空虚 (Kūkyo) - Emptiness

On the flight back home, you heard someone say, ‘True wealth is mental health.’ Great, you’re poor twice now; poor in every way possible. How can you protect your peace when there’s a naked woman on your couch?

Not just any naked woman.

Tsuki.

Who you’re not sure is even human in the first place. The one haunting your dreams and ruining your sleep and making you question whether sanity was ever really an option.

She’s reading the same book; she turns a page. Doesn’t even look up.

“Welcome home, Aki-kun.”

You close the door, nothing gentle about how you did it. The frame rattles. Something falls off your bookshelf. Your neighbors definitely heard the slam.

“You’re responsible for this.”

She doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. Doesn’t even look up from the book. “Yes, that’s all me.”

“You sent me to her. You introduced me to her family, to her father, to her. You set this whole thing up!” The words coming out of you get louder and less yours.

“She’s an opportunity.” Now her eyes are locked on yours; dark, cruel, flat, and amused. “I gave you the perfect woman, Aki-kun. Her father’s blessing, a cute little future—” Her voice doesn’t rise. “—and you can’t hold any of it; because some part of you never left this room—” She tilts her head, and the corner of her mouth curls into a smirk so evil it makes your skin crawl. “—What you did with her was your choice. In the end, you chose me.”

“My choice?” You’re laughing now, almost as sinister as the one she lets out; blood starting to boil. “You orchestrated everything. Made me crave you, then introduced me to her. Let her fly me to Seoul. Let me have a peek into her life and then let me fall—” You can’t say it. Can’t say that you let yourself fall for Eunbi; that she looked at you like you were actually worth something. Like you were a person and not a toy.

“Orchestrated, huh?” Tsuki sets the book down, then stands. She moves like clothes are an afterthought for lesser beings. “Yes. I orchestrated everything. You’re fucking welcome.”

“I’m welcome?” WELCOME?!

“Thanks to me, you had a week of genuine human warmth. You felt something. Right? Convinced yourself you could have a normal life with her.”

She’s walking toward you now, each step more deliberate than the other. Her fingers trail along the back of your couch, a smile starting to creep in. “And yet you’re back here, with me. Exactly where you were always going to end up.”

You swear the air turns razor-thin. Hard to breathe, harder to think; every inhibition you’ve got starts loosening at the knot. Time stands still and the cold creeps in from somewhere it has no business coming from.

“That’s not…”

“Tell me I’m wrong.” She stops inches away, close enough to touch. Her hand finds your chest. Presses flat. “Tell me you didn’t think about me the whole time you were with her—” Her fingers tapping your chest in a rhythm that might make sense if you know Morse code. “—tell me you didn’t see my face when you closed your eyes and fucked her.”

You don’t say anything. 

“Knew it.” Her fingers curl into your shirt. “Now. Are you going to just stand there and be angry? Or are you going to—”

Everything you couldn’t say finds its way haphazardly to her mouth. Teeth, breath, and the blind desperation of wanting to hurt and hold her simultaneously.

Romance out of the window; this was just unadulterated lust and fury. Weeks of frustration and denial and wanting something you couldn’t have and finally, fucking finally, taking it.

Your hands aggressively fist in her hair, pulling her head back. She gasps, the first real sound you’ve gotten from her, and you swallow it, kiss her harder, deeper, angrier, and more desperate, and you’re done waiting. You’re done having things ripped away from you.

“Yes,” she breathes heavily against your mouth. “That’s fucking it,” a quick, sinister laugh escapes her before going back in, “take what you want Aki-kun.”

You shove her toward the couch. She goes willingly, too willingly, and some part of you knows this is exactly what she wanted, but you’re past caring. Emotions are high now; you understand that, but you let it take over you anyway because fuck it. Fuck everything that’s happened recently.

“Your cock’s been throbbing for this,” she says as you push her down onto the cushions. “Haven’t you? All damn week. While you were fucking that Kwon bitch with huge tits.”

“Don’t call her that.”

“Aww, did I strike a chord, Aki-kun?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

You don’t make it to the bedroom. She’s on her back, legs wrapped around your waist, and you’re inside her, pumping her brains out before your brain catches up to what your body is doing.

She’s wet. Soaked, actually. She was waiting for this. It should feel like triumph; it doesn’t. It just makes you angrier.

“You fucking planned this too, huh?” You thrust hard enough to make her gasp.

“All of it, Akihiro. The whole goddamn week.” (That cannot be; you refuse to believe she has control over everything that’s happening.)

“Then none of it was real?” you manage. “Not one choice? Not one?”

“I gave you options.” Her nails rake down your back. You feel your skin slightly peel away. “Now stop talking and fuck me like you mean it.”

“You gave me Eunbi, so I’d want more.” Another thrust. Her back arches. “So I’d come back desperate more than ever.”

“You’re smart. Is it working?” She smirks then pulls you deeper with her legs. “Come on, Aki-kun. Fuck me harder. Show me what you decided you wanted.”

You give her harder, crueller, everything you can’t put into words translated to chaotic motion. And she consumes it. Consumes all of you, moaning low and sweet; encouraging the very thing you meant as punishment,  until you can’t tell anymore whether you’re hurting her or worshipping her, or whether she’s let you do both on purpose.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes~ That’s it. Lose control, Akihiro.” Her tone is ragged but still somehow commanding. “Take what’s yours. You’ve been aching for this for weeks. Stop thinking and just, fuck me.”

You do. You pound into her like you’re trying to break something, and she meets every thrust, her hips rising to meet yours, her hands pulling you closer. (You’re starting to wonder how all of this aggression doesn’t even slightly affect her.)

“God, your cock feels so good inside me,” she gasps. “So deep, don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop.”

She cums hard. Her whole body seizes around you, her soaked velvety walls clenching so tight you can barely move. You fuck her through it, watching her face contort with pleasure.

“More,” she pants before she’s even finished shaking. “I want more, Akihiro! I want you to cum inside me. Like how you spilled it all for Eunbi.”

“Shut up!”

“That’s what you want, right?!” She pulls your face down aggressively to hers. Kisses you deep and filthy. “To fill me up. This is what I was keeping from you. Now you have it. It’s all yours. Don’t let it slip away now.”

That’s it. Those last few words did it for you. You cum. It rips through you like violence. You empty your seed inside her, filling her up, and she makes an almost satisfied sound. Almost. Her laugh aroused and breathless; laced with corrupt darkness.

When you’re finally done, gasping, she runs her fingers through your hair.

“Good boy~” she croons, like she’s praising a dog that finally learned the trick. “Keep it up.”

You should feel satisfied. You should feel triumphant. You finally got what you’ve been desperate for.

And then: nothing. What’s left is hollow that keeps widening. You feel it pulling at the center of you, dragging down every meaning you ever chased, until there’s just the dark, the quiet, the nothingness… You or the lack of you.

“We’re not done,” you hear yourself say.

