Author's Note:
Hey everyone! Just a quick heads-up about the story's flow—there's a special Cortalis Crossover Arc happening from Chapter 17 to Chapter 20. During these chapters, Jonathan's character won't have any exposure scenes or shirtless moments at all, so if you're here for that kind of modest storytelling, you're all good! After Chapter 60, there might be some shirtless scenes, but nothing more revealing than that. I want to make sure each of my readers age ranges get the appropriate level of modesty. Thanks for reading and sticking with the story!
Chapter 16 — Part 1
The Button Failure
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Jonathan hurried down the corridor of Nugano Rainescorp Headquarters, tablet tucked under one arm, jacket half-buttoned, coffee still too hot to drink. He'd spent the last twelve minutes cross-checking Lena's new anomaly reports, and the numbers were—well, in his opinion—rude.
"Alright, c'mon… c'mon…" he muttered, tapping at his tablet as he walked. "These timestamps ain't matchin' at all—who in the world is pingin' three different servers at—"
The elevator dinged.
Jonathan stopped, glanced up, adjusted his tie—
PING.
A tiny metallic sound shot across the hall.
He froze.
He felt it.
Deeply.
Spiritually.
"…No. Nope. Don't tell me—"
He looked down.
The top button of his dress shirt was gone.
Just—gone.
Launched off into the void like it had been waiting its whole life for this moment of betrayal.
The shirt collar loosened by a centimeter, revealing the faintest sliver of upper chest — barely anything, just enough to be embarrassing in the quiet fluorescent glow of HQ.
Jonathan's eyes widened in visible horror.
"No—no—no—! Why now?! I look like I'm tryin' to be casual! I ain't casual! I'm a corporate professional, dangit!"
He clamped a hand over the open collar as if someone might burst around the corner at any moment.
He leaned down, searching the hallway floor.
"Where'd you go?! Button! Button, hey—! Get back here! I need you! We had a deal!"
The button had rolled a full meter away, bouncing once before settling beside the base of a recycling bin.
Jonathan lunged for it.
His tie flopped forward like a traitor.
He snatched the button, stood up, and slapped his free hand dramatically over his forehead.
"Aw geez… Director Lena's gonna see me lookin' like I just stepped out of a romance manga…"
He took a deep breath.
Straightened his shoulders.
"Alright. No panic. No stress. Just gotta… patch this. Quickly. Quietly. Elegantly."
A long pause.
"…Ah crap. I don't actually know how to sew."
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Comedic After-Scene
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Jonathan sat at his desk with an emergency sewing kit he found in the break room—one of those flimsy plastic ones someone clearly bought in bulk.
He threaded the needle.
—or tried to.
He squinted.
He tried again.
The thread bent like it was mocking him.
"…Why is this harder than half the anomalies I deal with?"
He tried a third time.
The thread missed the eye by a full centimeter.
He dropped his forehead onto the desk with a soft bonk.
"Ughhhh… Osaka-born… twenty-nine years old… corporate senior analyst… and defeated by a hole the size of an ant…"
*Osaka is the nickname for Cortalis, not the other way around
He inhaled sharply, switched to quiet Kansai under his breath:
"…Aish, jinjja… this stupid thing…"
He tried again.
The thread immediately frayed at the end.
Jonathan looked into the middle distance with the expression of a man questioning his life's trajectory.
He held the needle up like he was scolding it.
"Look here, pal. I ain't askin' for a miracle. I ain't makin' a quilt. Just—get in the dang hole."
A coworker passed by the open door.
Jonathan froze mid-lecture, button hanging from one hand, needle hanging from the other.
The coworker stared.
"…Jonathan? Are you… sewing?"
He slapped both hands over the shirt, nearly poking himself with the needle.
"N-No! I'm—uh—conductin'… mechanical stress testing! On… fabric integrity! Very scientific!"
The coworker slowly nodded.
"…Sure."
They walked away.
Jonathan sagged forward, defeated.
"…I'm never makin' fun of textile engineers again…"
**Chapter 16 — Part 2
Jonathan vs. Lena (Button Disaster Edition)**
Jonathan power-walked down the hallway, one hand glued to the top of his shirt like he was holding a wound shut.
