The Writer's Boardroom

MICROBRIEFS — short-form internal memos and compact materials.

Jujutsu Kaisen:

Pop Goes My Question (satoru gojo)

Just a Man (satoru gojo) ✨

Pure Love (satoru gojo) ✨

This is How You Fall in Love (satoru gojo) ✨

Coming Home (satoru gojo)

What Those Eyes See (satoru gojo) ✨

I'm Already Yours (satoru gojo)

I Signed Up for This Casually, and Now…. (satoru gojo)

Code Geass:

For My Glory, and Mine Alone (julius kingsley) ✨

The Scarlet Masquerade (lelouch/c.c.) ✨

Their Happy Ever After (lelouch/c.c.)

Señorita (lelouch/c.c.)

And On This Day (lelouch/c.c.)

Sea Witch (lelouch/c.c.) ✨

The Last Siren Kiss (lelouch/c.c.) ✨

Thank You, C.C. (lelouch/c.c.)

It's About Time, Lelouch (lelouch/c.c.) ✨

I Promised, Didn't I? (lelouch/c.c.) ✨

To Find a Way (lelouch/c.c.)

Tachycardia (lelouch/c.c.)

The First and Not the Last (suzaku/kallen) ✨

Airport Fairytale (lelouch/c.c.) ✨

R&D OUTPUT AND SIMULATIONS — conceptual work sourced from the creative think tank, imagination exercises, and audience-driven hypotheticals.

Jujutsu Kaisen:

Gojo goes on blind dates

Thinking of Gojo's Six Eyes ✨

Richfriend!Gojo spoiling Ieiri and Geto

Gojo's dessert refrigerator

SaShiSu working at Jujutsu High

SaShiSu: Shoko's first impressions ✨

SaShiSu: Chaotic teens will be teens

SaShiSu as housemates (imagines) ✨

SaShiSu in an Avatar: The Last Airbender AU (imagines)

SaShiSu: Satoru and Suguru step up to defend Shoko (imagine)

D&D with Gojo, Itadori, Kugisaki, and Fushiguro

TeenDad!Gojo with Baby Megumi and Best Sister Tsumiki ✨

Satoru and Suguru as YouTubers ✨

Husband!Gojo x Shy!S/O ✨

Serial-dater!Gojo

The Gojo Clan and their assets ✨

Ghost!Gojo haunting your apartment ✨

Rock Band AU - Satoru, Suguru, Choso, Sukuna ✨

Rock Band AU - Satoru is dating ✨

BoardDirector!Gojo (Imagines) ✨

COMPLETED DELIVERABLES — narratives that have successfully reached closure, approval, and full sign-off. no further action required.

Jinx (Manhwa):

I Promise I'll Win ✨

Five Thousand Miles ✨

Code Geass:

The Emperor's Wish (lelouch/c.c.) || ao3 & ffn ✨

One Day at a Time (lelouch/c.c.) || ao3 & ffn

Everyday is Christmas (lelouch/c.c.) || ao3 & ffn

See You Again (lelouch/c.c.) || ao3 & ffn ✨

Five O' Clock (lelouch/c.c.) || ao3 & ffn

The Queen's Longing (lelouch/c.c.) ✨

The Chaining Booth (lelouch/c.c.)

ZOMBIE PROJECTS — slow-moving initiatives that remain technically open. expect updates at irregular intervals; pending strategic bandwidth and executive whims.

‣ Never Grow Up (satoru gojo)

DEAD DEALS — terminated ventures. reactivation pending. maintained in archive for transparency and historical documentation.

Of Gods and Kings

Blood, Love, and Promises

A Game of Thrones and Faces

The Assassin's Apprentices

This portfolio is proprietary to ©sweet-evie. Unauthorized reproduction, redistribution is strictly prohibited.

“—Notice the timestamps? Whoever did this didn’t try to hide. They moved like they expected not to be seen.”

“So what I’m hearing is, you’re alleging the breach on Kaisen Tech wasn’t a brute-force hack or caused by a leak—”

“I’m not alleging, I’m stating.”

“Stating requires proof, you know.” Satoru finally raised an eyebrow after his last deadpan response.

“You already have it. You just haven’t been looking at it properly.”

Huh…

Satoru let the silence simmer for a hot minute, index finger tapping on the physical report. Her 15-page long report from yesterday.

He’d called Rin into his office five minutes after he’d arrived this morning, let her stand before him, and the entire time, she’d stood stock still across his desk with squared shoulders and her hands clasped lightly behind her back — the maddening posture of someone who didn’t mind waiting.

He wanted to test her tolerance for silence, sue him.

She presented herself exactly as she did last Friday night: unfazed, unnervingly calm when scrutinized.

Fine.

He broached the subject of her report, started off with one or two questions, and somehow the conversation had devolved into… this.

“Meaning?” Satoru prodded as he stared at her over the tops of his frameless blackout glasses.

Rin gestured towards the report with a tilt of her chin. “You’re not looking at hacking signatures—”

“Yes, I am.”

“—No, you’re not.” 

Did she just snap at him? Satoru blinked… slowly.

Rin ignored his interjection and continued, “Look past the literal evidence. There’s a pattern of behavior there. Look at the consistency, the missing timestamps, the access level escalation. Whoever breached Kaisen Tech did not break into the system—”

“—They walked right through it.” Satoru couldn’t help interrupting again, because well, he had suspected the same thing last week and said as much to eleven other board directors.