“No?”

“Not even close.”

Her smile widens. “Then let’s continue. Show me what you’ve got.”

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

You finally end up in the bedroom for round two. You’re rougher, angrier, and she takes everything you give her while whispering encouragement like a demon perched on your shoulder while the angel’s on a paid vacation somewhere, and the return ticket hasn’t been booked yet.

You empty in her again and next thing you know you’re starting round three in the shower. Water running cold by the end. Her back against the cool tile. Your hands leaving marks on her hips. (That seems to heal back easily after a while. You don’t really process it right now, but you’re sure it’s happening)

By round four, you’re back on the bed, but something has shifted.

She’s on top now. Straddling you, grinding slow and deliberate, controlling the pace completely. And you realize, maybe for the first time, that she’s been in control the entire session.

Every moan, every gasp, every whisper of encouragement, she was directing you; conducting you like a fucking orchestra, and you feel like you’re just not at her tempo. Earlier, you definitely were rushing, and now she’s just dragging it out.

“You’re thinking too much,” she says, rolling her hips. “I can see it in your face.”

“I’m thinking about how you’ve been playing me all night.”

“Have I?” She leans down, presses her lips to your ear. “Or have I just been giving you permission?”

“Same fucking thing Tsuki.”

“Is it?” She straightens up. Starts riding you faster. “You seem pretty satisfied for someone who’s been played.”

You grab her hips. Try to set the tempo. She lets you, or seems to; you’re unsure at this point.

“I think it’s about time we talk business,” she says, even as she grinds down on you. “You need to formalize the consulting work. An LLC to give you proper structure.”

“Seriously. You’re talking business right now?” you say. The whiplash of it throws you off her rhythm; LLCs and retainers while she’s riding you senseless into the mattress.

“The Kwon retainer alone—fuck—justifies incorporation.” She’s panting now, losing some of that perfect composure. “I’ll handle the administrative work. Client outreach. The things you’re too proud to do.”

“That makes you my assistant.”

“No Aki-kun. That makes me your partner.” Her rhythm falters slightly. Just for a second. “In all the ways that matter.”

“And what do you get out of it?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Her hips keep moving, but there’s something different in her expression. You can’t seem to explain it; it’s something you haven’t seen before from Tsuki.

“I get to watch what happens next,” she finally says. But it sounds less certain than before.

You pull her down. Kiss her. And for just a moment, just a fraction of a second, she kisses you back like she means it; then she catches herself. Sits back up. Resumes her rhythm.

“Cum for me,” she says. “One more time.”

You do. And this time, as you empty yourself inside her, you could swear you see something crack behind those flat dark eyes.

Something that looks almost like genuine emotions.

But then it’s gone, and she’s climbing off you, and the moment passes.

“Sign the paperwork,” she says, already walking toward the bathroom. “It’s already in your email.”

And it’s like your body just gave up on you, fatigue finally catching up. You pass out.

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

She’s gone when you wake up.

You sign the papers. That’s who you are now: a man who signs anything Tsuki, a woman who appeared out of nowhere, tells you to. Also maybe because you’ve thought about doing this anyway. Even without her.

The business account gets set up the same week. “Hinode Consulting” feels too simple, but Tsuki insists. You want them to remember your name.

She handles everything. Client inquiries route through her. Meetings get scheduled with terrifying efficiency. Emails go out under her signature, and people respond like they’ve known her for years.

You stop asking how she does it. You’re not sure you want to know.

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

Two Months Pass

You can make a million excuses, or you can begin making a million yen. That’s your mantra now. The Kwon retainer leads to more work. Minjun refers you to families with “complicated situations,” his word for situations that will probably involve at least one cousin nobody talks about.

Each case is a puzzle, and you’re starting to get really good at puzzles. Well, you always have been. (You also know that the most glaring puzzle you haven’t solved is working across you.)

Tsuki’s more involved in everything you do now: She’s in the office, at the meeting, on the other end of your phone at all hours. It’s been a while since you two had any action. There hasn’t been any opportunity. Not after that night.

You’re too busy; exhaustion finds you first before you even think of doing anything else that’s not work. You’re too focused on building something that doesn’t feel empty.

Amidst all this, she tries.

Late one night, you’re reviewing the Park case files. Another dumb son, textbook embezzling. Pattern laid out clear as day, but sloppy execution. You have all the proof you need. The question is what to do with it.

Tsuki appears in your doorway. You don’t know how long she’s been watching.

“You could finish this in a snap,” she says.

“I’m finishing it my way, the right way.”

“The son is stealing from his own family. You have documentation. You could—”

“Blackmail him? Threaten to expose him unless he signs over his shares?” You don’t look up from your laptop. “I’ll present the evidence to the family board. They’ll make the decision. They’re smart, they’ll pass the right amount of judgment.”

“But that’s so fucking slow and boring, Aki-kun~”

“It’s the right thing to do. I won’t have it any other way.”

She crosses to your desk. Moves around behind you. Her hands find your shoulders, start kneading the tension there.

“You work too hard Aki-kun,” she murmurs. “How about I help you relax a bit?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re tense.” Her hands slide down your chest. “I can feel it. When was the last time you took a break?”

“Tsuki—”

“Shh.” She spins your chair around. Sinks to her knees in front of you. “Just let me take care of you.”

Before you can respond, she’s unbuckling your belt. She pulls your cock out, takes you into her mouth.

Her technique, mind-numbingly excellent as usual. Her mouth is warm and wet and knows exactly what it’s doing. She takes you deep, swallows around you, looks up at you with those dark eyes. Your cock slides in and out of her tight mouth like it’s made to consume it.

“The son was obviously embezzling,” you say.

She pauses. Pulls back just enough to speak. “What?”

“This Park case. The son is an obvious bozo: Three shell companies, redirected payments, creative accounting that would have worked if he hadn’t gotten greedy.” You lay it all out, accounting for what you found, like listing out groceries on a normal Tuesday.

She stares at you. Then, almost despite herself, she laughs.

“You’re discussing the case while I’m—”

“You did it first, you know? Talking business during sex. I’m just returning the favor.”

“That was different.”

“Was it?”

She takes you back in her mouth, deeper into her throat. Takes you in so aggressively; trying to shut you up, the only way she knows is reliable. You let her try. 

You talk anyway.

“I’m going to present the evidence to the family board. The father will handle the son. That’s how these families work. They clean their own messes.”

She moans around you. The vibration is… something.

“It’ll take longer than blackmailing the dumbass. At least I’m not skipping necessary steps.”

Her pace picks up; she’s working hard now. You eventually climax, and she swallows all of it. Wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Feel better?” she asks.

“Sure.”

She pauses. “That didn’t sound convincing.” She definitely was not expecting that.

“It was fine.”

“Fine?” She stands. Straightens her clothes with precise but annoyed movements. “I just gave you—”

“A technically excellent blowjob. Yep, thank you very much.”

