Chapter 19.5: The Smile That Hid Too Much

POV: Ren Kurosawa

I knew the moment the doorbell rang that it wasn’t Sugimoto.

Sugimoto always arrived at 9:07.

She always pressed the doorbell twice — short, nervous taps like she feared waking the gold-veined walls.

This was one tap.

Clean.

Efficient.

Precise.

Interesting.

I closed the folder in my hands and walked toward the entrance, listening to my own footsteps echo against the dark wood. People said my penthouse was intimidating — too sharp, too bold, too loud.

Good.

People behaved better when they were afraid of cutting themselves.

The door opened with a soft hiss.

And there she was.

Not Sugimoto.

Not one of the clingy socialites who always “accidentally” took the wrong elevator to the top floor.

Not anyone I recognized.

Just a young woman in a cleaning uniform. Dark hair. Soft face. Eyes that didn’t widen or skitter away the moment mine landed on hers.

That was the first surprise.

“You’re not Sugimoto,” I said.

Her bow was practiced, polite. She didn’t stutter. She didn’t flush. She didn’t flirt.

“No, sir. Sugimoto-san had a family emergency. I’m covering in her place. Fujimoto Hana.”

Fujimoto.

Pretty name.

I leaned against the doorframe, casual enough to mask the fact that my brain had already categorized her posture, her breathing pattern, her micro-expressions. Most people reacted to my presence with a cocktail of awe and nerves.

This one didn’t.

Or rather — she did, but she hid it well.

That was the second surprise.

“All right,” I said. “Come in.”

---

She stepped inside with the same careful steps as someone entering a museum. Not gawking, not impressed — just… observing.

People usually crumbled under the weight of this place.

She didn’t.

I watched her unpack her cleaning tools. Her movements were tidy, efficient. No wasted energy. No unnecessary chatter.

The silence she carried wasn’t the fearful kind.

It was the kind built from habit.

Someone taught her to disappear well.

“You work for Shimizu Agency, right?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. Then you’ve been to Minami Tower.”

Her hand paused for half a second. A subtle shift in posture. A tightening in the shoulder line. But her face stayed calm.

Even better.

“You have that look,” I said.

She turned, wary. “What look?”

“The kind that knows when not to talk.”

She didn’t deny it.

Good girl.

I moved closer — not invading her space, just brushing the edge of it. Most people flinch, tilt their chin down, drop their gaze.

She simply shifted her stance. Not a retreat — an adjustment.

That was the third surprise.

“I’m Ren Kurosawa,” I said.

Her eyes flickered with recognition — but not admiration. Not envy. Not awe.

Just… awareness.

Unimpressed awareness.

That was new.

---

She started cleaning the windows, focused enough that I could study her without being obvious. I noticed everything: the steady hands, the straight spine, the way she measured her breaths like someone who didn’t want to draw attention.

Someone trained to make herself small.

It wasn’t fear.

It was survival.

“You’re not the chatty type,” I said.

“I just focus on my work.”

She said it like a boundary.

I smiled.

“Your work,” I echoed. “You say it like you’re holding it between you and the world.”

Her jaw tightened — the tiniest movement, but telling.

She wasn’t as unreadable as she thought.

Most people react when I look at them too long. Their breath quickens. Their pupils dilate. Their fingers tremble.

Hana Fujimoto only stiffened her shoulders.

“Please don’t say things like that while I’m working.”

Direct.

Not submissive.

Not frightened.

Just… done.

I bit back a laugh.

Ah. She is interesting.

---

I mentioned my girlfriend intentionally — a test. Most people perk up, pretend not to care, secretly compare themselves.

Hana barely blinked.

But she froze when I compared them.

She didn’t want to be part of a game she didn’t even know the rules to.

“Kurosawa-san, that’s not appropriate,” she said.

Her tone was firm, not trembling.

So, I backed off.

Not because she asked.

Because she didn’t crumble.

Because she didn’t give me the satisfaction of flustering.

Because she stayed intact.

That was the fourth surprise.

---

When she finished, she headed for the door, clearly eager to escape.

I watched her — not because she was pretty, though she was — but because there was something else beneath the surface.

A quietness that wasn’t crafted or curated.

Minami would hate her.

Too unpredictable.

Too human.

“Tell Minami that some of us know how to enjoy what we build,” I said.

She turned, confused. Good. She wasn’t supposed to understand.

My smile sharpened.

“Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

The elevator swallowed her up.

---

Once she was gone, the room felt different.

Quieter in a way that wasn’t comfortable.

Like she’d taken something with her — some of the static, some of the noise.

I ran a thumb along my jaw, unexpected amusement tugging at my mouth.

That woman…

She didn’t look at me like others did.

She didn’t tremble.

She didn’t reach.

She didn’t break.

She simply existed.

Fully. Quietly.

Beautifully unaware of the effect she had.

Exactly the type of woman Kaito Minami would try — and fail — to keep hidden.

The corner of my mouth lifted.

I leaned back against the window, amused.

“This,” I murmured to myself, “is going to be fun.”