Meanwhile, at the bustling business area of the city, Vanguard Global Industries stood high, a monolithic structure that dominated the Tokyo skyline like a sentinel of corporate ambition.

Nestled in the heart of the bustling Marunouchi district, the building rose forty stories high with reflective panels that mirrored the chaotic flow of salarymen and women hurrying along the streets below.

Designed by a renowned international architect, the headquarters was a place of stunning beauty and formality of the business world.

Vanguard Global Industries specialized in cutting-edge technology and manufacturing, from advanced semiconductors and AI-driven automation systems to sustainable energy solutions and consumer electronics.

Under the iron-fisted leadership of some of the most powerful people in Tokyo, Ayame Sada led an executive team, and her husband, Kuiji Sada, a politician, owned a great amount of shares.

Together, they were one of the people who ballooned the company into a global powerhouse, influencing everything from government tech policies to international trade deals.

Their power was immense. Just as immense as their wealth.

Ayame's sharp business acumen had secured multibillion-yen contracts with the Japanese Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry, while Kuiji's political reach ensured seamless supply chains that spanned Asia, Europe, and North America.

Together, they amassed a lot of wealth and control over the city's technology advancement, making the Sadas untouchable figures in Tokyo's elite circles.

But then there were the ordinary workers. People like Miyu's husband, Takashi Ishikawa.

The forty-two year old man trudged through the revolving doors, his rumpled suit hanging loosely on his average frame, a briefcase clutched in one hand like a reluctant anchor.

Takashi hated his life. He was the epitome of an ordinary man trapped in a sadistic undercurrent of quiet resentment.

Even though he worked in Vanguard Global Industries, he held an ordinary mid-level hiring director position. Nothing exciting.

His face, lined with premature wrinkles from years of suppressed frustration, bore a perpetual scowl hidden behind a mask of forced politeness.

He was simply a sad, sad man. He hated it all: his job, a cog in the vast machine of Vanguard; his life, a series of unfulfilled routines; and even his wife, Miyu, whose gentle nature grated on him like sandpaper.

She hadn't yet felt the full brunt of his sadistic streak, but the temptation grew with each passing year of their childless marriage.

At least the company paid well; his salary afforded a comfortable home in a nice neighborhood and occasional luxuries.

It was a silver lining in the drudgery. But Takashi had to agree with the quote that money doesn't buy happiness.

As he crossed the expansive lobby, Takashi's footsteps echoed hollowly, blending into the murmur of conversations and the whir of elevators.

Employees bustled past. Sharp-suited executives barking into earpieces, interns scurrying with coffee trays, and security guards eyeing badges.

As usual, no one acknowledged him. A young analyst brushed by without a glance, her high heels clicking authoritatively; a group of mid-managers huddled near the fountain, laughing at some inside joke.

When they saw him approaching, their circle closed.

Takashi's jaw tightened. He was such a sadist that he'd never even spoken to these people before and yet they hated him.

Everyone hated him. From top to the bottom.

The hierarchy at Vanguard was a ruthless pyramid, designed to crush the weak and elevate the cutthroat.

At the apex sat the shareholders like Kuiji Sada, then the executive teams, one of which was led by Ayame Sada.

To the smaller workers, they were godlike figures whose decisions could make or break careers with a single email.

Below them were the work teams, and then the mid-level directors like Takashi occupied the precarious middle.

Takashi was part of the team responsible for talent acquisition, onboarding, and compliance. They were expected to deliver flawless results but granted little autonomy.

Reports funneled up through layers of oversight, where any misstep invited audits or demotions.

At least Takashi was above some people; the coordinators and specialists who toiled in open-plan cubicles. Takashi had been like them once, praying for a promotion after every performance review.

Now, he was just praying for happiness.

He rode the elevator to the fifteenth floor, crammed shoulder-to-shoulder with colleagues who stared at their phones, avoiding eye contact.

The doors opened to the HR wing: a maze of glass-walled offices and ergonomic desks bathed in fluorescent light, motivational posters proclaiming "Innovation Through Excellence" plastered on every wall.

Takashi's cubicle was a bland nook. He didn't have an assistant so there was no one to help him clean things up.

Everything was as scattered as he had left it yesterday. He slumped into his chair, booting up his system with a sigh.

He thought about Miyu. Even now, they still had no children, despite years of trying. The doctors had said things like low motility, stress factors, but he'd given up after the last failed IVF round.