She looks at you for a long moment. You can’t read her face. Well, you don’t really care at this point.

“You’re different,” she says finally. “Since Seoul.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

You turn back to your laptop. “I have work to do.”

She leaves without another word.

You stare at the screen; the numbers start to blur.

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

You fall asleep at your desk one night. Week three of a restructuring. You don’t remember closing the laptop. You don’t remember anything between the third paragraph of an engagement letter and the moment your face hit the keyboard.

Next thing you know, you’re in your bed, all tucked in and the blackout curtain drawn. You’re not quite sure how you got here, but you’re sure there’s no way you can just sleepwalk from your office to your room.

You rub your eyes and turn. She’s at the window, back to you. Black hair against the glass. You can see her in the reflection. Not her face, just the outline of her.

“Tsuki?”

She doesn’t turn. She just goes still in a way that isn’t human, and then she’s not at the window anymore. You blink, and the doorway is empty. The hallway is empty.

You fall back asleep before you can think about what happened.

Hours later you wake up. Your sheets smell like rain. The apartment is exactly as you left it. The laptop’s at your desk. The engagement letter is still on the screen.

You don’t mention it. She doesn’t either. (Surprisingly, you were able to complete eight hours of sleep. You didn’t think you still had that in you to be able to let yourself rest for that long.)

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

A new client arrives as a folder on a Tuesday.

Tsuki appears in your office with a colored folder, indicating she considers it important. She sets it on your desk; perches on the edge, close enough that her thigh brushes your arm.

“We’ve got a new opportunity waiting to be seized,” she says. Her fingers trail across the folder. “This one is par-ti-cu-lar-ly interesting, Aki-kun.”

“Interesting how?”

“Well, let’s just say this is the kind of case that gets you acknowledged and builds your reputation.” She leans closer. “Or destroys it to rubble.”

“You’re really selling it.”

“I’m giving you much-needed context.” Her hands find your shoulder, squeezes. “Jang Wonyoung: Influencer who is blowing up globally. A fucking bombshell; exactly your type Aki-kun. Three hundred million followers across platforms. And a network that rivals Eunbi.”

“I don’t care for influencers.”

“You don’t care about anything that isn’t a balance sheet Aki-kun.” Her thumb traces small circles on your neck. “What you need to know: She built her brand from scratch. Started young, went viral, turned a phone camera into a media empire. Sponsorship deals, product lines, TV guestings, and international campaigns.”

“And?”

“And her management got greedy~” Tsuki slides off the desk. Moves behind you. Her hands find your shoulders again, kneading gently. “When the global offers started coming in, they started skimming. Advances taken in her name, contracts she never signed; By the time she figured it out, she was personally liable for millions in unfulfilled commitments.”

“That’s easily fraud, clear as day.”

“That’s showbusiness for you.” Her lips brush your ear. “She needs someone to untangle the mess. Document the misconduct. Help put her former management behind bars.”

“Why me? Doesn’t she have her own lawyers or accountants?”

“Get this: Local firms turned her down. Too messy. Too public. And her management has eyes on the whole industry that could catch her snooping around and stop it in its tracks before it gains any momentum.” Her hands slide down your chest. “You’re her last optio—” She suddenly cuts herself. “—you’re her only option.”

“You booked the flight already, didn’t you?”

“Tomorrow morning, 8 AM.” She’s in front of you now. Leaning against your desk. “Seoul. Three days minimum, but obviously you can stay longer.”

“And if I say no?”

“You won’t.” That almost-smile of hers. “You never do.”

She’s right, it’s incredibly frustrating how right she is.

“There’s another way to handle this, by the way,” she says, voice dropping. “Will save you quite a lot of time.”

“What do you have?”

“Her former CEO has a gambling problem. The type to spend and lose their children’s school funds in a night. One of the partners has a mistress his wife pays him to keep. Another owes money to dangerous people who deal with crime that’s borderline terrorism.” She tilts her head. “Pressure points, Aki-kun. Press them, and they immediately fold.”

You consider it; for longer than you should. All extremely tempting threads to pull.

“I’ll look at the case first,” you say finally. “Figure out what’s actually possible.”

“And if what’s possible is slow and painful?”

“Then I’ll just have to ride through it.”

Her smile widens. “Interesting~”

She leaves you with the folder. You open it and start flicking through the pages. The numbers are a mess. The path in figuring out these shell companies is maze-like. This could take months. (Or a few hours if you ever decide to use whatever Tsuki gives you.)

You push the thought away for now. 

You need more information from the victim herself.

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

You’re back in Seoul.

You book the hotel this time around. Look for something further than those luxurious apartments you stayed in before—too many memories of wine and silk pajamas.

You text Eunbi anyway from the taxi (because you’re a simp). Been putting it off for weeks, but being back in her city makes it impossible to ignore the urge.

Hey… I’m in Seoul

Wanna grab drinks when you’re free?

Unfortunately, not this week, major acquisition closing.

What brings you here?

New client in a… complicated situation 😮‍💨

When isn’t it complicated with you?

If you need anything…

My network is available.

Edited

Thank you, might take you up on that

How are you? Have you figured your shit out yet?

Working on it

Please work faster…

Unsent Message.

Read 14:33 PM

You weren’t able to catch a glimpse of what that unsent message was. The conversation died down after that.

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

Jang Wonyoung’s apartment is in Gangnam. Nothing quite like it: Floor-to-ceiling glass walls, steel beams, and security systems tighter than most countries’ airports.

You disguise yourself as an old man so observers around won’t bat an eye. Finally, your navy suit came in handy. She opens the door herself.

Three words perfectly describe Wonyoung: Legs. Endless legs. You’ve seen her face on twelve billboards on the cab ride here. Face card that recalibrates algorithms and creates trends just by existing. She’s wearing a silk robe that definitely has more threads than your whole closet, and she’s looking at you like a delivery guy who promised 30 minutes and took 30 days.

“You’re that Japanese consultant.”

“Hinode Akihiro.” You offer your hand; she ignores it. Brat.

“I know who you are.” She doesn’t move from the doorway. “Your assistant was very thorough with the briefing materials.”

“She usually is.”

“She’s also very…” Wonyoung pauses. Searches for the word. “Present. Even on the phone.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Mhmm.” She steps back, finally. Gestures you to come inside. “Well? Come in. Let’s see if you’re worth my time.”

The apartment is expensive but highly impersonal. High-end furniture, no photographs, white and gray all around. It looks like a hotel suite someone forgot to check out of.

Wonyoung drapes herself across a white leather sofa. Doesn’t offer you a seat. Rude.

“So.” She examines her nails. “Hurry up. Convince me.”

“Convince you of what?”

“That you’re not another waste of my time. That you can actually do something about the people who stole from me.” She looks up. “I’ve had three firms already come here. They all said the same boring thing: too complicated, too high-profile, too risky, blah-blah-blah~. Are you going to say the same thing? Say it now so we don’t dilly dally, and I can show you the door out.”

