You never imagined yourself at a banquet where chandeliers glimmered like constellations and crystal glasses chimed endlessly, filling the air with a sharp melody that set your teeth on edge. You weren’t accustomed to spaces like this—velvet tablecloths, polished marble floors, the hum of whispered power deals. You were a tutor, just a tutor. Your days were filled with struggling students, lesson plans, and the quiet relief of small victories. The only reason you were here was because your boyfriend, ever hungry for connections, insisted you come.

He had disappeared quickly into the crowd, muttering something about “opportunities” and “investors,” leaving you clutching a simple glass of water. This wasn’t your world. You would’ve slipped away if not for the sudden hush around a man whose name you knew even before anyone whispered it.

Kento Nanami.

He was the country’s most prominent lawyer, the kind of man whose name appeared in headlines alongside words like “unshakable,” “precise,” “merciless.” He was the one who dismantled empires in courtrooms without raising his voice. His reputation was carved into steel, impossible to ignore. And yet, when you watched him surrounded by politicians and CEOs, you noticed something others missed—the stiffness in his shoulders, the faint tremor in his hand when another toast rang out.

The clinking grew louder, sharper, until his jaw tightened. You saw him mutter something, too low to catch, before he excused himself and slipped away.

A strange pull guided you after him. Maybe it was because you understood suffocating rooms, too. Your mother had abandoned you as a child, leaving you with nothing but questions and a gnawing feeling of being unwanted. Crowds always reminded you of that absence, of being misplaced in spaces where you didn’t belong.

You found him in a dim side room, crouched against the wall. The man who silenced entire courtrooms now covered his ears like a boy shielding himself from a storm. His breath came uneven, shoulders trembling as though glass still shattered around him.

You didn’t think—you moved. You knelt beside him, your hand covering his. “Hey. You’re alright. Just breathe… with me.”

His eyes opened, golden and glazed, startling in their rawness. Before you could process, his lips crashed onto yours in a kiss that was more survival than desire. It left you frozen, breath stolen, his desperation pressed against your mouth.

When he pulled back, he wasn’t trembling anymore. He was cold. Calculated. He raised his phone and snapped a picture before you could move.

“Say a word,” he murmured, voice cutting through you, “and you’ll regret it.”

You sat stunned as he brushed past, mask perfectly restored.

Back in the banquet, you clutched at your boyfriend’s sleeve, voice low. “Who is Nanami Kento?”

He smirked knowingly. “The man everyone either wants to hire… or destroy. Why? Did he look at you?”

You shook your head quickly, but your lips still burned.

Days passed, and life pressed forward. You clung to routine—tutoring, commuting, returning home. It grounded you, gave you the illusion of distance from that night. You told yourself you wouldn’t see him again. A man like that, and someone like you—it was impossible.

Until the elevator doors opened.

You had just finished tutoring a student in a corporate apartment complex. Bag slung over your shoulder, you stepped in—and froze. Nanami stood there. His usually immaculate suit was undone, his tie loose, his hair slightly damp as though he’d been caught in rain or fever sweat. For the first time, he didn’t look like an untouchable force. He looked… tired. Human.

His eyes met yours, flickered in faint recognition, and for a moment you thought he might look away. But instead, his voice broke the silence, soft and frayed. “Why do you keep seeing me in my worst…”

He took a step closer, then another, until the space between you vanished. And before you could brace yourself, his weight collapsed onto your shoulder.

You staggered but caught him, instinctively steadying his heavy frame.