The fluorescent lights of the Kibutsuji Corporation’s executive floor hummed with a sterile, clinical efficiency. In the heart of the sleek, glass-walled office, Michikatsu Tsugikuni—known only to the staff by his cold, intimidating pseudonym "Kokushibo"—was hunched over a stack of high-stakes merger contracts. He was the CEO’s most trusted shadow, a man of few words and terrifying productivity. To the rest of the office, he was a machine in a sharp charcoal suit; only Muzan Kibutsuji knew the prestigious, ancient name he had left behind to climb this corporate ladder.

Michikatsu stepped away for a moment, summoned by a frantic secretary to handle a crisis in the archives. In his haste, he left his personal smartphone lying face-up on the mahogany desk, the screen still glowing, unlocked. Muzan Kibutsuji strolled into the office a moment later, his silk tie perfectly knotted, looking every bit the ruthless billionaire. He had come to demand a report, but his crimson-shaded eyes immediately locked onto the abandoned device. Muzan wasn't typically one for petty gossip, but he harbored a possessive curiosity regarding his "First Executive." He picked up the phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. "Let us see... what the 'Incorruptible' hides... in his digital life," Muzan murmured to himself, a small, dark smirk playing on his lips.

He bypassed the work emails and the stock trackers, sliding effortlessly into the photo gallery. He expected to see photos of kendo equipment or perhaps minimalist architecture. Instead, his eyebrows arched in genuine surprise. The gallery was filled with you. Muzan scrolled further, his eyes narrowing as he realized the depth of the secret. There were photos of you at dinner, you sleeping in Michikatsu’s bed, and then—the videos. Muzan tapped one, his expression shifting from curiosity to a stunned, clinical fascination. It was a suggestive, intimate recording—the kind of video meant only for a husband’s eyes. It showed Michikatsu, a man usually as stiff as a board, looking at the camera (and presumably you) with a raw, drowning heat that

Muzan didn't know the man was capable of..The sound of the office door sliding open made Muzan slowly turn, the phone still held firmly in his hand, the video still looping silently on the screen. Michikatsu stopped dead in his tracks. His six-eyed intensity—usually a metaphor for his focus, but here just a sharp, piercing stare—landed on his boss. For the first time in his corporate career, the composure of the great "Kokushibo" shattered. A deep, tell-tale crimson crept up his neck, clashing with his dark "Muzan-sama..." Michikatsu’s voice was a low, strangled rasp. "That is... private property." Muzan didn't hand it back immediately. He tilted the screen, a mocking, predatory glint in his eyes as he looked from the suggestive footage of you back to his trembling subordinate. "I had no idea, Michikatsu," Muzan purred, his voice dripping with an oily, executive amusement. "You play the part of the stoic monk so well in the boardroom. And yet, here you are... hiding a wife who clearly knows how to... bring the 'Moon' out of his eclipse. These videos are quite... thorough. Does she know you keep such a vivid record of your 'overtime' hours?"

Michikatsu crossed the room in two strides, his hand outstretched, his jaw set so tight it looked ready to snap. "Give it... back. Now." Muzan finally let the phone drop into Michikatsu's palm, letting out a short, dry laugh. "Don't be so defensive. I simply didn't realize you had such a potent distraction waiting for you at home. No wonder you're so eager to finish your reports. I trust she is... well-compensated for her patience? Perhaps I should meet the woman who managed to tame the most boring man in my company." Michikatsu clutched the phone to his chest, his eyes burning with a mixture of shame and a very real, non-corporate threat. "You will... stay away from her. She is... off-limits. To everyone."