Hana's phone vibrated violently against her nightstand, rattling like it was possessed. She cracked one bleary eye open, barely registering the ungodly hour—4:30 AM—before reality sucker-punched her in the face.
Katsuki Hasegawa.
She groaned, rolling over, debating whether ignoring him was worth the professional consequences. Probably not. If she let this call go unanswered, he'd just summon her with the sheer force of his irritation alone. With the grace of a long-suffering martyr, she swiped to accept, dragging the phone to her ear.
"Where are you?" His voice was its usual brand of sharp and unbothered, like he was calling at a reasonable hour, like he wasn't a demon in a designer suit actively trying to ruin her life.
Hana stared at her ceiling, disbelief temporarily overriding her ability to form words. "Where am I? Oh, you know, boss, just casually vacationing in hell—which is the only possible explanation for why you're calling me at this ungodly hour."
"Be at the firm in thirty minutes. Bring coffee."
Hana sat up so fast she nearly concussed herself on her headboard. "Are you kidding me? It's four-fucking-thirty in the morning."
"You have twenty-nine minutes."
And then, the bastard hung up.
Hana screamed into her pillow.
One month. One entire month of this bullshit. And somehow, she was still here.
There was a brief, fleeting moment—somewhere between her fifth existential crisis and pulling on the first halfway presentable outfit she could find—where she considered quitting. Just throwing in the towel, ghosting him like her ex ghosted her, and moving to a remote village where corporate psychopaths like Katsuki Hasegawa didn't exist.
But no. No. Because that would mean losing. And Hana? Hana did not lose.
She would outlast him. She would endure.
Even if it killed her.
Even if she had to speed-walk through the early morning streets of Meieki, barely awake, gripping two coffees like they were lifelines.
Even if—when she got to the firm, still mildly homicidal—Katsuki didn't even look at her when she dropped his coffee onto his desk like an angry barista with a vendetta. Just hummed in acknowledgment, as if summoning her from the depths of sleep itself was completely normal.
She contemplated throwing the second coffee at his face.
She didn't. But the thought was there.
-----
Her first month working for Hasegawa was a series of trials. A corporate gauntlet designed to break weaker souls.
She had learned things. Dangerous things. Things that normal legal secretaries should not have to deal with.
For instance:
Katsuki's Inbox Was a Portal to Hell – She had wrestled it into submission, yes. She had mastered it. But it was a living, breathing entity. A hydra. Cut one unread email down, and three more took its place. Sometimes, she woke up in cold sweats thinking about it.
He Thought Deadlines Were Suggestions (for Other People) – There was no "Hey, can you get this by tomorrow?" with Katsuki. No. It was always, "I need this in an hour." And when she miraculously did it, he didn't react like a normal human who understood labor laws. He just nodded like, Yes, as expected, and moved on to ruining the next part of her day.
He Had Absolutely No Concept of a Reasonable Request – There had been a moment—a very specific moment—when she realized just how unhinged her job had become.
It was the day he messaged her:
Katsuki Hasegawa: Find out what cologne the opposing counsel wears. Also, their dietary restrictions. Need it in twenty minutes.
Hana had stared at her screen. Read it again.
She had half a mind to respond with, Why? Are you planning to seduce or poison them?, but she didn't, because unfortunately, she needed her job. Instead, she sighed deeply, accepted her fate, and somehow fucking found out.
But the worst part? The absolute worst part?
Katsuki had given her access to his penthouse.
No warning. No preamble. Just handed her a keycard one evening with a curt, "In case I need something from home."
Hana had stared at him, holding the sleek little card like it was evidence in a murder trial. "I—What? Boss, you do understand boundaries, right?"
He had merely raised an eyebrow. "You're competent. If I need something, I don't want to waste time."
Translation: You are now responsible for my life outside of work, too. Congratulations on your promotion to Personal Suffering Manager.
The first time she used it—out of pure obligation, because she had no interest in entering her terrifying boss's personal lair—she had walked in, taken exactly two steps, and immediately regretted her entire existence.
Because Katsuki?
Was cooking.
Like some kind of casual, normal person.
Hana had stood there, stunned, watching as her boss—the man who had called her at 4:30 AM for coffee like a war general preparing for battle—moved around a sleek, modern kitchen with the precision of someone who actually knew what the hell he was doing.
There was chopping. There was the sound of something sizzling. The smell of something so rich and mouthwatering that her stomach had audibly betrayed her.
And then—the bastard had plated his food, sat down, and proceeded to eat it.
Without. Giving. Her. A. Single. Bite.
