Iida-san's office was spacious but unpretentious, its walls a muted cream that softened the sharp evening light pouring in through the broad glass window. Outside, the sun was sinking low, washing the room in an amber glow that streaked across the dark carpet and left delicate bands of gold along the polished edge of the desk. The papers on top sat in meticulous order, corners aligned, untouched for now.
Off to one side, the lounge area waited in a quiet arrangement. Two low, dark sofas flanking a square coffee table, a simple ceramic teapot with matching cups resting neatly on a tray. The faint aroma of tea mingled with the subtle scent of old paper and carpet that had absorbed years of whispered conversations and quiet negotiations.
Hasegawa sat upright on the left sofa, his lean frame balanced as he leaned forward slightly, reaching for the teapot. His fingers moved with practiced ease as he poured the warm tea into the cup across from him, the rising steam curling upward in lazy, silvery tendrils.
Across from him sat Iida-san, the Procurement Department's Division Manager, a bald, heavyset man whose smiling face radiated warmth. Even now, faint beads of sweat gleamed at his temples, despite the office's steady air conditioning. He sat comfortably, legs apart, thick hands resting casually on his knees, his presence filling the space in a way that was both commanding and oddly comforting.
"Thanks, Hasegawa-kun," Iida-san said with a genial grin, his thick fingers curling securely around the cup. He lifted it carefully, the porcelain looking almost delicate in his large hands. "So… how's it going with Morikita-san? You two working well together?"
Hasegawa leaned back slightly, a small, easy smile tugging at his lips. "So far, everything's okay, bucho. We can work together, no problem. Though… he's a bit stiff sometimes." His tone was light, laced with faint amusement.
"Hah!" Iida-san's booming laugh filled the room, echoing off the walls. His belly shook with the effort, and he wiped at his glistening forehead with a neatly folded handkerchief. "That sounds like him. I do hope you two will get along well. You know, you can learn a lot from him. Despite his age, Morikita-san's no ordinary guy. Knows the ins and outs of supply chain management like the back of his hand."
"I'm glad he's not just some nepotism hire with no real knowledge," Hasegawa chuckled, flashing a quick grin.
"Hmm…" Iida-san mused, rubbing his clean-shaven chin. "As far as I know, he has no family connections here."
Hasegawa gave a small, polite nod, the corner of his mouth still faintly curled upward. He lifted his tea to his lips but paused before sipping, his eyes drifting thoughtfully over the rim. His gaze softened, turning inward.
"Well… that tells me the rumour about his transfer being the Vice President's idea is just that—a rumour, isn't it?"
Iida-san let out a knowing chuckle, this one lower, more reserved, like he was sharing something just between them. He set his cup down with a soft clink.
"It's not entirely a rumour," he said, voice dipping confidentially. "The transfer was indeed the Vice President's request. But from what I heard from Director Kojima, it was all based on the performance report his former superior gave. Real good merit, they said."
Hasegawa gave a breathy chuckle, finally taking a slow sip. "That surely makes sense… considering his knowledge in supply chain, as you said, bucho." His words were smooth, his tone light.
But behind the smile, something tugged at him—a stirring, quiet and unpleasant.
Because what the others whispered in hushed corners of the office didn't quite match this clean, polished version. There were murmurs, low and persistent, that Daichi's sudden leap from supervisor at a sub-company to Deputy Manager at the main office wasn't just thanks to talent or glowing reports. That there was something else—a connection. A relationship, perhaps, with the Vice President.
And when that rumour floated to the surface, something else had risen with it... something from the far corners of Hasegawa's memory.
Back during his high school days, Daichi had been different. Quiet, yes, but there had been talk. Whispers that spread like wildfire in those narrow hallways. That he'd been seen slipping into love hotels with older men. No one could ever confirm it, but the gossip had stuck, sharp and cutting. Then the scandal—not widely known, not shared with outsiders—but inside the school, the whispers had swelled.
Daichi was put under suspension for two weeks. But after summer break, he dropped out and left the city.
He never came back.
Until now.
Hasegawa's eyes lowered, gaze falling to the tea's surface, the faint ripples catching the light. His own reflection stared back faintly. And just beneath it, like a shadow curling at the edge of his mind, a flicker of doubt he couldn't shake.