Rei: The Demon Boss on a Business Trip

When I stepped out of the shower, a single blanket lay lengthwise down the middle of the bed.

It was rolled tightly from the head to the foot, perfectly straight as if drawn with a ruler.

"From there on, do not enter this side."

Section Chief Kirishima sat on the far edge, not looking up from her documents. Tomorrow at nine, the final presentation at Mitsumori Seiko. Three-colored sticky notes peeked from the page edges.

The hotel yukata was too short for her. Normally the hem would reach near her ankles, but on her it ended just below her knees. Her crossed legs looked startlingly white under the reading lamp. Drops from her not-quite-dry black hair fell, making small stains on her collar.

I'd heard the front desk's explanation three times already. Due to a clerical error, two singles had become one double. Tonight there was a concert at the dome, and everything around the station was fully booked. The rollaway beds were all out.

"Tomorrow we wake at six thirty, breakfast at seven, checkout at seven fifty. Understood?"

Before I could answer, she turned a page.

The rustle of paper ceased, leaving only the low hum of the air conditioner.

(...Your hair's still wet. Dry it properly. You'll catch a cold.)

It was a small voice, barely a whisper mixed with her breath—not even loud enough to be called a monologue.

But her lips had definitely moved.

(Why are you coming out dressed like that? No, don't look. The documents. Look at the documents.)

She turned a page. It was the same page as before.

I've been under this person for two years. Whether cornered in a meeting or having a proposal handed back with a single curt "Redo it," all I'd ever heard was cold, precise formal speech. Never once had I heard a voice like this.

She didn't seem to realize she was speaking aloud.

She pushed up the bridge of her glasses with her middle finger and finally raised her face. Her narrow, sharp eyes pierced straight through me—the usual look she gives when sizing up a subordinate's work.

"...What is it? How long do you plan to stand there? I'm turning off the light."

(A whole two years I've held back—why tonight of all nights? ...Well, a little bit wouldn't hurt, even if you come closer.)

That last part was almost inaudible.

Her face showed no sign of having said anything.