A/N: Hello everyone! This is DEMachina! It's my first time writing fanfic for a manga, but I was interested in Kyouya Ootori from the first time I saw the anime and I suppose this story has just been in long time coming. It takes place eleven years after the end of the manga and it does feature an OC—I hope that my OC's character will have the complexity and reality comparable to Kyouya's! I also have plans to bring in the rest of the Host Club at some point I lived in East Asia for some part of my life, so it'll be interesting to see how I can incorporate some of my experience into this fiction. I'm trying to keep my chapters pretty short-ish (one of my readers suggested that I do this for my other fanfics, and I didn't listen… to my harm…) and this fanfic shouldn't take more than twenty-four episodes! As always, I love to hear back from my readers, whether it's absolute moe love or criticism!

Apologies in advance when I get some of the details wrong, my knowledge in technology and business is rather dismal.


6:00 a.m.

Alarm. Rise up. Rub eyes. Shake head. Ignore the cold air (the heating must be malfunctioning again) and stand up. Glass of water. Bathroom. Change clothes. Put on shoes. Out the door.

The morning greeted her quietly. Tenri Mihoko shook her head again. Something felt off. Something—something—but she was already running and the tranquil scene around her soothed whatever it was that troubled her. She'd moved to Tokyo when she became a university student, and, although more than ten years had passed, the life and vibrancy of the city sometimes threw off her childish, small-city self. But in the morning, something changed; the monstrosity of the metropolis stayed quiet, like a dragon that was still slumbering in his cave. The morning made her feel safe, and huffing out breaths against the still-chill March air, the familiar sensation of her heart beating in exercise made her feel calm. Today was going to be like any other day. Return to her apartment at seven. Shower and breakfast—Yuu had brought some leftover from her dinner meeting last night—and off to work by eight. Arrive by eight forty. Why was she troubled? There was no reason—a silly feeling.

If only she knew what was coming. Then she would have paid attention to the silly feeling.


7:30 a.m.

If there was one thing that most people close to Kyouya Ootori knew about him, it was that they should never wake him up. Ever. For whatever reason. The three alarm clocks in his bedroom knew the fate of what happened to those who were loud enough to dare. Only if they could muster up the courage to tell the tales of what Kyouya did to the poor sods—but their master, of course, perpetually held the threat of dismemberment over their heads.

So when Kyouya realized, in his sleepy state, that there was something nudging his shoulder, he was rightly pissed.

"Wha—" he began, the fire behind his glare igniting all on its own. His vision was still blurry, but—

"Good morning, Ootori-san," a woman said. Kyouya squinted. Someone he didn't recognize. No, he did recognize her, but what was her name? Kazumi? Nazumi? Did it even matter? There were three people Kyouya was accustomed to seeing in the morning—Tachibana, his father, and, unfortunately, Tamaki Suou. She wasn't one of them.

And now this woman was nuzzling his neck.

Their state of undress slowly registered his mind as the events from last night flowed slowly into his sleep-addled brain:

He'd been sitting by the bar, watching as the target downed another glass of gin and tonic. Kyouya concealed his smile behind his wine glass as he took a small sip. He had little taste in drinking by himself, but it would've been suspicious not to drink in a bar. The young man he was watching was bent over the table, clearly torn, as he unsteadily shook the hand of the older man—careless. Absolutely careless. And to think that he was one of the most promising entrepreneurs in Japan's engineering industry.

"Excuse me," a feminine voice came from behind him. "Is this seat taken?"

Kyouya turned around with a lazy raise of an eyebrow. The woman was—young. Couldn't be more than a recent college graduate. She was prettily dressed, in high heels. Dressed for a night out. He didn't like to get involved with women whom he knew. Too much complication, and keeping everything in the dark was just too much of a trouble compared to the brief pleasures the encounters brought. And this night had been successful, hadn't it? That careless Hirose was going to regret his decisions next morning.

"Not at all," he said smoothly, years of growing up in the Ootori family taking over his manners. "Would you like something to drink?"

Usually, these women had the sense to leave the room before the sun rose. Not this one, apparently. Kazumi, or whatever her name was, began to leave a trail of kisses down his spine as her hand traveled even lower. Suggesting nothing, only demanding.

"Did you sleep well?" she murmured in what Kyouya could only guess was a seductive voice. It sounded more grating to his ears than nail scratching a chalkboard. Any kind of noise before nine was completely—

"Excuse me," he said, trying to pry himself off of her clutches. They may not know each other, but there was always a chance that a wounded pride of a woman causing her to seek out her revenge. If this woman knew what kind of background he came from, it would mean trouble. Not a lot of trouble, but the trouble that he would much rather avoid.