But where his had been nothing more than speculation, she had racked up enough evidence to confirm her suspicions and his.

“Yes. Walking past every line of cybersecurity defense very comfortably.”

“Cute. There’s an insider in the company.” Satoru’s tone did nothing to hide his sarcastic amusement. “Dear uncle would be happy to hear this.”

If Rin was right, Core Operations and Support Division was going to have one hell of a week or two resolving this. Why’d he volunteer to fix this again for them in the first place? The issue had nothing to do with private equity or expansion.

“It’s a protected insider.”

Yes, Satoru already figured as much. “Someone with clearance helped them.”

Rin nodded once. “They had clearance and confidence.” She paused, tilted her head ever so slightly and eyed him curiously. It was kind of the same look that predators gave prey when they were deciding if they’d have them as a snack to stave off a craving. And then she said, “The confidence to commit a crime like that comes from believing no one will look too closely.”

Well then…

Satoru stared and laughed lowly — more out of disbelief than anything. “You’re implying we’re too arrogant to suspect our own people. For all I know, the culprit could be the CEO or the Chief Technology Officer that reports directly to me, that’s what you’re saying.”

“I didn’t say arrogant.” The corner of Rin’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “I said you were comfortable.”

At the correction, Satoru stilled. The gravity of the situation and the implications it could have, began taking hold. He slid off his glasses, so he could look at her properly.

“You realize what you’re suggesting, don’t you?”

“Gojo Group, as Kaisen Tech’s parent company, is powerful and has layers of bureaucracy. That’s perfect for hiding misconduct. Think about how many levels of management even a Senior Director at one of your PortCos has to go through if they want to bring a sensitive issue to corporate. 90% of the time, I bet you never even hear of it. The executives that report to you handle what they can, CEOs especially, just as you’re paying them to do. But then, who’s checking your C-suite executives? They answer to you, but everyone else in that company answers to them. There’s a gap there.”

At this point, should he be offended?

“Did you just insinuate that Nanami is bad at running audits?”

“No. However, people in positions of power are capable of hiding things. They can get away with a lot. Maybe a subordinate or two notices, but are they brave enough to speak up? That could be part of the problem too. Their refusal to raise red flags comes from self-preservation not loyalty.”

“Accountability isn’t vertical.” Satoru caught himself mumbling.

Her eyes twinkled — she heard that, and she knew exactly where his mind wandered to.

“—accountability is not vertical, Vice Chairman. It’s a loop… Or at least, it should be. Everyone should be watching everyone.”

He needed a system that supported universal checks and balances — not just from the people at the top. That was now second on the agenda.

The smile that crept across Satoru’s lips was sharp, dangerous. “You’re very comfortable insulting my corporate governance, Ms. Matsui.”

Rin cocked an eyebrow. “You hired me to challenge it, Vice Chairman. If you wanted compliance, you should have hired a strategist not a fixer.”

Touché.

And there it was: her independent consultancy flag waving in front of his face. She should have literally slapped him with it at this point. Maybe he should tell her to carry literal flags just to remind people what she was here for.

He liked that answer… maybe a little too much.

Satoru breathed a long exhale and stood up, still pretending like he couldn’t feel the weight of Rin’s observant eyes at his back as he moved to stare at the view beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass windows with his hands in his pockets.

“So… Now you’ve confidently alleged that the breach is internal.” He turned around and met her steady gaze. “How do we hunt someone who expects not to be hunted?”

After standing in place for what felt like hours, Rin finally moved and stepped a little closer. “You build a maze, and then you watch who walks through it like they’ve been there before. In the literal sense, set up unique, high-value data decoys for each suspect. Make it irresistible. For this case, everyone with security access to the stolen files should be treated as a suspect.”

Oh damn… That was actually good.

Now that… That could actually work. They might need to set up an entire investigation task force temporarily for it, but Satoru was sure there was another PortCo they could pull resources from. Maybe a cybersecurity team from Sentinel Dynamics could step in? Orion (another portfolio company of the Gojo Group) had an entire cybersecurity division they could mobilize. His uncle would have more control over centralized support functions and should be able to facilitate communication and interaction between two companies.

The question is, would Yasushi Gojo even sanction a strategy like that?

Another board meeting to discuss the Kaisen Tech issue was overdue. Maybe he should call for one? Shoot a text to his old man and give him an update?

He glanced at Rin and her schooled expression again.

“For someone with ‘consultant’ in their job description, you make hunting people sound easy.” Satoru mused and waited for any micro-reaction to flit across her face. There wasn’t any. She didn’t even flinch.

She either felt nothing, or she was really good at hiding it.

And if it was the latter, that could either be very useful or very dangerous.

Satoru was convinced something was wrong with him for liking both options.

“Going off of this,” she tapped the only paper stack on his desk — the report, “—you wanted someone who could audit intent, not systems like Director Nanami and his team usually do. Congratulations, Gojo, you hired the right person to find and fix the problem for you.”

The fuck?

“You think I hired you on a whim and wishful thinking?”

“There was no rhyme or reason for springing an offer letter on me the same night we met.”

Ha! That’s what she thought.

He’d hired her for a reason and his perceptions of her level of competence had been right.

And yet, who is to say she hadn’t meant to project herself that way, so she could score a good consultancy project? The possibility was not non-existent. 

Satoru was used to people seeing his name and his position in the corporate world as a stepping stone or the height of achievement. His time and influence, his decision-making, was valuable. He knew that. The people that orbited him knew that.

