((A/N: Hello hello, readers. Thank you for taking the time to check out this story, even if you decide that my author's note bores you and you click the back button on your browser. I'm generally a die-hard Harry Potter fan, but I'm rather fond of anime as well, so I thought I'd try my hand at an Ouran fanfic. I'm not going to press you for reviews, and I'm certainly not going to threaten you with a hiatus if you do not review. Laissez-faire, as I always believe. If you do review, I'd appreciate it if you provide some constructive criticism for me. I'm cool with flames, but that doesn't mean I pay any attention to worthless slander. I like substance in reviews, and those are likely the only ones I'll acknowledge. I'm also looking for a beta, so if you might be interested, I would love for you to contact me. Never can have enough editing, eh? Well, that's all I have to say, so enjoy the story!))

Six years.

Has it really been that long? The time just flew by, and before I knew it, here I was. Six years older. I'd left behind everything after graduation from OA. We all did. We, the members of the Host Club, we thought we'd be friends forever.

But things change. People go their separate ways. Hani and Mori, they've gone to Italy for University. With Hani and his love for sweets, where better to learn how to cook them? And Mori, he just follows, silently, as per usual, keeping the little one out of trouble. But I'm sure that isn't the only reason.

Hikaru and Kaoru, they've gone off to England to pursue a career in clothing design. They have a knack for it, let me tell you. The clothes they send me don't quite suit my taste, but I'm sure to wear them on special occasions, just to honor their wishes. Frills, ribbons, and all.

Kyouya, naturally, is running a highly successful business here in Japan, dealing with all sorts of things. He's used his manipulation and intelligence to buy out most of the medical suppliers in the country, as well as hotel chains, hospitals, and restaurants.

And Tamaki... well, he went back to France. We were together for five years, even engaged. But something happened. Neither of us are sure, but we just... fell out of love, I suppose. After we ended things, he announced that he was returning to his mother in France, and was going to pursue a career that would best utilize his talents: Acting. Well, he certainly was a great actor, and he's very successful in France. He still writes occasionally.

Now I'm here, still in Japan, one more year until I graduate from Tokyo University. I've studied to become a lawyer, just like my mom. She would've been proud of me, a Tokyo U student. That's what has been motivating me all these years, and still motivates me, even now. I need to make her proud, to feed my own sense of self-satisfaction, to prove something to myself, and to her.

Without my friends, though, I still feel a bit lonely, ambition aside. I sometimes wish that I could go to them, visit any of them whenever I want to, but I know that just wouldn't work. I have school, they have careers ahead of them. The only one I could possibly see is Kyouya, but he's so occupied with his business, aside from his own University studies, I'd hate to bother him. So I just go on with my life, working part time and studying a majority of my days, and hope that my mom will give me the strength to get through this.

I need that strength.

-------

The phone rang.

I picked it up, at 5 in the morning, blinking the sleep out of my eyes. It was too early for phone calls, in my opinion. It was too early to even be awake.

"Hello?" I spoke into the phone, my voice breaking.

"Haruhi Fujioka?" A cold, deep voice inquired. I vaguely recognized the voice, but it was simply too early to comprehend.

"This is she," I responded cautiously, waking up slightly. Who was this? And why were they calling at this ungodly hour? "Who's calling?"

"An...old friend," the smooth voice replied evasively. "I've an offer to make you, Miss Fujioka. A limo will be by your place in an hour. It would be...beneficial for you to look your best."

"Excuse me, but I don't even know who you--" I began to protest, but the cold voice cut in quickly.

"Fifty-nine minutes, Miss Fujioka, and not a second later." The voice then vanished, clearly signifying that this conversation was over.

I stared at the phone for a few seconds, then returned it to its cradle. After a moment of thought, I fell back onto the bed and curled up under the sheets. Yeah, right. I'm certainly going to jump into the limo of a complete stranger at six in the morning and be whisked away to accept an "offer." An old friend? Okay. Maybe we can be "old friends" some other day. And after noon.

I drifted back into sleep, intent on sleeping at least until the sun showed its blinding face.

I was rudely awakened ten minutes later, however, by someone lifting me roughly from my bed. My eyes shot open and I yelped, surprised and scared out of my wits. The man carrying me was in a black suit, with dark sunglasses, and he was very, very strong. I struggled relentlessly, but couldn't get loose.

"Let me go! Who the hell do you think you are?! Help! Someone! I'm being kidnapped!" I shouted as he lifted me down the stairs of my flat and toward that black limo that the man promised to send. People poked their heads out of the doors, but looked frightened by the sight of the man. Many slammed their doors, and you could hear the rusty locks sliding into place.

So much for friendly neighbors.

The man tossed me into the limo unceremoniously and slammed the door. I pulled at the handle, trying to escape, but it wouldn't open. Clearly, I was dealing with someone who really didn't want me to escape. This was fantastic. I felt like I was being detained by the Yakuza. But I hadn't borrowed any money, or started a fight with anyone. Of course, I was more scared than I am letting on in this account, but that would just be including useless detail. Besides, isn't it better to make myself look a bit stronger?

I slammed my hands against the window repeatedly, but no one came to help. The limo pulled out of the complex, and I slumped in defeat. There was no escape. I was probably off to meet an early death by the hands of the mob boss. For no reason. It just didn't add up. I rapped the window separating the back from the front of the car. It slid open slightly.