"What's wrong?" she asked. Kyouya pulled himself up on the hotel bed, looking around. Clothes strewn across the floor. Where were his pants?

"I'm afraid that I have an early meeting," he lied without a hint of betrayal in his tone. Tachibana might raise his eyebrow at an early call, asking to pick his master up at the hotel where he took most of his… encounters, but what else was he going to do? Cuddle? "I must get going."

The woman pouted. Widened her eyes. Batted her lashes. Kyouya tried to look like he cared for any of it. He didn't. "But we had such a great time last night."

He vaguely remembered her moans and his grunts. "We did," he agreed. "But I'm afraid that I have pressing business matters to attend to. Please don't hesitate to call room service for anything you need; I'll arrange for the matter to be taken care of at my end." The woman looked slightly mollified at his words, but she was still regarding him carefully.

"Do you even remember my name?" she asked suddenly. Kyouya paused.

"Have a good day, Princess," he replied with a bright smile that would have put any first-class host to shame, and exited the room without waiting for her response.

His cell and wallet were still in his jacket pocket. Thank god for his consistency.

"Ah, Tachibana? It's me. Yes, I'm up already. Did Hirose hand off the contract to Nakajima? You're sure? Well, that's good. Send Aishima to the usual location to pick me up… But listen Tachibana. You need to do something else."


8:35 a.m.

Her morning was awfully nice. Quiet. No interruptions. So why was it that she was feeling so uneasy?

Her body rattled with the Metro as the train approached the city center. Mihoko looked around with vague interest at the contraption for the thousandth time. Metro. She should be used to it by now, but the scenes of Tokyo sometimes washed over her like a tidal wave, overwhelming her when she least expected it. Shaking off the sense of unease again, she left the station and briskly walked toward her research lab.

"Morning," she said to the security guard.

"Morning, Tenri-san," he replied. Smiling slightly, she took the elevator to the third floor.

The sight of the logo when the elevator doors opened never failed to make her heart beat slightly faster. Tenri & Hirose, molded in sleek stainless steel, which might have felt rather stark and impersonal to some people. But she felt that it was best to show the nature of technology. The firm that she and her friends founded three years ago felt like an unrealistic dream of a mid-twenties crisis, but now—they had their own lab. And an administrative office to boot. Her lips curled into a contented grin.

But something was off again. She stepped off the elevator. The logo shined less brightly that morning somehow. Somehow. Why—

The office was in absolute chaos. Phones ringing. People rushing to and fro, trying to answer three questions at the same time. Paper rustling. Absolutely hectic.

"Morning, Nagasaki-san," Mihoko said to the senior assistant. "What's going on?"

"Tenri-san!" the thirty-one-year-old secretary's eyes were as big as saucers. "Finally! We've been trying to reach you since seven!"

"I don't understand," Mihoko said.

"Hirose-san didn't submit the paperwork yesterday," Nagasaki-san responded tearfully. "The investment from the Nakajima group, they were supposed to meet up last evening and get everything set in order, but nothing came in this morning, and all the investors are calling our office, and the subsidiaries, and—and your phone was turned off!" It was obvious from the order that the last problem was the most offensive to Nagasaki-san and Satomi automatically reached for the phone in her bag.

"Of course it's not—" she began to say, but stopped mid-sentence as she stared at the screen of her ancient phone. Dead. One hundred percent dead. The blackness of the screen sent a chill down her spine, a dread that she hadn't felt in a long time. Her eyes met Nagasaki-san's.

"Oh no," she murmured softly, her face paling.

"Tenri-san," Nagasaki-san said. "What's going on?"

She realized what the reason for her unsettling feeling was: the morning had been too quiet. The phone should not have been off; she should've been getting ritual thousand messages from Ichirou by eight in the morning, but there was nothing today.

"Phone charger," Mihoko said simply. "Does anyone have a phone charger? iPhone four?"


9:03 a.m.

"So glad you could join us this late, Kyouya," Akito Ootori, the second son of the family, said with an undisguised hint of irritation. "This is a regular family meeting, you know."

"I know, niisan," Kyouya said breezily, reclining back in his chair. "But this is a surprise, isn't it? Father doesn't usually call meetings so last minute."

"He must have an important announcement," was all Akito said, but Kyouya knew his older brother better than his brother knew him.

Most people pitied Kyouya for being the third son of the family; whatever Yuuichi, the first son, wouldn't get, would be passed down to the second one, leaving nothing but breadcrumbs for the third. But he knew better—Akito was constantly aware of his father and his older brother. Having no desire to do better than either of them, but trying to solidify everything that Yuuichi and their father did left him nothing but a feeling that he was never doing enough. The tragedy of the supporting role. Akito never ventured into something new. So whenever it felt like father was making an announcement—Akito grew alert. Anxious. Because he didn't know how a change, whenever it came, would work for or against him. Kyouya respected his brother and his lifestyle that supported the Ootori family, but he wouldn't be satisfied with settling down with what was already there. No, he wanted to build on it, make it grow, expand. Create something new out of the old, working with all that his family could provide him.

