The Secret Between the President and Me in Our Office for Two
Rui Takane, a sharp and ambitious executive, has just been appointed the new president of a special division at the giant talent agency 'Hololive.' Her first order of business is hiring a personal secretary, and she chooses the most unlikely candidate: Kakeru Aoi, a timid and seemingly incompetent young man.
'You. You're my secretary from today.'
With that single, high-handed declaration, Kakeru's quiet life is thrown into utter chaos. Rui runs the office like a typhoon, scattering documents,
The Secret Between the President and Me in Our Office for Two - Hellish First Day at Work and Kindness at 3 AM
My stomach hurts.
It's morning. Aoi Kakeru paces back and forth in front of the main entrance of Hololive Central, over and over.
Yesterday, after that storm of an interview, he was hired without really understanding why. As the secretary to Takane Rui — a young, cold, utterly unreadable female president.
"Hahh... I'm so nervous I could die."
Kakeru pressed a hand firmly against his stomach. His complexion was surely as pale as paper.
His suit was the same as yesterday — a dirt-cheap one, 3,980 yen. His tie was, as always, slightly crooked. No matter how many times he fixed it, it would slip askew again right away.
(Calm down, calm down.)
(Just... don't mess up...)
Kakeru took a deep breath. Then, as if resigning himself, he stepped through the automatic doors.
The first-floor lobby was gleaming as ever, the air conditioning working hard. On the large monitor, the super-popular talents were flashing their dazzling smiles again today.
Kakeru pulled his employee ID from his pocket. The plastic still felt brand new.
Once he swiped this, he would be an employee here.
(I can't believe it...)
He stepped into the elevator. The finger pressing the button for the seventh floor trembled faintly.
With a chime, the doors opened.
The floor was no longer the quiet place it had been yesterday.
"You're late."
Rui stood in front of the president's office, arms crossed.
Her glossy black hair fell just past her shoulders. Her narrow, dark-brown eyes fixed steadily on Kakeru. Today, perhaps in work mode, she wore silver-rimmed fashion glasses.
"G-Good morning!"
Kakeru bowed deeply.
Rui glanced at him, then turned on her heel and walked toward the president's office.
"Follow me. First, I'll explain your duties."
The president's office was bright, morning sunlight streaming through the large south-facing windows. It was probably about thirty square meters. On the desk, a mountain of documents looked ready to avalanche.
Rui stood before her desk and held out a single sheet of paper to Kakeru.
"This is the list of tasks you are to handle starting today."
Kakeru timidly took the paper.
He scanned it, and froze.
Schedule management. Contract document creation. Visitor reception. Liaison contact with the talents.
Even that alone was an unbelievable volume.
But the real problem was the detailed annotations crammed in below.
"Coffee: Brazilian Chocolaty. Temperature: 58 degrees. Milk: Use Hokkaido special select."
Rui's voice was matter-of-fact.
"Stapling documents: Upper right corner, diagonal 45 degrees. If the angle is off by even one second, do it over."
"Huh... 45 degrees?"
Rui pushed up the bridge of her glasses with a sharp motion.
"Obviously. The beauty of a document is directly linked to the accuracy of the work. Do you have a problem with that?"
"N-No! Nothing! Not at all!"
Kakeru bowed his head, flustered and stammering.
(58 degrees... 45 degrees...)
In his mind, Kakeru desperately repeated the numbers. The area around his stomach clenched even tighter with pain.
Rui looked down at Kakeru's state with cold eyes.
"First, the coffee. I'm expecting great things."
Kakeru stood in the kitchenette.
In his hands, the coffee maker. And a small canister Rui had handed him, labeled "Secret Beans."
(Brazilian Chocolaty, 58 degrees...)
Kakeru opened the canister. A wonderful aroma wafted out. He'd never even touched beans that looked this expensive.
His hands trembled.
Carefully, meticulously, he measured the beans.
