Our story kicks off in a corporate grindhouse where the rulebook is treated like holy scripture. Enter Mizukami Ayaka, the compliance cop with a rod so far up her backside she squeaks when she walks. She’s the human equivalent of a wet blanket, and she wears that badge like it’s made of solid gold. When she catches her coworker Takahashi Yuya getting a little too cozy with Takano Chitose—like, sharing-a-whisper close—she swoops in faster than a seagull on a french fry. She clocks his “violation” with the warmth of a tax audit, insisting it’s shady even if it’s innocent. Cue the eye rolls.
Ayaka knows she’s about as popular as a skunk at a garden party, but she’s cool as a cucumber—until she corners Yuya for harassment training. It’s just her, him, and her airtight confidence. She fires off accusations like she’s slinging hot dogs at a ballgame, feeling untouchable, like she’s riding a unicycle on a tightrope made of ego.
Then, Yuya flips the script and asks, “So, is this harassment?” Before she can choke out a reply, his hand lands on her chest. The rulebook is useless; her training is a joke. She thought she walked on water, suddenly discovers she can’t even doggy-paddle through the mess she’s in.