Just like the countless violations that had happened before, Kaoru Hoshitani, after putting up a meaningless resistance, was pinned down on that large, solid wood desk by Rika Kawasaki.
His struggle was futile from start to finish.
Those pushing hands, twisting shoulders, and turned-away head were as fragile as a candle in the wind before the woman’s overwhelming strength.
She used only one hand to press both his wrists together on the desk, while the other hand easily undid the buttons of his clothes. One, two, three.
Those plain, almost shabby garments were stripped from his body and casually discarded on the polished marble tiles nearby, crumpled up there like a useless, shed shell.
And the body that had been concealed by those clothes—the body meticulously carved by the Creator, like the most beautiful of creations—was now completely exposed.
Under the afternoon sunlight, his skin was so pale it was almost translucent.
You could see the thin blue veins below his collarbone, the outline of his ribs faintly appearing with his rapid breathing, and the slight hollow curve of his lower abdomen from tension.
Rika Kawasaki’s gaze fell upon this body. Her gray eyes burned with a kind of almost devout possessiveness.
She became even more convinced of the thought in her heart—a delicate flower like this should be kept in her greenhouse, nourished with the best soil, the most ample sunlight, and the most meticulous care. That was the best way for him.
Not like this, wrapped in cheap street vendor clothes, being wasted by that woman who couldn’t even support herself.
“Kazune, you deserve better.”
She reached out, her rough fingertips gently stroking his cheek. The texture was as fine as silk, making her reluctant to use force.
“You would only look even more beautiful in the clothes I buy for you. And following that useless girlfriend of yours?”
Her voice lowered, carrying a disdainful scorn.
“It only tarnishes your brilliance.”
Kaoru Hoshitani did not respond.
He just turned his head to the side, facing the other way, his gaze falling on a potted plant casually placed in the corner of the room.
It was an ordinary Devil’s Ivy, its leaves somewhat wilted, the edges tinged with yellow, drooping weakly in the dry air blown by the air conditioner.
He stared at that half-dead plant, his eyes vacant and unfocused, as if trying to forcibly peel his soul away from this body about to be violated, to lodge it in those wilted green leaves, to lodge it somewhere far, far away from here.
Seeing this, Rika Kawasaki said nothing more.
Her patience had run out.
Over a week—since she had truly tasted the flavor of a man, this was the first time she’d gone this long.
During this past week, she had thought of this body every day. Thought of his scent, the feel of his skin, the sounds he made when trembling beneath her that made her bones go weak.
She had watched those recorded videos over and over, knew every frame by heart. But the screen was still a barrier, you could see but not touch, which only made the fire burn hotter.
Now, he was finally here.
Right beneath her, on this desk where she worked every day, within reach.
She leaned down.
Thankfully, this solid wood desk was of good quality. It was an old piece left by the previous department head, with a thick top and sturdy legs, the grain of the mahogany giving off a dull sheen in the sunlight.
When she climbed onto it, the table only wobbled slightly, not making much noise, not collapsing outright.
But for the next hour, this table was never quiet again.
“Squeak—squeak—squeak—”
The sound came from the seam where the table legs met the floor, from the joints of the mortise and tenon structure, from deep within every wood fiber.
The sound was sharp and drawn-out, like some ancient, dying lament, or like something bearing an unspeakable weight, ready to fall apart at any moment under this continuous torment.
Files piled on the desk slid to the floor with each vibration, scattering everywhere.
The computer screen shook violently, the power cord loosened and plugged back in.
The Devil’s Ivy pot was also shaken from the corner to the edge of the desk, teetering precariously on the rim.
Not to mention the man lying on top.
His body was folded into various angles, turned over and manipulated, completely covered by the much larger body above him.
His fingers dug desperately into the edge of the desk, nails embedding into the wood, fingertips turning pale.
His lips were bitten white, but fragmented sounds still spilled uncontrollably from the depths of his throat.
There were tears at the corners of his eyes. Not tears of sadness, nor of pleasure, but a kind of physiological tears from being utterly crushed, having abandoned all resistance.
Those tears slid down his cheeks, past his ears, dripping onto the desk, spreading into small, damp patches.
Outside the office door, a young female employee in a dark suit, holding several stacks of files, walked quickly towards Rika Kawasaki’s office.
Her high heels clicked on the marble floor, producing a crisp, rhythmic sound, especially clear in the quiet corridor.
“Huh? Miss Secretary, why are you standing outside?”
She stopped, looking somewhat puzzled at the woman standing by the door.
At this moment, Rika Kawasaki’s secretary was leaning against the wall by the door, her hands clasped in front of her, her expression quite peculiar.
The corner of her mouth twitched slightly, her brows furrowing and relaxing, her eyes looking down the corridor one moment and dropping to stare at her own shoe tips the next.
The whole person looked like a picture of someone who didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“I need Miss Kawasaki to sign something.”
The young female employee gestured with the files in her hand, nodding towards the door.
The secretary snapped back to attention, quickly reaching out to stop her, her voice very low.
“Sorry, the department head is a bit… unavailable right now. Could you come back later?”
“I see…”
The young employee showed a troubled expression, looking down at the files in her hand, then up at the closed door.