And Rin likely knew that too… So if she had, then—

“I’m a fish that bit the bait you dangled. That’s what you’re saying.”

“Did I? And are you? I never said that or implied it, but if the shoe fits…” She trailed off with an infuriating little grin that told him maybe he wasn’t the only one enjoying this.

It was neither a confirmation nor a denial. And even if it was the former, he honestly respected the hustle.

“So, you read people, hm?”

“I read behaviors, spot blind spots, find patterns. That’s my job.” She enunciated each word and Satoru caught himself watching the way her lips moved around each syllable.

“Read me.”

“You’re unserious.” Well she wasn’t missing a beat, was she? Her eyes wandered to the top of his head and the complete lack of gel or wax to style it neatly and hold it together, to shimmering blue eyes blocked by dark sunglasses, to the complete lack of a formal tie and three-piece suit. “You violate company dress code and if you were anyone else, HR would have written you up for several penalties by now. That says a lot. You like projecting an image like that; maybe even pretend to be unpredictable. But you’re… not. You’re calculated — every word, every gesture, every pause, every outfit choice. You weaponize nonchalance.”

She wasn’t wrong… and she wasn’t entirely accurate either.

Satoru meandered closer. “You know what annoys me about you?”

“Several things by now, I assume.”

How were they standing so close already? Just a foot apart. He could smell her. Raspberry and vanilla — a delectable smell on pastries if he had to say so himself.

Satoru chuckled. “You talk like certainty is a personality trait.”

“You talk like deflection is a leadership strategy.”

Satoru was suppressing a grin. He was losing this and he knew it. He was starting to think that her eyes were prettier up close, and that was his cue to step back, drop into his chair, and sigh.

He was frustrated. He was entertained.

“You’re irritating.”

“You’re welcome.”

He laughed — an unabashed, unfiltered laugh. She looked like she was one more inhale from joining him. Instead, he had to content himself with watching a bright smile creep onto her face as she allowed a small chuckle to break through.

Wow… just wow.

But the amusement broke when his phone — that he’d abandoned on the desk — started buzzing.

RYOTA GOJO — INCOMING CALL

His eyes flicked towards the letters, and then at her. This was either spectacular timing, or it could be the worst, because if his father was calling him during business hours, and bypassing Ijichi completely, that meant one thing and one thing only…

He smiled slowly. “My father is going to want that analysis. Better hope you’re as convincing in a boardroom as you are in my office.”

“That’s your job. I’m just here to report the facts.”

“Mm. He won’t like your conclusions either.”

“Neither did you.”

God, this woman.

Satoru shook his head at her. He bit his lip to suppress another smile, finally picked up the still vibrating phone, accepted the call, and crooned in a chipper voice that would have probably unsettled Ijichi if he’d heard:

“Heeyyy there, Executive Chairman~”

=OoOoO=

Surprisingly, Satoru was not an overbearing boss…

Rin liked to think she wouldn’t have minded micro-managing anyway, because part of her was used to the constant surveillance. But it was refreshing to find out that although the Board did expect results, they would hardly meddle in her methods or the way she went about finding the mole in Kaisen Tech.

“Nanami, you’ll supervise the operation. She will run it.”

Satoru’s words from that day’s meeting crossed her mind again. He had been addressing Nanami, but the full weight of his gaze lingered on her.

Surprise, surprise, Satoru had been right about that day. 

In the end, Yasushi Gojo, Head of Core Operations, sanctioned her plot, and the Executive Chairman signaled his approval through the tiniest of nods; however, both his father and uncle didn’t like her conclusions or the result of her analysis. It wasn’t because they weren’t fond of her personally, it was more so they didn’t like the confirmation of their suspicions in the beginning and that someone with high-level clearance was brazen enough to attempt a data heist such as this.

The succeeding two weeks and the few days that followed after unfolded in jagged fragments stitched together by daily commutes to the Gojo Group HQ, making time for herself and especially Megumi, late nights, board inquiries, end-of-day reports to Director Nanami, occasional midnight calls from a Board Director who was traveling overseas, surveillance reports, directing the taskforce assembled specifically for handling the Kaisen Tech data breach under her direction, and… Satoru Gojo.

He wasn’t always present, but she knew he was always watching.

Sometimes he literally watched from the doorway of the temporary operations room Nanami assigned her while she was doing work.

Other times, his eyes were on her metaphorically via precise email responses at unholy hours. (Does the man even sleep?)

During status report meetings with him, Nanami, and the rest of the Kaisen Tech breach taskforce, she’d turn, and Satoru would already be looking at her. She never detected an ounce of suspicion or hostility in the way he stared.

It was much worse.

He stared at her with curiosity.

She wished he would stop.

“You know, I was always under the impression that people like you had better things to do than watch someone else stare at a computer for eight hours a day.”

The click-clacking of keyboard keys filled the space between them as Rin busied herself locating particular files she’d want to include in her end-of-day report. Satoru stopped scrolling on his phone and looked up at her just in time to catch her eye.

“It’s only been an hour.”

“That wasn’t my point.”

“And excuse you, I am doing my job.”

“What job?”

“Supervising you.”

“Last time I checked, that was Director Nanami’s responsibility, not yours.”

“I’m your boss’ boss and I hired you.”

Smug bastard.

“Never pegged you for a micromanager.”

“You’re right, I’m not.”

“Then why are you hovering?”

