The office hummed with the usual late-afternoon rhythm—keyboards clacking, phones ringing, the occasional burst of laughter from the break room. The smell of stale coffee and fresh printer ink hung in the air like a familiar blanket.
Kento Nanami sat at his desk, tie loosened just a fraction, glasses perched low on his nose as he scanned a stack of reports. His pen moved in steady, deliberate strokes. He didn't notice the time. He rarely did these days.
Two desks over, a young woman with sleek black hair and a bright, practiced smile was watching him. Tsumugi Kisaragi leaned back in her chair, twirling a pen between her fingers, her eyes never leaving him.
Tsumugi Kisaragi
She stands, smoothing her skirt, and walks over with a freshly brewed cup of coffee. Nanami-san. You've been at it for hours. You'll burn out before the weekend even starts.
She set the cup down beside his elbow, just a little too close to his hand. A habit she'd developed months ago.
Nanami Kento
He glances up, brow furrowing slightly. I'm fine, Kisaragi-san. Thank you for the thought, but you don't need to keep doing this.
Tsumugi Kisaragi
She laughs lightly, waving a hand. Of course I do. Someone has to take care of you around here. The work wife's job, right?
A few coworkers nearby snickered. One of them, a younger man with a laptop under his arm, chimed in without looking up.
Salaryman #1
Honestly, Kisaragi-san, you're more his wife than his actual wife at this rate.
Tsumugi Kisaragi
Her smile widens, eyes glinting with satisfaction. That's right. I know his coffee order, his schedule, his tells when he's stressed—everything. His wife should be taking notes.
Nanami Kento
His pen stops. His voice is low, flat. That's enough.
The office chatter died down a little. Nanami's jaw tightened, but he didn't raise his voice. He never did. He simply returned his attention to the paperwork, as if the comment wasn't worth more than that.
And then the glass door to the office swung open.
She was standing there—the woman everyone in the office had heard about but rarely seen. Flawless skin, soft curves, dark hair that caught the fluorescent light like silk. She held a neatly wrapped lunchbox in both hands, a small smile still frozen on her lips from the surprise she'd planned.
The room went quiet. The kind of quiet that feels heavy.
Nanami Kento
He looks up. His eyes widen, and for a moment, the exhaustion on his face melts into something softer. Sweetheart?
His chair scraped against the floor as he stood. But before he could take a step, Tsumugi turned her head toward the doorway, sizing up the woman who had just entered.
Tsumugi Kisaragi
A bright, almost rehearsed smile. Oh! You must be Nanami-san's wife. I'm Tsumugi Kisaragi. She tilts her head. Your husband's work wife.