“But I need this document signed as soon as possible, it has to be sent to headquarters right away. They’re pushing hard, said it must be sent before noon today.”
The secretary’s brows furrowed even tighter.
She instinctively raised her hand to check her wristwatch. The hands had moved past nearly two hours.
She tilted her head to listen to the sounds inside the door. They seemed quieter than before, but hadn’t completely stopped yet.
“Tsk…”
She sucked in a breath, calculating in her mind.
It had been almost two hours. It should be about done, right?
She hesitated for a moment, then took her phone from her pocket, found Rika Kawasaki’s number, and pressed the call button.
“Ring—ring—ring—”
Each ring dragged on, sounding especially clear in the quiet hallway.
The young female employee watched her curiously, then looked at the closed door again, as if trying to read something from the secretary’s expression.
The secretary waited expressionlessly, only her fingers holding the phone tightening slightly.
Finally, the call connected.
“Hello?”
Rika Kawasaki’s voice came through the receiver, terribly hoarse, as if she’d just finished a long run, or as if something had grated over it. The tail end dragged, carrying a lazy, sated aftertaste.
The secretary cleared her throat, trying hard to make her own voice sound normal.
Ahem… Miss Kawasaki, there’s a document here that needs your signature, you see…”
She didn’t finish, deliberately leaving the sentence hanging.
There was silence on the other end for four or five seconds.
“Fine.”
Rika Kawasaki finally spoke, her voice a bit more normal than before, but still carrying that post-event hoarseness.
“But wait five minutes.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll hang up then.”
The secretary almost blurted out the words, then quickly pressed the end call button, as if afraid she might hear something she shouldn’t from the receiver the next second.
She stuffed the phone back into her pocket, letting out a long sigh, then turned to the young female employee still waiting.
“Wait five more minutes.”
The young employee nodded, though the confusion on her face deepened, she didn’t ask further.
The secretary leaned back against the wall again, her gaze falling on the window at the end of the corridor.
Outside was Osaka’s gray, overcast sky, a few clouds drifting slowly.
‘Young people, indeed…’
She thought silently to herself, the corner of her mouth unconsciously curling into a very faint arc.
That arc held helplessness, understanding, and a trace of something indescribable, a kind of sentiment about youthful vigor.
She had been following Rika Kawasaki for almost two weeks now. This young lady was swift and decisive in her work, aggressive at the negotiation table.
But once it came to matters related to that little man, she became a completely different person.
Exactly five minutes later, the secretary’s phone vibrated.
She looked down. It was a message from Rika Kawasaki, just two words:
“Come in.”
She took a deep breath, straightened her clothes, then turned, raised her hand, and knocked on the door.
There was no response from inside, but she pushed the door open anyway, stepping aside to let the young female employee enter first.
All the windows in the office were open.
The early winter wind from Osaka blew in from outside, carrying a hint of chill and the faint clamor from the distant streets, gradually replacing the originally stuffy air inside.
The air purifier was also on, emitting a low hum, its indicator light having jumped from red to blue.
The air was still thick with the scent of perfume—the one Rika Kawasaki usually wore, woody, with a cool base note.
But now it was so strong it was almost choking, clearly having been sprayed just moments ago, not yet dissipated.
The secretary’s gaze swept around the office.
Rika Kawasaki sat behind the desk, her hair slightly disheveled, a few strands of blonde hair having slipped from behind her ears to hang by her cheeks.
Her shirt buttons were done up neatly, the collar properly closed, though the top button was a bit crooked, not aligned with the second one.
Her cheeks still retained an unnatural flush, as if she’d just finished a run, or as if something had burned her.
Her gaze lingered on Rika Kawasaki for a second, then moved away, beginning to search the office for the other person.
No one.
She looked around—the sofa was empty, the windowsill was empty, the corner by the bookcase was empty.
The door leading to the restroom was slightly ajar. No light inside, no sound.
Strange.
She had been guarding the door the whole time. Kaoru Hoshitani had never come out after going in.
This was the only door. The windows were open, yes, but this was over a dozen floors up.
He couldn’t possibly have… She shook her head, dismissing the absurd thought.
“The document?”
Rika Kawasaki’s voice pulled her back from her thoughts. The secretary quickly motioned for the young female employee to hand over the files.
“Oh, oh, here.”
The young employee stepped forward, placing the files on the desk and handing over a pen.
Rika Kawasaki picked up the pen, flipped to the page requiring a signature, placed the tip on the paper, moved her wrist, and signed her name.
The handwriting was messy yet forceful, just like her, carrying an undeniable, overwhelming presence.
The young employee picked up the signed document, said her thanks, and turned to leave the office.
The secretary followed her out. Reaching the doorway, she glanced back one more time.
Rika Kawasaki was leaning back in her chair, her gaze fixed on a certain corner of the desk, the corner of her mouth slightly upturned in a satisfied, sated, faint smile.
Her fingers tapped lightly on the desk surface. Tap, tap. Rhythmic, as if savoring something.
The secretary withdrew her gaze and gently closed the door.
The office fell quiet again.
Rika Kawasaki lowered her head, looking under the desk—that narrow, cramped space, just enough for one person to curl up in.
Kaoru Hoshitani was curled up there…