CHAPTER 167: CONFIDENTIAL MEMORIES

[Renji’s POV—Kurosawa Corporate—Later]

I followed Hayato Kurosawa through the sleek hallway, the air-conditioned silence broken only by the sharp sound of his shoes against marble.

Employees froze the moment he appeared. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Spines straightened instantly. People bowed so deeply I thought someone might snap in half.

I swallowed hard.

...So this was what working for the CEO meant.

A walking glacier. A living warning sign. A man whose presence straight-up rebooted everyone’s nervous systems with fear.

DING—!

The elevator doors slid open to the top floor.

The atmosphere changed immediately—quiet, controlled, almost sacred. The receptionist at the executive floor jumped to her feet so fast her chair nearly rolled away.

"G-Good morning, Kurosawa-sama!"

He didn’t even glance at her.

Not even a nod.

Just kept walking with that calm, elegant, terrifying stride of his. And of course—I followed like an anxious duckling who accidentally imprinted on the wrong species.

He stopped abruptly.

I nearly walked into his back.

"Your desk," he said, pointing to a sleek workstation right outside his cabin door, "is here."

I nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."

"No one is permitted in this area except you. Not even the receptionist at the entrance." He gestured toward the receptionist, who visibly paled as if she’d been cursed.

I blinked. "Oh."

"This floor is restricted. Understand?"

"Yes, Kurosawa-san."

"Good." He adjusted his gloves. "HR will arrive shortly. She will explain everything."

And just like that, he stepped into his cabin and closed the door quietly—but with enough force to make my heart leap.

The office fell silent.

I took a slow breath, trying to calm my pounding heart.

Then—a soft voice behind me: "Are you... Renji Takeda?"

I turned.

A woman in a navy suit stood there, smiling warmly—almost too warmly for a corporate floor that felt colder than a frozen cathedral.

Her hair was tied into a neat bun. Her eyes sparkled with mischief behind tidy glasses.

She extended her hand politely. "I’m Akiyama Risa. HR manager."

I shook her hand. "Nice meeting you, Akiyama-san."

Her smile remained for exactly two seconds.

Then vanished.

Completely.

Her expression sharpened. Her eyes narrowed. She leaned in slightly.

"So..." she said quietly, "what possessed you to serve the devil?"

. . .

. . .

Silence.

My brain stalled.

"...E-Excuse me?" I choked.

She nodded solemnly, lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper. "You do realize you accepted a job under him, right?"

I stared.

She didn’t blink.

"I mean—was it bravery? Desperation? A hidden death wish? Did HR assistant accidentally hire someone with supernatural courage?"

"Um... I—uh..."

What was happening??

She grabbed my shoulders suddenly, eyes wide. "Did you lose a bet?!"

"N-No!"

She gasped. "Or did he blackmail you with something?!"

"What?! No—!"

She stepped back, arms crossed, studying me like I was a rare creature. "...Then tell me, Renji Takeda—why did you choose to work under Kurosawa Hayato?"

Her tone was half dramatic, half terrified. And 100% serious.

I swallowed. "...Because he offered me the job?"

She stared.

Her eye twitched.

Then—whispering like a ghost in a horror film—she said: "he... he chose you?"

"???"

I am not serving a demon, right?

"Well..." she whispered, "if he personally selected you, then—maybe—you’ll survive."

Maybe.

This was not reassuring. She shoved a thick stack of papers into my hands. "Here. This is everything you need to know about him."

I blinked down at the folder’s title:

’Employee Orientation: Kurosawa Hayato – Confidential Profile’

But taped beneath it in bright pink marker: SURVIVAL GUIDE—DO NOT IGNORE. A hand-drawn skull was smiling in the corner.

"...I see," I said weakly.

She patted my shoulder with the solemnity of a soldier sending me to war.

"Memorize every line," she said gravely. "His schedule. His coffee preferences. The way he likes his files arranged. The tone of voice he hates. The hours he forbids interruptions..." She paused dramatically. "And the hours where you must interrupt him even if you fear death."

"Death???"

"Emotional death," she corrected sweetly. "Which—frankly—hurts more."

She stepped backward, waving lightly.

"See you, Renji," she said, voice almost sad. "I hope you survive."

She turned and headed for the elevator. The doors shut.

Silence.

I stared at the document in my hands. She wished me luck like—like I was entering some demonic pact.

I sighed deeply and muttered, "Am I... really serving a demon here?"

A muffled sound behind the CEO’s door made me straighten immediately.

Okay. No more thinking dramatic thoughts. Time to study the file. Because if I’m going to serve a man who freezes oxygen by existing, I should at least know what kind of human—or near-human—I am working under.