“I haven’t looked at the documents yet.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To get the documents and to formally meet you.”

“And?” She’s still examining you. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re testing me. I’m not here to waste anyone’s time; you’ve been tested enough by people who recently disappointed you.”

Her mood flickers, expression finally showing a hint of interest.

“Ok, you got me. Sit down, Hinode-san. I’ll get the files.”

She moves through the apartment like someone who knows what she looks like from three angles at all times. She returns with boxes of folders that would make most accountants vomit blood. (Good thing you’re not like most accountants).

“Three years of contracts,” she says, dropping them in front of you: “Sponsorship deals, product lines, appearance fees; and somewhere in there, evidence that my management stole everything I built and worked hard for.”

You open the first folder, skim through the first few pages.

“They said these were investments,” she continues, “financial avenues to build my brand and expand my portfolio. Every time I asked questions, they showed me charts going up. Told me multiple times: Trust us, Wonyoung. We know what we’re doing.”

“When did you start figuring it out?”

“When a sponsor I’ve never talked to before tried suing me for breach of contract. For a deal I never signed.” She’s not showing it, but her words quiver from anger. “That’s when I started looking at the actual numbers, the signatures. The actual…” She stops, takes a long breath. “They forged my name on thirty-seven contracts, took advances worth millions; spent it on god knows what while I smiled for cameras and built the thing they were dismantling.”

“Where are they now?”

“Somewhere without extradition.” Her hands clench briefly—then release. “Living very comfortably on money that should have been mine.”

“And you want them to pay.”

“I want them to suffer, Hinode-san.” She meets your eyes. “Can you help me with that?”

“Finding the fraud and building the case—that, I can do. But actually getting them locked up? That’s the legal team’s job; a team I simply don’t have.”

“But you know people who do?”

Then it clicks: You think about Eunbi, her network; what she offered over text.

“Maybe. Let me look at the files first.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s how I do things. I can’t promise anything until I know what I’m working with.”

She studies you for a long moment. Her expression shifts; it softens, almost.

“Most people just tell me what I want to hear,” she says. “It’s refreshing to meet someone who doesn’t.”

She unfolds from the sofa, languid. The robe moves with her like it’s part of her skin. She sits up enough that her eyes are level with yours, then holds your gaze. Gulp.

“Give me three days.”

“And if you can’t find anything?”

“Then I’ll tell you that too.”

She nods slowly. “Okay, Hinode-san. Three days.” She stands, her robe shifts again, revealing a bit more than what you feel is comfortable. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t.”

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

Well, she’s fucked.

The files are a disaster. You’re a fucking disappointment, caffeined up, and nothing to show for.

You spend two days drowning in shell companies and redirected payments. Every time you think you’ve found a thread, it disappears into another maze of offshore accounts and creative bookkeeping.

On day two, you stop with a Caymans entity in front of you and realize you’ve seen this before. 

Two years ago: A senior partner at Ishikawa asked you to help structure something for a client. Tax optimization, he said; looks straightforward. You drew it up because he was a senior partner and you wanted the partner vote (that was one of your most crucial mistakes). The particular fuck up is still currently on the Federal investigation’s whiteboard. 

A few weeks ago, you told Kwon Minjun about it while sitting in his office in Seoul, looking at his glass case of masks. It was the first time you’d ever said it out loud and now you’re looking at a reflection of the past mess you were involved in.

You stare at the Caymans entity in front of you; even the font and formatting is the same. You should have asked harder questions (naiveté won, and you didn’t). Now you’re untangling someone else’s version of what you helped build.

Tsuki’s still pestering you with messages.

hey aki-kun! hows it going?

your new client is hot as well, right?

found anything useful yet?

remember, there are faster ways~

Read 2:29 AM

She keeps sending documents too: Bank records that shouldn’t be accessible without proper paperwork, uncatalogued photographs of signatures that look nothing like Wonyoung’s, information that would be a goldmine if you didn’t have to ask where it came from and how she obtained them.

How the hell do you even have this?

I have my ways~

What?

you don’t need to know Aki-kun.

Read 3:01 AM

You use some of it: The parts that could have come from legitimate sources, the rest you file away. Tempting.

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

It’s day three and you’re running out of time and options.

With bloodshot eyes and your fourth cup of 7/11 coffee. You finally find the signature discrepancy at 2 AM. A contract from eighteen months ago with Wonyoung’s name at the bottom. Except it’s not her signature.

Her actual signature has a distinctive loop in the W. You’ve seen it a dozen times now across legitimate documents—this one’s missing the loop. Pressure is wrong, and the stroke patterns are inconsistent.

You pull three more contracts and compare them; same bad handwriting pretending to be hers. It’s not proof, not by itself, but it’s a crack (and cracks can be loosened). 

Finally a proper lead so you instinctively call Eunbi.

“Hinode-san. Do you know what time it is?” she answers.

“It’s late, I know. Sorry, but I need a favor.”

A few seconds of silence. “Of course, what do you need?”

“Legal connections: a team who specializes in fraud prosecution, and someone who knows how to build a case that sticks.”

“This is for Wonyoung’s case? The influencer that your assistant mentioned?”

“She mentioned…” You rub your eyes. “...she contacts you?” 

“Yes. So, what’s your progress?”

“I found something: Forged signatures, at least four contracts, probably more. But I need help turning it into something prosecutors can use.”

“I know the right person for this.” A pause. “This is really what you called about? Not to see me?”

“I wanted to see you. You said you were busy.”

“I am busy. But I would have made time if you’d pushed.”

“I didn’t want to push.”

“I know. That’s the problem.” She sighs. “I’ll send you her name in the morning.”

“Thank you, Eunbi.”

“Don’t thank me. Just...” She trails off; “Be careful, Akihiro. Whatever you’re caught up in (your assistant, this case, all of it), be careful. Something feels wrong, and I can’t put my finger on what. Don’t do things you normally wouldn’t do.”

“I’m always careful.”

“No. You’re always thorough—not the same thing.” She hangs up before you can respond.

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

Another week passes.

Eunbi’s contacts are good, better than that, actually—they’re fucking phenomenal. A team built to turn the tide in any financial case. With enough ammo, this team could win any legal war.

But this isn’t enough; this case needs more.

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

Day eight

You’ve traced the shell companies to Singapore, a dead end. The accounts were closed six months ago, funds already transferred somewhere else.

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

Day nine

More samples, more analysis, more legal mumbo jumbo that even your sober self is starting to feel out of your depth with. The forensic accountant wants originals, not scans. The originals are in Macau with the CEO who stole them. Fuck.

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

Day ten

You’re running out of options. Tsuki texts at 2 AM.

Aki-kun, don’t forget~ I have shortcuts.

one phone call and this is over

case closed!

Read 2:11 AM

You stare at your laptop. At the maze of dead ends and closed doors.

