CHAPTER 169: TOO MANY COINCIDENCES

[Renji’s POV—Kurosawa Corporate—One Week Later]

One week.

It’s been one week since I started working under CEO Hayato Kurosawa, and in just one week, I realized something terrifying.

He is exactly like Alvar before I dated him.

Cold. Keeps to himself. Obsessively hardworking. And somehow... manages to get on my nerves without even trying.

The way he focuses. The way he doesn’t waste words. The way his silence feels heavier than anger.

It’s Alvar.

No—I feel like he’s my Alvar.

No... I’m sure he’s my Alvar.

There is no way this many things are coincidences.

What if the Grandma God really sent him to me? What if Alvar found a way—somehow—to come back?

I clenched my fingers around my cup, and the reason my thoughts were spiraling like this?

Because of the woman sitting in front of me.

Hayato Kurosawa’s mother.

And God help me—she looked exactly like Alvar’s mother.

The same gentle eyes. The same calm posture. The same soft, knowing smile that made you feel seen without judgment.

No difference.

Not even a little.

It felt like Alvar brought his mother with him... Or maybe I’m just losing my mind.

But how can there be this much coincidence? The CEO’s habits. His presence. His silence.

And now—her.

There’s no way all this can be coincidence; it feels like the Grandma god is giving me a signal...saying...I gave you your husband back.

"May I know your name, dear?" she asked gently.

"Renji Takeda," I replied.

She nodded slowly, as if tasting the name.

Mika appeared instantly, slamming two cups onto the table with unnecessary enthusiasm. "Here’s your coffee!" she chirped, then walked away—except she didn’t really walk away.

She hovered nearby like a suspicious cat.

"I’m sorry for texting you so suddenly," Hayato’s mother said apologetically. "But I wanted to see the new assistant my son didn’t fire within three days."

...That sentence alone told me everything.

"I-It’s okay, ma’am," I said quickly.

She smiled warmly. "We’ve only just met... but I feel like I’ve known you for a very long time."

My fingers twitched.

Because I felt it too. The same familiarity. The same strange comfort.

But I forced myself to breathe.

No, Renji. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Hope is dangerous. Thinking Alvar is here again will only hurt you.

She leaned forward slightly, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"So," she asked casually, "are you perhaps married, my dear?"

. . .

. . .

"...Pardon?" My brain short-circuited.

She smirked. "I just felt like I was talking to my son-in-law."

. . .

My thoughts scrambled.

I am married. But if Hayato is Alvar—and if I say that—would I lose something before even understanding it?

Before I could open my mouth—"HE’S NOT MARRIED!!!!"

The entire café froze.

Both of us flinched. Mika skidded over like a duck on ice and slammed her hands on the table.

"He’s totally single!" she declared loudly. "And ready to mingle!!!"

"MIKA!!!!" I yelled, mortified.

She ignored me completely and stared at Hayato’s mother like she’d found her long-lost soulmate.

Hayato’s mother blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then laughed softly.

"I see," she said, amused. "I understand your feelings... and I’m happy you understood mine as well."

...Why do I feel like Mika and Hayato’s mother just spiritually bonded?

Before I could process that—BUZZZ!!!!!

My phone vibrated violently.

I glanced at the screen.

CEO: Where are you?

Oh no.

"I—I—" I stammered.

Hayato’s mother smiled kindly. "You should go, dear."

I stood immediately, bowing. "Thank you for the coffee."

And then—I fled.

Straight out of the café.

***

[CEO’s Office—Later]

The moment I stepped into his office, the air shifted.

Hayato Kurosawa was leaning casually against his desk near the window, one leg crossed over the other, the city skyline spread behind him like something he owned by default. Sunlight cut across his profile as he skimmed through a document—unhurried, focused, as if he were reading a novel instead of a financial report worth billions.

For a split second, I forgot how to breathe.

"Sir..." I said softly.

He didn’t look up right away.

Instead, he turned a page.

Then—calm, cool, and sharp as ever—"Where did my assistant disappear to, abandoning his duties?"

The words weren’t harsh. But the tone carried weight. Authority. Expectation.

My heart skipped. "I—I went to get some coffee, sir," I replied quickly.

A lie.

Not a big one. Not a dangerous one. But my chest still tightened. I couldn’t tell him I met his mother. I wasn’t ready for that conversation. Not yet.

He finally glanced at me—just once. Blue eyes. Assessing. Reading between the lines. Then he looked back at the document.

"Alright."

Just that.

No suspicion. No interrogation. And somehow that was worse, because it meant he trusted me. He closed the file with a soft thud and straightened. "We have a meeting, don’t we?"

"Yes, sir," I said, already moving. "With the finance team."

He nodded, slipping on his coat in one smooth motion. "Bring the documents."

I gathered the folders quickly and fell into step beside him as we walked out. His pace was long and confident—mine automatically adjusted to match it, like my body already knew how to walk beside him.

We moved through the hallway in silence.

Employees bowed as we passed. The sound of our footsteps echoed faintly. Everything felt... too controlled. Too sharp. Too close.

As we neared the meeting room, his voice broke the quiet.

"Renji."

"Yes, sir?"

He didn’t look at me this time. His gaze stayed forward. "You don’t need to lie about small things."

My breath caught.

"I—"

He lifted a hand slightly, stopping me without stopping his stride. "If you need time, take it. Just don’t vanish without notice again."

