The boardroom buzzed with panic. Screens flashed numbers and error codes, the air thick with tension. A minor AI system failure had caused chaos in one of Miyazaki Technologies' sub-departments — not catastrophic, but enough to make every investor twitch.
"Mr. Miyazaki, this could cause a complete market backlash!" one executive shouted.
Hayate leaned back in his chair, calm as still water. "No, it won't."
"But, sir—"
"Run the rollback, reset the system permissions, and isolate the bug," he said coolly. "We've handled worse in testing."
The executives exchanged nervous glances.
One muttered, "You make it sound simple."
"It is simple," Hayate replied evenly. "You panic because you don't understand it. I don't panic because I built it."
The room went silent.
Ten minutes later, the crisis was already being resolved, just as he predicted. But while Hayate remained composed, not everyone in the city was as calm.
Across town, Miyu Takahara watched the headlines scroll on her phone, lips curving into a smile.
"Miyazaki Technologies under stress," she murmured. "Perfect."
She stood before a mirror, adjusting her pearl earrings. In her reflection, she looked flawless—poised, composed, untouchable. Exactly as people expected her to be.
She picked up her phone and dialed.
"Hayate-kun," she cooed when he answered, her tone syrupy-smooth. "I saw the news. I was worried. If you need—"
"I don't," Hayate interrupted gently but firmly.
Miyu blinked. "You haven't even heard what I was offering."
"I don't need to. The system will be fine."
Her jaw tightened, though her voice stayed light. "You're too proud to ask for help."
"And you're too eager to give it," Hayate replied, his tone polite but cutting. "Thank you for your concern, Miyu. That'll be all."
Before she could respond, the line clicked dead.
Miyu stared at her phone, her reflection now less composed. Anger flared in her chest. "Ever since that girl came back," she muttered. "You've changed, Hayate. You used to listen."
She grabbed her purse, her nails tapping sharply on the table. "Fine. I'll get some coffee. Maybe I'll run into someone who appreciates company."
Rin Nishina didn't expect her simple coffee run to turn into a battlefield.
She was waiting in line at her favorite café, scrolling through her messages from Mai about weekend plans, when the door chimed.
And in walked Miyu Takahara.
Their eyes met across the room. For a split second, neither spoke.
Then Miyu smiled — slow, polished, and poisonous. "Rin Nishina. What a surprise."
Rin's grip tightened on her cup. "Miyu-san."
"Out for coffee? How… humble of you."
Rin forced a polite smile. "Yes, I find humility easier to carry than pride."
Miyu's smile twitched. "Cute. You always have something to say, don't you? Is that what he likes about you?"
Rin froze. "Excuse me?"
Miyu stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Hayate. You think I don't notice how he looks at you? How he's changed since that island?"
Rin blinked, startled. "Changed?"
"He used to listen to me," Miyu hissed. "He used to respect me. And now—now he brushes me off like I'm nothing. Ever since you came back with him."
Rin took a step back, her pulse rising. "That's not my fault, Miyu. Maybe you just don't know him as well as you think you do."
Miyu's eyes darkened. "You little—"
Her hand rose sharply—
A firm hand caught Miyu's wrist mid-swing.
"Bad idea," said a familiar voice.
Rin gasped. "Mai?!"
Her best friend stood between them, her expression calm but deadly. "You don't get to hit my best friend in a coffee shop. That's illegal, by the way. And also extremely tacky."
Miyu froze, caught between anger and embarrassment.
Mai's eyes narrowed. "You know, it's amazing how much makeup it takes to hide insecurity."
Rin's mouth dropped open. "Mai!"
Mai tilted her head sweetly. "What? I'm just saying what everyone's thinking."
The café had gone silent. Miyu yanked her wrist free, her cheeks burning. "You have no idea who you're talking to."
Mai smiled brightly. "You're right. And I don't care."
She turned to Rin. "Come on, bestie. We're done here."
Rin hesitated for a split second, then followed. As they walked past the door, she whispered, "Thank you."
Mai grinned. "Please. Did you think I'd let someone slap the main character?"
Rin blinked. "Where did you even come from?"
Mai put a hand dramatically over her chest. "I'm a witch. I sense danger when my bestie's in trouble."
Rin burst out laughing, the tension breaking at last.
Mai had only gone shopping for hair serum that afternoon. Then she'd spotted Rin through the café window.
Oh, there she is. Alone as usual. Maybe I'll join her—
Her thought stopped when she saw another familiar face step in. Wait. Isn't that the girl from the gathering? Miyu Takahara?
Mai ducked behind a magazine stand, watching.
When Miyu approached Rin, Mai's stomach tightened. She couldn't hear everything, but the tone—sugar on the surface, poison underneath—was enough to raise alarms.
She drifted closer, pretending to browse tea blends, eavesdropping shamelessly.
"…ever since you came back with him."
Mai's eyes widened. Oh, it's that kind of conversation.
She silently clenched her fist, muttering under her breath, "C'mon, Rin. Don't let her get to you."
And then she saw Miyu's hand rise.
Before she even realized it, Mai was moving. One second she was behind a shelf; the next, she was between them, catching Miyu's wrist midair.
The look on Rin's face was worth every bit of it — pure shock and relief all at once.
Once they were outside, Rin exhaled shakily, adrenaline fading.
Mai looked sideways at her. "You okay?"
Rin nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just… I didn't expect that."
"Good," Mai said. "Unexpected keeps things exciting."
Rin shot her a look. "You have a strange definition of exciting."
Mai grinned. "You love it."
They both laughed, the kind of laughter that comes after danger—half relief, half disbelief.
"Thanks again," Rin said softly. "Really."
Mai slung an arm around her shoulders. "Always. Besides, if anyone's allowed to yell at you in public, it's me."