One phone call.

It would work. You know it would work. People like Wonyoung’s former CEO have weaknesses: gambling, women, shady deals, and marks of a terrible person. Apply pressure to the right spot, and they all come tumbling down.

I can make the call for you, if you prefer. No need for you to get your hands dirty.

Read 2:13 AM

Your fingers hover over the keyboard—head starting to hurt. Doors feel like they’re closing down, locking you up to only one path, but then…

Figure out your ghost.

You put your phone down and return to perusing the documents. There has to be another way. You just need to look hard enough.

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

Day eleven

HEY! are you up?

dont nswer

ofc you are

just wasnted sum1 to listne

i think i just had a pnic attack

could breathe for like 40mins

heh. I dont even remember which cabineeet this bottle came from

anywaaaaay

im a little drunk

Are okay? Is anyone with you?

doooont worry

Im in my apprtmentasd

Im aloooone

ok maybe im not okaaay but im ok

you know? you know what it means.

yourfe not dumb

and youre kinda hawt for an accountant you know?

Ok. Drink some water, wash up, and get some sleep Wonyoung.

buuuuuuuuuut daaaddddyy

bitch how do yoooou unsend that

anyways

dont tell anyone that

about not being okaaay

I wont dont worry

good boooy. gooood accountant-san. youure hot and you follow directions well

good

gooooood

Read 1:11 AM

Two minutes of silence. You’re trying to type up some response. She’s being vulnerable, drunk, and stupid. She probably doesn’t mean anything she’s saying right now. You’re in the middle of finishing your thought when she—

had 3 sponsors at dinner asking if i was ok you know?

I smiled and their faces smiled back

Pffft i know we were all just being fake concerned about each other in that room

I like you accountant-san

I know that you know im not okay but you dont ask me in frnt of people anyways

ty i appreciate u for that

looks like your busy

I wont disturb you anymore hinode-san but go to sleep soon oka??????

Read 1:16 AM

You stare at the screen. Don’t respond.

Sleep never came. You go back to the documents. The whole conversation, if you can even call it that, still sits in the back of your head the rest of the night. The kind of conversation that usually doesn’t happen between clients.

Day twelve

Wonyoung texts you.

How’s it going? I’m losing my mind here.

Still working…

These things take time you know?

I know. I just…

I want it to be over.

Soon

YA! You promise? 

Getting impatient over here!

I’m paying you a shit-ton of money, and nothing is getting done!

Read 13:44 PM

You don’t respond. You don’t have time for this brat. You can’t promise anything anyway. But that night, going through the files for the hundredth time, you find it.

You find it in the sneakiest place where most scandals live: In the email metadata.

Wonyoung’s management used a shared email system. Corporate accounts, corporate servers. When they forged contracts, they sent copies to each other: bragging, coordinating, covering tracks, and being overall sneaky little rats. The emails were deleted, but the metadata remained. (Actual buffoons—of course, their egos got the best of them).

It’s got it all: Time stamps, IP addresses, a digital trail that leads directly to three specific people on three specific dates.

You call Eunbi’s prosecutor contact.

“I have something,” you reveal as if your life depended on it (it kinda does, or else that brat is going to harass you again over the phone). “It proves who forged the contracts, when, and where.”

“How did you find this?”

“The server logs.”

“Aren’t those wiped out?”

“They deleted the emails but forgot about the system logs.” You unconsciously let out a smile. “People tend to forget the system logs.”

“This is... this is actually usable!” She sounds impressed. “This, combined with the signature analysis and the financial trail. This is a case.”

“Enough to file?”

“Enough to file and win. This is incredibly solid, good job Hinode-san!” A pause. “Where the hell did you learn to investigate like this?”

“Twelve years of digging through digital crevices and reading footnotes.”

The case builds from there; each piece connecting to the next—puzzle pieces finally coming together. 

This is it. This is finally it.

Amidst all that, Tsuki keeps offering shortcuts.

I found photographs. The CEO drunk and naked at a gambling den in Busan.

The CFO’s mistress has debts

She would talk for the right price.

There are faster more effective ways, Aki-kun.

Read 17:41 PM

You ignore all of it because you have what you need.

While your client Wonyoung is… well… Wonyoung.

“This is taking forever,” she complains during your fifth meeting. She’s draped across her couch, wine in hand, wearing something that probably qualifies as a dress but only technically. Fabric that reflects light and reveals almost everything at a proper angle. Basically, something one shouldn’t be wearing in front of their accountant. “I’m not paying you to fucking laze around.”

“Complex fraud takes time to build.”

“I’m paying you to make it not take time!”

“You’re paying me to do it right.”

“I could have hired someone who does it fast and right.”

“No way in hell. That’s why I’m here.”

She glares at you. Then, despite herself, laughs.

“God, you’re annoying.”

“I’ve been told.”

“I bet your assistant tells you that all the time.”

You think about Tsuki and her looming presence.

“She has her own peculiar ways of letting me know.”

Wonyoung watches you over the rim of her glass. Doesn’t drink, just watches.

“The worst part,” she says, “is I keep waiting to see if you’ll smile. You don’t, by the way. Not really, not with that face of yours.”

“I smile—sometimes.”

“At your laptop, when you see numbers. But not at people.”

“You’re a person, have I not let out a single smile in front of you, ever?”

“Mhmm.” She drains the wine. Sets the glass down with more deliberation than it needs and moves on. “You know she’s weird, right? Your assistant?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like... really weird. Her manner of speaking, where she seems to know things she shouldn’t.” Wonyoung tilts her head. “I’ve never met her in person. I don’t want to. Two phone calls and I already feel like she knows everything about me.”

“She probably does.”

“That’s not comforting, Hinode-san.” A pause. “The way she describes how you act. I thought about it for two days.”

“How did she say it?”

“Like she knew exactly everything you’ll say and do.” She says it matter-of-factly. “Like she has swallowed you whole and tasted you in her mouth for a while. Like a lollipop that lost its flavor from being in her mouth for too long.”

“What a dramatic way of just saying we’re close.”

“I’m an influencer. Dramatics is my job.” She finishes her wine. “Just be careful, Hinode-san. Something about her gives me the creeps, and my instincts about people are usually good.”

“Usually?”

“Well—” She gestures at the folders spread across her coffee table, then rolls her eyes. “—obviously I’ve learned my lesson.”

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

The presentation happens on a Friday.

You’ve assembled everything: Forged signatures, paper trails, and the documentation of all the shell companies. The amount of evidence that stacked up proves you have a case strong enough it makes the prosecutor look at you in awe.

Everyone’s here: The legal team, whatever remains of Wonyoung’s crew, and Tsuki.

She insisted on attending. Said it was important to see the work through. You didn’t argue. Now she’s sitting in the corner of the room, watching, taking notes. 

“This is enough,” the lead attorney says when you finish. He’s gone quiet. “This is more than enough. We can file criminal charges within the week.”

