Chapter Text
“What an infuriating day...” Furina muttered under her breath, her voice a soft hiss of frustration as she stepped into the dim glow of the roadside bar. Her shoulders felt weighed down, the burden of her work pressing against her like a thousand unseen hands, tightening with every moment. Her boss had been no help—hands folded, eyes distant, piling her with tasks that could easily have been handed off to others. It was as though the world itself was blind to her struggles.
She had only wanted a brief escape, a moment of solace in the gentle hum of this small, roadside haven. Just one drink to settle the chaos in her mind, to drown out the relentless cacophony of expectations and demands.
But that was before the eyes—those lingering, admiring gazes of every passing soul in the bar. Before the drinks, one after another, being placed before her, unsolicited and too generous. A flash of a smile here, a brief compliment there, and the bartender, with a knowing grin, added his own offering—a drink that tasted too sweet, too easy. All of it, all of them, just made the weight heavier.
Now here she was, cradling the glass in her hand, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread like fire beneath her skin. The night was no longer her own, and neither was her mind. She glanced down at herself—her short black skirt clinging lightly to her frame, the simplicity of her white blouse a contrast to the unwelcome attention. It should have been comforting, the thought of a drink, a brief moment of peace. But instead, it felt like sinking deeper, the noise of the bar closing in, the weight of her work, her worth, everything—pressing. Five drinks later, and she wondered if she'd ever find a way out.
She took another sip, the liquid slipping past her lips like a fleeting thought, and with it, a gentle haze began to cloud her mind—each second, a little more distant, a little less sharp. A long, exasperated sigh escaped her, a soft exhalation of all the day’s weight, and in that fragile moment of release, she felt eyes on her. A presence at her side stirred, like a quiet ripple across a still pond.
"Terrible day?" came a voice—firm, almost demanding, but beneath the steel of it, a subtle warmth, a quiet compassion. It was a question that held more than mere curiosity, something deeper, as though the words themselves wished to ease her burden, to give her permission to let go.
Furina sighed again, a long, weary breath that was all the answer she could give. Slowly, she turned, her gaze meeting the person beside her. But her mind, clouded by the fog of exhaustion, didn’t catch their features at first. It was the silhouette that drew her in—a figure clothed in a crisp white shirt, a tie tucked neatly beneath a blazer that hung loosely over their shoulders. The attire spoke of professionalism, of restraint, but it wasn’t their clothing that captured her attention.
It was their hair.
A cascade of snow-white strands, tinged with shadows of black, spilling down like a waterfall caught in the dim amber glow of the bar. It was a striking contrast—so pure, yet so dark—that it seemed to shimmer with a quiet, almost ethereal elegance. It reminded her of the hair of the old and wise, the kind she had seen in old portraits or heard of in whispered tales, but there was something different here. This was not the hair of age—it was the hair of someone timeless, someone sculpted by both light and shadow, a model of grace and mystery.
For a moment, Furina was lost in it, the stillness of the moment wrapping around her like a blanket, her thoughts slowing, fading. She couldn’t help but wonder: Who are you?
“Something caught your eyes?” The voice was soft, almost amused, but there was a thread of genuine curiosity in it. Furina’s gaze lingered, caught by the subtle elegance of their presence, before her mind snapped back to reality with a sharp jolt. She blinked, the haze around her thickening. She had been staring, hadn't she?
“Just… a tiring day,” she managed, her voice trailing off as she turned her eyes back to her drink, the glass a comforting blur in her hands. Her thoughts spun, a storm of fleeting images and voices, the weight of her day pressing like stones against her chest. There was no escape from it, not even in the dim glow of the bar.
"I can understand," came the reply, now softer, a murmur of shared weariness. The person took another sip of their drink, their shoulders sagging slightly as if the weight of the world too had claimed its toll on them.
Furina’s curiosity bloomed, despite the fog in her mind. “Do you also have a demanding boss?”
The question hung in the air, and the person glanced at her, their gaze cutting sideways with a quiet intensity. It was then that Furina truly saw their eyes.
They were an unsettling, hypnotic black, like a night sky at its deepest—no stars, no moon, just the quiet vastness of shadow. But beneath that endless darkness, there was something else. A hint of crimson, like the faintest trace of dawn peeking through a darkened horizon. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it tugged at her, a pull she couldn’t quite understand.
For a brief moment, her breath caught in her chest. How strange, how enchanting, those eyes were. They weren’t just eyes—they were stories, hidden in the gradient of darkness and red, something ancient and unknowable. Furina found herself leaning in, her curiosity sharper than before, as if drawn into a mystery she couldn’t escape. What was it about those eyes that made her feel… seen?
