Chapter 1 - Prologue (1)

If there is a God, He surely watches with fascination as I bend the world to my will.

The staccato of a pen tapping against a table reverberated throughout the office. Far from the careless fidgeting of an idle hand, the symphony was meticulously composed. The ceaseless din wormed into the mind of its target, steadily nurturing a seed of discomfort that grew with each beat. The tapping settled into a seemingly predictable pattern, then it would change. Denying sanctuary, the tempo was erratic, never permitting stability to take hold, nor its hypnotic grip to relax.

The room seemed to contract with each beat. A change in tempo would align with the listener's heartbeat, and then a pause would leave him breathless. This discordant symphony of one, afforded him no choice but to heed its merciless beat, drowning in the rising tide that accompanied each unpredictable measure.

Then, just as it had begun, the sounds abruptly ceased. Silence billowed like a gust of wind, sweeping away the oppressive weight of sound, yet failing to dislodge the stone of dread settled in the listener's chest. Time stretched taut, each second elongated by the beads of sweat tracing their way down his temple. He held his breath, waiting for the inevitable, and when the moment was ripe, the maestro struck.

"Uzushi-san, it has come to my attention that your division has been underperforming this quarter," a voice spoke quietly. The words were delivered in a manner devoid of emotion or warmth, yet they were neither demeaning nor patronising. Rather, neutral and unyielding, it was the type of voice one might hear during scripted TV interviews or an annual shareholders meeting. It was the epitome of corporate speech, honed and refined by years of practice.

Uzushi, the subject of this corporate power play, quivered beneath the distant gaze of the speaker. As the weight of judgement bore down upon him, the man's vulnerability grew increasingly evident—a precarious position when facing someone intent on evaluating his worth.

Kurosaki Kageyama rested his hands upon his desk, and fixed his gaze upon Uzushi. His mouth contorted into a curve that barely concealed his malicious intent. Kurosaki looked down upon his subordinate, akin to a cat, looming over the pathetic writhing mouse Uzushi had become.

Kurosaki opened his mouth to speak, but paused, sparing Uzushi those fangs for a time. He appeared to give the matter careful thought, before closing his mouth. Instead, he reached for a cup of tea beside him and took a deliberate sip, allowing himself a moment to savour the tension.

Uzushi did nothing but watch, his heart pounding in his chest, his hands clammy and cold, feeling the crushing weight of his boss' scrutiny. Each beat of his heart seemed to echo in his ears, a maddening drum that threatened to betray his fear. In his mind, he tried to muster the courage to speak, to defend himself, but found himself drowning in a sea of insecurity and despair.

With a measured exhale, Kurosaki resumed: "I have given you several opportunities to improve your performance; you have failed to take advantage of every single one of them. The most recent rounds of peer-review reports indicate as such."

As he spoke, Uzushi's fingers twitched involuntarily, betraying the turmoil within him. The suffocating tension seemed to recede, leaving behind a hollow pit in his stomach. His thoughts swirled like leaves in a whirlwind, a chaotic dance that spoke to the precariousness of his position.

A long pause followed, the silence enveloping Uzushi like a cold shroud, tightening its icy grip on his chest. Uzushi's superior, Kurosaki, knew the potency of words and wielded them with surgical precision. His manner of speaking was that of someone who knew exactly what they wanted to say—and how best to say it.

"What do you do when a nail sticks out among the rest, Uzushi-san?"

It was a common proverb in Japan, so widely known that it was impossible for Uzushi to feign ignorance. To do so would be a failure of character, something that pride would not permit. The unspoken implication of the proverb hung in the air, a spectre of what might befall the protruding nail. Uzushi's mind raced, weighing the consequences of completing the proverb against the risk of silence. The stakes were clear, but the words lodged in his throat, unwilling to be set free.

Uzushi did not reply.

The man opposite seemed satisfied that he had gotten his point across as his eyes flickered in delight. His expression was akin to that of an adult about to explain to a five-year-old why stealing cookies from the cookie jar was bad.

"Perhaps, in your world, the nail gets hammered down. That is convention, is it not?"

There was no answer. Not that there was anything to say. In fact, there was nothing Uzushi could say; he was being swept along towards his own destruction, a powerless leaf caught in Kurosaki's merciless current.

"In my world," the voice was cold and calculating, "this particular nail is rusty and old, and no matter how long or hard you hammer, it will never become clean. To keep it lying around, who knows what damage it would inflict? What if its corruption spreads to others? It will never know its place."

