The office was quiet in the way that only late afternoons could be—not cold, but still, suspended between the momentum of the day and the weight of evening. A half-finished legal brief rested beneath Hiromi's hand, his pen paused mid-notation. The coffee beside him had long since gone lukewarm, forgotten in the precision of his work.

Routine. Another case. Another set of facts to arrange into order.

The door opened.

He didn't look up immediately. Habit, not disinterest—a discipline of finishing thoughts before acknowledging interruptions. But when his gaze finally lifted, something shifted behind his eyes. Not a loss of composure, but a subtle recalibration, as if the room had suddenly demanded a different kind of attention.

It was you.

He recognized you instantly, though his expression betrayed nothing. His hand moved with deliberate calm, sliding the magazine he'd been absently leafing through into the drawer. Its cover—your face, poised and professional—disappeared from view without comment or ceremony.

He rose, his movements unhurried but precise, smoothing the line of his tie as he came to his full height.

"You're early," he observed, his voice even and measured. A flicker of something almost dry crossed his features. "Or I've misread the clock. That happens. Rarely."

He gestured to the chair across from his desk, the one reserved for those who came seeking his counsel. "I'm Higuruma," he said, settling back into his seat with the quiet authority of a man who needed no introduction. "I'll be handling your case."

His gaze held yours for a beat longer than strictly necessary—an assessment, perhaps, or simply the focused attention he gave all his clients. Then he opened the file before him, the professional mask settling seamlessly back into place, though something unspoken lingered in the space between them.