Yoshio Ootori came into the dining room, followed by Yuuichi.

"Good morning, otousan," Kyouya and Akito chorused in unison. Yoshio Ootori merely waved at them to sit down.

"A news leaked out that Tenri & Hirose was sold to the Nakajima corporation this morning," he said without any preamble. Yuuichi moved uneasily in his seat.

"As you all know, this is a company that we had been keeping an eye on for a while," their father continued. "Nor is this the first one to go. Just two months ago the Chiba enterprise came apart when all the investors suddenly gave up their shares of the stock. A month before than the Matsui Electronics was merged into the Kendo Electronics. We'd been waiting for the right moment to strike a deal with them for years now."

"I don't quite understand what's going on," Yuuichi said quietly. "These are smaller enterprises. Most people would overlook them. But now—"

"It's as if someone's deliberately sabotaging our plans," Akito supplied. "I see. Could it be someone within the company? Someone who knew how Ootori group has been trying to enlarge our technology branch?"

"Could be," Yuuichi said. "But we're always trying to do that. So who?"

"Any thoughts, Kyouya?" their father suddenly said, his glasses glinting in the sunlight. "You've been quieter than usual."

"I could look into the matter, father, if you would like me to," Kyouya said calmly. "It could be mere coincidence, but we should get the matter looked into. After all, these were some promising candidates that we were hoping to recruit. But there are still others. Many."

"No," Yoshio Ootori said after a while. "No, let it be. If there is a mole, we'll find out soon enough. But right now we don't have enough evidence and, as you said, there are still others." But something in his father's tone ticked off his sixth sense—or what Tamaki called the Shadow King's sixth sense, anyway. His father was planning something. Something that he wasn't telling him. As usual. The careful way in which his fingers rubbed the old wedding ring told Kyouya that he wasn't going to reveal this secret any time soon, either.

Well, then, Kyouya thought, it's not as if he's the only one…


2:25 p.m.

Mihoko Tenri was absolutely exhausted.

The better part of the morning was spent trying to get everything in order and just understand what the fuck was even happening. Investors were calling trying to confirm if the news of the purchase was true. Journalists, even. Mihoko didn't know what to tell them—hello, it seems that my partner, who usually takes care of the business aspect of the firm, has suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth, but please call again in two to three business days so that we can answer your question with as much accuracy as we can.

Ichirou, who was, if nothing else, dependable, was completely out of reach, and this worried her. In ten years that they knew each other, Ichirou picked up his phone when she called, always. They were best friends, even though it wasn't until college that they met for the first time. And Ichirou always answered. That was one of the reasons why—

She shook her head vigorously as the train rattled off to the direction of his house. If Ichirou wasn't going to answer her calls, then he would have to answer to her.

"Ichirou!" Mihoko said, banging on his apartment door. "Ichirou! I know you're in there! Just open up!" To her surprise, the door creaked open before she could bang her fist against it again.

"What happened—" she began, but stopped at the sight in front of her.

Ichirou looked terrible. Hungover, she wanted to say, but he couldn't possibly be hungover, could he? Selling the company, he certainly wouldn't have done that, not without telling her—they would never do that, because the company meant everything to them. Something they built from scratch. Together. There must be some reasonable explanation for his hungover appearance and whatever was happening this morning.

"Afternoon, Miho-chan," Ichirou said, using a nickname that he used only when he was trying to be funny. The situation didn't feel funny.

"What's going on, Ichirou?" she demanded. "The office is in total chaos, you know that? No one's been able to get their work done. I'm certainly not working on the prototype for the Hand. Why weren't you at work?"

"Would you like to come in?" Ichirou asked instead, making a way for her to come in. Somehow, this annoyed her further. Mihoko wasn't used to being annoyed at Ichirou. She didn't like the feeling.

"Just tell me," she repeated impatiently.

Ichirou sighed and buried his face in his hands. "I screwed up royally," he muttered into his hands.

"What?"

"I screwed up! I screwed up, okay?" When Ichirou looked up, his eyes were pleading with her. "Nakajima himself came over, and you had to leave early because there was the dinner meeting. He asked me if I wanted a drink—he said that we could either sign it over, or he would tell everyone about—look, Mihoko, I was just really drunk, okay? I was just really drunk, and I signed the contract without looking at it, and now—"

"Drunk? You were just drunk?" Mihoko voice remained dangerously calm, but the flashing of her eyes barely began to convey her frustration. "What does that even mean, drunk? You're one of the biggest drinkers I know!"

