She hung up the phone and slumped weakly against the wall. Every ounce of strength had been drained from her body.
On the other side of the city, in Seiji Fujiwara's office, he was watching the screen. On it, the stock price of the Irisu Family hospital was crashing limit-down without pause.
He gave his assistant a new directive:
"Have our investment division begin preparing the acquisition plan. A full takeover of the Irisu Family's medical holdings. Also, in my name, apply for a slot at the National Medical Symposium being held in Tokyo next week. I want a keynote seat."
Everything was within his grasp.
The prey had nowhere left to run.
...
...
The final straw that broke the camel's back came swiftly.
The press conference Fuyumi Irisu had organized was about to begin.
One hour before it started, a string of phone calls, like death-summoning incantations, completely shattered every line of defense she had left.
The first call came from the hospital's legal department.
The voice on the other end was thick with barely contained panic. "Young Miss! It's bad! We've just received over three hundred class-action lawsuit notices from attorneys! Their demand... their demand is one hundred million yen in compensation per family! And... and they've also filed for asset preservation. Every account our hospital holds has been frozen!"
The second call came from the family's chief financial officer.
"Young Miss! We just got notice. Every partner bank is demanding we repay all our loans in full immediately, not a single yen short! They said... they said we've lost our credit standing! Our cash flow... it's completely severed!"
The last call came from her father.
On the other end, his voice carried no severity anymore. Only a bone-deep exhaustion. As if every ounce of life force had been drained out of him.
"Fuyumi... let it go."
"Father?" Fuyumi Irisu's heart sank to the bottom of an abyss.
"We've lost." Her father's voice was hoarse. "I was too naive. I thought this was still Kamiyama, still our own territory. In front of a man like Masao Takahashi, we're... we're like ants that can be crushed underfoot at his whim. He isn't Kengo Yamamoto. He... he is the real demon."
A long sigh came through the line.
"Cancel the press conference. Struggling any further will only make our defeat uglier. Fuyumi... the future of the family is more important than this old face of mine, more important than anyone's pride. Do... what you think needs to be done. Whatever decision you make, your father... will support you."
Her father's words gave her the final "permission." Permission to sacrifice herself in exchange for the family's survival.
For the first time, Fuyumi Irisu recognized with such piercing clarity just how powerless she was.
A vast sorrow wrapped around her in an instant.
She stood alone before the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows of her office.
Below was a dense, dark mass of people. They held up signs. "Murderers." "Give us back our health." Those faces that had once looked at her with gratitude and respect were now twisted and ferocious.
Fuyumi Irisu slowly closed her eyes.
In her mind, the only path left became crystal clear. It was the path she least wanted to walk.
That man was like a boundless spider's web. A web laced with deadly venom. And she was the butterfly. No matter how she struggled, she would only sink deeper.
She didn't know how much time passed before she opened her eyes again.
Those eyes, which had once shone with reason and confidence, now held only a dead, resigned calm.
She didn't cry. She didn't break down.
She simply walked silently into her private lounge. From the wardrobe, she took out a set of clothes.
A black business suit, a white silk blouse, and a brand-new pair of black high heels.
She changed, swept her hair up, sat in front of the mirror, and put on her makeup. The look was extremely understated, but it gave off an air of impeccable professionalism and sharpness.
In the mirror appeared a perfect image. A flawless elite female secretary.
She lifted her hand and gently traced the exquisite, cold face in the glass.
"From today on, you are no longer Fuyumi Irisu." She spoke to her reflection. The voice carried no emotion, almost hypnotic.
"You are only... Seiji Fujiwara's private secretary."
When she finished, she stood up. She gave the office one last glance, then turned and left without a trace of attachment.
...
On the other side.
In the Chitanda family's quaint, traditional tea room, Eru Chitanda sat restlessly. She watched the negative news about the Irisu Family hospital on the television.
On the screen, the agitated protesters and Masao Takahashi's pity-stricken face appeared in alternation. Every image was a needle stabbing into her heart.
"Senpai..." she murmured. Worry filled her violet eyes.
She knew how proud her senpai was, how strong. She couldn't imagine the immense pressure her senpai must be enduring at this moment.
She picked up her phone, wanting to call her senpai, to encourage her once more. But she was afraid of disturbing her.
Eru drafted text after text of encouragement, only to feel how hollow and powerless words were. In the end, she deleted every one of them.
She even felt an impulse to call "that man."
Perhaps she could pay some price herself, to share some of her senpai's burden.
But the thought flickered only for an instant before she rejected it. She knew very well that in that man's world, there was no "sharing." Only "devouring."
Seiji Fujiwara would only find her unsolicited contact more amusing, and use it to demand even more outrageous things.
While Eru was caught in this tangle, her mind in disarray, her phone suddenly chimed and lit up.
A text message.
From Fuyumi Irisu.
Eru's heart lurched. She immediately opened it.