He was not bleeding.
He was merely missing one—
singular—
button.
But it felt like a catastrophic wardrobe malfunction only he could perceive.
"Why today of all days…" he muttered. "Just had to fly off like a ballistic missile, didn't ya? Little traitor…"
His thumb pressed the fabric together. He could feel the exposed triangle of collarbone cold against the air-conditioning.
Not indecent.
Not suggestive.
But to Jonathan?
A crisis.
He reached the corner just as the corridor widened toward Lena's office.
Her door was open.
Her silhouette was already visible — leaning over a monitor, reviewing a full diagnostics log with an expression so severe it could cut steel.
Jonathan froze mid-step.
"Ohhh no. Not now. Not her."
He whispered an accidental Kansai slip:
"Chotto matte— seriously…?"
He angled his body sideways, trying to make himself two-dimensional and therefore invisible.
It did not work.
"Jonathan," Lena called without turning. "Get in here."
His soul left his body for exactly 0.2 seconds before snapping back.
He tugged his shirt closed and stepped inside with all the dignified awkwardness of a man trying to hide a micro-scandal.
"H-Here, Director," he said, voice cracking at the edges. "Reporting."
Lena's eyes flicked up from her screen, sharp, observant, mercilessly perceptive.
Her gaze lingered on him.
Lowered slightly.
Paused.
Jonathan tensed.
Please don't see the missing button. Please don't see the missing button. Please don't—
"You're holding your shirt," she said flatly.
He nearly fainted.
"—NOT 'cause anything's wrong!" he blurted, clutching it harder, making it much more suspicious. "Just, uh… keepin' it neat! Y'know, professionalism, n' all that—"
One eyebrow lifted.
"You're sweating."
"I'm— uh— warm?"
"It's 17 degrees Celsius."
"…I'm emotionally warm?"
He could feel himself spiraling.
Her eyes sharpened slightly.
"Jonathan."
"Y-Yes ma'am?"
"Did you run here?"
His brain seized the opportunity.
"Oh! Yes! Totally! Ran the whole way!"
He nodded aggressively.
"So vigorous! So athletic! The shirt's, uh… unsettled by my speed!"
She stared.
A long pause.
Jonathan stood very still, praying to every known deity of workplace dignity that she would drop it.
Finally she sighed and returned to the monitor.
"I need you to review these log inconsistencies. They match your department's operating window."
Jonathan exhaled so dramatically he nearly folded in half.
"Yes, ma'am. Absolutely. Happy to—uh— assist."
He shuffled closer, leaning over the counter with his free hand while the other kept his shirt squeezed shut like he was hiding classified intel beneath it.
Lena began explaining the anomalies.
Jonathan listened.
And the entire time he was thinking:
She hasn't noticed.
Okay. Good.
Don't move too fast, don't breathe too hard, don't—
The vent above him activated.
A cold draft drifted down the back of his neck.
His shoulders stiffened.
His fingers twitched.
The fabric slipped.
Just barely.
A millimeter.
But in that millimeter—
the missing button gap reappeared.
A tiny sliver of upper chest.
Not scandalous. Not even dramatic.
But Lena noticed everything.
Her eyes flicked to the gap.
Then to his hand.
Then back to his face.
"Jonathan."
"Yes ma'am?"
"…did your shirt break?"
Silence.
Frozen, catastrophic silence.
Jonathan inhaled a micro-shriek and slapped his hand back over the gap.
"I—IT'S A MINOR TECHNICAL DIFFICULTY."
Her eyelid twitched.
"This is a corporate building, not an anime farce."
"I KNOW, MA'AM, I AM FULLY AWARE."
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"…Fix it before the executive walk-through in thirty minutes."
"Yes ma'am!"
"And Jonathan?"
"Yes??"
"Stop holding your shirt like you're concealing a stab wound."
He tried.
He failed.
He kept holding it anyway.
Lena sighed.
"Dismissed."
Jonathan practically sprinted out of the room sideways, still clutching his shirt like his honor depended on it.