"I made a stupid mistake, and I'm sorry," Ichirou said somberly. "But the deed's done now. We can't go back. As of yesterday, Tenri & Hirose is part of the Nakajima corporation."

"This is not what we agreed on when we first began the company," Mihoko said, her voice still low. "We said that we would remain independent. We said that we wanted to avoid the conglomerate business because we wanted to provide better technology to the public without restricting access to it for some rich people who can afford to pay—"

"No, Mihoko, you said that you wanted technology to be accessible to everyone, because you were coming from this—I don't know, lower-class morality—I never said that." The defensiveness in Ichirou's voice was like a knife to her heart. A heart that still hoped that Ichirou would make things better. Had hoped for more than just—

"I'm sorry that you've wasted the last three years with me, then," Mihoko replied coldly. Contrition crossed Ichirou's face.

"Look, that's not what I meant—"

"What did you mean, then?" Mihoko shouted. "Selling the company, that we put everything in? Without even a warning to everyone else? To me? You just made a unilateral decision?" Because she trusted him, Mihoko realized. She trusted him too much to do his part. That he'd always consider her as part of the equation when he made a decision. That he wouldn't do anything without talking to her about it.

That he cared about her.

"Say something, you idiot!" Mihoko shouted, trying to erase the sudden empty feeling in her gut. But the words rang hollow through the apartment complex corridor.

Ichirou's head sank. "I'm sorry, Mihoko," he said finally. "I'm sorry. The management goes completely over to Nakajima in three days. I don't know what they plan to do with it, exactly. But we're co-founders, half of the money's already sent to you."

"That's not—that's not what I was talking about," she answered helplessly, wishing that he'd look at her in the eyes. But he wouldn't.

"Fine," Mihoko said. "Fine. If that's your final word, then fine." Without waiting for an answer, she turned around and all but ran out of the building, feeling her eyes sting—warning her of nascent tears.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.


4:30 p.m.

"Well, Tachibana?" Kyouya said when his trusted bodyguard opened the car door.

"It shouldn't take more than twenty minutes, Kyouya-sama," Tachibana said. "She's currently at a park."

Moping, no doubt, Kyouya thought, stretching his body on the comfortable interior of the family car. He looked at the file on Tenri Mihoko. Twenty-seven going twenty-eight. Went to Tokyo University on a full scholarship, before receiving government funding to study at MIT for her Master's; it didn't seem that she really intended to come back to Japan, as her first job out of school was with an American company in Germany. But she came back three years ago, for some reason. Patented her first two inventions—prosthetics, but also AI that could be reapplied to surgical machines. Founded a company with her university friend, Ichirou Hirose, an Ouran alumnus who came from a line of entrepreneurs. An unlikely match, which seemed to have worked in Hirose's favour.

"We're here, Kyouya-sama," Tachibana said. Kyouya nodded.

"Stay a little away," he said. "I don't think she'll appreciate much company." The team made a skeptical face but remained silent. It was unlikely that the girl would appreciate any company, including Kyouya's. But he had a plan.

He saw her in the distance, sitting cross-legged on a bench. Her back was bent over, perhaps from crying. A sympathetic face, Kyouya. A sympathetic face.

"Excuse me, Tenri-san? I think we should talk."


4:55 p.m.

Mihoko barely suppressed her irritation, which was paused the sight in front of her. A young man. An attractive—scratch that, very attractive—young man. Black hair combed carelessly back, revealing bright eyes behind a set of glasses that somehow made him look even… cooler. A smile on his face. She froze momentarily, out of habit. She'd never been the type who could talk to the opposite sex easily. But then she remembered what she'd been doing and that he interrupted her.

"I'm afraid I'm busy," she said, turning her gaze back to the columns of paper in front of her. Then something caught her attention. "How do you know my name?" she asked, frowning.

The young man smiled easily. Too easily. Insincere. "I have my sources," he said. "May I sit down?"

"No—" she said, covering her paper with her arms lest he disturb her organization. The young man peered over the bench to read what she was doing. What he saw seemed to surprise him.

"Contracts?" he murmured to himself.

"I don't want to be rude, but this is private business," Mihoko said.

"But this is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about," the young man said.

"I don't understand," Mihoko said for the second time that day.

"My name is Ootori Kyouya," the horribly young man replied with that insincere smile again. "I have a business proposition for you, if you'd be interested. And I assure you, it will be in your interest."


A/N: and DADADA… This is a trial chapter, after all. If you're interested in reading more please let me know! I'd love to hear from you