Again?

I nodded quickly. "I understand. It won’t happen again."

For a moment, his steps slowed—just barely.

"...Good," he said.

The door to the meeting hall opened, voices spilling out, breaking the tension like glass. But even as we stepped inside, my heart was still racing.

Because he knew.

Not about his mother. Not about everything.

But enough.

And the most unsettling part?

He didn’t sound angry. He sounded... concerned.

***

[Finance Meeting Room—Later]

The moment Hayato Kurosawa stepped into the meeting room, the atmosphere dropped ten degrees. Conversations died mid-sentence. Chairs straightened. Spines snapped upright. Even the air felt tighter—like everyone had subconsciously decided to breathe less.

The finance team stood in unison.

"Good afternoon, Kurosawa-sama."

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t nod. Didn’t acknowledge the greeting. He walked straight to the head of the table and took his seat, placing his tablet down with deliberate precision.

Only then did he speak.

"Sit."

One word.

Cold. Flat. Absolute.

Everyone obeyed instantly.

I took my position just behind him, tablet in hand, heart steady but alert. I’d seen him strict before—but this version of Hayato was something else entirely.

This wasn’t professionalism.

This was dominance. He glanced at the digital screen mounted on the wall. "Begin."

The head of finance cleared his throat nervously. "Y-Yes, sir. As you can see, this quarter’s projections—"

"Stop."

The word cut through the room like a blade.

The man froze, mouth still open. Hayato didn’t even look at him. His eyes remained on the data scrolling across the screen.

"These figures," Hayato said calmly, "are incorrect."

The finance head swallowed hard, "S-Sir...?"

Hayato didn’t even blink.

"You inflated overseas logistics savings by 2.3%," he continued calmly, tapping once on his tablet. The screen responded instantly—graphs shifting, layers peeling back. "And then attempted to hide the loss by averaging it across three departments."

The room went dead silent.

I stared at the screen.

He was right. At first glance, the numbers looked clean. Acceptable. But once the layers were stripped away—once you knew where to look—the manipulation was obvious. Subtle. Cowardly.

The finance head’s fingers trembled on the table. Hayato exhaled slowly through his nose, irritation sharp but controlled.

"Renji."

"Yes, sir?"

His eyes never left the screen.

"Didn’t you inform them they were expected to be fully prepared?" His tone dipped—dangerously calm. "This was an urgent meeting. I do not tolerate my time being wasted."

My stomach tightened. "I did inform them, sir."

Before the words could settle—"NO, HE DIDN’T."

The interruption cracked through the room like a gunshot.

I turned sharply. One of the senior finance managers had stood up halfway from his chair, face flushed, eyes darting between me and Hayato.

"The assistant told us," the man said quickly, voice too loud, too defensive, "that the CEO only wanted to review the previous reports again. We were not informed that new data was required."

The room froze.

Every gaze slid to me.

My chest dropped.

...What?

My fingers curled slowly into a fist beneath the table.

This bastard. He was trying to shift the blame onto me.

"Renji," Hayato said again.

"Yes, sir?"

He finally looked at me.

Not cold. Not angry.

Sharp.

Like a blade testing its edge. Then—without raising his voice—

"Fire him."

The words landed heavy.

The manager’s eyes widened. "W-What? Sir, what are you—"

Hayato stood. The sound of his chair sliding back echoed like a verdict.

"Do you think," he said quietly, "that I do not know exactly what you are attempting to do?"

The man flinched visibly. Hayato walked forward—slow, unhurried—until he stood directly in front of the manager’s seat. He placed the tablet on the table and tapped once.

The screen zoomed in.

"Here," Hayato said. "And here. And here."

Each tap revealed a timestamp. A revision trail. A digital fingerprint.

"You altered the document after it left my assistant’s hands," Hayato continued, voice glacial. "And then attempted to redirect responsibility onto him."

The manager shot to his feet. "S-Sir, I—"

"You don’t deserve to speak," Hayato cut in.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Final.

"You falsified financial data," he said, eyes burning ice. "You attempted internal manipulation. And then you tried to sacrifice my assistant to protect yourself."

The word my hit harder than anything else in the room.

"You do not deserve to sit in my office."

The manager’s face drained of all color.

"Security will escort you out," Hayato said calmly. "HR will handle termination effective immediately."

The man’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound came out.

Hayato turned his head slightly.

"Renji."

"Yes, sir?"

"Remove his access privileges. Effective now."

My hands moved before my mind caught up. "Yes, sir."

The remaining finance team sat frozen—terrified, silent, breathing shallowly like prey pretending not to exist. Hayato straightened, adjusting his cuff as if nothing significant had happened.

"For the rest of you," he said, addressing the room without emotion, "this meeting is adjourned."

He paused at the door.

"One more thing." Every spine stiffened. "If any of you ever attempt to undermine my assistant again," Hayato said quietly, "you will not receive a second warning."

The door closed behind us.

Only when we were safely in the corridor did I realize—My hands were shaking.

Not from fear.

But from something else entirely. Because he didn’t hesitate. Didn’t doubt me. Didn’t even consider the possibility that I was at fault.

He protected me.

Unconditionally.

And as I followed him down the hallway, his coat swaying with each precise step, one truth settled heavily in my chest—This wasn’t just authority.

This was instinct.