The editorial office of Marukawa Publishing was a labyrinth of chaos, a hive of cubicles buzzing with the frantic energy of deadline panic. Stacks of manuscripts teetered like skyscrapers on every available surface, threatening to topple at the slightest provocation. The air was thick with the scent of ink, desperation, and burnt coffee. Ritsu Onodera stormed through the glass doors of the shoujo manga department, his tie already askew, his jaw set in a tight line of irritation. Demoted from the prestigious literature division to this fluffy, romance-drenched nonsense? It was an insult wrapped in pink ribbon, and he was ready to tear it apart.
The scene that greeted him was nothing short of pandemonium. Editors darted between desks, papers flying like confetti at a wedding gone spectacularly wrong. Someone shouted about a late submission while another begged a mangaka over the phone for just one more day. Ritsu barely had time to dodge a rogue stapler before his gaze landed on the calmest figure in the storm: Masamune Takano, the editor-in-chief, lounging at his desk with an air of infuriating nonchalance. A smirk played on his lips, sharp and dangerous, as he watched Ritsu trip over a stack of proofs with all the grace of a newborn deer.
“Careful, newbie,” Takano drawled, his voice smooth as silk but laced with amusement. “Wouldn’t want to break something on your first day. Or someone.”
Ritsu’s heart stuttered as recognition slammed into him like a rogue manuscript to the face. Those piercing eyes, that infuriatingly perfect jawline—Takano. High school. A flood of memories, awkward and heated, surged to the surface. Late-night study sessions that turned into something else, stolen glances, and a confession Ritsu had buried so deep he thought it’d never resurface. He straightened, brushing off invisible dust from his blazer, and forced his voice to remain steady. “I’m fine. And I’m not a newbie. I’ve been reassigned.”
Takano’s smirk widened, but his eyes glinted with something unreadable. “Reassigned, huh? From the lofty heights of literature to the pink glitter of shoujo. Welcome to the trenches.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as if he hadn’t just thrown a verbal jab. “Let’s see if you can keep up. I’ve got a little… initiation for you.” He slid a monstrous pile of edits across his desk, the stack so tall it nearly obscured his face. “Deadline’s tomorrow. Think you can handle it, Onodera?”
Ritsu gritted his teeth, the weight of the task—and Takano’s gaze—bearing down on him. Those eyes seemed to strip away more than just his professional defenses, and he hated how it made his skin prickle. “I’ll manage,” he snapped, snatching the pile with more force than necessary. “I don’t need your pity assignments to prove myself.”
“Pity?” Takano’s tone dripped with mock innocence, a predator playing with its prey. “Oh, no. This is pure entertainment. I’m dying to see how you handle a real challenge.”
Before Ritsu could fire back, a sharp, feminine voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Well, well, fresh meat in the shark tank. You’ve got guts, newbie, I’ll give you that.” Kisa Shouta, a petite but ferocious editor with a pixie cut and a glint of mischief in her eyes, sauntered over, arms crossed and a smirk rivaling Takano’s. “But guts won’t save you from drowning in edits. Or from him.” She jerked her chin toward Takano, her voice loud enough to turn heads across the office.
Takano’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew sharper. “Careful, Kisa. You’ll scare him off before I’ve had my fun.”
“Fun?” Kisa snorted, planting a hand on her hip. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Because the way you’re eyeing him, I’d say you’re about two seconds from pouncing. Should I start a betting pool on how long it takes?”
Ritsu’s cheeks flushed a furious red, his grip tightening on the stack of papers. “I’m not some toy for you two to play with,” he bit out, glaring at Kisa. “And I’m not here to be anyone’s entertainment. So how about you focus on your own deadlines and leave me to mine?”
Kisa raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by the fire in his tone. “Oh, he bites back. I like it. You might just survive this place after all.” She flashed a wicked grin, then turned to Takano. “Better step up your game, boss. This one’s not gonna roll over easy.”
Takano chuckled, low and dangerous, his gaze never leaving Ritsu. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Ritsu turned back to his desk—or rather, the tiny corner of chaos he’d been assigned—trying to ignore the weight of Takano’s stare. But the man had other ideas. Under the guise of pointing out a typo in the top manuscript, Takano leaned in close, his breath hot against Ritsu’s ear. “Right here,” he murmured, his finger brushing the page but his voice brushing something far more intimate. “You missed a spot.”
Ritsu jerked away, nearly toppling a coffee mug in his haste. “Do you mind?” he snapped, his voice a little too high, a little too flustered. “Personal space is a thing, you know. Or did they skip that lesson in editor school?”
Takano’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he straightened, not the least bit apologetic. “My apologies. I just thought you’d appreciate a… hands-on approach.”
Ritsu opened his mouth to retort, but Kisa’s cackle interrupted him. She leaned against a nearby cubicle, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the show. “Oh, I’m calling it now. Two weeks tops before you crack under the tension, newbie. And when you do, I want front-row seats.” She winked at Takano, who only smirked in response.
“Keep dreaming,” Ritsu muttered, burying his face in the edits to hide the heat creeping up his neck. The words on the page blurred as his mind replayed Takano’s proximity, the warmth of his breath, the infuriating way his presence seemed to unravel every ounce of composure Ritsu had.
Hours bled into the night, the office clock ticking closer to midnight. The chaos had died down, most of the staff staggering out with bleary eyes and half-finished work. Ritsu remained, buried under the mountain of edits, his frustration boiling over with every red mark he made. Takano, of course, hadn’t left either. He lingered near his desk, pretending to review something, though his eyes kept drifting to Ritsu.
“Need a hand?” Takano offered, his tone casual but loaded with suggestion. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over Ritsu’s desk. “I’m very good at… helping.”
Ritsu didn’t look up, though his pulse betrayed him, quickening at the implication. “I don’t need a babysitter,” he shot back, his voice sharp enough to cut through the quiet. “Especially not one who can’t keep his hands—or his innuendos—to himself.”
Takano’s grin was predatory, his eyes glinting with something dark and promising. “Suit yourself. But don’t say I didn’t offer.”
As Takano finally retreated to his office, Ritsu slumped back in his chair, the silence of the empty department pressing in around him. His fingers lingered on the edge of a manuscript, his mind a tangled mess of frustration and something far more dangerous. Working under Takano wasn’t just a challenge—it was a minefield, each step laced with temptation he couldn’t afford to acknowledge. And yet, as he stared at the empty hallway where Takano had disappeared, Ritsu couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of a very long, very heated battle.
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