048

It was my 34th day in the port mafia.

I’d been given an office the size of a broom closet, a desk with a drawer that squeaked, and a leather chair that smelled like someone had died in it—which, considering the organization, was entirely possible.

My job, on paper, was simple: data collation, document control, internal intel auditing.

In practice? Trying to make sense of an empire stitched together by paranoia, murder, and barely legible handwriting.

So when the knock came—two sharp taps followed by the unmistakable click of someone unlocking the door from the inside—I knew something was wrong.

I hadn't unlocked that door.

"Sakaguchi Ango," a voice sing songed before I could react.

"I expected more of a fortress. At least a padlock. Maybe a security spell."

I turned.

And saw him.

L/N Y/N.

The name had been whispered by others—quietly, almost reverently.

It was before he became an executive—a rookie with an unnerving reputation.

He was a boy who completed missions quickly, cleanly, and without a trace of remorse.

Some said he was more fitted in the boss' position than Mori Ogai himself—most likely to mock the new boss whom has yet to prove himself worthy of his postion.

Some said he was a lunatic.

I’d met lunatics before. But never one quite like him.

He looked... ordinary. Youthful. Almost innocent.

Almost out of place with that too calm smile and uniform hanging off his shoulders like he wore it as a joke.

But his eyes—no. Those weren’t the eyes of a kid, no less "innocent."

They were dark and bottomless, gleaming with the sort of curiosity that made prey out of anything foolish enough to breathe near him.

"You," I said, carefully setting down my pen. "You’re not supposed to be here."

He tilted his head. “That’s a matter of opinion.”

I stood. “I’ll have to report this.”

He tutted. “Sakaguchi-san, Sakaguchi-san. You’ve been in the Mafia for what—a month? That’s barely enough time to know which tea your superior drinks, let alone who you’re really working for.”

I reached slowly for the emergency button under my desk.

He stepped forward and placed something on the tabletop.

A syringe. Full. Glinting. Labelled in his handwriting: Equine tranquilizer.

He smiled wider. “This is horse tranquilizer. Guess what happens if it goes into a human bloodstream?”

I stared.

He unscrewed the cap lazily. “Would you like to find out?”

I did not flinch. “You’re bluffing.”

“Mm. That’s boring,” he pouted, then in the same breath—

“I want the files. Specifically the ones on the old boss. Everything Mori-san erased. Everything he’s trying to keep secret.”

My heart rate spiked. “Those are restricted.”

“I figured you’d say that,” he reached into his coat and pulled out a second syringe.

“Two?” I asked.

“One’s a placebo,” he said cheerfully. “I think. I wasn’t really paying attention when I filled them.”

My mouth went dry. “That’s illegal even by port mafia standards.”

“And yet you haven’t called security.”

I stared at him. He smiled at me. The moment stretched.

“Is this how you greet everyone?” I asked.

“Only the ones I think are cute.”

My brain glitched.

He walked around the desk—brazenly, silently, like a cat with claws tucked in velvet.

He leaned against the edge of it, letting his fingers trail near the folders I’d just organized.

“You like things neat,” he observed.

“I like things safe.”

He leaned closer. “Then you won’t like me.”

I tried to remain composed. “If you inject me with that, I can promise you the higher ups will find out.”

“I don’t want to inject you, Sakaguchi-san,” he purred. “I just want a peek.”

I swallowed. “Then get the boss' permission.”

“Oh, but he doesn’t trust me,” he smiled too wide. “I wonder why.”

“I can guess.”

“Rude.”

He walked behind me. I stiffened.

“Do you always carry syringes?” I asked.

“I’m medically educated.”

“You’re unhinged.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

He leaned down near my ear.

“Give me the files, and I’ll pretend we had a polite conversation.”

I turned just enough to meet his gaze. “And if I don’t?”

He smiled. “You might dream of horses.”

I reached behind me, grabbed the red folder, and slammed it down on the desk.

“Skim it. Here. Only in this room.”

He opened it, eyes scanning faster than I thought possible. “Tsk. He really did wipe it all clean.”

“Of course. The boss' not an idiot.”

“No, but he’s scared of what I might do if I’m bored.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant that as a joke.

He closed the folder. “Thank you, Sakaguchi-san.”

“You’re leaving?”

“For now.”

He walked to the door. Just before he exited, he paused.

“Oh,” he said. “Next time, don’t bother with the emergency button. I disabled it.”

And he was gone.

It was my 40th day in the Port Mafia. Not that I was counting.

I had just finished processing a request to cross reference smuggling logs with transport shift schedules—mundane, but important.

My back ached from the poor posture this job encouraged, and my vision was slightly blurred from staring at ink splotched documents for too long.

The faint smell of metal, old paper, and antiseptic clung to the air, and I was hoping, just this once, the elevator wouldn’t stall between floors like it did on day 27.

