Ayane Fujimoto walked into Ryo Tanaka's life five minutes before he officially joined the company.
She was already there when he reached the twentieth floor—sitting casually on the edge of a desk near the window, one leg crossed over the other, the city's neon glow painting the glass behind her. The rest of the office was a blur of gray dividers and black chairs, but she drew the eye like a spotlight. Her long, wavy hair fell down her back in a smooth cascade, catching faint strands of light from the monitors. The pale pink blouse she wore clung to her figure, the top buttons undone just enough to show a deep, distracting line of skin before disappearing into a tight black skirt that hugged her hips. Black stockings wrapped her legs in a soft sheen all the way down to sharp, glossy heels that clicked softly whenever she moved. In one hand she held a coffee cup; the other rested on the desk with relaxed confidence, as if this entire floor existed solely because she allowed it.
Ryo noticed her before anyone told him her name. He also noticed the way people behaved around her.
As the HR attendant led him through the rows of desks, conversations quieted the closer they came. One man wearing a blue lanyard straightened his tie the moment he spotted her. A woman at the nearby cubicle minimized three windows at once, back ramrod straight, eyes carefully locked on a spreadsheet. No one leaned back in their chairs. No one scrolled their phone. Every posture within Ayane's line of sight was suddenly correct. The HR attendant, who had been chatting cheerfully in the elevator, lowered his voice to a whisper.
"That's Fujimoto-san," he murmured. "Your team manager."
Ryo had imagined a strict boss before. He hadn't imagined her looking like this.
Up close, the small details hit him one by one. Her lipstick matched the faint blush on her cheeks, a soft rose that made her mouth the most dangerous thing in the room. A thin silver necklace rested in the hollow above her chest, drawing the eye to where her blouse opened. The sleeves of that blouse were rolled neatly to her elbows, exposing slender wrists, one of which was wrapped in a black watch that seemed to mark time for the entire department. Even the way she lifted the coffee cup—slow, unhurried, eyes half-lidded—felt precise, like every movement had been measured and approved.
"Fujimoto-san," the HR attendant said, bowing. "This is the new hire for your team. Tanaka Ryo-kun."
For a second, she didn't move. She finished her sip first, set the cup down on the desk with a soft clink, and only then turned fully toward them. The glow from the nearby monitor traced a highlight along her cheekbone, making her gaze seem sharper. Her eyes swept over Ryo from head to toe in a single, calm line—shoes, slacks, creased shirt, nervous hands gripping the strap of his bag—and returned to his face with clinical precision.
"Tanaka-kun," she said. Her voice was low and smooth, the kind that could sound kind or terrifying depending on the words it carried. "Welcome to the Sales Planning Department."
Ryo bowed so fast his bag nearly slipped off his shoulder. "I-I look forward to working with you!"
Behind him, a chair creaked. Someone immediately shushed the offender under their breath.
Ayane didn't smile. Not at first. Her expression was neutral, cool, utterly composed. This was the woman every whispered rumor in the elevator had been about—the strict manager, the one who caught every mistake, the one whose stare could freeze you mid-excuse. Ryo could feel that stare on him now, weighing his posture, his tone, even the panic in his eyes. Then, just as his lungs started to burn from holding his breath, the corners of her mouth curved up. It wasn't a warm, friendly grin; it was a small, precise smile, like a check mark on a completed form.
"You're five minutes early," she said. "Good. I dislike people who waste company time."
"Yes, ma'am!"
A couple of coworkers glanced over their monitors. One of them—a man in rolled-up sleeves—shot Ryo a pitying look, then hurriedly returned to typing when Ayane's gaze shifted a fraction of a degree in his direction.
"From today," she continued, sliding off the desk with one smooth motion, heels touching the floor with a sharp click, "you report directly to me. If you do what I say, when I say it, you won't have any problems. If you don't…" Her eyes narrowed slightly. "…you'll learn very quickly why everyone here respects schedules."
Ryo swallowed. "Understood."
She stepped closer to him to adjust the company ID hanging crookedly from his neck. The scent of coffee and a light floral perfume reached him, subtle but impossible to ignore. Her fingers brushed the knot of his tie, straightening it in a single efficient tug. From this distance he could see the thin line of mascara along her lashes, the tiny mole near her collarbone, the faint crease between her brows that suggested she frowned often. Her blouse shifted with the movement, and Ryo forced his eyes to stay on her face with all the self-control he had.
"Relax your shoulders," she said quietly, so only he could hear. "If you look like a scared intern all day, the clients will walk all over you."
"S-sorry."
"I didn't say it was wrong," she corrected. "Just fix it."
She let go of his tie and turned away, her skirt drawing a clean curve in the air as she walked toward a nearby empty desk. The moment her back was to him, a low exhale rippled through the department. One coworker muttered, "Good luck, newbie," behind a raised mug. Another shook his head silently and returned to his monitor.
Ayane stopped at the desk next to hers and gestured. "This is your seat, Tanaka-kun. Log in, read the onboarding documents, and memorize the client list by lunch. If you have questions, ask me before you make mistakes, not after."
"Yes!"
She gave a small nod, as if filing away his answer with everything else she knew about him already, and walked back to her own desk. Crossing her legs as she sat, she rested one elbow on the armrest and the other hand near her mouse, eyes fixed on her screen. From his chair, Ryo could see the faint shimmer of her stockings catching the light whenever she moved her foot. No one else dared to look for long.
The office hummed back to life. Keys clacked. Phones rang. Printers whirred. Yet the air still felt different to Ryo, charged with something like static. Every time Ayane's chair rolled even slightly, heads dipped lower over their work. When she called someone's name, they snapped to attention with a speed he'd only seen in movies about the military.
Everyone fears her, he realized. It wasn't just gossip. There was a quiet, heavy tension that followed her through the room, a collective awareness that one sharp sentence from that beautiful mouth could ruin your day—or your position.
Ryo opened his new email account and the onboarding folder, but the words blurred for a moment. On the black reflection of his monitor, he could just make out her figure behind him: long hair, perfect posture, legs crossed, attention fixed on her work.
Fujimoto Ayane, he thought, testing the sound of her name in his mind.
Strict. Bossy. Terrifying.
His heart thudded once, hard.
And impossibly, dangerously beautiful.