"Takiya just texted me. Management is hitting you with a two-week suspension as punishment, and then you can quietly come back to work."
Kobayashi let out a heavy sigh of relief, taking a long, deep chug of her draft beer before letting out a soft, unladylike burp. "Don't worry about being fired. Human Resources knows exactly who is right and wrong here. But seriously... next time, don't do something so reckless. If you headbutt the wrong guy carelessly, you could actually end up in jail, you know?"
After Kobayashi had chased him down the street, she had forcibly dragged him into a cozy, dimly lit izakaya nearby to eat, drink, and decompress. Naturally, she offered to treat him. She knew he had to be completely on edge and frustrated. He was a good kid, and if there was a reason he had suddenly exploded like a stick of dynamite, it was entirely Yamashita's fault. Even Kobayashi had to admit that dumping a week's worth of compiling onto a junior on a Friday night—with a Monday morning deadline—was brutally cruel.
"He won't dare press charges," Suzuki replied calmly.
He casually picked up a piece of karaage with his chopsticks and took a bite. The perfectly fried, crispy skin broke way to incredibly juicy dark meat. The savory chicken fat burst in his mouth, perfectly balanced by the sharp, acidic kick of freshly squeezed lemon juice. It was incredibly delicious.
"...You're probably right. But just promise me you won't do something that dangerous again, okay?"
Kobayashi didn't try to argue with him. She knew Yamashita wouldn't dare squeak a word to the police. Management would financially and professionally gag him to keep the company's reputation intact. The corporate machine simply wanted the drama buried quietly.
It was an overbearing, toxic system, which was exactly why Kobayashi was so silently amazed by Suzuki's raw courage. By breaking Yamashita's nose, Suzuki had effectively bulletproofed his own future at the company. No lazy senior would ever dare dump their grunt work on his desk again.
Unfortunately, the reality of corporate Japan meant the 80% of useless dead weight still had to be carried by the capable 20%. People like Kobayashi would inevitably have to work overtime to cover the gaps. But she was relieved there were still young, capable talents willing to learn—like Suzuki, a hardworking orphan who had clawed his way up from the bottom after graduating from the University of Electro-Communications.
How did she know his entire background? Because she was the one who had interviewed him.
Yet, tonight was the very first time she had witnessed his ruthless, violent side. And she had to admit... for some inexplicable reason, he looked incredibly good doing it.
He might look really good in a maid uniform, too, Kobayashi thought inwardly, the alcohol loosening her famously eccentric filters.
"...."
Suzuki chewed his chicken in silence. It might have been weird to think about, but ever since he synchronized with the Manager and the collective Suzuki hivemind, his entire existence had been optimized. His physical body, his posture, his facial symmetry—everything had subtly, rapidly evolved. He had transformed from a slightly overworked, sleep-deprived programmer into a genuinely striking, handsome young man.
Just like Finn in the DxD universe, Suzuki's physical vessel had been upgraded to match the apex of his potential.
"By the way, Suzuki..." Kobayashi rested her chin on her hand, staring at him through her thick glasses. "Have you ever thought about wearing a maid uniform?"
"....."
Suzuki violently coughed, nearly spitting his rice across the table. He stared at his senior in sheer, deadpan disbelief. "...I think you might be confusing me for a butler, Senpai."
"Hmm... a butler uniform might actually suit you, too." Kobayashi nodded seriously, folding her arms like a refined art critic analyzing a masterpiece. Her drunken mind vividly pictured him dressed as a loyal butler, asking permission to clean her room—she might subconsciously just strip naked on the spot. "But honestly? If you put on a long black wig and a traditional Victorian maid uniform, even with a dick between your legs, I can assure you that a lot of people would get hard looking at you."
"...Is this really a conversation we should be having right now? I'm trying to eat, and I am completely straight, Senpai."
Suzuki sighed heavily, taking a massive gulp of his beer, desperately praying the alcohol would wash away the absurd image she just painted. Yet, he was self-aware enough to know he had become incredibly handsome. If he truly wanted to, he could probably live a luxurious life purely by relying on his looks and his lower half. Some men were just born to coast through life as elite gigolos.
But as he looked across the table at his eccentric senior, a sudden, bold urge overtook him. The old, submissive Suzuki was dead. The suppressed desires of his youth were finally erupting.
"Instead of talking about me in weird outfits..." Suzuki murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "I was actually hoping I could get you aroused tonight, Senpai."
Suzuki wasn't entirely sure why he said it, but sitting this close to her in the intimate, private booth of the izakaya, he couldn't deny her unique charm.
Her face might not have been conventionally beautiful, her thick glasses hid her eyes, her chest was practically flat, and her posture was chronically slouched. Yet, her lower half was a completely different story. Her hips, her firm buttocks, and her legs were in spectacular shape, wrapped tightly in her tailored work trousers as she casually crossed her legs under the table.
He fully expected her to get angry and slap him for the inappropriate comment.
Instead, Kobayashi just threw her head back and laughed. "What's so interesting about turning on an unattractive, boring corporate slave like me? Or rather, could a young, handsome guy like you even get hard looking at this?"
She pointed to herself dismissively. She knew perfectly well she lacked feminine charm. Most of the men in the office treated her like just another one of the guys.
"Look. You're completely soft right now, right?"
Before Suzuki could even blink, Kobayashi reached under the table. To aggressively prove her point about her total lack of sex appeal, she planted her palm directly over his crotch, rubbing it vigorously.
"Wait! Wait! Stop, Senpai! That's literal sexual harassment!"
Suzuki completely panicked. He had never expected a night of corporate rebellion to escalate into a drunken grope-fest.
But Suzuki was 22 years old. He was in the absolute physical prime of his life, his body was newly optimized by the Manager, and he was incredibly pent-up. Kobayashi's touch triggered an instantaneous, violent reaction. His manhood hardened with a terrifying, aggressive speed, swelling against her palm until it felt like a steel pipe pressing through his slacks.
Kobayashi froze. The drunken, self-deprecating smirk instantly vanished from her face. She stared at him, utterly stunned silly by the sheer size and intensity of his physical reaction to her.
"I told you to stop, Senpai..."
Suzuki gritted his teeth, desperately trying to rein in his surging lust. He knew how fundamentally wrong it was to cross this line with his senior—the woman who had trained him and taken care of him. Yet, the friction of her hand combined with his newly awakened confidence was impossible to suppress.
Kobayashi didn't pull her hand away. Her breathing grew shallow and rapid. Her usually pale face flushed a brilliant, burning crimson. She stared into his eyes, completely dazed by the raw, masculine heat radiating from him.
The noisy chatter of the izakaya faded into absolute silence.
They slowly leaned across the table. The distance between them vanished as their lips nervously crashed together. Suzuki didn't hold back. His tongue parted her lips, eagerly devouring her taste of beer and lemon. His large, warm hand slid up her waist, thumbing the edge of her small chest.
Before the situation completely spiraled out of control in a public restaurant, Suzuki broke the kiss, panting heavily.
"Should we... move somewhere else?" he whispered hoarsely.
"Y-Yeah..." Kobayashi breathed out, her previous disappointment in her own femininity completely replaced by a desperate, burning eagerness.
They slammed a handful of yen on the table and stumbled out into the neon-lit Tokyo night, absolutely ready to go crazy.
---
Yeah, who said that Kobayashi is a budget version of Makima?