Young Master's Regression Manual

The following week was when things began to take a turn.

"Are you free this evening, Miss Meinhardt?"

"…Pardon?"

Klaus spoke without raising his eyes from the document in his hand. "I asked if you are free."

Gisela blinked, unsure how to respond. "I… well… my husband is waiting for me at home, so—"

"It's for work."

She stopped mid-thought, thrown off by his abrupt clarification. "For… work?"

"We have a meeting with investors next week. Preparation is required. I expect you to assist."

"I see. I can help with documents tomorrow morning—"

"No. This evening," he said, cutting off any attempt at negotiation.

"…Right."

He returned to his papers, uninterested in her situation. "There are projections, revisions and paperwork that must be completed before the meeting. It's simply too much to finish during standard hours."

"I understand," Gisela replied. "Where will this preparation take place?"

"The dining hall on the twenty-sixth floor. Seven o'clock."

"Dining hall?"

"The restaurant upstairs," he clarified. "You will bring your laptop."

"...Just the two of us?"

"Obviously. Others are incompetent. You'll brief them in the morning."

Gisela did not know how to respond to that. She forced a nod, even though her thoughts were in disarray.

"Understood. I'll be there."

"Good."

For the rest of the day, she could hardly focus. Her coworkers whispered among themselves, making the situation worse. Some wondered if it was a reprimand. Others joked grimly that she was being "invited to her funeral."

One or two suggested, half seriously, that the Director might be planning something more personal. Gisela tried to ignore them, but every thought left her stomach tight.

When she returned home briefly to retrieve her laptop, her husband, Lukas, noticing Gisela coming home late these days, suddenly posed a question.

"You're working overtime again?"

"Yes. I have to meet with the new Director."

"At this hour?"

"It's for a project," she said quickly. "We're reviewing investor materials during company dinner.

Lukas paused, then nodded slowly. "Be careful."

At seven sharp, she arrived at the restaurant on the twenty-sixth floor. Klaus had already taken a seat near the window with a laptop in front of him. Hsipped black coffee while reviewing several documents.

"You're late," he said, not bothering to even look at her.

"It's seven o'clock exactly."

"You should arrive five minutes early," he answered simply, and that was the end of it.

She sat down and set her laptop on the table. A waiter approached tentatively, offering menus. Klaus nodded toward her without looking up.

"Order. You'll work better if you eat."

"I am… alright," she murmured, unsure if she should decline.

"No. You're not," he replied, never pausing his typing. "Make an order. I'll be the one paying."

She relented and asked for something light. Once the waiter left, Klaus continued making notes, pointing out errors with the same bluntness he had in the office.

For the next hour, this was all that passed between them.

"Correct page four's figures. They are off by two percent."

"Yes, Director."

"Rewrite this paragraph. It lacks clarity."

"Understood."

"The axis on this graph is incorrect. Fix it."

"Right away."

He worked quickly. But for some reason, it felt oddly comforting. When her meal finally arrived, he stopped typing just long enough to speak.

"Let's take a break, Miss Meinhardt."

She stared at her plate, unsure what to make of him. Still, she lifted her fork and took small bites. Klaus watched only long enough to confirm she was eating, then returned to his work.

After a little while, he spoke again, surprising her.

"You said your husband is waiting for you. Does he cook?"

Gisela blinked. "…Sometimes."

"Good. Then he will manage without you for one evening."

She froze at the bluntness. "…Director, that is—"

"I am stating fact," he said. "If he cannot manage, that is his problem."

She couldn't tell if he meant to be rude or simply thought in straight lines. Gisela took another bite in silence, unsure how to respond. Klaus continued typing without looking at her again.

Hours passed before he finally closed his laptop.

"This will suffice. We will review again tomorrow."

Gisela let out a breath she had been holding. "Then… we're done?"

"For today."

She began gathering her things, exhausted from the intensity of the work and the atmosphere. Before she could stand, Klaus spoke once more.

"You did well, Miss Meinhardt."

"...."

She froze in place. It was the first time she had ever heard those words from him. Of all the things she expected him to say, praise was not on the list.

"I… Thank you…"

He gave a single nod, as if the compliment meant nothing unusual, then stood.

"Go home and rest. Tomorrow will be busy."

Days passed like that until it became their routine. They worked late, reviewed documents, and ate dinner while typing side by side. The pattern repeated every morning and every evening without fail.

Somewhere along the way, the tension Gisela once felt began to dissolve. She no longer flinched when Klaus approached her desk. She no longer dreaded hearing her name called. His suffocating presence had become strangely familiar.

He still criticized her harshly when the need arose, yet something about him felt different now.

The Director, for reasons she could not grasp, began revealing traces of vulnerability. It happened slowly at first. A harmless question into their work discussions. A brief comment unrelated to reports. What once began as simple small talk began edging into personal territory.

One night, they sat across from each other at the same restaurant with their laptops open and documents spread before them. Klaus was typing, focused as always, but his voice came casually as he worked.

"You always order the same thing," he remarked.

Gisela looked up, startled. "I… like what I like."

"That is predictable," he said. "Predictability is not always bad. But sometimes, it limits growth."

She raised a brow. "…Are you telling me to improve my menu choices?"

"I am telling you to improve," he said, still typing.

Gisela couldn't help a small smile. "I will consider it."