Midnight Affairs: Tokyo Secret Wives Club

The Boardroom.

By 9:00 AM, the long table was half-filled. Coffee cups steamed. Files opened. Polite conversation buzzed low like static.

Yua wasn't in the room yet. But Kenji was.

And he was already in motion.

"Before we begin," Kenji stood, smoothing his tie like he was about to give a eulogy. "I'd like to raise an urgent concern."

All heads turned.

Riku stayed still, silent.

"There's been some talk lately," Kenji said, his voice loud, "about the structure of our executive team. Specifically, why someone who resigned years ago, someone who has not contributed to Apex for the last two fiscal years, is now suddenly occupying the role of Vice President."

Some nodded. Most didn't react.

But Kenji wasn't done.

"I know we've all respected President Yua's decisions, but we're not running a kingdom here. This is a corporation. A Vice President must earn their place, not receive it because of… favoritism."

His eyes flicked toward Riku.

Riku stood tall, his presence commanding as silence blanketed the room. Then his voice broke through, low, deliberate.

"I never asked for your approval."

A stir moved across the table, murmurs, surprised glances.

"I walked away when this company decided convenience mattered more than truth. I quit, not because I was guilty… but because I refused to play along with a rigged script."

His voice sharpened.

"And not one of you had the courage to question it."

The boardroom tensed. Fuyumi tilted her head slightly, her lips curling in subtle amusement. Riku's eyes caught hers for a split second....a silent challenge.

"Kenji preaches loyalty and legacy. But when a man walks away on principle, suddenly he's labeled a coward?"

A beat.

"I wasn't cast out. I chose to leave. And now, I'm choosing to return."

"Not to explain myself. Not to beg."

There was a pause...then, with a sudden chill in his voice, he spoke, colder than before.

"But to remind you....you didn't break me."

He took a step forward, measured and calm.

"I'm not here to mend fences. I'm here to take back what I built. What I earned."

His eyes swept across them, letting them feel the weight of his presence.

"If that unsettles you… good."

Then silence.

Still and heavy, like the breath before a storm.

Riku didn't speak more. He looked toward the door.

Just as it opened.

Yua stepped in.

She was all composure in black, her heels a sharp punctuation to Kenji's drama.

She walked straight to her seat, didn't even acknowledge Kenji's standing position, and looked around.

"Is everyone done with their opening acts, or should I grab popcorn?"

A few quiet chuckles.

Kenji sat. Face tight.

Yua leaned forward. Her voice cool, commanding.

"Let's clear a few things. Riku Asano was brought back because we have a high-stakes contract that was sinking, until he flipped it. He's here because I personally reviewed the outcome of that client deal, and it now stands to generate 2.4 billion yen over the next four quarters."

She paused.

"And I assigned him Vice President because I trust him. You're all welcome to resign if that's a problem."

Silence.

Then she turned to Riku. "Explain it. In detail. As you did to me."

Riku walked to the screen. Pulled up his file.

What followed was precise, articulate. He explained how the contract's clauses were designed to bait default, and how he rewrote the strategy to shift liability back to the client in the event of payment breach.

He detailed how Apex could now negotiate from a superior legal stance, all without losing face.

Midway through his breakdown, Riku met Yua's eyes, just briefly. A silent current passed between them. Then he resumed, turning a page in his file.

He went on, noting how the restructuring could shield Apex from future legal exposure, referencing specific past cases and cost patterns.

Then, casually but intentionally, he glanced toward Fuyumi as he explained the projected impact on operations, a flicker of shared understanding. Just a beat. And then he moved on.

For ten minutes, he commanded that room.

Kenji tried interrupting twice. Tried to question his projections, but both times, Yua shut him down.

"This is not a class debate, Kenji," she said sharply. "We're past that. You'll have your turn. For now, let the Vice President finish."

The word Vice President was deliberate.

And Kenji felt it.

By the time Riku was done, the boardroom was quiet again. But this time… with weight. No one clapped. No one needed to.

Kenji was cornered.

He stood again, but now his voice cracked slightly under the pressure.

"If we're basing position on one project..."

"We're basing it on competence," Yua snapped. "And last I checked, you were the one who oversaw the last campaign that went 15% over budget with zero returns."

Kenji sat down.

Riku locked eyes with him once more, but this time he wasn't smiling.

___

When the meeting ended, Yua brushed past everyone, walking straight to her office.

Riku started to follow.

Kenji, across the room, didn't move. But his eyes?

They burned.

Riku knew this war wasn't over. Not yet.

But this round?

He won.

___

The boardroom slowly emptied, the clack of polished shoes echoing against marble as laughter and low chatter faded into the corridors. But Kenji didn't move. He sat motionless, his hands folded tightly together on the table. From the outside, he looked composed. Inside?

Rage.

Cold, gnawing, bone-deep rage.

He had lost today. Not officially. Not in title. But in influence. In control. In pride.

Riku.

Of all people, that bastard returned like a ghost dragging an undeserved second chance behind him, backed by Yua's twisted affection and blind faith.

Kenji had spent years climbing. Watching. Waiting. Playing the loyal second, even when his ideas were dismissed, even when he was constantly overshadowed by Riku's brilliance. The golden boy who never had to try.

And when Riku left? That was his opening. That was when Kenji bloomed in the absence of a better man.

But now…

Now Yua had dropped him back into the mix like some recycled hero, and today, she'd shamed Kenji, publicly, coldly, and with full favor toward him.

Kenji stood up slowly, tugging at the cuff of his shirt like it would straighten his spiraling thoughts. Only two remained in the room, Matsuda and Shigeru, quiet loyalists with ambitions of their own. Not as ambitious as him, but enough to lean in when the smoke began to rise.

He gave them a look.

Matsuda raised a brow. "So? What now?"

Kenji scoffed. "He thinks this game is over because Yua barked louder."

Shigeru leaned on the table. "She's the one who made the final call. As long as she favors him, you can't touch him."

Kenji's eyes narrowed. "Then maybe it's time someone reminded her who's really loyal in this company. Or better yet... remind everyone else who they should fear losing."

A beat passed. The men exchanged glances.

Matsuda tilted his head. "You planning something?"

Kenji smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes. It was tight. Calculated.

"He's not staying. Not for long."

He began to pace slowly, each step measured like a chess move. "He's not ready for the weight of this project. He thinks insight and a few bold words are enough. Let's see what happens when reality hits."

Shigeru nodded cautiously. "And if it doesn't?"

"Then we help it hit."

Kenji leaned in over the table, voice lowering to a whisper.

"He doesn't deserve the spotlight. He never did. And I'm not going to watch this company fall back into a pattern of worshiping a man who walked away when things got hard."

His eyes flicked toward the closed doors.

"I'll burn it down before I let him rise again."