Emi Fujimoto had never been afraid of hard work.
She had spent years balancing university, late-night shifts, and the constant mess her father left behind. She had lived on instant noodles and coffee, patched up holes in her shoes instead of buying new ones, and made herself invisible when debt collectors came knocking.
She could handle exhaustion.
But she wasn't sure she could handle Ren Kazama.
It had been three days since their last encounter. Three days of waiting for him to call in the favor she now owed him. Three days of pretending she wasn't constantly looking over her shoulder, waiting for a shadow to appear in the corner of her vision.
One night after finishing work at the Izakaya, the moment she stepped outside, a black car was already waiting by the curb.
Then the back window rolled down.
And there he was.
Ren Kazama sat in the backseat like he owned the world, one arm draped casually over the seat, dark eyes unreadable as he looked at her.
"Get in." His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking it for a request.
Emi tightened her grip on her bag. "No."
A hint of amusement flickered across his face. "You owe me, Fujimoto."
A slow anger burned in her chest. "I didn't ask for your help."
"That doesn't change anything."
"Fine," she muttered, stepping forward. She climbed into the car, the soft leather seats cool against her skin. She turned to Ren, arms crossed. "What do you want?"
Ren studied her, silent for a moment. Then he leaned back, gaze unwavering.
"You're going to work for me."
Her stomach dropped. "What?"
"You need money, don't you?" he said smoothly.
"You work yourself to death for scraps. I'm offering you something better."
Emi's fists clenched. "I'm not interested in whatever business you run, Kazama."
His lips twitched slightly, but there was no real humor in his expression. "Relax. I'm not asking you to do anything illegal."
That only made her more suspicious. "Then what, exactly, do you expect me to do?"
Ren tilted his head. "I need someone who can handle certain tasks discreetly. You'll be working at one of my front businesses. Nothing dangerous. Just paperwork, schedules, the occasional errand."
She stared at him, waiting for the catch.
"You can quit whenever you want," he added. "But until then, consider your debt repaid."
Emi exhaled, her mind spinning. Working for him? That was a disaster waiting to happen.
And yet… he wasn't wrong.
She did need money. The diner barely covered her tuition, and rent was creeping up every month.
But working under a man like Ren Kazama? Maybe it was her only choice right now.
She exhaled slowly. "Fine."
Ren smirked. "Good. You start tomorrow."
As the car continued through the city, Emi looked out the window and thought. What had she just gotten herself into?
*****
Emi Fujimoto had always been the kind of person people looked past.
At university, she sat in the back of the classroom, taking notes quietly while the other students laughed and chatted around her. No one ever sought her out. No one whispered her name in the halls. She was simply… there.
She wasn't ugly, but she wasn't pretty either. Not in a way that turned heads. Her dark hair was always tied back in a low ponytail, her clothes plain and practical. She never wore makeup—cosmetics are a luxury item to her and she would never spend her hard earn money on it.
And she was fine with that. Or at least, she used to be. No one would look at her anyway.
Emi stepped out of the lecture hall, her backpack slung over one shoulder and her eyes half-focused on the path ahead.
Then everything slowed.
A sleek black car idled by the cur and out of place in a collage.
And the people noticed.
"Is that a diplomat's car?"
"Maybe a celeb?"
"Someone's sugar daddy?"
Emi's stomach dropped when the rear window lowered just enough for her to see the man sitting inside.
Ren Kazama.
Her heart skipped.
He didn't wave. Didn't gesture. Just sat there, watching her, as calm as ever, like this was completely normal.
Emi quickly stepped off the pavement and approached the car, ignoring the stares and whispers. The back door opened before she could reach for the handle.
Without saying a word, she climbed in.
The door shut behind her with a quiet click, cutting her off from the curious world outside. Inside, it was calm. Cool. And suffocating in a different way.
Ren sat beside her, one leg crossed, fingers resting loosely on his lap. "You're on time," he said, voice even.
"I wasn't aware I had an appointment," she replied, hugging her bag a little tighter.
He glanced at her. "I told you yesterday that you will be starting to work for me from today onwards."
She blinked. "I know. But you could have just call or text me the address."
"Anyway I'm taking you to your new workplace."
Ren turned slightly toward her. "The late-night shifts, the double jobs, the unpaid hours—they're over. Starting today, you work somewhere safe. Better pay. No shady customers. No broken staff lockers. No back-alley entrances."
Emi's breath caught.
He wasn't just stating facts. There was something in his voice—something protective, bordering on possessive. Beneath every word was the quiet message: I see what you've been through. And I don't want you there anymore.
That realization hit harder than she expected.
"You say that like you care," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper.
"I do," Ren replied without hesitation.
Emi turned her head toward him, unsure what startled her more—his answer, or how easily he said it.
He held her gaze, and for a second, the space between them seemed to shrink. The gentle hum of the car faded away. All she could focus on was the quiet intensity in his eyes. Eyes that didn't just look at her, but through her, as if he could see every moment she'd spent hiding her exhaustion, every wound she never let anyone notice.
Her lips parted slightly, words caught in her throat.
