My Elf Girl is a Mafia Boss?!

6|AKI

My professional facade, so carefully constructed, began to crack. My eyes, against my will, were drawn back to the area beneath the desk. The sounds were getting louder. The aroma was intensifying. It was a full-blown sensory assault, a primal, unbidden experience that I, Akiyama, lover of digits and defender of decimal points, was being forced to witness.

This is torture.

I should probably tell this to…

No, she’s a woman. No way.

I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my temple. My carefully rehearsed report – the one that was supposed to be my ticket to a promotion, a testament to my unparalleled analytical prowess – suddenly felt very, very irrelevant. Who cared about quarterly projections when the CEO was engaged in such… intimate logistical operations with the marketing intern?

My brain was desperately trying to find a rational explanation. Perhaps Shinichiro had a very, very elaborate stress ball that made… those noises? Or maybe Melanie was demonstrating a new, highly tactile marketing strategy for… well, for something that involved extreme physical proximity?

No. The evidence was too damning. The sounds were too… specific. The aroma was too… organic that I feel the urge to puke. (Not to be dramatical.)

I considered turning tail and running. A swift retreat, a silent, shame-filled vanishing act. I could pretend I never entered. I could feign a sudden, debilitating case of amnesia. But then I remembered the stakes. The report. My career. And the sheer, unadulterated humiliation of having to pretend I hadn't just walked in on my boss receiving… that kind of service.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat refusing to budge. Act indifferent, I repeated, clinging to the mantra like a drowning man to a life raft made of pure, unadulterated denial.

My voice, when it finally emerged, sounded like a rusty hinge being forced open. “Boss?” I managed, my tone deliberately flat, deliberately devoid of any hint of the internal chaos currently raging within me. “I have the Q3 financial projections.”

There was a sudden, violent cessation of the wet, sloppy sounds. A sharp intake of breath that sounded suspiciously like someone trying to suppress a gurgle. Then, silence. A heavy, punctuated only by the frantic thumping of my own heart against my ribs, which I was convinced was audible across the entire floor.

Shinichiro's voice, when it finally came, was strained, a little too high-pitched. “Ah, Shun! Excellent. Come in. Come in.”

I took a hesitant step forward, my eyes still locked on the dangerous territory beneath the desk. I could swear I saw a flash of floral fabric disappear with a swift, almost animalistic motion.

“Just… leave the report there,” Shinichiro said, his voice a little breathless. “On the… the corner of the desk. Yes. The far corner.”

I obeyed, my hands trembling slightly as I placed the meticulously prepared documents on the designated spot. My gaze flickered to the area of concern. There was a faint, lingering sheen on the highly polished mahogany.

“Thank you, Shun,” Shinichiro said, his voice regaining a semblance of its usual booming authority, though a nervous tremor remained. “I'll review it immediately.”

I managed a stiff nod. “Of course. If you have any… clarifications… needed regarding the data…” My voice trailed off, my brain struggling to complete the sentence without making a complete fool of myself. Clarifications on the data? Are you kidding me? The only clarification I need is a strong dose of cognitive behavioral therapy.

I backed away slowly, my eyes never leaving the desk, my mind replaying the evidence with a morbid fascination.

As I reached the doorway, I risked one last glance. Shinichiro was now leaning back in his chair, his tie slightly askew, a faint flush high on his cheeks. He was attempting to fan himself with a stray piece of paper, his movements a little too frantic. And from beneath the desk, I swear I heard a faint, almost inaudible, “Phew.”

I shut the door gently, my hand still resting on the cool metal. I leaned against it, closing my eyes, and let out a long, shaky breath.

Well. That was… a development. A horrific, unsettling development. I’d delivered the report. My fingers had been steady. The decimals were in place. Every formula was double-checked. But the satisfaction of a job well done was now irrevocably tainted. Tainted with the smell of cheap perfume, desperation, and something disturbingly… moist.

From now on, I decided, I would always knock. And I would always wait for a very clear, very unambiguous, “Come in.” And if I heard any wet, sloppy sounds? I would simply assume it was Shinichiro practicing his synchronized swimming techniques. Or perhaps he was just really, really enjoying a particularly juicy piece of… office gossip.

Yeah. That’s it. Office gossip. Much more palatable. For now.

That seemed to be the most terrifying horror movie I’ve ever come to witness. Please, just don’t release the Season 2. Thanks.