The office air was still and efficient.
Not cold... never cold— it just quiet.
Controlled. Precision in motion.
Mahogany desks stood in perfect rows like obedient soldiers. No clutter. No chaos. Every pen parallel. Every report corner clipped with symmetry.
Suits moved through the room like chess pieces. Crisp lines. Silent heels. Coffee cups that never spilled. Voices were barely louder than whispers, and the phones — they never dared to ring more than once. Never.
In the center of it all — like the calm in a storm designed by Armani — sat Myoui Mina.
Poised. Pale. Impossibly composed.
She wore an ivory silk blouse tucked into tailored beige slacks that fit her like they'd been stitched by God himself. Her long black hair was tied up in a loose, elegant twist — the kind that looked casual but cost five years of hairstyling skill to master.
She didn't slouch. She didn't fidget. Even the way she tapped her pen was gentle, rhythmic, almost meditative — like every move she made was a ballet in slow motion. She flipped through documents like a breeze through paper, brow never furrowing, lips never pressing.
Not even the deadlines rattled her.
She was the kind of woman who made silence look powerful. Who made you sit straighter just by being in the same room.
And yet — somehow — everyone adored her.
"部長、お疲れ様です！"
(Buchō, otsukaresama desu!)
"Director, thank you for your hard work!"
A junior bowed with a folder in his hands, almost shaking.
Mina glanced up.
Her smile was soft. Polite. The kind that could melt winter off a roof.
"うん、ありがとう。"
(Un, arigatou.)
"Mm, thank you."
That was all. But he blushed like he'd been praised by royalty.
Even when she rejected proposals — and she did, often, with a sharp eye for flaw — she somehow left people bowing, thanking her for the lesson. She never spoke harshly. She didn't need to.
But the air changed when someone made a mistake.
A typo in a spreadsheet. A budget that didn't match. A duplicated email to the wrong investor.
Mina wouldn't shout. She wouldn't raise her voice or throw a fit.
She would pause. Slowly.
She would turn.
And look at you.
Eyes calm, but unreadable — deep like the ocean before a storm.
"...これは何？"
(...Kore wa nani?)
"...What is this?"
The entire room would hold its breath.
The poor soul would bow so deep it was almost a yoga pose.
"す、すみません...！"
(Su-sumimasen...!)
"S-sorry...!"
Mina would say nothing for a long moment — like she was giving them space to understand their own failure.
Then, her voice, cool as iced tea:
"次から、気をつけて。"
(Tsugi kara, ki wo tsukete.)
"Be careful next time."
No yelling. No scolding.
But somehow — it was worse. Because it felt like disappointment.
Still... no one hated her.
Because Mina was good. Genuinely.
YOU ARE READING
Hi Hello | Myoui Mina x F. Reader
FanfictionY/N didn't mean to end up at a millionaire's mansion. All she did was buy an iced matcha for a tired old man on a rainy Tokyo afternoon - because being kind was cheaper than feeling guilty. She had no idea he was Myoui Kazuo, Vice President of Nippo...