I flipped open the first page.

PERSONALITY TRAITS: Hyper-disciplined, extremely punctual, low tolerance for incompetence, quiet and reserved.

My eyes traveled down the page... and the deeper I read...the faster my heart began to beat.

Not out of fear. But because these traits... felt too familiar.

Every line felt like a whisper from another world. A whisper that sounded like... Alvar.

I swallowed and kept reading, telling myself it was coincidence.

Coincidence that he likes strong tea and black coffee. Coincidence that he takes his documents arranged strictly in left-to-right order. Coincidence he dislikes loud noises.

But then—my eyes slid lower.

And froze.

Allergies: peanuts. Severe.

My breath caught. Alvar also—no. Stop. Coincidence. It had to be coincidence.

Until my gaze dropped to the next highlighted section:

"Major accident six months ago. Suffered severe memory loss of the last five months.Still undergoing recovery and regular medication."

My heart stopped.

"What...?" I whispered.

He had memory loss?

I leaned closer, reading every line carefully—hands shaking.

He lost memories. He’s still under medication that stabilizes cognitive function. His return to the company was just one month ago. Five assistants resigned in that month. He reportedly gets irritated or overwhelmed by small mistakes.

No one outside upper management knows about his condition.

That’s why the file said CONFIDENTIAL.

That’s why he feels... familiar and yet distant.

As if his soul remembers something his mind has forgotten. As if he’s standing close—but behind a heavy curtain he can’t see through.

My chest tightened painfully.

Because if all of this was true... If all this pointed to something impossible—Then...

"Are you done reading the document?"

His voice.

Right behind me. I turned around, and Hayato Kurosawa stood leaning against his office doorway—arms crossed, eyes unreadable, expression cool and sharp in the morning light.

He looked calm on the surface.

But something in the depths of those blue eyes... Something restless.

Something searching.

"...Yes, sir," I managed.

His gaze flicked once to the folder, then back to me. "Then come in."

I followed him inside, and my pulse thundered in my ears—not from fear of my new job, not even from embarrassment—but from the suffocating question rising in my chest:

If he truly has memory loss... Then is he? No...it cannot be, and yet why does every part of him feel like the man I already loved?

***

[Inside Hayato’s Office — Continuation]

The office was elegant, spacious, and cold—like it belonged to a man who refused warmth. Hayato walked behind his desk, sat down with a controlled elegance that screamed discipline, then lifted his hand.

"Hand me the document."

I stepped forward and placed the confidential file in his palm. He didn’t even look at it. He simply tossed it into the small black steel bin beside his desk.

Then—click.

The sharp spark of a lighter sliced through the silence. A flame bloomed at the end of his lighter, and he lowered it into the bin. The paper caught instantly—fire racing across the pages as if it had been waiting to burn.

The room filled with the faint smell of ink and ash.

Hayato leaned back in his chair, watching the fire with unreadable calm.

His voice dropped, low, steady. "The information you received is extremely confidential, Renji."

My stomach tightened. He continued, eyes locked onto mine with unsettling intensity.

"Except for my parents... you and the HR..." His gaze sharpened. "...no one knows about this."

"I—I understand, sir," I murmured. "I’ll maintain absolute confidentiality."

He didn’t look away.

Not once.

"And what about the five assistants you fired?" I asked carefully. "Did they... know about this?"

"They didn’t get the privilege to know, Renji."

Privilege.

Privilege?

My heart stuttered.

"So then..." My voice cracked before steadying. "...why me, sir? I just joined. I don’t have qualifications yet. I don’t understand why—"

He leaned forward. But with a slow, deliberate grace—closing the distance between us until I felt his breath warm the air between us.

His eyes lowered...then lifted...

Settling on mine.

And in a voice so quiet I almost didn’t hear it—a voice that carried a strange softness beneath the ice—

he said:

"I don’t know. I just feel..."

He hesitated. His fingers curled slightly on the desk. His eyes softened—barely, just barely—like a crack of sunlight threatening to break through a frozen sky.

"...you should know everything."

. . .

. . .

Everything went silent.

The bustling city beyond the windows. The hum of the heater. Even my own heartbeat. His words hung between us—a fragile thread.

A pull.

A whisper of something familiar. Something impossible. Something that terrified both of us.

His gaze didn’t waver.

It held mine exactly the same way Alvar once held my gaze across another world—the same way Alvar looked at me when he spoke my name.

Something in my chest cracked.

Something in the air changed.

And for a moment—just a moment—it felt like time recognized us.