Life felt empty, but maybe, if they had a kid, that could be something to be excited about, right?

He hated Miyu for it sometimes, blaming her silently, though deep down he knew it was none of their fault, especially not hers.

The morning dragged with routine tasks: reviewing resumes, scheduling performance evals.

He pulled out the intern hiring list from his briefcase, the one Miyu had tampered with in her quiet rebellion the night before.

He didn't know what she had done, so he just scanned the names with detached boredom. "Renji Kenshiro," he muttered, not recognizing it but shrugging it off as one of his own additions.

Rising, he headed to the submissions office down the hall, a sterile room manned by Ms. Tanaka, a stern coordinator in her fifties with wire-rimmed glasses and a perpetual frown.

Takashi handed over the folder. "Here's the updated intern list for the next quarter. Cross-check and process."

Tanaka snatched it without a smile, flipping through the pages like she didn't care.

Her eyes scanned the entries, pencil ticking off approvals. "Fine. Looks standard. Look, your quotas are slipping again, Ishikawa. We expect more high-caliber suggestions from directors like you."

Her tone was condescending as usual, but Tanaka had learnt to accept it. "Head on back to your desk. Interview mails will be sent to these... suggestions by the end of the day. They better not be subpar if you want the bonus."

Takashi nodded curtly, biting back a retort. He turned on his heel, retreating to his office. Back at his desk, he dove into spreadsheets, cursing his life as he clicked through job applicants.

His chatty colleague yapped away as usual, but Takashi didn't hear a single word.

He hummed noncommittally, his eyes glazing over the screen, while his colleague's voice droned like white noise.

He thought about Miyu again. Maybe he should be kinder to her.

She was caring, always preparing his meals, enduring his cold silences without complaint. She didn't deserve his attitude he was giving her, or the detached dinners, the separate showers, the rejections in bed.

Perhaps softening up could reignite something, bridge the chasm in their marriage. A child might follow, or at least some semblance of warmth.

He stared at his keyboard, fingers hovering, lost in the uncharacteristic reflection.

'Maybe I'll be the one to make a move tonight…'

However, his thoughts were suddenly shattered as the office door burst open with a bang.

Ayame Sada stormed in, sucking the air from the room instantly. She looked around the space with wrathful eyes, her heavy breasts straining against her tailored blouse, heaving to show her anger.

"What the hell is this?" she snarled, slamming a report onto the central table.

The way her whipcracked made everyone flinch.

"The quarterly talent acquisition quota is down fifteen percent! Fifteen! You idiots call this performance? We're Vanguard Global Industries, not some back-alley startup scraping for scraps!"

The room froze, papers rustling nervously. A junior coordinator tried to explain; "M-Ms. Sada, the market's tough right now. The top engineers are being poached by competitors—"

Ayame whirled on him, her breasts bouncing as she leaned over, eyes narrowing to deadly slits. "Excuses? From a worm like you? Shut your mouth before I have you demoted to janitorial!"

The boy gulped.

"I want perfection!" she declared. "Flawless hires, zero turnover, metrics that make our shareholders cream their pants. Not this lazy, half-assed drivel!"

She jabbed a manicured finger at the group, her crude insults flying like daggers. "You, Tonushi, your cross-checks are sloppy; fix it or find the door. Sao, I'm fed up with your stupid suggestions. And you, Ishikawa—"

Her gaze locked on Takashi, venom dripping. "Sitting there like a useless lump. How are you even still hired in this company? Your lists are mediocre at best. Step up, you pathetic drone, or I'll replace you with someone who isn't a walking disappointment!"

Takashi stayed still, not reacting even when glances turned his direction.

The tirade continued for minutes, her ruthless demeanor unbroken, insults cutting deep as she demanded action plans by EOD.

Finally, she spun on her heel, storming out with a final, "Get it done, or you're all gone!" The door slammed, leaving stunned silence in her wake.

Takashi glared at the closed door, his fists clenched under the desk.

Fucking hell, he really despised Ayame Sada more than anything. Her arrogance and her ego made her treat anyone however she wanted, made everyone beneath her feel like insects.

What a miserable bitch.

As if it wasn't her marriage to Kuiji Sada that elevated her beyond reproach.

One day, Takashi hoped, someone would put her in that bitch in her place.

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