**Chapter 16 — Part 3
"The Battle of the Needle"**
Jonathan dropped into the break-room chair like a man who had barely escaped a natural disaster.
Lena had walked away.
He had survived a full conversation with her.
With one button missing.
On his dress shirt.
At work.
He pressed both palms over his face.
"Can't believe this… just one button and I was sweatin' like I'd committed tax fraud…"
He exhaled sharply and pulled the offending loose button from his pocket. It glimmered back at him with smug indifference.
The sewing kit sat on the table — one of those cheap corporate "emergency mending packs" that looked like it was purchased in bulk from a dollar store ten years ago.
Jonathan opened it.
Immediately regretted opening it.
Inside was:
a needle too small for human fingers thread the thickness of a hair and scissors that were probably decorative
He groaned. "Why's the needle so dang tiny? Who's this made for— ants? Ant office workers?"
Still, he set the shirt across his lap and held the button in place.
"Alright… steady hand… jus' gotta poke it through… easy…"
The needle slipped.
Stabbed his finger.
"OW—! …ah! …I-it's fine. Didn't even hurt. Much."
He sucked on the injured finger, eyes narrowing like he was squaring off against a rival in a fighting anime.
"Round two…"
He tried again.
The thread missed the eye of the needle.
Then missed again.
Then missed by such a wide margin he wasn't sure how that was physically possible.
"C'mon… thread… go through… jom… go through the hole!"
He leaned closer.
Closer.
Too close — nearly poked his own cheek.
He pulled back, rubbing his face.
"Lord help me, I can do data analytics faster'n this…"
He steadied himself.
Inhaled.
Exhaled.
"Okay. Jonathan… you got this. Ain't gonna be beaten by a needle. Yer pride's on the line, man."
He tried again.
This time, the thread slid cleanly through the tiny metal loop.
Jonathan froze.
"…I—I did it?"
He blinked.
"…I did it!"
He almost cheered.
Instead he cleared his throat and reclaimed his dignity — or whatever remained of it — and began stitching.
Each pass of the needle was crooked.
Each pull of the thread was uneven.
The button wobbled like it was clinging to the shirt out of sheer pity.
But it held.
Barely.
Jonathan tied a knot, trimmed the excess thread, and lifted the shirt up for inspection.
The button sat at a slightly off-center angle, like a drunk little soldier trying to stand at attention.
He sighed.
"…Look, it ain't perfect. But it's on there. And that counts."
He slipped the shirt back on and buttoned it.
The new button resisted.
Then clicked into place.
He tugged the shirt straight.
"…Good enough."
He paused.
"…Probably."
He grabbed his tablet, straightened his collar, and headed for the door with the weary determination of a man who had just survived a war no one else would ever know about.
"Next time," he muttered, "I'm buyin' shirts with stronger thread. Or armor. Armor sounds good."
CHAPTER 16 — PART 4
The Cortalis Briefing (and the Button That Refused to Behave)
Jonathan followed Director Lena into the executive conference room with the walk of a man trying very hard to look normal while simultaneously feeling like a structural failure in human-shirt engineering.
His newly reattached button — the one he had painstakingly sewn in Part 3 with the trembling pride of a kindergarten arts-and-crafts student — sat slightly off-center.
Not obvious.
Not catastrophic.
Just crooked enough that he could feel it.
Mocking him.
Breathing down his neck.
Judging.
He tugged his blazer forward to hide it.
The blazer caught on the chair as he walked by.
He tugged harder.
The blazer yanked back.
He nearly spun.
Lena glanced back with mild suspicion.
"You good?"
"Perfectly fine," he whispered, voice tight.
"Ain't… ain't nothin' wrong. Shirt's great. I am great. Everything's—great."
She blinked slowly.
"…Okay."
They took their seats at the polished conference table as executives filed in.
Charts flickered on the wall display:
CORTALIS REGIONAL OUTREACH INITIATIVE — PRESENTATION 1/7
The Cortalis nickname glowed beneath it in small parentheses:
(Osaka)
The COO stepped forward.
"Thank you for attending on short notice. Today we finalize logistics for our annual development summit in Cortalis. Lodging, transportation, inter-branch collaboration, public interface… all of it."
