Chapter 15: Going Home Is What Matters

Inside the meeting room—

A senior employee named Satō, who had joined the company five years earlier than Nakano and always carried himself like a superior, immediately put on his usual casual, slightly condescending smile.

He strolled over to Nakano Masao, familiarly patting him on the shoulder, and chuckled:

“Nakano-kun—oh no, I should say Acting Section Chief now? Congratulations, congratulations! The department will be relying on you for the next three months! If there’s any running around or grunt work, just let us ‘old guys’ handle it!”

A few colleagues who usually sided with Satō joined in with knowing chuckles. The atmosphere seemed to slip back into their familiar rhythm—where they could casually toy with “honest, easygoing Nakano.”

In their eyes, even if his title had temporarily changed, Nakano was still that meek, compliant junior deep down.

This so-called “acting” position was just an empty title with extra trouble—his real standing hadn’t necessarily changed.

However, before their laughter could fully settle, it abruptly stuck in their throats.

Nakano Masao slowly turned his head, his gaze falling on the hand still resting on his shoulder.

That gaze was utterly cold—like a surgical blade scraping across skin. The smile on Satō’s face froze instantly, and he reflexively tried to pull his hand back.

Then Nakano raised his eyes, sweeping his calm gaze over Satō and the others who hadn’t yet wiped the smiles off their faces.

The humble, submissive mask on his face receded like a tide. What replaced it wasn’t anger—but something far more unsettling: pure indifference and authority.

It wasn’t a forced display of power, but a natural, detached superiority—as if looking down on lesser beings.

“Section Chief Satō,” Nakano Masao spoke. His voice carried clearly through the silent meeting room, each word like an ice bead striking the ground.
“Please be mindful of your position—and the setting.”

Satō froze, his face flushing red. “Nakano-kun, you—”

“Here,” Nakano cut him off, “I am the project leader and acting section chief appointed by the executive. You are a subordinate employee. Casual gestures like shoulder patting are inappropriate. I hope this is the last time I need to remind everyone of basic workplace etiquette and hierarchy.”

His words were merciless.

The room fell silent enough to hear a pin drop. Everyone stared in shock at Nakano Masao, as if he had become a completely different person.

The cold pressure beneath his calm tone silenced even the seasoned employees who had been about to speak up.

Without giving anyone time to react, Nakano walked straight to the whiteboard and picked up a marker.

Turning back to face them, there was no warmth left in his eyes—only sharp, businesslike clarity.

“Now, regarding the crisis management and follow-up work for the ‘Yamazaki Trading’ project, I will assign responsibilities.”

His tone was steady, leaving no room for interruption.

“Section Chief Satō—you will re-verify and organize all initial market research data by 3 p.m. tomorrow, especially the original materials provided by ‘Jiexun Consulting,’ including cross-verification. Submit a problem analysis report.”

“Kimura—you will contact the client’s legal department regarding the data discrepancies. Follow the communication guidelines I’ll email you shortly, and report back before the end of today.”

“Takahashi—you will coordinate with IT to retrieve the server logs and timestamps related to the project report before and after submission last Friday.”

He assigned tasks one by one—clear, precise, with defined responsibilities and deadlines.

Each task targeted a key issue or critical point, revealing that he was far from clueless about the situation—perhaps he had already planned this out.

What unsettled everyone even more was his matter-of-fact, unquestionable authority while assigning tasks.

It was as if he had always been the true leader here—and they were merely tools to carry out his instructions.

There was no asking for opinions. No room for discussion.

Just calm statements—yet carrying immense weight.

The room fell into stunned silence again, colleagues exchanging glances filled with shock and confusion.

The same Nakano Masao who used to be scolded harshly by Manager Tanaka—quiet and unassuming—had suddenly become someone with overwhelming presence, sharp words, and decisive action.

Nakano set down the marker, sweeping his gaze across the room one final time, taking in the shock, unease, and faint fear on everyone’s faces.

Inside, he felt only a trace of boredom.

To him, human workplace games were nothing more than a clumsy puppet show.

But to continue hiding in human society, he had no choice but to play along.

“That’s all,” he said finally. “Meeting adjourned. Begin your tasks.”

He turned and walked out first, leaving behind a room still frozen in silence.

…

About an hour later, the office clock quietly ticked toward the end of the workday.

Nakano Masao shut down his computer, stood up, and adjusted his suit jacket before opening the door to the acting section chief’s office.

A figure immediately blocked the doorway—it was Satō.

He wore an almost fawning smile, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes bunching together. His posture leaned forward slightly, hands respectfully at his sides. It was obvious he had been waiting outside for some time, eagerness carefully hidden in his eyes.

“Section Chief! You’re done for the day?”

Satō’s voice was slightly higher than usual, exaggeratedly respectful.

“Everyone was talking—we thought you stepped up at a critical moment today and really saved the department. You must be exhausted! We’d like to invite you out tonight for a simple meal—to celebrate your promotion and boost morale for the work ahead!”

This wasn’t a spontaneous idea.

In Japanese corporate culture, such gatherings for a newly promoted superior were common—both a way to build rapport and a subtle gesture of allegiance.

Behind Satō stood Kimura, Takahashi, and a few others.

They wore slightly tense smiles, their eyes filled with expectation and unease. Clearly, this invitation was a collective test.

But Nakano’s response shattered their expectations.

He glanced at Satō indifferently and said calmly, decisively:

“Sorry. I can’t make it tonight.”

Satō’s smile froze. Just as he was about to insist, Nakano added:

“I’m going home to spend time with my wife.”

The words stunned everyone.

Satō subconsciously repeated, “Going home… to your wife?” The disbelief in his eyes was almost spilling over.

These seasoned office veterans had long grown used to this lifestyle.

After-work socializing—especially gatherings tied to relationships and positioning—often outweighed family dinners.

Going home early might even make one’s wife wonder if he was unimportant at work. Only those who came home late, smelling of alcohol and complaining about corporate life, were seen as indispensable pillars of the company.

Yet Nakano had used such a reason to firmly reject the entire department’s goodwill?

Satō’s smile completely stiffened, then turned awkward.

The expressions of the others darkened—tinged with embarrassment, annoyance, and unease at their failed plan.

But Nakano paid no attention to their complicated reactions.

Without slowing his steps, he walked straight toward the elevator.

There wasn’t the slightest hesitation in his upright back as he left them behind—along with their stunned and uncomfortable gazes.

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