"I wouldn’t say exactly, but it truly is a demanding day," the person said, their voice laced with a weariness that mirrored her own. They sighed, a soft exhale that seemed to carry the weight of invisible burdens. Furina, in turn, nodded slowly, her eyes drifting to the table, to the glass that seemed to mock her with its calm.
"I assume you're here because of your boss?" came the question, simple yet laden with understanding, as if the question wasn’t obvious enough. Furina nodded again, her lips curling into a sigh that felt too heavy for words. There it was, the reason she had stumbled into this dimly lit bar, the reason she clutched the glass too tightly.
Her mind wandered back to the grind of her day, her life, tangled in the tangle of expectations and disappointment. She had never asked for this. She had only tried to be kind—to follow the rules, to be agreeable, to smile even when her spirit broke beneath the weight of unspoken demands. It had all started out so innocently, just trying to be nice, to play her part in the dance of office politics. But kindness had become a rope around her neck, and she, naive and trusting, let it tighten every day.
They had taken advantage of her softness, her willingness to bend, to please. Her colleagues, with their sharp eyes and sharper words, had piled their work onto her like bricks, knowing she would never refuse. How could she? She was too nice. She had no choice.
But it wasn't the work that stung the most. No, it was the silent weight of her boss’s expectations, the indirect demands that she could never escape. They never asked directly. No, that would have been too obvious, too cruel. Instead, they simply hinted, with an email, a note here and there, until she was drowning in tasks she had no time to finish, no strength to complete. It was a web of subtle cruelty, one that wrapped tighter with every task they "suggested."
Furina let out a quiet breath, her gaze drifting through the haze of her thoughts. It wasn’t the volume of the work that crushed her—it was the way it was always her who had to carry it. The way the weight fell on her shoulders, unnoticed, as if she were just a tool, a shadow.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, the taste of the drink bitter now, not from the alcohol but from the bitterness of her life. The world outside the bar seemed far away, just a distant hum, while she stayed in this little space, caught between the desire to escape and the inevitable pull of duty. She didn’t know which was heavier anymore: the work or the silence that came after.
“I think of quitting.” The words fell from her lips with a quiet weight, the exhaustion in her voice echoing louder than the syllables themselves. Furina's gaze drifted, lost in thought, the hazy flicker of the bar lights casting shadows over her features. "Hearth Organisation isn't for the weak," she added, more to herself than to the stranger beside her, her voice slipping into an honesty that surprised her. She barely knew this person, yet there was something in the air tonight—a quiet connection, a pull that made her speak her truth.
The stranger, a figure cloaked in an air of mystery, raised an eyebrow, their expression curious, as if the words had caught them off guard. Furina felt their gaze, turning to meet it with a raised brow of her own.
“What’s with that face?” she asked, her voice sharp with a trace of humour, digging beneath the surface of the curiosity in their eyes. She wasn’t one to be looked at like an enigma, and yet, here she was, doing just that.
"Are you a member of the Hearth Organisation?" The question came, casual yet probing, the tap of their fingers against the counter punctuating the stillness between them. Furina’s throat tightened as the weight of the question settled around her. She nodded, the simple answer feeling like an admission, a silent confession to a stranger.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice rough, dry as sandpaper. She swallowed, then took a sip, the liquid cool and bitter on her tongue, trying to wash down the weight of the truth. The silence stretched between them like a thread, and Furina dared another question, her voice barely above a whisper. "Are you too?"
The stranger hesitated, the briefest pause before their gaze softened, the faintest nod in response. Yes. It was a quiet, almost imperceptible acknowledgment—but it was enough.
Furina blinked, a strange sense of irony weaving through her thoughts. What a coincidence. To meet a fellow member of the Hearth Organisation in such a remote, dim-lit bar, far from the prying eyes of their world. It was almost laughable, this meeting in a place so unassuming, where the weight of their titles could be forgotten for a fleeting moment.
Maybe, just maybe, this place wasn’t so bad after all. A quiet refuge in a night full of noise—a brief pause in the endless storm.
"Say, when you mention your boss, do you mean your manager?" The question came, casual yet edged with a hint of curiosity, a little too personal for Furina's comfort. But something in her—the alcohol, the warmth, the weight of the day—made her shrug off the hesitation. Hell, she was already this deep into it. What was the harm in letting it all spill?
"No," she replied, her voice distant, as if the words themselves carried the weight of her frustrations. "I meant the CEO themselves."
The stranger’s eyes widened, their surprise evident, the curiosity now burning brighter. Furina could feel it, like the heat of a fire kindling at the back of her neck. It was strange how easily she was divulging her life, but there was something about this moment, this fleeting connection, that made the walls between them crumble. They leaned in, a grin tugging at the corners of their mouth, eyes glinting with the thrill of discovery.