The contents were extremely brief, just a single line, without even a salutation:
"Don't worry, the problem will be resolved soon."
No emoji, no extra explanation.
Eru Chitanda stared at the line.
It was too calm. So calm it bordered on eerie. An overwhelming sense of foreboding hit her instantly.
She knew her senpai too well.
Given her senpai's character, before she had absolute certainty, she would never have spoken those words. And yet now, she had. Which meant only one thing. She had found a "method." A method she herself could not control, but which would absolutely solve the problem.
In Kamiyama, there was only one "method" worthy of the word "absolute."
"That man..."
The image of Seiji Fujiwara's face, with its toying smile, surfaced uncontrollably in Eru Chitanda's mind.
She figured it out instantly. Her senpai had made another deal.
No, this time the price paid was even heavier than the last.
The realization made her heart feel as though some unseen hand had seized it and squeezed mercilessly. The pain made it impossible to breathe.
She was shocked by her senpai's further fall, and she felt a deep helplessness and unease.
She thought back to that night. To how she herself had been forced to witness her senpai's humiliation, and how she had then followed in her footsteps.
Eru had originally believed that had been the end.
She hadn't imagined it was only the beginning.
That man was like an abyss that could never be filled. After devouring them once, he opened an even larger maw and demanded they offer up more.
An indescribable emotion seized Eru in an instant.
Mixed within it were sympathy, sorrow, and fear of her own future fate.
Eru looked at the cold line of text on her phone screen. She could almost see Fuyumi Irisu's equally cold and despairing face as she sent it.
And she herself, as another item already branded with his mark, could she escape?
Eru instinctively wanted to call back.
But her finger hovered over the dial key, unable to press down. What could she say? Comfort? Encouragement?
No.
Any words, at this moment, would only be a second wound to her senpai, reminding her of that humiliating bargain.
In the end, Eru Chitanda simply turned off her phone screen in silence. She buried her face deep in the crook of her arm.
In the tea room, only the television news remained, where Masao Takahashi was still hypocritically expressing his "deepest sympathy" for the patients.
...
...
Fuyumi Irisu drove her car along the road. The road that led to the Kamiyama Grand Hotel.
She drove slowly, slower than she ever had before.
Outside the window were the noise of the city, surging crowds, flickering neon. But all of it felt sealed off in another world from her.
Inside the car, there was only a deathly silence, and the audible, heavy sound of her own heartbeat.
Every intersection, every wait at a red light, was like a slow execution. She stared at the hotel ahead. It rose into the night sky in a blaze of light, like a massive, gorgeous guillotine. And she was walking, step by step, of her own accord, toward her own execution ground.
She hadn't even turned on her navigation. But the route was crystal clear. It was branded into her mind. The road to the abyss. She had walked it once before.
At last, the car stopped in the hotel's underground parking lot.
Fuyumi Irisu didn't get out immediately.
She just sat in the driver's seat, both hands gripping the steering wheel with deathly force. Her knuckles were white from the strain.
She closed her eyes, and scenes flashed unbidden through her mind.
There was the first time she had stood at a family meeting, full of spirit, confidently proposing a solution.
There was the first time she had met Seiji Fujiwara, the contempt she had felt for his "shortcut" approach.
There was the first time she had been driven to the wall, the trembling as she dialed that humiliating number.
There was the first time that man had toyed with her, the blank in her mind when her psychological defenses had been completely shattered.
And now, she would walk toward that man one more time. The last time. As the loser.
But this time, what she would lose was not merely a single night's dignity.
What she would lose was everything that made her "Fuyumi Irisu," an independent being.
She didn't know how long she sat there before Fuyumi Irisu drew a deep breath, as if pulling every emotion she had into her lungs, then slowly exhaling.
When she opened her eyes again, those beautiful pupils held nothing but cold indifference.
She pushed open the car door and walked into the hotel.
...
...
The door to the presidential suite was unlocked.
She pushed it open and entered.
The room was dimly lit. Seiji Fujiwara stood with his back to her at the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows. A glass of red wine in his hand, he overlooked the city's nightscape below.
He didn't turn around. He simply asked, in an even tone:
"Made up your mind?"
Fuyumi Irisu silently closed the door. She walked up behind him, head lowered. There was no emotion in her voice.
"Boss, what documents do you need?"
She answered his question with action. She had accepted her new identity as "secretary."
Seiji Fujiwara slowly turned around. A satisfied, toying smile played at his lips. He didn't answer her question about the documents. With his eyes alone, he gestured at the carpet by his feet.
That gaze was full of command. Brooking no dissent, looking down from above.
Fuyumi Irisu met his eyes. Her body stood rigid in place, unmoving. This was her last, silent, and most powerless resistance.
Seiji Fujiwara wasn't angered. He simply chuckled and said, "It seems my new secretary hasn't quite settled into her role yet. She still needs a little 'on-boarding training.'"
He took out his phone and, right in front of her, dialed a number.
