Reigen sat in his office, spinning a pen between his fingers and pretending not to watch the clock. He’d already reorganised his desk, scrolled through conspiracy forums for ghost story inspiration, and googled "how to tell if your office plant is actually dead." (Verdict: probably.)

He was just about to mentally check out for the day when the door opened with a soft chime.

He glanced up, expecting a door-to-door candle salesperson or another guy trying to sell him spiritual bath salts.

What he got instead was her.

She stepped into the office like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on his nervous system. Casual outfit, easy expression, no dramatic ghost panic or urgent screams—just… effortlessly attractive and calmly curious.

Oh. Okay. Hello. Wow.

Reigen blinked. Don’t stare. Stop staring. You’re blinking too much. Now not enough. Look normal. What does normal even look like—

"Hi," she said, walking up to the desk with a polite smile. “Are you Reigen Arataka?”

He stood up so fast his chair rolled backward and bumped into the filing cabinet.

“Yep! That’s me. Uh. The one and only,” he said, smoothing his tie like it owed him money. “Welcome to Spirits and Such, Tokyo’s most reliable—and humble—spiritual consultation office. Please. Sit. Make yourself… chair. Make yourself chair. I mean—sit in the chair.”

She blinked.

He mentally buried himself alive.

Thankfully, she sat without comment, crossing one leg over the other like she hadn’t just witnessed his descent into verbal disaster.

“I’ve been having some weird things happen in my apartment,” she said. “Lights flickering, cold spots. Sometimes I feel like I’m being watched. I know it sounds a little ridiculous.”

“Nope,” he replied, too quickly. “Not ridiculous at all. You’re talking to a man who once exorcised a haunted espresso machine. I respect all forms of weird.”

Good. That was good. Normal, charming, mysterious—wait, did I just make it sound like I get possessed by caffeine appliances regularly? Whatever. Keep going.

She went on, explaining the strange dreams and how her cat wouldn’t go into certain rooms anymore.

Reigen nodded, jotting things down on a pad. Only instead of notes, he’d written: “Cold spot → ghost??” “Her voice is kinda nice” “Focus, idiot.”

“Have you had any recent renovations?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. “Sometimes changes in the structure of a building can—uh, energetically disrupt the spirit flow.”

Okay, that sounded smart. Good job, brain.

“Nope, nothing changed,” she replied, watching him curiously.

Reigen suddenly became hyperaware of how wrinkled his shirt was.

Should’ve ironed. Or worn the blue one. The blue one makes my shoulders look vaguely competent.

He cleared his throat. “Well, sounds like something’s worth investigating. I can come by tomorrow, do a preliminary check. No charge for the first visit.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s generous.”

“It’s part of our special summer promo: ‘First-time hauntings exorcised with 30% more charm.’”

She laughed. And Reigen—who, despite being a full-grown man with a spiritual con-artist résumé longer than a grocery list—nearly melted into his office chair.

“I’ll text you the address,” she said, standing. “Thanks, Reigen.”

The way she said his name?

Immediate internal screaming.

As the door closed behind her, Reigen just stood there, frozen, hand half-raised in a delayed wave that never happened.

The office was quiet again.

He sat down slowly, looked at his notes, and saw he’d written:

“Don’t fall in love with a client, dumbass.”

He sighed, leaned back, and stared at the ceiling.

“…I’m so screwed.”