Chapter 26: Calculated Risks

POV: Kaito Minami

The investor dinner should have held my full attention.

It usually did.

Sato sat to my right, posture perfectly rigid, answering questions with the kind of polished detail my father expected from anyone representing the Minami Group. Across from us, the three foreign investors—sharp suits, sharper smiles—were discussing projected earnings and land rights for the coastal project.

Normally, I would have guided the conversation, shaped it, controlled it.

Tonight, I found myself staring at the untouched glass of wine in front of me and wondering—absurdly—what time Hana would arrive tomorrow.

Ridiculous.

My father noticed before anyone else. He always did.

“Kaito,” he said, low enough that only I heard. “You haven’t contributed.”

It wasn’t a question.

I lifted my gaze, schooling my tone. “We’ve projected a 14% increase if the zoning passes. Twenty-one percent with expansion over five years.”

The investors nodded. Numbers. Easy. Predictable.

My father’s attention lingered on me for one second too long.

I forced myself to focus, but the entire conversation felt like moving through fog. Words floated around me—percentage, expansion, partnership—but they didn’t anchor.

I kept thinking about her expression when she’d returned after being reassigned. The exhaustion she tried to hide. The way her voice thinned around the edges when she said the last job was “different.”

I kept thinking about the quiet in my home when she wasn’t there.

And then—worse—the way she’d looked at me when I asked her a question no employer should ask.

Do you have time this weekend?

Reckless. Idiotic. I should have stopped the thought before it became words.

But I didn’t.

Not even close.

---

It was past midnight when the dinner finally ended. My father left in his car; Sato lingered to brief me on follow-ups, but I dismissed him with a curt wave.

I needed silence.

Not the empty kind—just space to think.

I took the elevator up to the penthouse, shrugging off my jacket the moment I stepped inside. The lights were still on low—warm, soft. Unusual. Tanabe-san must’ve forgotten to turn them off.

The faint reminder of Hana’s last presence lingered. A faint citrus cleaner scent. A neatly folded towel left on the counter.

My steps slowed without meaning to.

She would be here tomorrow.

Whether she said yes or no, she would be here.

---

The Next Morning

I was already awake when the elevator chimed.

The sound struck deeper than it should have—like something settling, something realigning.

She stepped inside with a quiet bow. “Good morning.”

I’d rehearsed a dozen neutral answers, but what came out was too soft.

“Good morning.”

She set down her supplies. Her hands moved with their usual precision, but there was something guarded in her expression. I could tell she’d been thinking—maybe worrying.

I felt the tension in my shoulders rise.

The air stretched between us, thin but charged.

When she finally spoke— “I was thinking about what you asked”—my pulse picked up in a way that didn’t belong to reason.

Then:

“I do have time this weekend.”

The breath I took wasn’t visible, but I felt it in my spine.

She continued quickly, cheeks flushing.

“But not— not a date. Obviously not a date. Just… two people going somewhere. Together. But not like that.”

For a moment, I almost laughed—not at her, but at the way relief and warmth collided inside me so suddenly it almost hurt.

Not a date.

Of course, she’d frame it that way.

She always chose caution over assumption.

I hid the shift in my expression by setting down my cup more quietly than necessary. If I let myself smile, even slightly, it would make everything too real too fast.

“And what would it be like, then?” I asked.

I shouldn’t have.

I absolutely should not have.

But the way her face heated… the way she tried to look anywhere but at me…

It sparked something I didn’t want to examine too closely.

She offered the safest definition she could manage. “Just… two people going somewhere. Nothing special.”

Nothing special.

I didn’t correct her, even though the invitation had never been about “nothing.”

“I’ll adjust accordingly,” I said.

Because I would. Without hesitation.

“Good,” she muttered.

I picked up my tablet purely to give her space—to give myself space. The numbers on the screen blurred for a few moments before settling. My thoughts were nowhere near work.

She knelt and began arranging her supplies.

Efficient. Precise.

But her shoulders were looser. Her movements calmer.

She’d said yes.

Even if she insisted that it wasn’t a date.

The air between us shifted—lighter, warmer. Something quiet. Something new.

Something dangerously close to hope.

It was strange.

Ever since she started coming here, the silence in this penthouse had changed.

I wasn’t sure when it happened, but now…

It didn’t feel like an empty space I controlled.

It felt like something I was waiting to fill.