“How did you find all this?” his associate asks. “Three other firms looked at the same documents and gave up.”

“The parts of the crime everyone assumes don’t matter.” You close your laptop. “But that’s only half of it.”

“What’s the other half?”

You consider how much to say. You haven’t really articulated this stuff before; you had no opportunity to.

“People at this level steal in a specific way. They wipe emails because they think those are the only written records. They forge signatures because they think nobody compares. They fly to another country because they think being physically out of reach means being out of consequence of the law.” You shrug. “I wouldn’t really call them careless. They’re confident. The difference matters: carelessness leaves crumbs to follow while confidence leaves accidental blueprints to foil their plans.”

The associate stops writing.

“You don’t break their case by outsmarting them. You simply break it by noticing they only care about the rooms they’re scheming in. The server logs live in a room with the IT guy they were rude to four years ago. They lose track of how many rooms they’ve created because they assume those rooms don’t matter.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I worked for partners like them and unknowingly drafted their criminal architecture. Didn’t even bother checking it.” You don’t say where; don’t have to.

Across the room, Tsuki’s pen pauses, and you meet her eyes. 

“Excellent work, Hinode-san,” she says smooth, unreadable. “Clean and thorough. Exactly what I expected from you.”

But that’s not what her expression says. Her expression says I didn’t expect this at all.

“Thank you,” you reply. “I couldn’t have done it without your... assistance.”

The lawyers don’t notice the pause, Wonyoung does. Her eyes flick between you and Tsuki, calculating something you can’t read.

“Well,” she says finally. “I think this calls for a celebration. Don’t you? A first for our many more upcoming wins.”

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

The celebration starts professional.

Champagne and bliss after endless nights of feeling filipendulous. The lawyers leave around ten, and her crew follows after. Soon it’s just you, Wonyoung, and too many empty bottles.

Tsuki left earlier, saying she had other business. You’re not sure you believe her. (You bet yourself she’s just pissed you were able to actually figure this out on your own way.)

“You did it,” Wonyoung says, on her fourth glass—maybe fifth. She’s less bitchy now. “You actually fucking did it, look at that.”

“We did it. Your trust made the case possible.”

“Don’t be modest, it’s annoying. I was annoying the whole time.” She refills your glass without asking. “Three firms said it couldn’t be done. You did it in three weeks, impressive.”

“Thought your money was being wasted on me?”

“Shut up.” She clinks her glass against yours. “To you, Hinode-san. The only honest man I’ve met in this garbage industry.”

You drink, the whiskey is expensive (everything here is expensive).

“Can I ask you something?” she says.

“Sure.”

“Your assistant, the creepy one.” She pulls her legs up under her. Totally casual, totally not insinuating anything beyond… a movement. “Are you sleeping with her?”

You don’t answer immediately, your eyes wander around the room, looking at everything but her.

“You are.” She sounds amused. “Or you were. I can tell by the way you avoid the question.”

“It’s… complicated.”

“That’s what men always say.” She sets down her glass. Moves closer to the couch. “Here’s another question: Are you sleeping with the Kwon daughter?”

“That’s—”

“Kwon Eunbi. I looked her up. You worked for her family; it’s how you have that legal team. You keep texting her when you think I’m not watching.” She tilts her head. “Are you?”

“We’re not…”

“But you were.”

“Briefly.”

“And you still have feelings for her.”

You don’t deny it.

“Interesting.” Wonyoung is very close now. Close enough that you can smell her perfume and all the alcohol she’s consumed. “So you’re hung up on one of your past clients, sleeping with another woman who may or may not be human, and now you’re in my apartment getting dangerously drunk.”

“I should probably go.”

“Probably,” Her fingers graze your leg as her whole body slowly inches nearer. “or we could...”

“Wonyoung—”

“I’m not asking for your heart, Hinode-san.” Her hand finds your knee. “I’m only asking for a distraction. One night where I can feel like a person instead of a product. Is that so terrible?”

“You’re a client.”

“So was Eunbi, this isn’t new for you.”

“That’s different.”

“How?” She’s closer still. Her lips brush the side of your face. “You did the work, saved my career. Everything else is just... paperwork.”

You should leave. But you’re tired. And drunk. And her hand is warm on your thigh. And there’s an ache inside you that never quite goes away, an emptiness that nothing seems to fill.

Tsuki is in your head, Eunbi is in your head, and Wonyoung is right here… wanting you—offering something simple and uncomplicated.

“Just this once,” you hear yourself say.

“Just this once,” she agrees.

Her perfect lips find yours.

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

You haven’t been touched without strings attached in a while. Wonyoung’s strings are at least transparent. That’s definitely an upgrade you can’t pass on.

The sex is messy, drunk, and desperate, and nothing like Tsuki. Wonyoung’s idea of sex is chaos-filled, with never-ending demands. You feel her hand tighten in your collar.

“Come on,” she gasps into your mouth, pulling at your clothes. “I’ve been waiting all week for this.”

“You’ve been—”

“Did you think I was dressing like this for myself?” She laughs, wild and genuine. “Every meeting, every late-night work session, I was wondering what it would take to break the formidable Hinode Akihiro.”

“I never noticed.” 

“Liar.” Your shirt is off now, her slender fingers working on your belt. “You totally noticed. I never unsent those drunk texts for a reason.”

“You’re a client.”

“Never stopped you before. You know what, just shut up. Just—” She kisses you again. Bites your lip hard enough to bruise them. “—fuck me already.”

She steps back a bit, watches your face as she unravels herself. Reaches behind her neck and undoes whatever clasp is holding her dress up. The fabric drops in one smooth motion, dropping like liquid on the floor.

Your eyes wander. Long lines, carved shoulders, ribs visible. A flat stomach with ample tits, high, pert, and meant to fit into any piece of clothing. Her panties matched her dress with a lacy exterior and a silk inner lining, making you crave more. She’s obviously wet with patches forming around her slit.

She catches you taking her in.

“Is this the first time you’re seeing a woman naked Hinode-san?” She steps back into your space; her hands reach for your belt. “Now let’s see you.”

You strip while she watches. Her eyes track your every movement as if you’re performing an act, and she’s required to provide an evaluation after. First your shirt, then your pants. All that’s left is your underwear and the tenting frustration that used to be empty but is now filled with heat due to the blazing hot flame of a woman in front of you. You take that off too, and now you’re fully naked in front of her.

She lies on her bed without breaking eye contact. You watch as she spreads her long, perfect legs.

“Come here.”

You come, and then she wraps her legs around your waist before you’re fully on the bed, then pulls you in. You’re hard against her thigh; she moves until you’re hard against her cunt, still covered by already wet fabric.

“In me, now. Don’t make me ask twice.”

You use your fingers to pull the only barrier between your cock and her needy cunt to the side, then you push in. She’s extremely tight. You realize that due to her profession, this kind of tightness must have come from genuine three-years-without-sex type of desire. She gasps once, sharp, then bites it back.

