His name was Kaito Sera. To the rest of the world, he was a genius—a celebrated architect with chiseled jawlines and hands that could sketch a skyline in thirty seconds. To me, he was the man who stole my promotion, my corner office, and then had the audacity to hold the elevator door open for me with a polite, “After you.”
Kaito smiled. That was the worst part. He didn’t scowl. He didn’t fight. He just smiled —a slow, maddening curve of his lips that said, I know something you don’t. nikurashii kare novel
I felt my nails dig into my palm. “It’s hatred. Pure, distilled, 100-proof hatred.” His name was Kaito Sera
Same train. Same seat by the door. Same infuriatingly perfect posture, as if the universe had personally ordained him to be the benchmark for human existence. That was the worst part
He looked tired. Lonely, even.