"Speak more of this 'boss' of yours," they coaxed, their voice a velvet invitation, soft yet insistent. Furina furrowed her brow, momentarily taken aback. She glanced at them, confused by the intensity of their interest. Why? Why this fascination with a stranger’s story? "Aren’t you a little too interested in my life?" she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it, an edge of playfulness in her tone despite the underlying wariness.
The stranger chuckled, the sound low and rich, like a melody that brushed against her nerves. "I apologize for intruding," they said, their voice warm with an odd sincerity. "But I’m rather curious about your opinion of the CEO."
Furina’s breath caught in her throat, her nerves suddenly fraying. She felt a lump form in her throat, an uncomfortable tension tightening around her chest. She took a swift gulp from her drink, the liquid burning as it slid down her throat, trying to quench the unease that had begun to rise.
"You’re not going to out me, are you?" she asked, her voice suddenly small, the weight of her words more fragile than she intended. The stranger’s eyes twinkled with a quiet amusement, their smile deepening as they leaned back slightly, the shadows of the bar dancing over their features. “I’m far beyond that,” they replied, their tone rich with a knowingness that sent a shiver through Furina.
There was something dangerous, something elusive about them, something that made her wonder just how far this conversation would go. How much of herself she was willing to reveal to a stranger in a bar, surrounded by the noise of a thousand untold stories. But the pull was there, subtle yet insistent, like the quiet tug of a thread unraveling something hidden deep within her.
And for a moment, Furina didn’t mind the unraveling.
She continued, her words spilling like a river breaking through a dam, each complaint an echo of frustration that seemed to rattle the very air around them. "My CEO," she began, her voice sharp with disdain, "is a mysterious figure. One who hardly ever shows their face to us, as if we’re not even worthy of that basic decency. In meetings, they hide behind a screen, their camera always turned off, like some shadowy presence looming over us, never quite real."
Furina paused, taking a breath, her eyes burning with the irritation that had simmered within her for far too long. She leaned forward, her fingers gripping the edge of her glass as if it were the only thing tethering her to reality. "They’re selfish, thinking themselves above us all. As if we exist to serve their whims. And the work—" she hissed, her voice tightening with barely controlled anger, "the workload they pile on me—so much, with deadlines so tight I can barely breathe."
The stranger, listening intently, seemed more amused than concerned. They grinned, the corners of their mouth curling upward, and a low laugh escaped them when the complaint became too vivid, too absurd to ignore. It was a strange sound, warm and almost knowing, as though they found humour in her pain, or perhaps in the way she let it slip so easily into the open.
"Are you sure these aren’t just your views of them, without any honest reflection?" came the probing question, a gentle nudge to make her think.
Furina shot them a look, her eyes narrowing slightly, a puff of air escaping from her lips in a sharp huff. "If these aren’t real complaints," she said, her voice thick with irritation, "then I don’t know what is. Besides, these are my experiences, my truth. Unless you’re accusing me of lying?" Her words were sharp, biting, but there was a flicker of vulnerability beneath the defiance—a small, unspoken fear that perhaps she was wrong, or maybe too harsh in her judgment. But it was buried deep, and for now, all she could do was speak her frustrations aloud.
The silence hung for a moment, thick with the tension between them. Furina’s words lingered in the air, unresolved, like a melody played once but not yet finished. She waited for a response, her mind spinning as she thought back to the ceaseless demands of her CEO. How could they not see it? How could anyone think she was wrong in feeling so suffocated, so used?
The stranger hummed, a soft, knowing sound that seemed to stir the air between them. "Are you aware that our CEO is a woman?" they asked, their voice carrying a subtle note of curiosity, as though the answer had always been an open secret.
Furina’s eyes widened in shock, the words cutting through her exhaustion like a sharp blade. Her thoughts froze, then splintered as her mind raced to catch up with the revelation. A woman? She shook her head, the motion sharp, as if trying to shake off the absurdity of it all. Her hair swayed to the side, a fleeting gesture of frustration. "No," she muttered, her voice tinged with disbelief. "But that is to be expected, isn't it? When they never show up to any direct meetings." The words left her lips with a hint of bitterness, a sigh of resignation that tasted like defeat.
The stranger laughed—a low, almost musical sound that seemed to hold a touch of mockery, a quiet edge. Furina felt the sting, but she was too tired to care, too exhausted to rise to it. "It’s only one tap away when you use the internet," they teased, their words light, almost playful in their gentle ridicule.
She didn’t respond. What could she say? She had already bared too much, and this strange, elegant figure beside her seemed to find amusement in it all, like a spectator watching a performance unfold.
Without another word, the stranger drank down the rest of their glass, the motion smooth and decisive. Then, as if the conversation had ended, they stood with a fluid grace that seemed too effortless, too practiced. They paid for both their drinks, leaving a generous tip, and then, with a glance and a smile, they turned toward the door.