Satoru shrugged, pushed the sleeve of his expensive jacket back to check his watch, and relaxed further against the back of the armchair like he owned the lounge. (Technically, he did, but that was besides the point).

“I’m curious and nosy and unfortunately for you, I have corporate downtime.”

So you decide to pick on me? For what?

Rin paused and raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Define corporate downtime, Vice Chairman.”

He waved a dismissive hand at her, flashing a megawatt grin that probably disarmed most department heads and executives. “An hour. I got a meeting with NEXGEN’s newly appointed CEO in thirty-five minutes actually. Riveting, huh?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

He called her irritating one week and a few days ago, and look at him now…

“So how long have you been doing independent consultancy?”

“Should have asked that question before you hired me.”

“I hire people based on potential and competency, not work experience.”

“HR must love you.” She did nothing to mask the sarcasm bleeding through her tone. Not that Satoru seemed to mind.

“They do, actually.”

“And who told you that?”

“360-degree surveys. You stay here long enough, you’ll be involved in that initiative too.”

“Can’t wait.”

“You’re snippy today.” He drawled.

“I’m trying to do my job.”

“You’re compiling an end-of-day report. I’ve seen your handiwork. That,” he jerked his chin towards her open laptop, “—hardly requires any effort from you. Also you’re here, not at a hotdesk.”

Ugh. Well, well. He was observant. Not surprising.

“Just because that’s how you operate, doesn’t mean it applies to everybody else. Stop projecting your ways of working onto other people.”

She glanced up again. Wrong move. He was already eyeing her — sunglasses pushed up to the top of his head.

“You’re not ‘everybody else’ though.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re holding a conversation with me while you’re ‘doing work.’” He lifted two fingers and did air quotes at her. “Without. Pause.”

Rin frowned a little. “Do you enjoy doing this to all your employees? Is Director Nanami subjected to this type of behavior too?”

“Not all the time, but I’m beginning to.”

Rin blinked. Slowly. Did he just smirk and poke his tongue out at her?

A memory of a much younger Satoru flashed before her mind’s eye. The same boyish smile and the same twinkle in his eyes. It had been a decade and a couple of years, but she knew from experience how relentless Satoru was when he was in a mischievous mood. Apparently, that carried over to adulthood.

Did he really not remember her?

Worse. Was he beginning to?

Nothing about his behavior so far clued her in or confirmed that he did. She couldn’t go and ask him directly either, could she? That would jeopardize the entire point of her undercover operation.

“You did not answer my question by the way. We would have moved on to something different by now if—”

“Six years.” Rin lied smoothly, maintaining a deadpan face before returning to her laptop screen. “And I can’t disclose anything about my previous projects, I’ve signed NDAs. You’re better off ambush-interviewing one of the interns at the Finance Department.”

Without missing a beat, he said, “Oh that’s on tomorrow’s afternoon agenda. You’re today’s lucky subject.”

“Oh fun.”

“Lighten up, Matsui.” Satoru threw his head back and groaned at the ceiling. Rin spotted a couple of employees and managers turning their heads toward the sound. Realization struck that it was the Vice Chairman himself and they quickly pretended not to notice again. “Take a break is what I’m saying. We both know you can finish that EOD report at home or later tonight if you wanted to.”

“I’m busy at night.”

“That’s not what your late night email correspondences say.” He was smirking at her in that infuriating way again. “Sending quick status reports at 2:30AM. Very diligent.”

“They were meant for the next workday. Why are you even awake at that hour?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

Because he certainly wasn’t shy about letting her know that he read her email and he would reply.

“Executive meetings at different time zones. What’s your excuse?”

“You hired me to stop one of your PortCos from bleeding another billion. Cyber criminals are more active around that hour. Ergo, you get the occasional live update.”

“Mm. Touché. It’s nice to know that someone bit your bait though.” Satoru’s tone shifted into something more sincere.

“They have.”

“Any persons of interest yet?”

“Soon I think. Maybe even tomorrow. One more piece of evidence and we have our suspect.”

“You’re quick.”

“Efficient.”

“Hiring you was one of my brilliant ideas.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Does this mean I should expect another live update from you at 1AM tomorrow?”

Rin shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Depends how the thief moves.”

“Perfect.” Satoru was checking his phone again. He exhaled and finally stood up from the leather armchair. 

Rin couldn’t resist following the movement of his hand as he ran it through his hair and fixed his sunglasses back into place. The dastardly smirk was back, and those same hands disappeared into his pockets.

“Well, I gotta run. I’m late for my meeting, but it was nice talking to you.”

“Your tardiness isn’t my fault.” Rin returned his small smile.

Satoru chuckled. “Definitely not. It’s the cafe’s fault for delivering my coffee late. See ya around, Matsui!”

She watched his retreating back as he crossed the expanse of the food hall and disappeared through the frosted glass doors. And seriously? He waited for his coffee order to arrive first before he jumped in on that call?

The ironic part was that after he left, she actually took him up on his offer and did take a break. And like he casually predicted, at precisely 1:25AM the next day, Rin sat alone in her study — while her son slept soundly in the next room — busy sending live update emails to her Kaisen Tech breach taskforce, Director Nanami, and Satoru Gojo.

