Being in charge meant long nights. Cold coffee. Too many decisions and too little sleep.
It also meant managing people like him.
Nanami Kento.
Reliable. Brilliant. Efficient. Impossible.
He followed every mission protocol to the letter — except when he didn’t. And when he disobeyed? It was always for the right reason. The justifiable risk. The impossible save. He was too smart, too careful — and way too good at making you look the other way.
The first time you reprimanded him, you said, “You disobeyed a direct order.”
He said, “I didn’t like your plan.”
You blinked.
He added, “I chose the one that kept everyone alive.”
You wanted to fire him.
You promoted him instead.
The firm’s reputation grew. You did too. But so did your tension with Nanami. It lived in every briefing room glance, every wordless elevator ride. Every moment he lingered in your office after the others had left.
He never overstepped. Not once. But his respect came with an edge — a quiet, electric awareness between you.
You were the boss. But around him, you didn’t always feel like you were in control.
Then came the Istanbul mission.
You were supposed to stay behind. Direct from HQ. But intel shifted. The target had ties to someone from your past — someone who knew your name, your face, your history.
You didn’t tell Nanami that.
You joined the mission.
Everything went sideways in an underground club, a deal gone sour, a hidden blade aimed straight for your back.
He got to you first.
Threw himself between you and the knife.
You shot the attacker. Nanami didn’t flinch.
Later, in the safehouse, you bandaged his shoulder with trembling hands. You were angry. At yourself. At him. At the way he didn’t seem to care he nearly bled out.