You start fucking her harder. Her loudness fills the room, and she talks through it the entire time.

“Harder! Yes! Right there—” She outpaces you, breaking your rhythm, and you try to match it, causing you to go harder than usual. “—come on Hinode-san, don’t hold back!”

You struggle to keep up. Weeks without sex and having to deal with the emptiness that consumed you are showing their effects. Wonyoung’s face changes. Her hands leave your shoulders and you don’t immediately register where they’ve gone until—

Both hands meet your face, the sound surprises you more than the impact. Your ears ring, and the room comes back into focus.

“Wake up Hinode-san! Is that all you’ve got?! I expected more from someone who—fuck—okay, that’s more like it—”

You pull out. Pull her legs aside and then strip the rest of her properly this time. She lets you. She spreads her legs again, and like a photoshoot, Wonyoung looks at you like she’s looking at a camera. Her body, just a tad shy of heavenly perfection, built to be seen—performs for you. Her eyes catch yours, and she smiles at an angle meant for her. She adjusts her body to fit better under yours, still directing, still producing, still being the star of this show.

You watch your own body become a paid actor on top of her. You then fuck her harder, exactly how she wants it.

“Look at me.” Her nails dig into your jaw, turn your face towards hers. “When your cock is inside me, you look at me. Only me. Not the bed, not the wall, not whatever you were just looking at. Me.”

Your eyes are now glued to her.

“There he is.” She hooks her ankles behind your back. “There’s the face I’ve been waiting for.”

“Wonyoung—”

“Tell me.”

“What?”

“Tell me I’m better than her. Actually, tell me that I’m better than both of them. The Kwon daughter and your creepy little assistant.” Her hips roll up against yours. “You’re still thinking about them right now, I can tell Hinode-san. Stop.”

“I’m not…”

“Yes, you are. Eunbi was here—” she taps your forehead “—for like two seconds. Don’t lie to me, I have a PhD in reading faces. So fix it; confess to me.” She grabs your wrist, then brings your hand to her throat. “Tell me I’m better.”

“You’re—” Your words are starting to slur, unsure of how to continue. “—different.”

“Different?” She laughs, more shocked than offended. “Try harder, Hinode-san. I built a media empire on getting what I want. I am not settling for different.”

You lose it. You thrust harder, and you hear moans and gasps. Then, as if she realized something, she laughs, then she moans, then the moan becomes another laugh, almost delighted with herself.

“That’s better, that’s what I wanted.” Her head tips back against the pillow. “Millions of people crave for me Hinode-san. Millions of people would kill just to get one night with me. And right now, the only thing on this planet you should be thinking about is me. Say it.”

“What?”

“Say my name.”

“Wonyoung.”

“Again!”

You laugh once into her shoulder despite yourself. She laughs back.  Then her hand finds your hair and pulls, and you stop laughing because she’s tightening around you again.

“Say it again, please. Say it loud.”

You say it louder, then she cums violently around you. Her whole body shaking from the pleasure, her moans loud and unembarrassed. Fingers in your hair pull you down to her mouth. Your tongues slithering onto each other, all wet, messy, and raw.

She doesn’t go quiet after, not even a hint of slowing down.

“Don’t you dare stop, I told you I’ve been waiting all week. You’re not done until I am.”

You obviously don’t stop.

She flips you onto your back without warning, climbs on, and rides you with the same confidence as before. 

Even through the sex-fueled haze, something strikes you. You start noticing her features: Her skin is too good to be uncurated, a scar lives on her knee from something she’s never explained on her socials. A birthmark on her hip looks like a dropped ink spot. A tattoo under her ribs, her PR team probably photoshops out of every campaign.

She is real in every sense of the word; someone who exists, who ages, who bears marks of living, while building a career on being more polished than she is. Her body is a project that she’s proud of.

Tsuki manages to haunt your thoughts anyway; you can’t help it. Even with Wonyoung above you, chasing her own pleasure, you’re thinking about that flat dark eyes and skin without any of these marks and how Tsuki looks at you like she’s always solving an equation.

“You’re somewhere else again.”

You blink. Wonyoung’s slowed down, looking at you, and clearly not amused.

“I’m here.”

“You’re obviously not.” She doesn’t sound hurt. “Fine, come here.” She pulls you up by the neck and kisses you slowly this time. “If you’re going to be fucking me while thinking of another woman, at least make it convincing.”

You try. You give it all you got and match her pace, pistoning yourself into her, now chasing your own release.

“Now. You may cum inside me Hinode-san.”

That does it. It rips through you, and she eyes you for every second of it. Lip caught between her teeth; her eyes on your face while you spill your seed inside her. Thick ropes of cum flood her insides and she feels all of it.

When you collapse next to her, she doesn’t curl into you. She props herself on one elbow and studies you.

“You’re so much sadder than I thought you’d be.”

“Thanks.”

“That wasn’t an insult.” She traces a finger down your chest. “I want to know what’s bothering you. Your soul feels so empty, so quiet on the inside.” 

She’s wrong about that. You’re never quiet on the inside, you’re just good at hiding what you really feel. You’ve been trained for twelve years to shut your thoughts and put it through words and numbers on paper.

You don’t answer.

She doesn’t push. Her eyes stay on you.

Eventually, you close your eyes because her watching is more intimate than anything that just happened. 

You fall asleep with her eyes still on you.

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

Morning arrives with all the subtlety of a hammer.

You wake up to sunlight stabbing your eyeballs and a headache that suggests your brain is trying to escape through your temples. There’s a warm long body next to you. Right. Wonyoung. Last night. The celebration that became something else.

She stirs. Groans. Opens one eye.

“Oh god.”

“Yeah.”

“We…”

“Yeah.”

She sits up slowly. The sheet falls and you’re both still naked. She notices but doesn’t seem to care.

“That happened,” she says.

“It did.”

“I feel like death.”

“Same.”

She laughs; messy, still hungover, and genuine. “Okay. Great. This is fine. We’re adults, right? We got drunk and made questionable decisions. It’s practically a rite of passage.”

“For who?”

“People with too much money and too little supervision.” She stretches. You try not to stare at her body: long limbs, elegant lines, the small imperfections that make her real. “How does it feel to have fucked someone like me? I expect you to not be weird about all this, okay?”

“It’s aight and I’m not being weird.”

“You’re still staring at my tits, you know?”

“Well… You’ve got nice tits.”

“Sure, thanks.” But she’s smiling. “Look. Last night was... what it was. Two lonely people being stupid together. Let’s not make it more than that.”

“Agreed.”

“We’re still professional. You’re still my consultant. This never happened.”

“What never happened?”

“Exactly.” She stands. Grabs the robe from where it landed on a chair. “I need coffee. You need coffee. We’re both going to pretend we’re not dying.”