LIVE OPERATION UPDATE — K.T. DATA BREACH Today, 1:25AM From: Rin Matsui <[email protected]> To: K.T. Taskforce 8+ CC: Kento Nanami, Satoru Gojo Update: Dummy file labeled Project Aura retrieved from a secured folder at 12:57AM, today. Our suspect is confirmed — offshore contractor in Brazil, Ms. Pereira. Next steps: Taskforce meeting tomorrow at 11:00AM, Floor 37, Room 3A Requesting floor authorization from:  Kento Nanami, Director of Corporate Security & Intelligence -R. Matsui

A reply came five minutes later.

LIVE OPERATION UPDATE — K.T. DATA BREACH Today, 1:30AM From: Satoru Gojo <[email protected]> Go to bed. 🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️ -S.G.

Rin stared at his reply for a good ten minutes. That was rich coming from the same man who was emailing her within the exact same hour.

Was he serious?

Was their rough semblance of a conversation from earlier in the day the final catalyst?

Rin was used to silence and quick no-nonsense, formal replies — a hallmark of corporate professionalism. That was what was expected for a conglomerate with such a dignified reputation as the Gojo Group, and Satoru was out here tacking on facepalm emojis. It was such a far cry from his previous clinical responses.

Executive Chairman Ryota Gojo would never.

And on second thought, Amanai was right to warn her about the Vice Chairman’s… eccentric behavior.

She didn’t know what possessed her and she figured future Rin would chalk this up to late-night brashness, but she navigated towards the email system’s massive GIF library, found an appropriate response, and hit send anyway.

If she was any other employee, she would have found comfort in the way Satoru handled replies. It was surprisingly casual and refreshingly non-threatening.

But given the true purpose of Rin’s presence in the Gojo Group, it was… disconcerting.

Satoru wasn’t like that a fortnight and several days ago. So what changed?

=OoOoO=

“Ms. Matsui found our thief and the executive responsible for enabling her,” was Nanami’s latest in-person report as he stood where Rin did a week ago — before Satoru’s polished chocolate mahogany desk.

“Told you I had a good eye for talent.” Satoru said as he browsed through his emails.

He didn’t really mean to, but his eyes kept drifting back to his latest correspondence with Rin Matsui. A smirk kept ticking at the corners of his lips as he opened it for the seventh time that morning. Excessive? Sure, but no one had to know that. Her only response to his last email telling her to go to sleep was a GIF.

It was a simple GIF: an animated pot with a face contorted in chibi rage, pointing at a steaming kettle while shrieking, “BLACK!”

It was cute… and funny to him for some reason.

“I never doubted that, Vice Chairman.” Nanami gave his polite response and gingerly placed a neatly printed and compiled report enclosed in a folder on his desk. “Here are printed dossiers ready for distribution and review by the Board. Good day.”

Satoru watched Nanami leave and waited until the door behind him closed. He reached into the folder and took out a copy of the compiled evidence. It wasn’t a thick stack, but a quick scan through the pages revealed that Rin did indeed deliver on what she said she would.

The evidence pointed to the same source, same access trails, and the same internal authorization.

From the moment Rin told him that it was likely someone who reported directly to him, Satoru already thought of possible suspects. He left the investigation up to her and Nanami and the task force they patched together, of course, but Satoru preferred having a list of culprits of his own — a way to test how sharp his own intuition was when it came to these things.

Alas, the person responsible for the breach on Kaisen Tech that cost the PortCo billions of yen was someone from the inside.

It was someone powerful and trusted, and very very stupid.

Rin didn’t dramatize it and didn’t call for a meeting, even when the official email came through just after lunch today — clinical, sans fluff, just a single line on the email body.

KAISEN TECH DATA BREACH — IDENTIFIED Today, 1:12PM From: Rin Matsui <[email protected]> To: GJ Board 12+ CC: Kento Nanami, K.T. Taskforce 8+ Attached: Proof of Internal Collaboration.pdf Dossier attachment approved by Vice Chairman, Satoru Gojo. -R. Matsui

The attacker: A freelance contractor hired for software diagnostics.

The accomplice: Kaisen Tech’s own Chief Technology Officer.

Motivation?

Money…

It was always for money.

It was a resource that Satoru had plenty of, and the CTO of a company as highly valued as Kaisen Tech was certainly not in any shortage of that. 

It made it all the more pathetic.

But it can’t be helped, can it?

People like that wretch of a CTO would always exist — people with no regard for integrity or honesty.

=OoOoO=

Almost a whole month into working at Gojo Group HQ and she’d thought she’d have gotten used to the chaos that preceded lunch hour, but nope… No number of rapid-fire messages on the #foodhall-tracker channel could ever prepare her for unique pandemonium in tailored suits.

Lunch hour on the 50th floor meant every table had already been claimed. Anyone who managed to snag a decent seat guarded it with the ferocity of a fantasy dragon, while the buffet line snaked around the polished columns with the efficiency of people who’ve done this dance hundreds of times before.

Rin navigated the noisy crowd alongside Amanai with practiced ease. 

With trays in hand and shoulders angling through gaps between busy bodies, they meticulously searched for free space.

“How’s that case you were handling by the way?” Amanai chirped as they narrowly avoided some guy carelessly passing over a glass of iced tea to his friend.

She couldn’t give her friend the specifics, but… “It’s done. I’ve already handed in the final report to Nanami and the other stakeholders. Not my problem anymore.”

“I know you’re not allowed to talk about it freely, but based on what you told me vaguely, it still sounded pretty intense.” Amanai commented, shaking her head.

‘Intense’ was one way of putting it.