Jonathan nodded.
Or tried to.
His blazer shifted and his crooked button peeked out.
He slapped a hand over it like he was guarding a national secret.
No one noticed.
Not the COO.
Not the board.
Not the intern in the corner scribbling notes like her life depended on it.
No one.
But Jonathan felt watched.
His brain:
Everyone sees it.
Everyone.
They're just bein' polite.
They're all silently thinkin', "Wow, that's the saddest button this side of Kanto."
He swallowed hard.
The presentation continued.
Hotel arrangements.
Shuttle routes.
Budget allocations.
Regional workshops.
The annual Cortalis evening festival.
Jonathan heard none of it.
He only heard the whisper of doom:
crooked… crooked… crooked…
Lena nudged him when his name appeared on the itinerary as a co-lead for a cross-department showcase.
He sat up straight.
"Oh—uh—yes, yes ma'am. Lookin' forward to, uh, doin' the thing in… in Osaka."
His Kansai slipped out like a runaway marble.
"Ah—Cortalis. Cortalis. Right. That place."
The COO smiled mockingly, PG-rated,
"Excellent enthusiasm, Analyst Pierce."
Jonathan nodded vigorously—
—and his button glinted in the lights.
He froze.
The room did not.
The meeting continued smoothly as the travel coordinator explained meal stipends.
No stares.
No whispers.
No pointed glances toward his shirt.
No one cared.
But Jonathan cared with the force of a dying star.
He leaned toward Lena and whispered, "D'ya think the board noticed? Be honest. It's… it's crooked ain't it? It's starin' at 'em like a confused pigeon."
Lena didn't look up from her tablet.
"Jonathan. Nobody is looking at your button."
"Y'sure? One hundred percent? Like—scientifically?"
"Yes."
He sank into his seat.
Not relieved.
Not calm.
Just suspended in the purgatory known as "no one noticed but they might, any second now."
The COO wrapped up the briefing.
"So! With that, we begin preparations for the Cortalis summit. Thank you all. We'll follow with department-specific emails."
Chairs scraped back.
Papers shuffled.
Executives murmured their goodbyes.
And Jonathan sat utterly still until the room emptied, hands glued over the cursed button.
Lena stood, exhaling through her nose.
"Come on," she said. "We've got meetings downstairs."
He rose.
His blazer caught again.
He fought it.
Quietly.
With dignity.
He lost.
Lena pinched the bridge of her nose.
"…Jonathan."
"Yes ma'am?"
"I'm fixin' that button for you tonight."
His soul nearly left his body with gratitude.
"A-ah—thank you, ma'am."
As they left the room, the crooked button peeked out one more time…
…still unnoticed by the world…
…but forever feared by Jonathan Raines.
**Chapter 16 — Part 5
Closing Hook: "The Court Judge in Training"**
The board meeting finally dispersed, executives drifting out in small tired clusters, murmuring about budgets, itineraries, and Cortalis reservations. Jonathan Raines stayed seated for a moment longer, spine stiff, one hand carefully cupping the front of his shirt as if the crooked button were a ticking device only he could hear.
Lena paused beside him.
"You did fine," she said, tapping her tablet. "And nobody noticed whatever you were fussin' over."
"Y-Y'think so?" Jonathan managed.
His voice squeaked a little. Not enough to embarrass him permanently—just enough to haunt him for the next seven to ten business days.
She gave him a steady look. "Raines. Trust me. Nobody."
Then she left.
Jonathan released a slow breath.
Okay. Good. Meeting survived. Button still crooked but… apparently invisible to the human eye. Or at least invisible to important executives who had better things to stare at.
He gathered his notes and stood, but didn't walk out immediately.
Instead, he found himself staring at the city lights through the conference windows—Nugano glowing in gold and cobalt, traffic threading through the downtown arteries like living circuitry.
Cortalis.
He had never been.
The nickname "Osaka" didn't help his nerves; everyone said the city moved so fast you could lose your luggage, your sense of direction, and your dignity within the first hour.
But that wasn't what bothered him.
The board meeting had mentioned something else.
Someone else.
A young court judge in training who would be consulting with Rainescorp during the Cortalis visit.
