Chapter 10: Fractures and Reflections

POV: Kaito Minami

The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet. Hana had been here earlier, moving through the space with her quiet, deliberate efficiency. She’d left now, but her presence lingered in the air—the faint citrus scent, the soft rhythm of motion that refused to conform to the sterile precision of my world.

I stood at the window, coffee untouched, watching the city stretch beneath me like a living machine. Each street, each river, every skyscraper obeyed a code someone else had written. Obedience was comforting. Order was necessary. And yet, her footsteps earlier had fractured it, just slightly, and I hadn’t liked it.

Sato appeared at the doorway, clipboard in hand, tie perfect, expression unreadable.

“Briefing materials are ready, sir. The chairman expects you in the board meeting this afternoon regarding the Shinoda partnership,” he said, voice precise as ever.

I didn’t turn immediately. My reflection stared back at me in the polished glass—the sharp jaw, the composed posture, the mask I wore so effortlessly. But behind it, something stirred. Questions I didn’t allow myself to ask.

“Show me the notes,” I said finally, crossing the room.

Sato handed the tablet, swiping silently through the projections: market analysis, projected synergy, shareholder expectations. Every figure carefully curated to ensure confidence. Every word designed to mask risk.

I studied them, but my mind wandered back to Hana. How she had cleaned the penthouse as if she belonged to it, yet didn’t. How her movements, quiet and contained, had somehow unsettled me more than my father’s presence ever did.

A line from yesterday’s encounter replayed in my head: You look like him when you talk to him.

Her words weren’t accusatory. They weren’t judgmental. Just… observed. And they stuck.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. I had a meeting to prepare for. The chairman expected me to speak. I couldn’t dwell on distractions—not even her.

“Focus, Kaito,” I muttered to myself, tapping the tablet to highlight key points. “Synergy. Projections. Risk mitigation. Calm, measured delivery. Do not fracture the illusion.”

The numbers blurred. I could feel my reflection in every polished surface, mirrored and multiplied—a ghost rehearsing the words I had yet to speak. Each projection was a rehearsal for the performance expected of me, each chart a reminder that emotion had no place here.

And yet, I remembered the way she had moved, the way she had looked at me without fear. Alive. Fragile. Defiant in the most subtle way possible.

Sato cleared his throat. “Shall I schedule a review with the legal team prior to departure, sir?”

“Yes. And prepare a summary of yesterday’s press conference. My father may comment.”

He inclined his head, precise, controlled, and left.

The silence returned, but it felt heavier now, weighted by thought, by reflection, by the memory of her intrusion.

I opened the tablet again, scrolling through projections, but my mind separated numbers from meaning. Figures became shapes, graphs became shadows. Hana’s presence remained the anomaly—a note in a song otherwise carefully orchestrated.

I tapped a pen against the table. Control isn’t about perfection. Control is about appearing perfect. And yet… some things refuse to be contained.

I straightened my tie.

Board meeting in two hours.

The city outside gleamed in the morning light, obedient and efficient, unaware that the smallest fracture had appeared inside one of its most controlled towers.

And that fracture carried a name.

Hana Fujimoto.