It's Tuesday morning. The sky hangs heavy and dull, a blanket of gray pressing down on the city. A faint drizzle darkens the pavement as Yukio steps out of the taxi, pulling his coat tighter. His reflection glides across the glass doors of Hololive HQ — expression calm, eyes cold.
Yukio (Internally): Another day. Another chance for them to pretend I don't exist. He exhales quietly and steps through the doors.
Receptionist: Yukio-san! Welcome!
Yukio:Walks past her without looking up … Hello. He enters the elevator.
Receptionist (Internally):Her smile falters as the doors close. He looks… different today.
Inside the elevator, the hum of machinery fills the silence. Yukio's reflection in the steel walls looks sharper — not from light, but intent. His eyes stay fixed on the rising floor numbers. He doesn't blink.
Yukio (Internally): I've played quiet long enough. Respect isn't earned here by effort. It's taken by presence.
The doors slide open with a soft ding.
And the moment he steps out, the air in the office seems to bend.
It's almost imperceptible — a subtle tightening in everyone's chests, a hush that spreads faster than sound. The temperature doesn't change, but it feels colder. Chairs squeak slower. Conversations taper off mid-sentence. Someone's pen rolls off their desk, clattering once before silence swallows it.
Everyone feels him before they see him.
Yukio walks through the rows of desks, his footsteps measured, steady, deliberate. His eyes scan briefly — each glance heavy enough to pin someone in place.
Worker 1 (whispering): He's here.
Worker 2 (whispering): Just keep working—don't look up. Don't look.
The faint murmurs of fear scatter like dust when he passes. He sits down at his desk and begins to work. Every movement — the placement of papers, the click of his pen — is quiet, yet sharp. It feels too deliberate, too calculated. Even the air vents sound too loud compared to him.
Yukio (Internally): Leader of Talent Managers. Talent Manager for Pekora. And yet all I do is paperwork. Weeks without checking Holoheim, no updates, no contact. What's the point of a title if I'm kept away from my responsibilities? He closes the folder with a soft thud that echoes unnaturally across the silent room. I can't keep sitting here while they treat me like a tool to file their mistakes. If I'm meant to lead, then I'll lead — even if it means walking over their rules. He stands. The shift of his chair makes a worker flinch two desks away. Without hesitation, he walks toward the restricted elevator at the back of the hall. The further he goes, the quieter it gets — as if the building itself is holding its breath. At the end of the hallway, a massive metal door waits. The handprint scanner glows faintly cyan in the dim light. He raises his hand. But before his palm touches the scanner — a firm hand grips his shoulder.
A-chan:Voice sharp, trying to sound in control Yukio-san. Stop. You can't access Holoheim without authorization. Entry's restricted.
Yukio:Doesn't turn his head. His tone is low, level — a statement, not an argument. I'm going to Holoheim.
A-chan:Steps around him, keeping her professional composure with visible effort. You know the rules. There's a process for this. You can't just walk in when you want.
Yukio:Turns his head slightly, his eyes cutting through her words. I haven't checked on Pekora in weeks. My role is to manage her, and lead the others. Why do I need permission to do my job? Explain that, now.
A-chan: A-chan opens her mouth, then stops. Her throat tightens. She searches for something — a line from protocol, an excuse, a wall to hide behind. The… access is restricted. Temporary protocol.
Yukio:Steps closer — just enough that the air between them grows thin. Temporary protocol is not an answer. You're withholding access without justification. That reflects on your judgment. Tell me the rule. The real one.
A-chan stumbles back half a step. Her fingers tighten around her clipboard. Her heartbeat drums in her ears. The confident manager voice that used to command rooms trembles on the edge of breaking.
A-chan: I… I don't— Her voice falters completely. I don't have the details yet, it was just an internal note—
Yukio: Then you have no reason to stop me. He turns away from her and presses his palm onto the scanner. The cyan light glows under his hand. The lock hums, then clicks open.
A-chan:Panicking, she grabs his arm and pulls back. Yukio! Stop—! You can't just override access like that, it's against—
Yukio:His tone doesn't rise. It doesn't need to. He turns her wrist with surgical precision, halting her pull. Their faces are close now — her reflection trembling in his dark blue eyes. You will not stop me from doing my duty. If you can't justify your restrictions, then step aside. If you obstruct me again, you're choosing incompetence over progress.
Her breath catches. Her hand shakes violently now. He isn't angry, and that's what terrifies her the most. He believes every word he says. His grip isn't rough, but it's unyielding. Unquestionable.
A-chan:Her voice cracks — the professional mask shatters. Yukio… this isn't like you. You're scaring people.
Yukio:He tilts his head slightly. His lips curl into the faintest smirk — not of joy, but of disdain. Good. They should be afraid to block what is right. He releases her wrist, the gesture as gentle as it is final. Without another word, he turns and steps through the door. The cyan light floods around him — cold, sterile, consuming.
A-chan (Internally): A-chan remains frozen, hand at her chest, feeling the frantic beat beneath her palm. This isn't… Yukio. He looked at me like I was nothing. Not angry — worse. Certain. He's not questioning himself anymore. He's already decided who's right… and who's beneath him. What changed him? The heavy door seals shut behind him with a metallic thud. The sound reverberates through the corridor. And only then — the office breathes again, like someone released a chokehold.