It was the sort of situation where chaos existed under the calm surface. Anyone who wasn’t in the know wouldn’t have guessed that the Gojo Group had bled billions in the last month because of some CTO’s illegal motivations.

In any case, the situation was in the hands of the Legal Department, Kaisen Tech’s own team of executive leaders, and the Gojo Group Board of Directors now. Corporate Intelligence and Risk Assessment will only be involved again if Legal had additional questions or required additional supporting evidence to create an airtight defense in case the situation was brought to court.

“—Only for insurance though.” Nanami had said while straightening his already perfectly symmetrical solid-colored tie. “It doesn’t happen often, but Gojo likes to take care of these things quietly.”

She fell into step next to him, holding onto her company laptop as they both left Floor 40 — one of the executive floors in Gojo Tower that required private elevator access and special authorization issued to one’s corporate keycard.

“Which Gojo?” Rin asked when they were in the privacy of the descending elevator.

“All three of them.”

It made sense though…

Less outside meddling meant less public press coverage.

Finance and economic titans the likes of the Gojo Group would prefer to control narratives. Reputation was a currency that was as equally valuable as the kind people used to buy everyday items. A sullied reputation could easily cost millions of yen or dollars to fix.

So when she eventually fulfilled the purpose of her actual job, what sort of narrative would the Gojo Group spin then?

“It is.” Rin agreed in the present, further disappointed by the lack of good seating. “Guess the window table is a lost cause.”

Amanai turned towards where Rin was gesturing with her chin and snorted. “Yeah, we’re going to have to fight for that corner near the lounge.”

Rin gave her friend a knowing look. Amanai was nothing if not persistent. “You say that like you won’t absolutely bulldoze someone if you have to.”

“Oh, I will.” Amanai declared cheerfully, mischievous gleam in her dark blue eyes. “And no one will say anything because HR loves me.”

In the end, they managed to snag a small table near the edge of the lounge just as two data engineers stood up — a small victory earned through timing alone. They sit, relieved, knees nearly bumping beneath the table.

Around them, the food hall continued to buzz. Someone’s laughter rang loudly near the coffee bar while a pair of analysts argued animatedly over something on a tablet, and near the far end, a quiet ripple of attention moved through the room.

Rin didn’t care for whatever it was, too busy unwrapping her metal chopsticks and stealing one of Amanai’s fries, much to the younger woman’s amused exasperation.

“You know,” Amanai spoke between bits, “—if you keep doing that, I’m going to start charging you.”

“Add it to my tab.” Rin replied easily. “What’s another, when I’m already in debt to you for the tour, the coffee, and that time you saved me from accidentally sitting in the executive-only meeting room?”

Amanai laughed. “That was iconic! Your face when you realized—”

“Don’t.” Rin groaned and suddenly regretted bringing that incident up. Satoru had been in that meeting for sure and probably would have laughed his ass off or glowered at her (he could go either way, really) if Amanai didn’t save her from that potentially embarrassing mistake. “Please.”

They eat in companionable silence for a moment. It’s comfortable and familiar — a part of life that almost felt normal to Rin. 

Almost.

“So,” Amanai started casually, nudging Rin’s foot under the table. “How’s your kiddo?”

At the mere allusion of her son, Rin smiled and didn’t hesitate giving an answer. Amanai caught her swiping through gallery photos of Megumi during lunchtime once and had been curious ever since — not that Rin minded.

Amanai was a good person — kind and open, a being of light and a beacon of normalcy.

“He’s doing good.” Rin replied, a soft warmth slipping into her voice without permission. “He’s in that phase where he asks why about everything. Kept asking me the other day why toast burned and why adults drink coffee when it tastes bad.”

Amanai giggled as she bit into a cheese egg roll. “Smart kid.”

“Too smart.” Rin agreed and added, “He figured out last week that bedtime is a social construct.”

Laughter rose between them, bright and carefree. They didn’t see the way a few heads nearby subtly turned, nor see Satoru Gojo passing by with Ijichi trailing behind him like a shadow.

Amanai leaned forward, intrigued. “How old is he now?”

“Turning six in December.” Rin replied, shaking her head. “But somehow, it feels like he’s going on 60. Dear boy has too many opinions.”

“Of course he does. Wait, what’s his name again?”

Rin smiled down at her plate, thumb brushing the edge. “Megumi.”

“That’s a unique naming choice.” Amanai commented sincerely.

Yes, she got that a lot. Rin would be the first to admit that she gave her son the name with no regard for his gender: it was simply the first name that came to mind that moment the nurse laid him in her arms almost six years ago.

Blessing.

That was what Megumi was to her, wasn’t he?

A blessing, and the first ray of hopeful light in a world entrenched in darkness. She would never tell her son this, but he saved her — in more ways than one.

“It is, and only because it suits him so perfectly.” Fondness shown on Rin’s countenance as she thought of her endearingly observant little boy. “He’s so stubborn. Likes to pretend he isn’t affectionate, but sometimes, when I work late, he waits up on the couch with his babysitter. Just refuses to sleep until I come home.”

Amanai was smiling at her, soft and admiring. “You’re a really good mom, Rin.”

Rin exhaled, quiet and steady. “I try.”

There was a pause right before Amanai perked up and grinned again. “You should bring him around sometime. Not here, obviously, but—”

“God, no.” Rin laughed. “Unless Gojo Group suddenly opens a daycare suddenly, I’d worry for Megumi’s sanity if I brought him here.”

