Chapter 43: Jun’s Negotiation
The night had fallen over the Academy island, wrapping the landscape in a cool, velvet silence. Inside Jun’s dorm, the air was still and heavy. The living quarters were quiet; Sora and Mei had retired to the guest room to freshen up, while Hana had experienced a series of emotional short-circuits. After a whirlwind of excitement and confusion, she had retreated to her own room, claiming she needed to “pack things up,” though her flustered state suggested she was simply trying to process the day’s events.
Jun, however, was not resting. He was in his study, the room dimly lit by a single desk lamp that cast long, sharp shadows across the mahogany walls. The atmosphere was sterile and focused, devoid of the playful energy of the afternoon.
Beside him stood Akane. She was no longer the soft, pastel-clad woman from the boutique. She had returned to her natural state—the disciplined shadow of the Hanzo family. She stood in a perfect, rigid posture, her eyes scanning the room with a clinical precision. She wasn’t there as a maid, nor as one of Jun’s women; she was present in her capacity as the Tsukamoto Group’s intelligence officer. Her presence was a silent reminder that while Jun provided the authority, Akane provided the eyes and ears.
On the large monitor in front of Jun, a video call was active. On the other side of the screen were the representatives of Hana’s agency back in South Korea: her manager, a sharp-featured woman in her late thirties, and several high-level moderators. All of them were women, and all of them were currently wearing masks of professional politeness.
“Mr. Jun,” the manager began, her voice smooth and rehearsed. “On behalf of the agency, I want to personally thank you for your appearance on Hana’s livestream. The engagement metrics were… unprecedented. We are truly grateful for the exposure.”
Jun didn’t smile. He didn’t offer a polite greeting in return. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers interlaced, his gaze piercing through the screen.
“Let’s cut the pleasantries,” Jun said, his voice low and devoid of the warmth he showed the girls. “I’m interested in the data. Specifically, the identities and background data of the users who posted comments regarding Sora and Akane’s relationship with me. I want a full report on who they are and where they are originating from.”
The atmosphere on the other end of the call shifted instantly. The manager’s smile faltered, and she exchanged a wary glance with the moderators.
“Of course, Mr. Jun, we value your interest,” the manager replied, her tone becoming slightly defensive. “However, as you know, user privacy is a cornerstone of our agency’s policy. We cannot simply hand over personal data without a formal request process and a valid legal reason. It’s a matter of protocol.”
Jun didn’t blink. He slowly tapped a finger on the mahogany table, the sound echoing like a countdown in the quiet room.
“Protocol,” Jun repeated, his voice turning cold. “I remember a different set of protocols when your agency first contacted me through Hana for that advertisement last year. At the time, Hana was naive. She didn’t realize that contacting a Prime Candidate—even indirectly—without official government approval was a gray area at best, and a violation of protocol at worst.”
The manager visibly stiffened. A bead of cold sweat formed at her temple.
Jun continued, his tone steady but oppressive. “I covered for her. I told the authorities that I had personally requested her participation to protect her from any potential fallout. I played the part of the interested party so that Hana wouldn’t be the one facing the inquiry. I believe you remember how… complicated those approvals can be.”
The manager swallowed hard. The implication was clear: Jun held a piece of leverage over the agency’s past mistakes. If he decided to stop “covering” for them, the agency could face a government audit that would cost them far more than a few user IDs.
“We are very grateful for your discretion, Mr. Jun,” the manager stammered, her professional facade beginning to crack. “We would be happy to look into this. However, I will need to get approval from our Director before we can release specific user data. It may take a few days to—”
“I don’t have a few days,” Jun interrupted, his voice cutting through her excuse. “Since Hana is now officially my woman, her contract is subject to my oversight. If I feel the agency is not providing the necessary support for my household, I can request a termination of her contract without compensation. I’m sure the Director would find that a significant loss.”
The silence that followed was absolute. The manager and the moderators were frozen, the power dynamic having shifted completely. Jun wasn’t asking for a favor; he was issuing a demand.
“I will wait for the data,” Jun concluded, his eyes narrowing. “I expect the report on my desk by tonight. I trust that won’t be a problem.”
The manager nodded frantically, her voice now hurried and subservient. “Of course, Mr. Jun! We will prioritize this immediately. You will have the report by midnight.”
As the call ended and the screen went black, Jun let out a slow breath. He leaned back in his chair, the tension in the room shifting from a cold, oppressive pressure back to a quiet, heavy stillness. He looked over at Akane, who had remained motionless throughout the exchange, her gaze fixed on him with an unreadable expression.
“Do you think it was too aggressive?” Jun asked, a trace of his usual calm returning to his voice.
Akane looked at him, her expression neutral, but a small, respectful glint appeared in her eyes.
Internally, Akane was reeling. She had spent her life around the elite, the powerful, and the arrogant, but she had never seen anyone handle a power play with such surgical precision. She remembered the Jun she had first encountered—a man who was calm, yes, but who seemed to simply drift through the Academy’s currents.
This was different. This was a man who didn’t just drift; he controlled the tide.
The way he had dismantled the agency’s excuses, the cold calculation in his voice, and the absolute lack of hesitation in his demands… it was a side of him that felt entirely new, yet frighteningly natural. He hadn’t just played the role of a Prime Candidate; he had operated like a seasoned strategist, someone who knew exactly where the enemy’s weakness lay and how to press it until they broke.
He’s changed, Akane thought, her heart fluttering with a mix of surprise and admiration. Or perhaps, the Academy is finally bringing out who he truly is. He isn’t just a prize to be won; he’s a predator in a tailored suit.
She felt a surge of pride in being by his side. For the first time, she didn’t just see him as the man she was assigned to protect or serve—she saw him as a leader.
“Not at all, Jun-sama,” she replied aloud, her voice steady and filled with a new layer of conviction. “In the world of intelligence, the only way to get a truthful answer is to make the alternative unthinkable. You handled them perfectly.”
Jun nodded, leaning back into his chair. The la-la-land romance of the afternoon had vanished, replaced by the cold reality of the Academy’s social hierarchy. He had the women he wanted, but now he had to ensure that the world—and the people who managed his women—knew exactly who held the leash.