The Boss's Secret Love — My Childhood Friend's Hidden Tenderness
Riko Ayase is barely surviving her second year as a sales assistant under Shinichiro Mizuuchi—the cold, impossibly perfect boss whispered about as the "Ice Wall" of the third sales department. Every red-marked document, every clipped correction, every late night at her desk is a reminder that under his watch, nothing less than flawless will do. She's exhausted, invisible, and certain he barely knows she exists.
Then the anonymous messages begin.
A stranger with no face, no posts, no name—@sile
The Boss's Secret Love — My Childhood Friend's Hidden Tenderness - A Happening in the Department Head's Office, and Fingertips That Touch
10:00 AM. The eighth floor of the Akasaka ASK Building — the sales floor of the Third Sales Division.
The internal line rang at Ayase Riko's desk.
*Brrring.*
She picked up the receiver, and a low voice came through.
"Riko. Come to my office."
The voice was mechanical, devoid of emotion. No — it had emotion, surely, but it had been completely stripped away. That was just how Director Miura's voice was.
"Y-yes, sir."
She'd instinctively slipped into formal speech. The moment she set the receiver down, her heart slammed against her ribs.
*(Did I make a mistake somewhere?)*
The estimate she'd submitted yesterday had already been corrected. The proposal materials, the client emails — everything had been checked. And yet, something nagged at her—
"Riko, what's wrong? You're white as a sheet."
Her senior, Yano, spoke up. Thirty-one, a seasoned saleswoman. The one person in the division who always looked out for Riko.
"Oh — the director's calling for me."
"Ah. I see. Good luck."
There was something in those words — not pity, but encouragement.
Riko stood and headed for the director's office.
From her desk to his door was barely thirty meters. Yet the distance felt strangely vast.
She stood before the door. Wooden. His name was etched into the glass panel.
She knocked. Her fingers were trembling.
"Enter."
The reply came.
She opened the door.
The office was smaller than she'd expected. A space of maybe seven square meters. A desk, a bookshelf, a small sofa for receiving guests. That was all. No decorations, nothing. A space stripped of every unnecessary thing. It was as if the room itself embodied the man called Miura.
She stood before the desk. Miura was by the window, on a call. Receiver to his ear, eyes fixed on his monitor. His profile was expressionless as a sculpture.
His posture, straight and still. Black hair. Handsome features, but with a crease between his brows. The usual crease. It appeared whenever he was thinking.
Riko stood in the corner of the office, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.
To study the director from this close — it almost never happened.
Miura spoke into the phone. Concise, precise.
"That's right. Those terms are fine. Send me the revised version by Friday."
She couldn't hear the other party. Still, Miura seemed to have reached an agreement.
"Thanks."
He set the receiver down.
He pressed a button on his desk, ending the call.
Then, slowly, he swiveled his chair around.
His eyes met hers.
Those eyes — cold gray. Eyes that had killed every trace of emotion. And yet, something seemed to lurk beneath them. What it was, Riko couldn't tell.
"The client proposal. I'm giving you the latest version."
A short instruction.
He pulled a thick file from the stack beside his desk. Three centimeters thick, at least. Inside were the proposal materials, the estimate, the concept plan, the design drafts. Everything.
"This is the final version. If there's a mistake, there's no undoing it. Check it over."
"Understood."
She stepped forward to take the file.
That was when it happened.
Her nerves got the better of her — her hand slipped.
The file slid clean out of her grip.
*Whump. Whump. Whump.*
Papers scattered across the floor. A4 sheets. Dozens of them, blanketing the hardwood.
"A—ah, I'm so sorry!"
Riko dropped to her knees in a panic. She began gathering the papers.
Her hands were shaking. She was completely tense. A mistake like this, in front of the director — unforgivable.
And then.
Miura knelt down too.
Right beside her, he began picking up the papers just as she was.
The director was picking them up himself.
It was unprecedented. Normally, he'd leave it to a subordinate. But Miura was gathering the documents with his own hands.
The two of them knelt on the floor, side by side, collecting papers. The office was small. The floor was small.
In no time at all, the distance between them had shrunk.
Riko looked at Miura's hands.
Large hands. Masculine. But more refined than she'd expected. Long fingers, neatly trimmed nails. On the ring finger of his left hand, a simple silver ring caught the light.
How long had he worn it? Riko didn't know.
The ring glinted. In that instant, her heart gave a heavy throb.
*(Strange. Why is my heart racing like this?)*
Before she could even wonder why—
One last sheet remained.
Her hand and Miura's reached for it at the same time.
Their fingertips touched.
Over the paper, their fingers overlapped.
*Still.*
In that moment, time seemed to stop.
No — it *did* stop.
Riko looked up without thinking.
And there was Miura's face.
Far too close. Less than thirty centimeters between them. Face to face.
He said nothing. Expressionless, he picked up the paper.
The contact lasted only an instant.
"Be careful."
His voice—
It was a little softer than usual.
Or so it seemed to her.
Riko's face was already burning like fire.
"Y-yes. I'm sorry."
Her voice was barely a whisper.
So faint that she couldn't tell if Miura had heard it at all.
He placed the organized documents on his desk.
"I'll be using these for tomorrow's presentation. Make absolutely sure they're correct."
His instructions remained cold and precise.
Had that warmth in that moment been an illusion?
"Understood."
She clutched the file to her chest. The thickness of the papers pressed against her.
And she left the director's office.
———
When she returned to the sales floor,
Riko sat down at her desk.
Her heart was still pounding.
*(What was that moment?)*
She couldn't forget the sensation.
Such a brief moment. Barely an instant.
And yet the feeling of their fingertips touching still lingered.
Riko stared at her right hand.
Just a hand. Nothing special. But that hand had touched the director's.
She laced the fingers of her left hand together, squeezing tight.
A habit of hers. Something she did when she was nervous.
Afternoon.
Riko checked the file she'd been given, again and again. Any typos? Any errors in the numbers? Was the layout perfect?
Over and over and over.
Not because the work demanded it. But so she wouldn't have to think about *that moment*.
10:00 PM.
Riko returned to her apartment in Nakameguro.
When she opened the door, she could see the Meguro River from the balcony. The night river flowed quietly.
She sank into the sofa and picked up her phone.
She opened a social media app.
Her account: "@rico_sketch." An account where she posted her hobby illustrations.
She checked her direct messages.
A message had arrived from that anonymous account — "@silent_north_star."
*"Good work today, as always. Dropping the documents — that's so like you. But it's fine. You don't need to be perfect. What matters is how you handle what comes after. And you handled it properly. I'll be rooting for you at tomorrow's presentation."*
Riko caught her breath.
It knew she'd dropped the papers.
And not only that.
—Had it *seen* that moment?
It knew what had happened in the director's office.
She laced her left fingers together, squeezing.
Who *was* this person?
How did they know such things?
Were they inside the office? Or—
The night wind blew in from the balcony.
Gazing out at the Meguro River, Riko thought.
That warm voice. She couldn't stop wondering who it belonged to.
Novelia is an AI-powered platform to read original light novels and fan fiction, create your own in just a few taps, and chat with the characters. New, illustrated episodes arrive daily — free to start.