Uzushi's chest tightened as the man leaned forward, his presence casting a shadow over his very existence.

"So, it is decided. We must remove the rusty nail from the board it so desperately clings to."

For the first time since entering his boss's office, Uzushi broke his silence. As he raised his head, every instinct within him screamed to recoil from the man's empty, black eyes—eyes that seemed to belong to a predator devoid of empathy or mercy. Despite the overwhelming urge to shrink away, Uzushi summoned a final surge of courage, pushing past the paralysing fear that had gripped him.

He met the gaze of his tormentor, desperation fueling his defiance, as he fought to hold onto what little control remained in his grasp.

"Y-you can't do that… Those peer reports were written by those greenhorns you just hired! I have allies! They will vouch for me!" Uzushi stammered, his voice wavering with the strain of suppressed panic.

"Ah, you have allies?" Kurosaki droned, his tone seemingly indifferent. "That is good to hear."

To Uzushi's untrained ear, his boss' response might have sounded sarcastic. But beneath the surface, Kurosaki gleaned satisfaction from Uzushi's words. He had been systematically purging the old faction little by little, and he harboured suspicions that a handful still remained. Uzushi's desperate claim offered a hint that his strategy had not yet reached its conclusion.

The man's expression remained inscrutable as he processed this new information, the subtle flicker of satisfaction in his eyes the only indication that Uzushi's outburst had provided valuable insight.

"I have it on good authority that I have the power to dismiss you. This meeting is just a formality. After all, to me, you are no longer 'Uzushi-buchou', but 'Uzushi-san'."

The facade of politeness faded away as Kurosaki leaned back in his chair. 

"Now," he said, "let us not waste any more time. You will be relieved of your position immediately. As for your salary, we will cover six months; after that, you will have to fend for yourself. You will retain your basic pension, per the law so nicely dictates. Is that agreeable?"

From Uzushi's perspective, his boss' casual recline felt like a slap in the face—a clear indication of his utter disregard for Uzushi's years of service. The indignity of it all kindled a spark of defiance within him, despite the danger of pushing back against the man who held his fate in his hands.

"I made this company into what it is today! The board can't afford to throw me away! You would never recover from the political fallout!" Uzushi's voice shook, anger and fear intermingling as the reality of his situation crashed down around him.

Something changed in Kurosaki's eyes at that moment of defiance. The well-trained smile on his face evaporated, as if he had stepped in mud. Uzushi suppressed a shudder as a cold sweat ran down his back.

"Then you are a fool," the man said, his voice icy. "You claim to be indispensable, yet the truth is quite the contrary. Failing to realise this simple fact is why you have been left to rot."

"But…!"

Uzushi's protest was cut off as his boss continued, unrelenting. "I see from your expression that you remain steadfast in your belief. Allow me to dispel the notion, then."

Kurosaki Kageyama rose from his seat and circled his desk. Uzushi watched his every step, his body tense with anticipation. His boss's steps were slow and deliberate, each footfall seemingly drawn out to prolong Uzushi's mounting unease.

Upon reaching the far wall, Kurosaki unlocked a drawer with a practised click and swiftly produced a filing box. He glanced back at Uzushi, who seemed rooted to his seat, before retracing his steps once more. As Kurosaki walked, he chose to fill the silence with casual small talk.

"Do you love your wife, Uzushi-san? And what of your dear daughter? I do hope she is doing well in her studies." The man's words sent a shiver down Uzushi's spine, his heart thumping against his chest. This was the last thing he had expected to hear.

"Do you love them?" his boss repeated, voice cold and deliberate.

Uzushi's mind raced, trying to understand the motive behind the question. He knew that the question was some sort of trap, but he couldn't help feeling defensive. "What are you scheming? Are you threatening my family? Whatever underhanded tricks you're plotting, I won't—"

"Threatening your family?" Kurosaki interrupted. "Please, do not take me for some lowly thug." He shook his head. "I wouldn't be here today if I ever were so tactless. I am a law-abiding, model citizen of society, after all. I am simply curious, so I shall ask again: do you love your family, Uzushi-san?"

The emotionless tone and the manner in which the question was posed caught Uzushi off guard. It felt as if a teacher was asking a pupil: 'do you understand the lesson?'

"…Yes," Uzushi said hesitantly, feeling as if the response was forced from him. "Of course I love my family."

"Indeed, I suppose that is the correct answer. It would be strange for a working man not to love his own family," Kurosaki mused, his voice still unnervingly calm.

