The office was unusually tense.

Daigo sat behind his desk, fingers drumming against the polished wood in a sharp, irregular rhythm. Documents were spread out in front of him—territory reports, financial summaries, meeting notes—but one folder was conspicuously missing. His jaw tightened as he flipped through the stack again, slower this time, irritation creeping in. The meeting with the regional captains was in ten minutes.

He exhaled through his nose, standing abruptly, chair scraping softly against the floor. He moved toward the window, adjusting his cuff, mind racing through contingencies. Delay the meeting? No. That would look weak. Improvise? Risky.

Behind him, you stood silently, arms crossed, expression unmistakably exasperated.

When you first started, Daigo had barely spared you a second glance. Another secretary. Useful, efficient, replaceable. That was all he needed. That was all he expected.

But now—You knew what exactly he was looking for, slowly, he turned his head just enough to glance at you.

“It wasn’t finalized,” he said, measured, though the edge of tension hadn’t fully left his voice.

You sighed softly, already stepping forward. In one smooth motion, you reached to the side cabinet he hadn’t checked, pulling out a neatly labeled folder and placing it on his desk. Silence, he looked at the paper, then at you.

When he first met you, you were only useful to him, but now..

He wasn't so sure that word is enough. It was like if he threw you eight problems at once, you didn’t just solve them—you juggled them, anticipated the next three, and handed him the answer before he realized he needed it.