Not officially attached to corporate affairs, but apparently promising enough that the directorate wanted to meet him.
Jonathan chewed his lip.
A judge in training… that young?
Someone under the mentorship of the notoriously strict Marcus Hale?
Someone rumored—quietly—to be brilliant, sharp, and intimidating without trying?
He imagined some prodigy with perfect posture, perfect records, perfectly pressed collars.
Someone who had never lost a button in their entire life.
Great. Perfect. Wonderful.
Exactly the kind of person Jonathan did not want to stand next to while his own shirt still looked like it was fastened by a sleep-deprived puppet.
He sighed.
"…Hope he's not the scary type," he muttered.
"Or worse… hope we don't get seated next to each other on the flight…"
Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck, gathered his courage—and his crooked button—and finally headed for the elevator.
Chapter 17 would begin in Cortalis.
And whether he liked it or not…
He might just meet the judge-in-training.
Teaser — Marcus Hale (Perspective)
Cortalis Judicial Hall — Early Morning
Marcus Hale read the memorandum twice.
Not because he needed to.
But because the handwriting was sloppy.
The Regional Corporate Office of Nugano was sending personnel to Cortalis for a multi-division summit: analysts, department leads… and one particular name that made him stop mid-breath.
Jonathan Raines.
Marcus traced a gloved thumb along the edge of the page, jaw set in its usual, uncompromising line.
He knew the name.
He had seen it in passing—reports, committee notes, an occasional cross-department reference regarding systems oversight. A man with competence, apparently. Busy. Methodical.
Reliable, or so the paperwork claimed.
Paperwork was rarely wrong.
But people often were.
Marcus exhaled once, slowly. Measured. Controlled. The same way he taught his trainees to speak when their nerves threatened to misalign their judgment.
Jonathan Raines…
He was not a variable Marcus had accounted for during this summit.
The corridors of the Hall were still empty—sunlight filtering in long, clean beams across polished stone. The stillness soothed him. Order always did. And yet, beneath that calm structure, a faint curiosity poked at the edge of his thoughts.
He disliked unassessed elements.
And Jonathan Raines was now officially an unassessed element entering his jurisdiction.
Marcus folded the memo, precise, the corners aligned perfectly—because crooked paper edges meant crooked thinking, and crooked thinking was unacceptable. He slipped it beneath a ledger, squared the stack, then stood.
His coat settled on his shoulders with the familiar weight of authority.
"If Nugano is sending him," Marcus murmured, voice low and matter-of-fact,
"then I should know who—and what—I'm dealing with."
Not suspicion.
Not excitement.
Just professional necessity, clean and sharp.
He glanced toward the distant atrium, where guests would arrive later in the week.
He would not approach Jonathan Raines immediately.
It was rarely wise to confront a new variable without first observing its natural path.
But he would find him.
And he would evaluate him.
With the same scrutiny he applied to every case, every trainee, every stray detail that passed beneath his jurisdiction.
Marcus adjusted his gloves and stepped into the hallway—precise footfalls echoing like judge's gavel strikes.
Cortalis was orderly.
Cortalis was structured.
Cortalis was his domain.
And soon…
Jonathan Raines would walk into it.
Whether the man realized the weight of that or not was something Marcus fully intended to learn.
Parallel Teaser — From the Court Judge-in-Training's POV
(Identity still unrevealed)
The young judge-in-training stood alone in the quiet hallway outside Chamber 4, fingertips resting lightly against a stack of case summaries. The Cortalis High Court was never truly silent — distant echoing footsteps, the soft hum of fluorescent lights, the muted roll of carts pushed by clerks — but in this particular corner of the east wing, the world thinned into a thoughtful hush.
A welcome space to think.
A necessary one.
He exhaled, steady and controlled, the way Judge Hale insisted all his apprentices learn to breathe when considering matters of consequence.
Clarity before action. Purpose before opinion.
The day's docket had been grueling, but not difficult. The difficulty was never in the law itself.
It was in the people.
He tightened his grip on the summary pages, then relaxed, the motion practiced — a small ritual to keep the tension from settling in his hands.
A notification chimed softly on his phone.