I pressed the call button. Waited. It dinged with the enthusiasm of a dying lightbulb. The doors creaked open.

And there he was.

L/N Y/N.

Again.

Slouched against the back wall of the elevator like he’d claimed it for himself.

Collar loosened, black port mafia jacket hanging a little too fashionably off one shoulder, a single earpiece in, bobbing his head faintly to a tune I couldn’t hear. He looked up.

And grinned.

A grin that's up to no good.

The doors started to close, and for a fraction of a second, I considered letting them and taking the stairs. Six flights up.

But he’d already seen me.

“Sakaguchi-san,” he said, drawing out the syllables like taffy. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“L/N-kun.” I nodded stiffly, stepping inside and taking position as far from him as possible.

“You wound me with that formality. Call me L/N.”

I reached for the floor button panel. “I’d rather keep our wounds to the paperwork.”

He laughed—actually laughed.

The sound echoed in the metal box in a way that made it feel like we were trapped in a tin can of danger and suffocation.

The elevator groaned into motion.

“So,” he said, tilting his head toward me, “how’s the horse trauma?”

I sighed. “I’ve had more disturbing interactions in this organization. Yours just happened to involve livestock grade sedatives.”

“True. But that moment had tension. Electricity. You felt it too, right?”

“I felt an overwhelming desire to resign.”

He pouted. “So cold, Sakaguchi-san. You really are a bureaucrat to the core.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“It’s a personality diagnosis.”

I adjusted my glasses, focusing on the floor indicator. Floor two. This elevator was slow.

Far too slow.

He sidled closer. I took a half step sideways.

The space between us shrank regardless.

His presence was overwhelming—like standing too close to an open flame.

He radiated curiosity, amusement, and something sharp beneath the surface.

“Relax,” he murmured.

“Stop telling me to relax. You’re the reason I can’t.”

He chuckled again. “I was going to say you smell nice, but now you’ve ruined the mood.”

“You have a very broken sense of what constitutes a ‘mood.’”

We reached floor three.

I dared to hope he’d get off.

He didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in. I froze. His fingers brushed lightly—deliberately—against my collar.

“What are you doing?” I asked, heart lurching.

“Exploring.”

“You’re exploring a death wish.”

He tilted his head again. “Is that a threat?”

“A hope.”

His hand drifted closer to my neck. His fingers were cool against my skin as they traced the edge of my collar.

Then, with theatrical curiosity, he whispered:

“I wonder how red you can get.”

I swatted his hand away. “Personal space is a thing, L/N-kun.”

“L/N.”

“We only met twice. The first time you threatened me and now you're playing with me.”

“You’re fun when you’re flustered.”

He didn't deny it.

“I’m not flustered.”

“You’re stammering.”

“I am—stop leaning on me.”

He had, indeed, started leaning on my shoulder like we were old friends watching a fireworks show.

“Let me corrupt the bureaucrat in you,” he said silkily.

I immediately froze. There's no way he knew—

“No,” I replied swiftly, calmly.

I glanced at him.

This mission of mine shouldn't have been known by any outsiders. Frankly speaking, it was impossible.

Even if someone did manage to find out, it'd be the Boss of the Port Mafia, not this rookie standing beside me.

At least — that was what I told myself back then.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“No one has to know.”

“I will know.”

He sighed dramatically. “You’re no fun, Sakaguchi-san.”

“That’s the first accurate thing you’ve said all day.”

The elevator jerked slightly.

“See,” he said, “this is why I like elevators. They’re intimate. No escape. No exits. Just shared space and possibilities.”

“You sound like a dating advisor from hell.”

“You’d fall for me.”

“I'd never meet with a dating advisor in the first place.”

He laughed again. Loudly. Gleefully. Then fell silent. We stood there. Five seconds. Ten.

Then, without warning, he sighed and said, “I think you’re wasted behind a desk.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re smart. Calculated. You don’t flinch. I like that.”

I stayed still, wary.

He leaned closer again—too close—before saying, “Ever considered becoming an executive?”

“No.”

“Shame. I think you’d look good covered in blood.”

I choked. “What—”

“Kidding,” he said. “Mostly.”

The elevator finally reached floor six.

I all but lunged for the door—not even bothering to say farewell—just wanting to leave as soon as possible.

He followed me out.

“Leaving so soon?”

“You’ve reached your floor.”

“Oh, I wasn’t going anywhere. I just like riding with you.”

“Of course you do.”

He smiled.

“You’re not scared of me.”

I paused.

“You should be,” he added.

“I know,” I said.

And walked away.

Behind me, his laughter echoed like a coin dropped down a deep well, ringing endlessly in the back of my mind.

During that time, I knew it wouldn't be the last I see of him.

Somewhere deep inside me that I refused to acknowledge knew of his "interest" in me.

But I wouldn't realize until it's too late how doomed I was because of it.