He set up the coffee maker and flipped the switch.
(Please, let this brew well...)
It felt like praying to a god.
The coffee began to drip, drop by drop. In the meantime, he had to prepare the milk.
Hokkaido special select. When he opened the paper carton, a rich fragrance emerged, unlike anything he'd expect from regular milk.
(The temperature is 58 degrees...)
Kakeru took out a thermometer. He'd bought it in a rush at Don Quijote last night.
The moment the coffee finished brewing, he measured the temperature immediately.
"S-Sixty-three degrees! It's too hot!"
Kakeru hurriedly added a little cold milk. The numbers on the thermometer slowly dropped.
61, 60, 59, 58.
It stopped.
"Alright...!"
He placed the cup on a tray and carried it to the president's office.
His heart was pounding.
"Sorry for the wait. Your coffee."
Without looking up from her documents, Rui accepted the cup.
She took a single sip.
(Please...!)
"...The temperature is one degree low."
Kakeru's heart froze solid.
"57 degrees. Don't make me repeat myself. 58 degrees means 58 degrees. Do it over."
"I-I'm so sorry...!"
Kakeru took the cup and ran back to the kitchenette.
Once again, he measured the beans anew.
This time, he focused every nerve on temperature control. He let it cool to the very limit, then carefully added warmed milk, one drop at a time.
The instant the digital display on the thermometer stopped at exactly 58 degrees, Kakeru felt grateful to a thermometer for the first time in his life.
He carried the second cup back again.
Rui took only one sip once more.
"The milk is wrong. This isn't the Hokkaido special select."
"What!? But, it's right here... ah."
Kakeru was at a loss for words.
In the kitchenette cupboard, there had been two kinds of milk. He had apparently opened the other, cheaper one by mistake.
"I should have said it from the start. 'Obviously.' Do you understand the meaning of 'obviously'?"
Rui's cold words pierced Kakeru's chest.
She pushed the cup to the corner of her desk and turned back to her documents.
Kakeru finally passed on his third attempt — third time's the charm.
By then, the morning was long over, and his stomach, rather than aching sharply, had gone completely numb.
(This is impossible...)
(This isn't a job someone like me can do...)
At his small desk, Kakeru stared at his coffee-scented fingers with eyes like a dead fish.
"Next. This afternoon, make these."
Rui dropped three thick files onto his desk with a thud.
"Exclusive contracts for three new talents. The format is on the computer. Deadline: today at 5 PM."
"Th-Three contracts... by the end of today...?"
Rui didn't answer; she was already opening a different document herself.
With trembling hands, Kakeru opened the files.
Talent profiles, contract periods, compensation structures, penalty calculation formulas, scope of exclusive rights, schedule stipulations... Legal terms he'd never seen before lined up in rows.
(Contract period, two to five years? Penalty fees, 1.5 to 3 times annual compensation?)
(I have to calculate all of this and write it up without a single mistake...?)
His head felt like it was going to explode.
He desperately pounded at the keyboard. But his hands stopped almost immediately. He didn't understand the terminology. He didn't know which template clause to choose.
Only time passed, cruelly.
Before he knew it, the sunlight outside the window had shifted to the orange of evening.
5 PM.
On Kakeru's computer screen, a single contract sat half-finished, frozen in place.
"Time's up. Show me."
Rui stood behind him.
Unable to make a sound, Kakeru tremblingly moved aside.
Rui scrolled through the screen in silence.
A single minute felt like an hour.
"...You're useless."
Rui said it quietly. Just that.
Then, she slapped the other documents she was holding onto Kakeru's desk with a sharp rustle and returned to the president's office.
Kakeru stood there, rooted to the spot.
His mind went completely blank.
(Useless.)
Only that word repeated in his head, like a refrain.
He could tell the other employees around him were awkwardly averting their eyes.
(Yeah. I knew it. I really am hopeless, no matter where I go.)