"Have this as a thanks for telling me your story," they said, their voice warm with a strange finality. "Get home safe, Miss Furina." The words lingered in the air like the last notes of a forgotten song. And then, just as suddenly, they were gone, walking away with a quiet elegance that made her heart stutter.
Their movements were fluid, like a dancer caught in the soft glow of the bar’s lights, each step measured and poised, as though they were not merely walking but gliding—graceful, effortless, like a model in some distant runway show. Furina watched, captivated by the way they carried themselves, a silhouette of poise and mystery.
It was only when the door swung shut behind them, the sound of it softly ringing in her ears, that Furina’s mind began to unravel. Wait.
How did they know her name?
The question hung in the air, unanswered, a strange echo in the quiet aftermath of the conversation. She blinked, her thoughts tangled and confused. She hadn’t told them her name. She hadn’t even mentioned it. Yet they knew it so easily, so casually. Furina’s chest tightened, a flutter of unease stirring deep within her. The mystery of it—the way they had come and gone, as though they were a fleeting shadow—left her restless, her mind racing in search of answers that she couldn’t quite reach.
- -
The next day, Furina’s desk was once again buried beneath the weight of paperwork, a mountain that seemed to grow taller with every passing minute. She moved in a blur, fingers dancing over keys, pen scratching against paper, a rhythm of frantic multitasking. Her eyes, though tired, never strayed from the task at hand, each letter typed a small victory in the face of an endless sea of demands. Time felt like a cruel joke, slipping away as her mind churned, yet her body remained locked in its unyielding motion.
Then, the door creaked open without a sound, no knock, no warning. The voice that followed was crisp, detached, yet unmistakably familiar. "Miss Furina, finish these within three weeks, and take some time off work tomorrow if you will?"
Her eyes flicked up without thought, instinctively seeking the source of the voice. But when she saw who stood there, her heart skipped a beat.
It was them. The same person from the bar—the one with the snow-white hair, the one who had listened to her complaints, the one who had known her name so effortlessly. Their presence, elegant and striking, felt as surreal as a dream half-remembered. The white and black of their hair shimmered in the soft light of the office, an ethereal echo of the figure she had met in the dim-lit bar. The memory of that graceful, almost otherworldly figure was too vivid, too ingrained in her mind. But now, standing before her, they were no longer a mystery—they were an undeniable reality.
Furina’s lips parted, but no words came. Her throat tightened, a cold knot of fear coiling deep within her chest. The strange familiarity of their presence—so close, so tangible—sent a shiver down her spine. She could feel the weight of their gaze, a presence that seemed to loom over her, even as they smiled with that unsettling amusement.
There they stood, that same figure from the bar, but now the air between them was different, charged, electric. Their eyes gleamed, sharp and predatory, a dangerous grin curling at the corners of their lips. It was the kind of smile that spoke of hidden intentions, of unspoken power—a grin that promised nothing good.
They looked down at her, their gaze heavy and suffocating, like a predator appraising its prey, relishing in the moment before the final strike. Furina felt the weight of it, the heat of their stare pressing against her skin, making her heart race in her chest.
"I must thank you, Miss Furina," the woman purred, her voice a low whisper, each word laced with a quiet, unsettling satisfaction. "If it wasn’t for you yesterday, I wouldn’t have known that my workers see me as such."
The words slithered into the air like a silken thread, drawing a smile that held no warmth, only amusement, and something far darker beneath. Her chuckle was soft, almost melodic, but in it was a tension that only Furina could feel—a dangerous note that sent a chill crawling down her spine.
Furina's breath hitched, but she remained silent, unsure if speaking would make the moment worse, or if silence would betray her even more. She could hear only the faintest echo of the woman’s laughter, a sound that lingered in the room like a heavy perfume, suffocating and rich with meaning.
The weight of her words hung between them, sharp and cold, an invisible thread tying them together in a way that Furina couldn’t escape, even if she wanted to.
And for the first time, she realized just how deep she had fallen into this unknown game, one she hadn't even understood until now.
Then, just as swiftly as they had entered, the person turned and walked out, their footsteps echoing in the hallway, each click of their heels a rhythmic reminder of their departure. But to Furina, it felt as though the sound was etched into the very walls, reverberating through the hollow spaces of her mind.
Her heart raced in her chest, a frantic thud that drowned out everything else. Oh no. The realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her mind scrambled to piece together the fragments of her thoughts, but the fear tightened its grip around her.
What have I done? The question twisted inside her like a knot, sharp and painful, a quiet dread that seeped deep into her bones. The truth hung in the air like a shadow, and for the first time, Furina couldn’t shake the feeling that she was in far deeper than she had ever imagined.