"It's me." His voice remained level. "Initiate the full acquisition plan against the Irisu Family's medical holdings. I'll give you ten minutes. I want to see their stock price drop another fifty percent."
He hung up and looked at Fuyumi Irisu with a smile. Her face had gone instantly pale.
"Now, do you still need me to repeat my instructions? My... Miss Secretary?"
That sentence was the final straw, crushing her completely.
She closed her eyes. A single tear slid from the corner. Inside that tear were humiliation and unwillingness. But she quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand, forcefully erasing that weakness that should not have existed.
Then, slowly, she bent her proud knees. Knees that had never bent before anyone.
In silence, slowly, she knelt before that man.
That sharp business suit, in this moment, became the most humiliating costume she had ever worn.
Seiji Fujiwara watched her. Sorrow and anger were written across her exquisite face, yet she had to force herself into composure.
Watching Fuyumi Irisu's posture of complete submission, an unparalleled sense of conquest welled up in his heart.
He knew that from this moment on, this woman's body, heart, mind, and soul would all belong, completely, to him alone.
He bent down and, by her ear, in a voice only the two of them could hear, said softly:
"Welcome aboard, Secretary Irisu."
The lights in the presidential suite had been dimmed to an ambiguous, dusky tone.
Beyond the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows, the dazzling night cityscape of the Kamiyama Region glittered. Inside the windows, however, a different kind of scenery was unfolding. A scenery that belonged to the conqueror.
Fuyumi Irisu knelt on the carpet.
The brand-new black business suit she wore was impeccable. But because of her humiliating posture, it now appeared grotesque and ironic. The narrow pencil skirt, drawn taut by her kneeling, traced the body lines she had once taken pride in, full of mature feminine allure. Yet in this moment, that beauty became proof of her shame.
Seiji Fujiwara sat at ease on the sofa behind her.
He embraced her from behind. One hand circled her waist with a strength that brooked no resistance. The other had already slipped beneath the hem of her white silk blouse, roaming and exploring across her flawless, smooth skin.
Seiji Fujiwara rested his chin lightly on the young woman's shoulder.
He could clearly smell the scent rising from her hair.
It was intoxicating, a blend of high-end shampoo and feminine fragrance.
"Secretary Irisu." His voice rose by her ear, carrying a lazy, teasing amusement. "As my private secretary, how does your first day on the job feel?"
Fuyumi Irisu's body trembled faintly. Because of the hand wandering at her waist, and because of the warm breath at her ear.
But her face remained almost glacially, absolutely calm.
Fuyumi Irisu didn't answer the humiliating question.
"Not speaking?" Seiji Fujiwara chuckled lightly. "It seems my new secretary isn't quite used to communicating during 'work' yet. That's all right. We can take it slow. The first day on the job always calls for a competency test."
As if performing a magic trick, he picked up a printed document from the side table and held it out before Fuyumi Irisu.
"This is Abundant Future's balance sheet and income statement from last quarter." His tone was calm, as if he were chairing a top-level board meeting. "I trust that with your abilities, you should be able to find some interesting things in this seemingly perfect report. Now, Secretary Irisu, I need you to give me a verbal analysis report. Immediately."
Fuyumi Irisu stared at the professional financial statement before her, dense rows of numbers packed across the page.
While she felt the man behind her beginning his improper movements. Her mind plunged into chaos in an instant.
He demanded that she perform work at the highest intensity for him. At the same time, he demanded that her body endure the most degrading, most humiliating violation.
A vast sorrow and silent fury swept through her heart in an instant.
Behind her, Seiji moved.
The hand inside her blouse closed over her bare breast. He had unhooked her bra at some point. She did not remember when. His palm weighed her, rolled her stiffening nipple between thumb and finger.
The other hand was already at the hem of her pencil skirt, hiking it up over her hips inch by inch. The fabric resisted, drawn taut by her kneeling posture. He took his time. He wanted her to feel every centimeter of it slide up her thighs.
When the skirt was bunched at her waist, he stood, walked around behind her, hooked his fingers into her panties and dragged them down to her knees.
Cool air met the bare skin of her ass.
She heard the soft slide of his bathrobe opening behind her.
Then his hand pressed flat against her upper back. He bent her forward. Her palms came down onto the leather of the sofa cushion. Her knees stayed on the carpet. Her hips lifted. The document lay on the cushion in front of her, its pages spread open. The pencil skirt bunched at her waist.
He fitted himself behind her and rested the head of his cock against her.
She was already wet.
A sound she could not stop slipped from her throat. Half a breath, half something else. Suppressed at the last instant into near-silence.
Then he pushed in.
One unhurried motion. He buried himself in her to the hilt.
Her back arched. Her hand crushed the corner of the document. Her teeth clamped down on her lower lip until she tasted iron. But she did not cry out. She did not let it show on her face.
"Begin your report, Secretary Irisu."
Seiji's voice came at her ear, calm as a man asking for the time.
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