His self-esteem had hit zero a long, long time ago.
Now, it felt like it had gone into the negatives.
Frustrating.
Pathetic.
He was hopelessly, utterly pathetic.
With heavy steps, Kakeru left the office.
He decided he would just go home.
— 11 PM.
Kakeru was fumbling through his pockets in front of the battered door of his apartment, "Corpo Wakaba."
Kameido, Koto Ward. Twenty-eight years old. 65,000 yen rent. A room you couldn't honestly call clean.
(...Huh?)
No smartphone.
His jacket was still draped over the back of his office chair.
(This is the worst...)
Feeling utterly exhausted, Kakeru retraced his steps.
He swayed on the train, then trudged through the nighttime streets of Chiyoda Ward.
Hololive Central was completely silent.
No one was in the first-floor lobby anymore. Only the emergency lights faintly illuminated the floor.
Kakeru swiped his ID at the security gate and boarded the elevator.
He arrived at the seventh floor.
He was about to hurry to his desk — that's when it happened.
— A light was on.
Deep in the floor, where no one should have been.
Through the frosted glass of the president's office door, a dim light glowed.
(Someone's here at this hour?)
Kakeru held his breath and approached the president's office.
The door was open just a crack.
Timidly, he peered inside through the gap.
Rui was there.
She was sitting at her desk.
The silver-rimmed work-mode glasses were off now, and the side hair she usually tucked behind her ear was slightly disheveled, falling against her cheek.
In her hand, she held a red pen.
Spread out on the desk... was the bundle of contracts Kakeru had made a mess of and abandoned halfway through today.
Rui turned the pages one by one, running her red pen across them.
Correcting typos, fixing calculation formulas, tapping at a calculator, amending flaws in the clauses.
Her movements were nothing like the harshness of the daytime. They were careful, gentle, as if handling something fragile.
Then, Rui took out a small sticky note, wrote something on it, and attached it to the edge of a document.
Kakeru strained his eyes.
On the sticky note, in round, small, girlish handwriting, it said:
'You researched this clause well.'
'Next time, if you don't mess up the penalty formula, it'll be perfect.'
'Your handwriting is neat, so hold your head high.'
Rui continued the task in silence.
Alone, in the late-night office where no one was watching.
Kakeru felt a warmth rise in his chest.
The corners of his eyes suddenly grew hot, his vision blurring.
(This person's idea of "perfect"...)
(It wasn't just harassment after all.)
Rui had picked up all the work Kakeru had failed at, and was completing it.
And she was finding the tiniest "good points" and properly trying to communicate them.
She wouldn't say it out loud. She wouldn't say thank you.
If anything, she was many times more awkward than most people, and because she absolutely tried to hide it, her words came out even harsher.
But behind that, something so sincere and warm was hidden.
Kakeru couldn't call out to her.
In front of the door, holding back tears, he just gazed steadily at Rui's back.
(I want to work harder for this person.)
For the first time in his life, he felt that from the bottom of his heart.
Not to gauge someone else's mood.
Not to protect himself.
He simply wanted to be useful to her.
Kakeru quietly left the spot.
The next morning.
Kakeru arrived at the office a full hour earlier than usual.
When he approached his desk, there they were — the three contracts, neatly filed and stacked in perfect order.
All the typos were corrected, and the sticky notes were crammed with points for improvement.
And next to them, casually placed: a box of over-the-counter stomach medicine.
Rui, as always, opened the door to the president's office and showed her face.
"You're late. When am I getting today's coffee?"
Rui's voice was cold and matter-of-fact, unchanged from yesterday.
But to Kakeru, it no longer felt "scary."
"...Yes. I'll bring it right away."
Kakeru gripped the stomach medicine tightly.
The small plastic container felt faintly warm in his hand.
"...Thank you very much."
Kakeru murmured it quietly, so Rui wouldn't hear.
He felt a small but certain flame ignite wit
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