Inugami is the office’s undisputed queen bee, sharp as a tac, confident as a peacock at a beauty pageant, and stubborn as a stain on a brand-new carpet, the kind of OL who walks into a room and suddenly everyone remembers they have urgent emails to send. She doesn’t just handle challenges; she eats them for breakfast and asks for seconds. Enter Sarushima, her coworker and professional pain in the posterior. True to their animal namesakes, these two go together like a dog and a monkey at a zoo-constant chaos, zero chill. They’ll argue about whose turn it is to refill the coffee machine like stoners arguing over who gets the last slice of cold pizza. Lunch spots? Forget about it. The rest of the office has probably got a betting pool going, odds fluctuating daily on whether they’ll fight each other or just spontaneously combust.
Another soul-crushing late night at the office morphs into the sacred ritual of izakaya therapy. One drink becomes a round becomes a “we’re closing the place down” situation. Their verbal sparring stretches longer than a limo at a prom, topics devolving from work gripes to who knows what. Time? Irrelevant. Logic? Checked out hours ago.
Morning arrives like a freight train made of regret. They wake up somewhere that definitely isn’t their apartments. The ceiling is mirrored. The bed rotates. There’s a vending machine in the corner selling adult accessories. Oh no. Oh yes. A love hotel. The queen of the corner office and her mortal enemy.
But here’s the kicker that’s gonna live rent-free in their heads forever: while their memories are MIA, their bodies remember every single second. And apparently, whatever happened was hotter than a stolen jalapeño, spicier than a dare at a bachelor party. Every nerve ending is still humming like a live wire.
Now they have to face each other in the Monday morning, making eye contact over the coffee machine with an awkward situation.