Hana had stared at him, absolutely offended on a spiritual level. "Excuse me."
Katsuki, mid-chew, had merely flicked his gaze up at her, unimpressed. "What."
Hana, fully committed to her role as victim of workplace abuse, gestured dramatically. "Are you seriously not going to offer me any?"
Katsuki had exhaled sharply, like she had just personally inconvenienced him. "You didn't ask."
She had seen red.
Oh, she was going to kill him.
-----
Her first month had also been an education. She had developed coping mechanisms. An entire mental playbook dedicated to surviving Katsuki Hasegawa's brand of psychotic brilliance.
But if there was one thing she had learned above all else, it was this:
He expected perfection.
He demanded it.
And Hana? Hana didn't know how to be anything less. Because if she wasn't good—no, if she wasn't the best—then what was she even doing here?
So she adapted. She thrived.
And if, on the occasional late night, she caught Katsuki watching her out of the corner of his eye—assessing, calculating, waiting to see if she'd break—
Well.
She didn't.
Because fuck him.
She was going to outlast him if it killed her.
-----
February - Hana's second month into the job:
The moment Hasegawa glanced at his watch, Hana knew she was about to be abandoned.
He didn't sigh. Didn't shift in his seat like most people would. No impatient drumming of fingers, no warning glance. Just a single flick of his wrist, a glance at the expensive, absolutely unnecessary timepiece strapped to it, and then—
He stood.
Hana's stomach sank. Oh, you absolute bastard.
"Handle this," he said, already moving.
The room went silent. The client—an older man in an aggressively overpriced suit—blinked, clearly trying to process what just happened. The junior associate taking notes paled like she had just witnessed an assassination.
Katsuki didn't look back.
No good luck, no don't fuck it up, Sukehiro, not even a passing you'll manage. Just… 'Handle this'.
And then he was gone.
Hana glared at the empty space where her boss had been sitting, fighting the immediate, visceral urge to throw something. Oh, I hope you step on a Lego in your stupid penthouse, you well-dressed gremlin.
A deep breath. Alright. Focus.
She could feel the weight of the client's gaze now, shifting to her like she was some kind of understudy thrown onto the stage in the middle of a Broadway performance. She forced her best smile—polite, professional, with just the right amount of I know exactly what I'm doing, and no, you may not question me.
"Well," she said brightly, flipping open her folder, "looks like it's just us now."
The client hesitated. "That was… unexpected."
Hana tilted her head, all soft amusement. "Oh, that? That's just his version of a handshake. You should feel honored—he doesn't trust most people enough to abandon them mid-meeting."
The man frowned slightly, adjusting his watch. "I was under the impression that Hasegawa himself would be handling this case."
Hana kept her sweet, professional smile while internally considering the various ways she could text Katsuki something deeply unprofessional.
"Oh, he is," she assured the client smoothly. "But as you can imagine, his schedule is a battlefield, and in high-stakes negotiations, efficiency is key. He steps in when absolutely necessary. The rest?" She gestured toward herself, like an overpriced game show model. "That's what I'm here for."
The man still looked skeptical. Alright. Time to flip the script.
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just enough to feign confidentiality. "Between us, Hasegawa only personally handles cases that are a complete disaster—like, PR-nightmare, stock-plummeting, CEO-crying-into-their-scotch-level messes." She let the words hang for a second before continuing smoothly. "So, if he left me in charge, that means your case is running exactly as it should be."
A pause. Then, finally—hesitation cracked. The client's posture shifted just slightly, uncertainty giving way to reluctant agreement.
That's right, buddy. Take the bait.
"Alright," the man exhaled, adjusting his cufflinks. "Then let's continue."
Hana barely resisted the urge to pump her fist in victory. And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is how you turn bullshit into billable hours.
She pulled out the revised contract, already back to business mode. "Perfect. Now, regarding the amendments from last week…"
The meeting continued.
And when it was over, when the client left not only satisfied but actually thanking her, Hana exhaled slowly and allowed herself a moment of smug, well-earned self-satisfaction.
Then she checked her phone.
No new messages.
No 'good job.' No 'nice save.' Not even a goddamn thumbs-up emoji.
Katsuki had definitely known she wouldn't screw up.
And that?
That pissed her off more than anything.
Oh, Hasegawa. You think I'm just going to keep proving myself? Keep cleaning up your messes, handling your meetings, making sure your entire goddamn empire doesn't crumble because you got bored and walked away?
Hana grabbed her coffee, took a long sip, and smirked to herself.
Damn right I will.