Rin snorted, unable to hold back her smile.
As they walked away, the café behind them slowly returned to its normal hum, but something had changed.
For Miyu, the mask had cracked.
For Rin, a new resolve had formed.
And for Mai—well, she was already texting Rin's mom to brag about "saving her dramatic daughter."
By the time Rin and Mai reached the small ramen shop tucked in a side street near the station, the afternoon sun had mellowed into gold. The air smelled of broth and soy, and the counter gleamed with steam and chatter.
Mai plopped into a stool, stretching her arms. "I deserve a medal. Or at least free dumplings. I just saved your face — literally."
Rin groaned, sliding beside her. "You also nearly gave me a heart attack! You came out of nowhere like a ninja witch hybrid."
Mai grinned, unrepentant. "Thank you, I train daily in stealth and sarcasm."
The waiter placed two bowls before them — rich miso ramen, steam rising like tiny clouds. Rin's stomach growled audibly.
Mai pointed a chopstick. "See? That's the sound of victory. Eat. You'll feel better."
Rin twirled noodles absentmindedly. "Do you think… I overreacted?"
"You? Overreact? You stood there like a diplomat while she monologued like a Bond villain," Mai said, slurping loudly. "You were classy.
They laughed, the tension finally melting between sips and teasing.
After a while, the laughter softened. Rin set her chopsticks down, staring into her bowl. "You know, when she said I changed Hayate… it hurt. Because maybe I did. Or maybe he changed me."
Mai tilted her head. "You both changed. That's what storms do. You either drown or come out different."
Rin smiled faintly. "Since when did you get so poetic?"
"Since my best friend started attracting billionaires and drama," Mai said, smirking. "Seriously though, Rin — you're allowed to grow. People hate when others change because it reminds them they haven't."
Rin leaned her cheek on her hand, thoughtful. "You think Hayate's okay?"
Mai arched a brow. "You're asking about him while eating noodles. You're gone, girl."
Rin flushed. "That's not—"
"Uh-huh. Sure." Mai leaned closer, whispering theatrically. "Just admit it. You like him. The man built a villa in the middle of nowhere and made you cook fish. That's bonding."
Rin's face turned red. "Mai!"
The waiter glanced over; Mai waved him off. "Ignore us, couple therapy session."
Rin buried her face in her hands, half laughing, half exasperated. "You're impossible."
"Maybe," Mai said, grinning. "But I'm also right."
As the sun dipped, they stepped out of the ramen shop, the air cooling around them.
Mai stretched. "Feel better?"
Rin nodded, smiling softly. "Yeah. Thanks for saving me again."
"Always. It's in the best-friend contract."
Rin chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I should treat you next time."
"Make it KFC," Mai said instantly.
Rin blinked. "Why?"
Mai shrugged, grinning. "I had a weird craving for it. No idea why."
They both laughed, unaware of how perfectly that craving would echo elsewhere that night.
At the Miyazaki Technologies tower, the city lights shimmered off the windows. Hayate sat in his office, sleeves rolled, eyes scanning data reports that were now stable again. The crisis had passed; the numbers aligned, the systems purred.
Kazehiro lounged across from him, scrolling his phone lazily. "Well, boss, your empire didn't collapse. Congratulations."
Hayate didn't look up. "It never would've."
Kazehiro chuckled. "Confidence. I like it." He scrolled again, then stopped. "Oh. Speaking of collapsing — did you hear about the little scene at BeanBloom Café this afternoon?"
Hayate finally glanced up. "Scene?"
Kazehiro's grin turned sly. "Our dear Miyu decided to exercise her temper. Guess who the target was?"
Hayate's pen paused midair. "…Rin."
"Bingo." Kazehiro leaned back, satisfied. "Word is, she nearly slapped her. Would've too, if Rin's best friend hadn't jumped in like an action heroine."
Hayate exhaled slowly, setting his pen down. His voice stayed calm, but his eyes darkened. "Was Rin hurt?"
"Nope. Walked out like a queen."
Silence stretched between them — calm, heavy, knowing.
Finally, Kazehiro smirked. "You look like you want to strangle someone."
Hayate's tone was even. "Strangling is inefficient."
Kazehiro laughed. "Ah, there's the Hayate I know. The scary calm one."
Hayate's gaze drifted toward the window, watching the skyline flicker. The thought of Miyu's mask slipping, of Rin standing firm again — it stirred something warm and sharp inside him.
"People keep underestimating her," he murmured.
Kazehiro tilted his head. "You mean Rin?"
"Yes."
"Maybe that's her advantage."
Hayate didn't reply. He was already thinking — not of revenge, not of pride — but of distance. How close he could get before the storm swept them both away again.
Kazehiro stretched. "So… no violent reaction? No company takeover? No midnight duels?"
Hayate sighed, rubbing his temples. "You bring stress upon stress."
"Hey, I'm just the messenger."
Hayate shot him a look — a flat, tired stare that screamed Do I look okay?
Kazehiro raised both hands. "Got it. I'll shut up."
For a long moment, the only sound was the hum of the city below. Then Hayate muttered, "I need air."
"Air?"
"And food."
Kazehiro blinked. "Don't tell me—"
Hayate stood abruptly, grabbing his coat. "Let's go."
"Again?" Kazehiro groaned.
"why, it's the best." Hayate was already walking toward the elevator. "Let's just go."
"But there's like McDonalds, Yoshinoya, Burger King," Kazehiro mumbled.
As Hayate and Kazehiro stepped into the night, the streets pulsing with life, Rin and Mai were still wandering home under orange streetlights, laughing softly about the day's chaos.
Two different worlds, orbiting the same thought — a quiet understanding that storms pass, masks crack, and somehow, life keeps moving.