She disappears toward the kitchen, you sit up. Try to make your brain work.

Last night. The celebration. The whiskey. The…

You slept with another client. You thought about Tsuki the entire time. You observed, no, you noticed every way Wonyoung’s body was different from hers. And now you’re sitting in an expensive apartment, hungover and naked, wondering what exactly you’ve become.

Wonyoung returns with two cups of coffee and a wooden box.

“Here.” She hands you a cup. Sits on the edge of the bed. “I want to show you something.”

“What?”

She opens the box. Inside, wrapped in faded silk, is a mask.

Your chest tightens.

A Hannya mask. You’ve been seeing them everywhere lately. Hotel hallways. Minjun’s office. The same face. Horns and teeth and an expression that doesn’t decide whether it’s grieving or about to bite.

“Where did you get that?”

“A friend. She’s Japanese like you. Her name is Naoi Rei. We met at a brand collaboration a few years ago. She’s a designer, does traditional Japanese craftwork for runway. Lives in Tokyo, actually. Her studio’s in Aoyama, not far from your office, if I remember right.” Wonyoung traces the mask’s features. “She gave me this when things started going bad with my management. Said everyone in the industry needs protection.”

“Protection from what?”

“That’s the thing.” Wonyoung looks up. Her expression is strange. Uncertain in a way you haven’t seen before. “I asked her the same thing. And she told me stories.”

“What kind of stories?”

“Demons. Women who look human but aren’t. Who attach themselves to men at their lowest moments and...” She trails off. “I don’t know. Feed on them, I guess. Make things worse while pretending to help.”

Your mouth is dry. “That’s folklore created to scare children.”

“Rei doesn’t think so.” Wonyoung holds up the mask. Studies it. “She says the Kanji for these demons in Japanese are the same as the Buddhist word for wisdom. I don’t have a good grasp of that idea myself. It’s all very vague and deep.”

“Demons and wisdom share a name.”

“Yeah. Rei said that’s the point.” She hands you the mask. “Keep it.”

“I can’t…”

“It’s not a gift. It’s a warning.” She meets your eyes. “Your assistant texts from a weird handle, Hinode-san. I saw it on your phone. And the way she looks at you, the way she knows things she shouldn’t…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know what she is. But I don’t think she’s human.”

You look at the mask in your hands. The horns. The teeth. The face of a woman who used to be something else.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re the first person in years who actually helped me without wanting something in return.” She pulls the robe tighter around herself. “And because whatever she is, whatever game she’s playing. I don’t think you know the rules yet.”

You don’t know what to say. So you just sit there, holding a demon’s face in your hands, trying to make sense of things that refuse to make sense.

“Thank Rei for me,” you finally say.

“Thank her yourself. I’ll send you her contact info.” Wonyoung stands. “Now get dressed. I need you to leave so I can die of this hangover in peace.”

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

The flight back to Tokyo takes forever.

Your laptop’s open. You haven’t typed anything in twenty minutes. The search bar’s open. You haven’t searched anything.

You used to read Wikipedia for fun: Try to get from one topic to another by just clicking specific keyword links, but now you’re stumped.

You type: Hannya.

The first result is an odd webpage, you read three sentences and close it. The second is a Noh theater archive. You read one paragraph and close that too.

A woman whose jealousy twisted her into something else. Something that finds men at their lowest moments and stays.

You close the laptop.

You remember the bar. Four months ago. 

You think about the Wonyoung case. Every dead end, she had an answer for. Every door closed, she had a key. You’ve managed this far without ever using her keys, and that somehow surprised her. Like the version of you doing this clean wasn’t the version she’d been planning for.

The Hannya mask is in your bag. You can feel it the way you’d feel a tumor.

Figure out your ghost.

Your phone buzzes.

you’ve been quiet.

how did the celebration go? fucked another client, have you?

I see you’re starting to get curious.

be careful what you dig for, Aki-kun.

some things don’t want to be found.

Read 3:13 AM

You put the phone face down on the tray table and stare out the window. 

She knows but she’s been wrong before, once, about you. So maybe she doesn’t know everything.

✦✦✦⟡⟡⟡

Two days later, another message arrives.

You’re at your desk, staring at the Hannya mask you’ve placed where you can see it, when your phone buzzes.

Different number. Different tone.

Hinode-san. Following up. I know you’ve been ignoring my voicemails and emails for the past month. I respect that. I’ve decided to write the piece anyway, to also hopefully get your attention.

Private consulting and the ethics of confidential advisory work. I’m interested in how you rebuilt your career after Ishikawa, and whether the rumors about your “unusually efficient” assistant have any substance.

Last chance to comment before publication. Forty-eight hours. After that, your silence becomes part of the story.

Read 20:45 PM

You read it three times.

You remember her byline. Polaris. Four senior partners in prison and a Bloomberg Asia cover. The kind of work that doesn’t get written by accident.

You think about the voicemails you didn’t return. The coffee invite you ignored. The email you read once in Eunbi’s kitchen and put face-down on the counter.

You don’t want your name in whatever she’s writing.

Someone else has noticed. Someone outside your circle is asking questions about Tsuki.

Your phone buzzes again. The familiar handle.

you received an interesting message

be careful how you respond, Aki-kun

some questions are safer left unanswered

Read 21:11 PM

You look at the two messages side by side. The journalist asking questions. Tsuki warning you from answering.

For the first time in months, you feel something other than empty.

You feel curious.

You pick up your phone. Type something short.

Kim Jiwoo-ssi. You’ve got my attention.

Read 21:26 PM

You send it. Don’t read it back.

Then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you open the contact Wonyoung forwarded an hour ago. Naoi Rei: Aoyama, the designer with the masks.

Naoi-san. Hinode Akihiro. I’m back in Tokyo. Jang Wonyoung gave me your contact and spoke very highly of you. I’d look forward to meeting if you can spare an hour this week. I have one of your masks. I think we should talk.

You hit send before you can think about why. Your finger lingers on the screen.

Your phone buzzes.

interesting choice~

which one of those messages do you think I’m talking about, Aki-kun?

I’ll see you soon.

Read 21:54 PM

You pour yourself a bourbon. The glass tastes like the bar four months ago. You don’t finish it.

Your phone buzzes again. A new number. Korean country code.

Hinode-san. I should mention. I don’t write stories I’m not willing to follow into the room.

Look out your window.

Read 22:03 PM

You don’t move.

The next buzz is a photo. Your building, taken from across the street. Your floor. Your kitchen light still on. Time-stamped one minute ago.

Apartment 24F. The one with the bourbon poured. I’ll be in your lobby in ten minutes. I brought us coffee. You’re going to want to talk to me, Hinode-san. The piece is already written. I’d rather not file it without giving you a chance to be a person in it instead of a name.

Read 22:05 PM

You look at the mask. Look at your phone. Look at the bourbon you didn’t finish.

“Ten minutes, huh?”

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