“I’d like to meet him someday.” Amanai nodded enthusiastically.

Rin nodded, a bright smile still on her face. “Maybe someday.”

Whenever that would be…

If it ever happened in the first place…

=OoOoO=

Working after hours was not a strange concept for Satoru.

He knew how most people perceived his job: glamorous and convenient. The title attached to his name since undergrad graduation was like a bright neon sign at a Vegas strip — a humongous, flashing monstrosity that screeched, “MONEY!!!”

The public saw the prestige and the polished image, but completely neglected the un-sexy parts of being a board director.

Satoru was well-aware that he occupied a privileged position, but to be fair, the fancy title came with weighty expectations and heavy responsibilities that will crush anyone else ill-equipped for the job. 

And sometimes, those heavy responsibilities entailed staying in the office after 5PM because he had a war room meeting with investors from Dubai at nine in the evening.

So Satoru killed time by wandering through general-access floors. Just don’t ask him why he’d chosen to wander through the 30th floor. He liked to think his feet had a mind of their own and wandered there more frequently these days.

Totally random… Definitely not because of a person. Nope.

He passed one of the closed off rooms, noticed a single employee hunched over an ominously glowing monitor, and stopped dead in his tracks. He knew her: Aya Nakamura, software engineering lead working exclusively under his division, looking bleary-eyed and clearly wired on instant coffee.

The fact that she didn’t notice him slink up behind her, peering over her shoulder like a goblin to see what had her muttering curses under her breath, revealed just how evidently exhausted she was. Aya grumbled something about a system update failing again and how a corrupted data sync was threatening one of their live analytics dashboards.

“You know,” Satoru spoke lightly and softly, “—most people leave this floor before ghosts start coming out right?”

Aya froze, shoulders stiffening as she slowly turned to acknowledge the owner of the voice. “Sir, I— I didn’t think anyone was still here.”

Satoru waved off her worries nonchalantly. “Apparently, you and I have that in common.” He perched on the edge of the desk beside her, eyes flicking over the scrolling lines of code. “System glitch?”

“Yes, Sir.” Aya sighed and turned back to her screen. “The new data pipeline keeps throwing duplicates during the sync. I’ve been trying to isolate it since four.”

Satoru nodded once, peering at the error logs. “Where’s your patch team?”

“They clocked out at five, but I didn’t want to leave this hanging.”

The Vice Chairman didn’t say anything for a long while, just watched the screen as Aya continued doing her job in spite of her exhaustion — wholly determined to see this job through to the end. And while it was admirable, Satoru himself wasn’t a huge fan of forcing oneself to keep up like this when you’re obviously at the end of the rope.

Satoru released a quiet breath and graced her with a soft smile. “You’ve got good instincts, Nakamura. But next time, delegate. You’ve got a patch team for a reason. You’ve been staring at the same line of code for, what, four hours?”

Aya stopped typing and slumped further into her chair, hands quickly wrapping around a mug of coffee that had grown cold. “I just— didn’t want you and the other analysts to wake up to a broken dashboard, Sir.”

“I’d rather wake up to a working engineer.” Satoru quipped, and a thoughtful silence hung between them. There was understanding there; no judgment. Finally, he gestured toward the empty hallway and the soft illumination that beckoned beyond. “Head home, Nakamura. Get some rest. The system can wait; your burnout can’t.”

Aya hesitated. “And you, Sir?”

Satoru’s lips quirked. “Board Director duties. I’m trapped.”

He gave her space to gather her things and leave, just glad that she was shutting down her computer and finally clocking out for the day. And as Satoru returned the polite farewell, he couldn’t help thinking that maybe he should take his own advice. Unfortunately, that was a luxury only employees could afford.

When an empire demanded time from its governor, it did not appreciate waiting.

He was passing by the main production floor and its many empty workdesks — empty except for one.

What is it with people and pulling overtime today?

Still sitting right there at her desk, with its trademark succulent and the ever growing collection of stacked sticky notes, was one Rin Matsui — fingers clacking over the keys, eyes focused on a monitor threatening to burn off her retinas.

Apparently, Satoru wasn’t just a Vice Chairman, he was an impromptu hall monitor now too.

He sauntered towards Rin’s desk and rapped his knuckles on the hardwood to get her attention. Surprise flitted across her face for a second, but she quickly recovered and schooled herself into donning the familiar mask of professionalism.

“May I help you, Vice Chairman?”

“It’s late.” Satoru deadpanned, fondly exasperated at the fact that he had to repeat the same spiel he’d just spouted at Nakamura. “Go home.”

At his tone, the professionalism dropped, and the Rin he was used to seeing around the food hall lounge showed up. She scoffed. “The Board wants this latest assessment by tomorrow, yes?”

Satoru frowned. “Did Nanami put you up to that? Even the overtime?”

She leaned back in her seat, swayed the chair from side to side slowly. “Yes and no. Late nights are due diligence.”

“Corporate hates overtime, you know.”

“Pfft. You can afford 40 hours worth of overtime pay, shut up.” She rolled her eyes and returned to her work, completely missing the smirk that unfurled across Satoru’s lips.

“Ooh you’re feisty again today. Telling your boss to ‘shut up?’”

He caught her stiffening for a brief moment before she relaxed again and sighed. “Didn’t mean to sound insubordinate, Sir.”

Satoru was under the impression that they were engaging in a casual conversation without the hierarchical labels, but then again… They were in the office, and he had caught her in the middle of doing work at her actual desk — not like the other few times he’d chatted her up at the lounge.

