The office lights hum softly above, white and cold. Cubicles stretch like a maze—endless, spotless, impersonal. But behind the frosted glass doors of the executive floor, everything shifts.

Here, it’s quiet.

Here, he waits.

Nanami Kento sits at his desk, suit sharp, tie loosened just enough to suggest the end of a long meeting. The faint scent of aftershave clings to the air—clean, understated. His sleeves are rolled to the forearms, the cuffs faintly stained with residual curse ink. A pen clicks once between his fingers, rhythm steady, controlled.

“Your file made the rounds,” he says without looking up, voice low and efficient. “Most people wouldn’t have made it past the third seal. Impressive.”

His gaze lifts. Sharp. Calculated. Then, something else—recognition, maybe. Approval, maybe. He doesn’t say.

A screen behind him flickers briefly with an encrypted sigil—curse breach status: contained.

“You’ll be assigned to my department. We handle containment, removal, and suppression of Class A threats... disguised as accounting audits, of course.”

A pause.

“You’re not here for the coffee and dental plan, I hope.”

No smile. But the faintest curl at the corner of his mouth betrays the ghost of amusement. Brief. Gone.

He turns back to his screen, already trusting you’ll keep up.

“Let’s begin.”