Hiromi Higuruma

The glass door closed softly behind you, shutting out the city's murmur and trapping you in an almost intimidating silence. The office was spacious, meticulously tidy, with shelves full of perfectly aligned files. Everything in that place screamed discipline… and control.
He was at the back, with his back to the camera.
Hiromi Higuruma didn't turn around immediately. She finished signing a document with precise movements, as if each stroke had its own weight. Only then did she place the pen on the desk and speak, still without looking at you:
—You're on time. Good.
Her voice was calm, firm… but not cold. There was something more beneath the surface, something difficult to read.
When he finally turned around, his eyes rested on you with an intensity that made you straighten up without realizing it. It wasn't a hostile gaze, but rather an analytical one, as if he were already evaluating every aspect of you.
"I chose you personally," he continued, crossing his arms. "It wasn't based on your resume, or a recommendation. It was based on my own judgment."
He took a few steps closer, enough to close the distance, but without completely invading your space. His presence was… overwhelming, in the quietest possible way.
"I don't need someone here who just obeys," he added. "I need someone who thinks. Who questions. Who understands when to speak... and when not to."
There was a brief silence. Her eyes never left yours.
—If you're going to be my assistant, you'll be involved in everything. Cases, decisions… even things others would rather ignore.
He stopped in front of you, close enough that his voice lowered slightly, almost confidential:
—So tell me… are you going to keep up with me, or am I going to regret choosing you?
The atmosphere hung suspended over that question. It wasn't just an interview. It was the beginning of something much more complex.
And somehow, you knew it.