Ren's eyes dropped for a brief moment to her hands—still clutching her bag, knuckles pale. Without a word, he reached over and gently uncurled her fingers, his hand covering hers with a quiet, deliberate calm.
"You don't have to keep bracing yourself," he said. "Not around me."
The contact was light, but it sent heat rushing through her chest, up her neck. She should've pulled away—but she didn't. She couldn't. Something about his touch—warm, steady, unhurried—made her freeze in place.
Her heart thudded louder than it should've. "You barely know me," she murmured.
"I remember enough," he said quietly. "And I've seen enough now."
He didn't let go right away. Just sat there, his hand over hers, as if anchoring her.
He looked straight ahead again, but his voice remained low.
"You deserve better than what you've been given," he said. "And I don't care if that makes you uncomfortable."
Emi looked out the window, cheeks burning—but not from embarrassment.
For once, it wasn't shame or exhaustion tightening her chest.
It was something far more dangerous.
Hope.
She gripped the strap of her bag as the car pulled up in front of a sleek, modern building. The sign above read Kazama Corporation—one of the many front businesses he owned.
Daiki, who had been driving, turned around with a grin. "Welcome to your new job, Fujimoto."
She ignored him and stepped out of the car.
Ren was already waiting for her on the sidewalk, looking effortlessly composed in a dark suit. He barely glanced at her before walking toward the entrance.
"Follow me."
Emi hesitated for only a second before doing as he said.
Inside, the building was elegant but intimidating. Everything was polished, from the marble floors to the glass walls. The employees moved with quiet efficiency, but the moment Ren entered, a shift occurred.
People straightened their backs. Conversations hushed.
Ren Kazama commanded attention without saying a word.
And then there was Emi.
As she followed him past the rows of employees, no one spared her a second glance. She was invisible—just like always.
Some things never changed.
They entered a private office, where Ren gestured to a desk in the corner. "That's yours."
Emi glanced at the neatly arranged space. "What exactly am I supposed to be doing?"
Ren took a seat behind his desk, his dark eyes scanning her as if deciding how much to tell her. "Scheduling, organizing documents, assisting when necessary. Nothing complicated."
She crossed her arms. "So I'm your secretary?"
He smirked slightly. "Something like that."
"From now on, you'll come here every day after your classes."
Emi turned to him, confused. "What do you mean?"
"Right after school, you report there. This is your main job now," he said, not bothering to soften the edge in his tone. "Weekends, you don't work."
She blinked. "What?"
"You heard me."
"You're telling me I can't work on weekends?" she said. "That's when I earn most of my money. The café's packed, and I still tutor three kids on Saturdays. I need those hours."
Ren didn't even flinch. "No."
"No?" Her eyes narrowed. "You don't get to tell me when I can or can't work. I still have other debts to pay and to earn a living."
"I know exactly what you need," he replied calmly. "And I also know exhaustion when I see it. Weekends are off. You rest."
"That's not how it works," she snapped. "Rest doesn't pay rent. Or tuition. Or interest."
He looked over at her, voice low and controlled. "I require my people to stay sharp while they work. And I expect my staff to be alert—not collapsing behind the counter."
"I have not collapsed before. I promise you I wouldn't," she muttered, crossing her arms.
"I am not accepting that kind of promise," he said, unbothered. "And I take care of my staff."
She opened her mouth to argue again when he cut in smoothly, "You'll be getting an allowance from me on top of this job."
Emi froze. "What?"
"To make up for the tutoring and extra shifts you're giving up."
She stared at him, stunned. "Why would you do that?"
Ren reached into his coat and pulled out a neatly folded slip of paper. He handed it to her without another word.
She hesitated, then unfolded it. Her eyes widened as she saw the amount.
"That's…" She blinked again, her voice faltering. "That's more than I earn in a whole month."
She looked up, expression guarded, wary. "Why are you giving me this much? I thought I was working to repay a favor—not collect charity."
"You are repaying it."
"Then why does this feel like the opposite?" Her fingers tightened on the paper. "Are you pitying me?"
Ren's gaze met hers, unshaken. "No."
"Then why?" she asked, her voice almost cracking.
A beat of silence passed. Then, coolly, he said, "I'm just being generous. You happen to be lucky."
Emi looked away, her pulse still pounding. "You're making it very hard to feel independent."
"I'm making sure you survive without breaking," he corrected.
She didn't reply right away. The part of her that had fought through five years of unpaid bills and sleepless nights wanted to scream, to tear up the slip and throw it back at him. But another part—quieter, shakier—just wanted to believe it was okay to breathe for once.
Ren studied her. He knew what that silence meant. He saw it in her shoulders, in the way she curled inward slightly, like she was bracing herself for the weight of the world to fall again.
He didn't offer comfort. He knew better.
Because Emi Fujimoto didn't want to be saved.
But if he could build a world where she didn't have to fight every single day—he would.
Silently.
And whether she liked it or not.
On the other hand, Emi should have felt relieved. The job was easy, safer than she expected. But the problem wasn't the work—it was him.
Being around Ren Kazama was… unsettling.
He was the type of man who noticed everything. And she was the type of woman who was meant to be unnoticed.