Chapter 2: The Boardroom of Shadows


    The night was still young, but the invited few had already begun indulging—bubbles rising in crystal flutes, amber liquid swirling in heavy-bottomed glasses. It was an afterparty for a charity event, a carefully curated affair for those who had ensured its success. Well of Fortune had played their part, and now, like the rest, they were free to bask in the aftermath.


    Nachi, ever the opportunist, was draped over the bar, exchanging lazy flirtations with a model who laughed just a little too sweetly. Takao, stationed with a group of junior staff, looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else, nodding absently at a conversation he had already tuned out. Mamoru, perched in a quiet corner, was scrolling through medical articles on his tablet, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.


    And then there was Hideki. Smirking, amused, languidly making his way to the bar. He rested an elbow against the counter, one hand slipping into his pocket as he signaled for the bartender.


    “A whisky,” he began, voice smooth.


    “Are you sure you should be drinking that?”


    The voice was soft but pointed, and Hideki turned his head—only to be met with an altogether unexpected sight.


    She stood effortlessly poised, a contradiction in lace and velvet. Blonde curls cascaded down her shoulders, tied into meticulous pigtails that should have belonged to a porcelain doll, not to the woman before him. Her lips were painted the softest pink, her skin unnervingly pale, and yet it was her eyes that unsettled him most—large, violet, glinting with something unreadable beneath the dim lights of the bar.


    Hoshikaze.


    He didn’t so much speak her name as breathe it, a whisper edged with something between amusement and calculation.


    Yano.


    Her smile did not waver, nor did her gaze falter. Instead, with an air of quiet amusement, she reached into her clutch and withdrew a bottle of water—Voss, unopened, pristine. She held it out to him with the casual confidence of someone who already knew he would take it.


    “Take this instead,” she said, her grin widening just enough to make it unsettling. Her teeth glimmered as she leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something just above a murmur.


    “I look forward to working with you.”


    And with that, she turned, the black hem of her Gothic Lolita dress swaying as she vanished back into the party, leaving Hideki standing there, fingers still curled loosely around the cool glass of the bottle.


    He exhaled sharply through his nose, a smirk tugging at his lips.


    Oh, this was going to be fun.


    February 14, 2016 – Omotesando, Morning


    As she turned, the fluorescent pink of a Valentine’s Day display caught her eye.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    A café stand, filled with cheap red roses, heart-shaped chocolates, and neatly wrapped confectionery. A woman passed by, giggling with a coworker over a box of pastries decorated in sugar hearts.


    Anna’s lips barely moved, but the ghost of a smile flickered.


    Valentine’s Day. The Yano twins’ birthday.


    A day for public devotion, romantic gestures, and carefully staged performances.


    How fitting.


    She slipped the receipt into her coat pocket—her fingers grazing something else.


    The familiar shape of a Seven Stars cigarette pack.


    A relic from another time. A past version of herself.


    The habit wasn’t the nicotine. It was a reminder.


    She could still hear a voice in her mind. Soft. Concerned. Honest.


    “Anna, it’s bad for you. Please.”


    She hadn’t listened.


    And now?


    She curled her fingers around the box, then released it, letting it fall back into the pocket, laughing at the irony.


    She wasn’t that girl anymore.


    The cold February air. The first snowflakes of the evening drifted down, landing against the wool of her coat before melting away.


    She moved with precision—not hurried, not sluggish.


    Too slow, and people asked if you were unwell.


    Too fast, and they assumed you were anxious.


    She walked at the exact speed of a woman with no reason to rush.


    Her eyes flicked to the road.


    A taxi idled near the curb.


    Her next scene was about to begin.


    She lifted her hand, signaling to the driver, already slipping into the next version of herself.


    Perfect timing.


    The heat inside the taxi hit Anna immediately.


    Too warm. Too enclosed. The faint scent of cigarette smoke and stale air freshener clung to the seats, mixing with the distant chemical clean smell of the cold air pollution still lingering on her coat.


    She exhaled slowly. Not too fast. Not too shaky.


    The driver barely glanced at her as he adjusted the meter with a tired grunt. The car rolled forward, pulling into the city streets.


    Outside, Tokyo was dusted in early February snow, the neon glow of convenience stores and streetlights casting flickering colors onto the icy pavement. Inside, it felt stagnant, too still.


    She focused on the passing signs, reading them in her mind like a chant—something to keep her grounded.


    Y-2, Celine, Omotesando Hills…


    The nausea ignored her efforts.


    A slow, familiar twist coiled in her stomach.


    Not yet. Not here.


    She pressed the pad of her thumb against her wrist, feeling her own pulse beneath the skin. A controlled distraction. A tether.


    Still, the world tilted.


    Her fingers ghosted over the plastic bag tucked into her pocket. Always prepared. Always controlled.


    She swallowed. Breathed. Braced.


    The sickness clawed up her throat anyway.


    Anna barely had time to pull out the bag before it hit—sharp, acidic, unforgiving. The bitter taste of bile mixed with chocolate burned the back of her throat as she doubled over, her body betraying her in the most human, unscripted way possible.


    The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror, his expression shifting from indifference to mild disgust.


    “Miss, are you—”


    She lifted a hand, cutting him off, composure already returning to her posture.


    “It’s fine.” Her voice was steady. “Just drive.”


    She wiped her mouth with the edge of a folded tissue, her movements precise, almost elegant, despite what had just happened.


    The taste lingered. A cruel contrast.


    She had bought that chocolate at a high-end chocolatier in Omotesando, a mindless purchase meant to fill the silence between appointments. It had been rich, velvety, laced with orange zest and hazelnut.


    Now, it was ruined.


    The human body was pathetic. It didn’t matter how much control she believed she had—instinct always won.


    Her grip tightened around the plastic bag before she folded it neatly and tucked it back into her coat.


    She forced her breathing to steady, her heartbeat to slow.


    No one saw this. No one would remember it.


    By the time she stepped out of the taxi, she would be untouched by this moment.


    The world outside continued.


    Snow drifted onto the glowing city streets, melting into the asphalt.


    Her next scene was waiting.


    Anna lifted her head, erasing the last traces of vulnerability from her face.


    Almost there.


    The moment Anna stepped out of the taxi, she was flawless again.


    .