“Relax, Matsui, you’re not in trouble. If I cared, HR would have texted by now.”

“Thats… quite the exaggeration.”

“Anyway, point still stands. Pulling overtime’s a bad habit you ought to stop doing.” Satoru preached solemnly while wagging a finger at her.

“Well, this one’s for good reason.”

“What even is that?” He stepped closer, peered over her shoulder just to check what she was doing — an assessment report. “You can finish that tomorrow, what are you talking about?”

“No, I can’t make time for it tomorrow. I’ve got two back-to-back meetings penciled in with your M&A recon team and intelligence analysts.”

Satoru cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t recall the Board ever being notified about that.”

“It’s for your uncle.”

“Oh. Well, push it to the day after tomorrow, I’ll let him know.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Are you sure?”

“Yep. What’s he going to do if I say so?” She looked hesitant still, so he continued with a smirk. “He’ll complain, but only to me and my dad.”

“They’ll give you flack for this.”

“Eh, who cares? They’ll fold anyway. Go home, Rin. Isn’t someone waiting up for you?”

He saw recognition and realization flash across her gaze. She didn’t even look surprised, just strangely knowing. Although, knowing her and her penchant for observing things, plus the nature of her independent career, he shouldn’t be surprised about how perceptive she actually was.

Didn’t he hire her for that reason in the first place?

“You eavesdropped at some point huh.”

He didn’t even bother refuting anything; just shrugged and said, “Is it eavesdropping if I was close enough to hear you and Amanai talking anyway?”

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop; he just so happened to be in the food hall just like everyone else during lunch hour.

The 50th floor was notorious for noise layered over noise, but whenever Rin was in the vicinity, her voice cut through it anyway and Satoru would instinctively pay attention no matter the circumstance.

It was not the fact that Rin was a mother that caught his attention, it was in the way her voice had tightened, how bright her eyes had shone as she spoke to Amanai of the little boy who depended on her and loved her fiercely and quietly, how relaxed she had looked — a rare occurrence in the office even around him, how every anecdote had conveyed maternal love, unguarded.

Rin had a son.

At the time of hearing it and finding out about it the way he did, Satoru felt… strange.

It wasn’t information meant for his ears, but he treated it like a fragile truth meant to be held carefully anyway.

She was a mom… She had a family. She had a man already.

Without thinking too much about it, Satoru patted her shoulder. “Seriously though, just go home. It’s fine. Your kid will hate me and your job if I keep you from him any longer.”

For a brief second, she looked like she wanted to say something but the smartphone on her desk vibrated loud enough to break the flow of their conversation. It lit up with a notification. Rin glanced at it, turned it over, and checked the clock on her computer.

“You know, it’s really not a problem, Vice Chairman. It’s only 8PM, but if you’re sure, then I’ll take you up on the offer.” She smiled slowly, putting her computer to sleep while she started gathering her things. “And I’ll put the blame on you when your uncle chases down Nanami’s department for the slight delay.”

“He’s a grown man, he’ll survive one more day without a PDF to read.” Satoru shook his head, gaze softening behind his glasses without meaning to. 

“Thank you, Vice Chairman.”

“Good night, Rin.”

=OoOoO=

“Good night, Rin…”

Such a simple greeting — a send-off — that had a bit of heft to it, more than she could admit. His voice tinged with displaced softness, still echoed in her head when she’d arrived home.

Rin left her shoes on the genkan, aligned neatly next to Megumi’s small sneakers and the babysitter’s flats. The lights were already dimmed while the faint scent of rice and ginger still lingered in the air. She abandoned her belongings and the small laundry bag she’d picked up on the way home from Marunouchi on the kitchen counter when Tsumiki, Megumi’s babysitter, noticed her.

The girl switched off the TV and rose from the couch to come and greet her. “Megumi fell asleep early tonight. The playtimes from school tired him out.”

The two women glanced at the sleeping boy on the couch, fists curled underneath his chin as he nestled into the warmth of the throw pillows arranged around him like a bird nest. Her son and Tsumiki’s doing no doubt.

“That’s all right. He needs the sleep.” Rin rooted around her slacks’ pocket, taking out the envelope that housed Tsumiki’s babysitting fee. She smiled as she pressed the object to the younger girl’s palm. “Thank you, Tsumiki.”

After bidding farewell and scheduling another babysitting appointment for Megumi next week, Rin began her nightly ritual: washing up before bed, donning comfier lounge wear, plugging her dying phone to an outlet on the wall, and gathering up Megumi in her arms to take him to his bedroom and tuck him in properly.

He awoke very briefly, bleary-eyed and a little confused, but relaxed the instant he caught a glimpse of her face.

Smiling, she brushed overgrown strands of dark hair away from his cheek and sent him to dreamland with an affectionate kiss on his forehead. Only when his bedroom door closed softly behind her did she make her way back to the laundry bag she’d neglected to unpack.

There wasn’t much in there — just freshly folded and ironed blouses and button-up shirts… and a non-descript vial no bigger than her thumb wrapped in wax paper, tucked between the layers of neutral fabric.

She’d gone through the meticulous trouble of procuring the toxin over a week ago.

She wasn’t in the position to fulfill the kill contract right then and there, but it was good to have the… instrument on-hand.

Rin brought the vial up to eye-level, scrutinizing the harmless-looking liquid encased within.

“It’s almost too easy.”

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