The man returned to his seat and placed the filing box on the desk. Each section of the box was filled with countless documents and divided by labelled tabs—from senior-level members of committee branches to the lowliest salaryman, Uzushi recognized many titles. Some still worked at the company, though there were a striking number who had left over the years.

"Let's see here…"

Kurosaki flipped through the pages before his fingers landed on the divider labelled 'Hiiroga Uzushi.'

"Hm."

"W-What is it?" Uzushi's question emerged as a stammer, his muscles tensing as unease surged through him.

"You are an interesting man, Uzushi-san. Is your answer not a contradiction?"

"A contradiction?" Uzushi's gaze darted between the documents his boss was inspecting and the man's inscrutable expression.

Kurosaki's eyes settled on a small, delicately wrapped envelope before him, his face giving nothing away as to its contents or significance.

"Although you may be rusty and old in the workplace, you lead a rather sprightly life outside of the corporate world," the man chuckled to himself, the laughter a jarring departure from his usual cold demeanour. It was as if he were suddenly pleased with his own small joke, and Uzushi couldn't make sense of this sudden change; it only served to amplify his fear and confusion.

Was Kurosaki Kageyama truly amused, or was this yet another calculated move to unnerve him further?

Uzushi was given no time to think any deeper as the envelope was sent across the desk and fell into his lap. Uzushi's gaze flitted between the envelope and the man's pleased expression. As he lifted it, his hands trembled; the unassuming object suddenly felt impossibly heavy.

"Open it."

"W-what is it?" Uzushi stammered, his voice faltering.

"Your severance package."

With unsteady fingers, Uzushi fumbled to open the envelope, the anxiety gnawing at him threatening to consume him whole. He clumsily tore at the paper, his heart pounding as he struggled to free its contents.

The polaroids clattered onto the desk, a chilling mosaic of Hiiroga Uzushi's private life. Each shot captured from various angles and distances, some taken from above, others from ground level. The common thread weaving through all of them was the presence of a young woman, with both of their expressions unmistakably those of guilty lovers.

'How did he get these? When was I being followed?!'

Uzushi's heart constricted in his chest as he flipped through the images, each one driving a jagged shard of ice deeper into his core. His face twisted first in confusion, then in anguish as illicit scenes unfolded before him. Every frame seemed to bring the truth into sharper focus—the reality of his betrayal growing inescapable.

Taken from afar, each photo exposed a side of Uzushi he couldn't recognize, shattering the image of the mistreated underdog he had built for himself. The revelation threatened to suffocate him as his face flushed red and blood pounded in his ears.

The final image: a damning scene taken within the very confines of his own home. The weight of the photos grew unbearable and fell from his grasp, scattering across the desk. He pushed them far out of arm's reach, trying to distance himself from the crushing weight of his own betrayal.

"Uzushi-san loves his family? How bold an assertion."

Kurosaki's words sliced through the air, cold and unforgiving. The mockery in his tone only served to amplify the crushing weight of Uzushi's guilt.

"I-I…"

Uzushi's voice stalled in his throat, choking on his own indignation.

"There is one more document in that file."

Uzushi's gaze fell back to the envelope and noticed a pale white piece of paper sticking out from it. He took hold of it, desperation pulsing through his veins, and pulled it free. It was a letter—addressed to the company, signed by his own hand. His blood ran cold.

"That is your resignation letter, relinquishing your right to severance pay, pension, and vested equity. If you truly love your family, as you so confidently stated, I believe it to be in your best interest to submit it before the day is over. Now, Uzushi-san; do you wish to continue your employment with this company?"

Kurosaki's voice was gentle, like a father speaking to a wayward child. Uzushi wanted to scream, to run from the room, to exact his revenge on the man before him.

But—

"…"

The warning was clear. Those photos would find their way into his wife's hands if he did not comply. His life would be destroyed. Of the two evils, the lesser evil was submission to the upstart before him.

Uzushi took a shaky breath. He forced the resignation letter back into the envelope and pushed it across the table. His boss scooped it up and placed it neatly to the side.

"Thank you for your decades-long service, Uzushi-san," Kurosaki's voice dripped with false sincerity. "Please send my regards to your family."

AWZ

Hello, hello! Sorry for not checking in for a while. I've decided to revive/rewrite Reincarnated Arriviste now that I've got a better idea of where the story is going. There will be some minor (and major) changes from the original plot. I hope both new and returning readers enjoy the story!