He glanced at it only long enough to see the header:
CORTALIS — CORPORATE LIAISON ARRIVAL SCHEDULE ADJUSTED
VISITOR: JONATHAN RAINES
He blinked once.
Jonathan Raines.
He had heard the name in passing, usually from administrative staff who spoke of Rainescorp's internal systems with the same mixture of admiration and wariness the courts reserved for complex legislation.
Someone diligent.
Someone sharp.
Someone who showed up in reports more often than in person.
And, according to Judge Hale's earlier aside, someone the High Court "might find useful."
The apprentice lowered the phone slowly.
A corporate systems analyst visiting Cortalis wasn't unusual.
But being flagged for notice?
That was different.
He tapped the corner of the case file against his palm — a light, thoughtful rhythm.
"Jonathan Raines… Rainescorp…" he murmured under his breath. The words weren't suspicious, only analytical.
Connections mattered.
Patterns mattered.
People mattered most of all.
Would he meet him?
Possibly.
Cortalis wasn't a large city, and the High Court's administrative protocols often intersected with corporate inquiries. Judge Hale might introduce them. Or require it.
He straightened his posture, returning the case summaries to his arm.
If this Jonathan Raines was truly as meticulous as the rumors implied…
then gauging his intentions would be necessary.
Not adversarial.
Not cautious.
Just precise.
The judge-in-training turned toward Chamber 4 as the next case queue illuminated on the display wall.
But before stepping inside, he paused — a brief, silent acknowledgment to himself that the arrival of one Rainescorp analyst had just nudged something in the city's usual alignment.
Not enough to be dramatic.
But enough to be worth attention.
"Jonathan Raines…" he repeated, this time with the faintest undertone of curiosity.
Then he entered the chamber, the heavy door closing behind him with a soft, decisive click.
Author's Note
Thank you, truly, for reading this far.
Your support—whether through quiet reading, silent bookmarking, or the occasional kind message—means more to me than I can easily express. Writing this series is something I care about deeply, and every view, every chapter read, reminds me that there are people out there choosing to spend their time with these characters. I'm grateful for that, every single day.
I also want to clarify something important:
I can't accept suggestion comments for plot, character arcs, or story direction.
This isn't because I don't value your ideas.
It's because maintaining the consistency, tone, and long-term structure of the story requires me to follow a very specific internal plan—one that ties every book, character, and future chapter together.
To give all of you the strongest and most stable reading experience, I need to keep the narrative aligned with that plan. That's how I ensure the pacing stays sharp, the tone stays consistent, and the world keeps growing in the right ways.
But please know this:
Your support absolutely helps this story grow.
Your presence matters.
And I'm grateful you're here.
Thank you for reading,
and thank you for staying with the series.
— Author
Author's Note — On Boundaries and Content Guidelines
For everyone who has been enjoying this series — thank you.
Your support genuinely means the world to me, and I am grateful for every reader who chooses to spend their time here.
I also want to clarify something important moving forward:
This story will not include underwear scenes, nudity, or anything suggestive for Jonathan Raines — or for any character in this series.
This isn't due to outside pressure or discomfort.
It's because I have a clear set of personal guidelines as an author, and I follow them without exception.
My respect for my readers — especially younger ones — is a responsibility I take seriously.
I never want to contradict my own morals or betray the trust my audience has placed in me.
So as I continue writing:
I will keep the story safe for all ages, I will avoid content that crosses my own boundaries, and I will always follow my true self as a responsible author
Thank you again for supporting my work.
Your encouragement keeps me going, and I'm committed to giving you the best quality, the best consistency, and the most honest version of this story that I can create.
— The Author
Author's Note-Extra Boundaries
For my readers, I want to clarify further that Jonathan will not have exposure beyond buttons for the first 60 chapters, and some will have none at all. This is a friendly warning for my younger readers, and respect for those that should not be exposed to anything worse than that. And the Cortalis business trip will not have any exposure at all, so my younger audience can rest assured that this will remain appropriate in the near and mid term. Thank you, your support means more than you know. For my younger readers, I highly recommend reading Ryota if you want to avoid exposure for the entire book.