, that was laughable.
"Not everything is about you, Hasegawa," she said, still smirking.
"Then what is it?"
She rolled her eyes, stepping back like his presence physically offended her. "Why should I tell you? We're not friends."
Right.
If there was one thing Katsuki Hasegawa hated-aside from inefficient meetings, vague emails, and Kai's smug face-it was not knowing.
He didn't like treading. Didn't like guessing. He wasn't built for that. It was the equivalent of trying to conduct a cross-examination without evidence-sloppy, inefficient, beneath him.
If Hana Sukehiro was going to work closely with him long-term-and she was, because no one else was both competent and masochistic enough to survive him-then he needed to know what made her tick. Not because he cared. Obviously. It was strategic. Like understanding the weak points of a negotiation opponent. Or knowing where a client's blind spots were before trial.
Necessary. Tactical. Nothing more.
So he straightened, tone clipped. "There's a bar in Sakae. Quiet. No music. Carries a selection of aged sake you'd probably approve of. Join me. Or don't. But if I'm going to spend the rest of the week working beside someone who looks like they're plotting my demise, I'd rather understand why."
A beat passed.
Then-
He could practically feel her thoughts buzzing from across the room.
-----
Was he seriously asking her for a drink?
Like coworkers?
Like buddies?
Why did she say yes to this job again?
"Why?" she asked, one brow arched. Suspicious, amused, and already halfway to telling him no.
"Because I don't work well under threat, Sukehiro. And I'd prefer to know what sets you off before it costs me a client. This is me being generous. Don't get used to it."
Her smirk widened. "Just so you know, I grew up in a sake brewery. My taste is impeccable. My father once made a master brewer cry because the finish was off by 0.2 percent."
He lifted a brow, already opening the app on his phone. "They carry Dassai Beyond."
She stopped mid-rant.
Oh okay
Dassai Beyond was... premium. Not just expensive-legendary. Velvety, floral, clean as water and devastating on the finish. Her father would sell a kidney for a bottle. Rei would sob openly and demand the receipt. Even Ren, who had the palate of a raccoon, would shut up and bow.
"Okay. Well. I can't say no to that." Then she smiled, and said in a voice soaked with faux innocence, "Lead the way, boss-man."
Katsuki shot her a glare. "You really don't have a sense of self-preservation, do you?"
"Why?" she grinned. "Are you planning to murder me?"
He rolled his eyes and stepped out of his office, grabbing his coat as he passed her. "Tempting."
They walked side by side toward the elevator, the tension shifting-still there, but less like a tripwire, more like static. Contained. For now.
She wasn't posturing. That was the thing. She didn't pretend to be too good for things, didn't say no just to be contrary, didn't put on some performance of indifference just to maintain the upper hand. When something interested her, she leaned in. Not in a calculated, manipulative way. Just... genuinely. Enthusiastically.
Katsuki hated that he liked that about her.
Worse-he wasn't entirely sure why.
-----
The bottle sat on the table like it belonged in a museum-tall, sleek, and unapologetically expensive. Katsuki had requested it specifically, knowing the weight of the gesture even if Hana wouldn't-shouldn't-acknowledge it. Dassai Beyond wasn't something you ordered to impress someone. It was something you ordered when you wanted silence. Respect. Or in this case, an opening.
He checked the time again.
She could've ridden with him. That would've been the efficient choice. Air-conditioned. Direct. Minimal exposure to rogue elements. But no-of course not. The gremlin had insisted on riding her scooter. The same death trap she parked sideways outside the firm like it was a war trophy. It had exactly one functioning headlight, zero shock absorption, and a suspicious rattle he could hear from his corner office.
Naturally, it broke down three blocks away.
She arrived five minutes late, curls frizzing at the temples, cheeks flushed with humidity and irritation. She looked like summer in Nagoya-sticky, bright, a little chaotic.
"My bike died," she announced like it was a normal part of her daily journey through hell.
"You should have it replaced," he said flatly, not even bothering to stand.
She dropped into the seat across from him and glared. "It's the only constant in my life, boss-man. Don't touch it."
Right. God forbid she let go of the one thing that could spontaneously combust on the expressway.
He didn't respond. Just watched her clock the bottle like it was a holy relic.
And then, she beamed.
It was blinding. Unapologetic. The kind of expression that made everything feel slightly off-kilter, like the lighting in the bar had shifted around her. She grabbed the bottle with the care of someone handling a newborn.
"Take a photo of me," she demanded.
Katsuki blinked. "Why? Are you a high schooler?"
"I'm gonna make my father and brothers cry," she said proudly, holding the bottle near her face. "Come on. My phone's dead."
He sighed-audibly-and pulled his phone from his jacket, angling it toward her with the resigned efficiency of a man who had definitely not signed up for this part of the evening. She leaned in, flashing a peace sign and a grin so smug it should have been illegal.
He took the photo. One. Quick. Precise.
"Don't forget to send that to me," she added.
He ignored her.
Instead, he reached for the bottle, broke the seal, and poured the first glass.
It was warm. Of course it was warm. Early August in Nagoya meant the air clung to your skin like regret. But somehow, it didn't matter.
The first sip was heaven.
Hana closed her eyes like it was a spiritual experience. Smooth, clean, a little sweet on the finish with just enough bite to remind you it was powerful. Like the kind of drink you only get once, and then spend the rest of your life trying to chase.
Her shoulders dropped for the first time that day.
She opened one eye. "Okay. I hate you less."
Katsuki didn't respond, which she interpreted as a win. She always did when he was quiet. Not that she'd admit she liked seeing him outside of the office-less polished, less rigid. Still terrifying, obviously. But in the bar's soft lighting, he looked... human. Like a person. Not a headline.
She took another sip and sighed. "Seriously. My dad is going to scream. Rei might actually cry. He's never cried in his life except that one time he sliced his finger and tried to hide it with electrical tape."
Katsuki raised a brow. "Didn't work?"
"No. He passed out. Blood everywhere. My mom thought it was a murder scene." She grinned into her glass. "It was the best day of my life."
He didn't laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Almost.
She didn't know why she was talking so much. Probably the alcohol. Or the way the bar's hum and the warm lighting and the slightly-too-much eye contact had started to make her skin itch in a not-unpleasant way.
Or maybe it was because he hadn't tried to talk over her. Hadn't told her she was too loud. Too chaotic. Too anything.
She wasn't spiraling. Not yet.
But she was starting to feel a little untethered. And that was always dangerous.
So she took another sip.
And let the warmth slide down like permission.