"Yes, Miss Fujioka?" The man's voice was gruff, but I could hear the vague amusement underlying it. It wasn't the man who had called me, I knew that much from the voice. I didn't see any humor in the situation, so I was becoming a bit agitated.

"What is this?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"What? Have you never been inside a limo before, Miss Fujioka?" He responded lightly, playing dumb.

"Don't screw around here, Mister... whoever you are..." I replied, my anger mounting by the second. "Why am I being kidnapped? Who sent you?"

The man released a short bark of laughter. "Kidnapped? Who's kidnapping you? My employer sent me. He was quite sure that you wouldn't have come, so he sent me to get you. Don't worry, Miss, you'll be well taken care of."

"Who's your employer? Are you yakuza?" I inquired, pressing my face into the crack of the window. "What do you want with me? Didn't he say I had until six?!"

"Enough with all the questions, Miss Fujioka," the man answered, clearly even more amused than before. "We're here. It would be wise to cooperate, Miss."

I glanced out the tinted window and saw that we had pulled up to a secluded warehouse. So they WERE yakuza. Cheap, no-name yakuza. Oh, I was going to die so very badly. Not even murdered in a nice room on the top floor of a five-star hotel. Nope, just in a shack. But I was too smart to be uncooperative. Maybe I could survive this thing. Outwit the enemy. The back door opened, and the man offered a hand to help me out of the limo. I reluctantly took it and followed him into the beaten old building. We went inside, and I was completely shocked.

The entire room was plastered with tasteful metallic gold wallpaper, with expensive-looking paintings of attractive, rich people spread about the walls. There were at least 8 doors, each leading to who knows what. I was about to find out, of course. The red carpet that trailed across the room was lined with gold rope, and the same rope was hanging in arcs from the chandelier. A petite woman with long, shiny hair was sitting behind the desk, an extremely false smile plastered to her face.

"Good morning! Miss Fujioka, I presume?" The woman's voice was high-pitched, and the greeting seemed rather forced.

I stood, staring. Gee, maybe I really was going to be killed in an agreeable setting. Even if it WAS a feigned environment.

The woman looked at me expectantly, her smile wavering ever so slightly. I nodded curtly. Her smile widened (If that was even possible) and she scrawled something onto a clipboard.

"Right this way, please!" She led me to a room, the third door on the right, and I stepped inside. I was worried about what was on the other side, but it was too risky to run away. It turned out to be a huge salon, larger than my flat. There were several people standing directly in front of me, in a line, as if they were expecting me. When I entered, they bowed and introduced themselves.

"I am Himawari Ken," said a man with shoulder-length hair and a gold hoop earring. "I'm the hair stylist."

"I'm Oguri Sumire, Miss Fujioka," a pretty woman piped in, her well-manicured hands clasped. "Your nail and make-up artist."

"Elise Bordeaux, clozing specialist," a French woman with a heavy accent spoke up, looking every bit the "clothing specialist" with her expensive, stylish outfit. I bowed to the three standing before me, utterly perplexed. Why on earth was I in a SALON?! I was extremely relieved that it wasn't a yakuza kidnapping, but now I was wondering who could have arranged this. Who sent me to an entire day spa disguised as a broken-down, old warehouse? I couldn't think of a single person I know who would do something like this.

"It is very nice to meet you all, but I'm afraid there's been a mistake. You see, I never made any appointments," I explained awkwardly. They all just continued smiling, like mannequins. Mannequins straight from an exorbitant shopping mall in London. It was thoroughly creeping me out. "So, I suppose I'll just leave now. Sorry for all the trouble." I bowed again and made to leave the room... until I bumped into the guard guy who had escorted me here. He chuckled and turned me back around.

"Mr. President requests that she look as feminine as you can get her. Business attire, it's for an interview with the company," the guard commanded. The stylists all nodded.

"Who's Mr. President?" I asked. They all looked away and began preparing their stations. I was still confused. I looked back to the guard, but he was already gone. Geez, what's with these people? Can't I get some answers? "What interview? What company?"

Elise grasped my forearm and led me to a room. It was like a closet, but about ten times larger than any other I've seen. My mouth gaped open. Was it really necessary to have so many clothes? I looked over to Elise. "Excuse me, but can you explain what's going on?" She smiled, her teeth glinting in the bright light of the room.

"No," she responded. "Please, zis way madame." Her Japanese obviously wasn't very good, so I didn't press the matter. I could just wait and get answers from the next stylist. Elise took me along the rows of clothes and stopped in front of a section of business outfits. She looked at the rack, then back at me, several times before choosing a navy blue suit with a skirt. She handed it to me and dragged me over to a huge wardrobe. She threw open the doors and opened a drawer on the inside. I blushed as she pulled out matching bra and panties, navy blue like the suit, and some panty hose. She bent to the bottom of the wardrobe and withdrew a pair of heels that matched the suit as well. She silently ushered me into a dressing room and closed the door behind me. I reluctantly changed into the outfit.

Everything fit me perfectly. This woman really was a professional. I stepped out of the room and Elise turned. She smiled brightly and spoke, what I thought to be praises, in French. She was holding a necklace and earrings in her hand, which she put into my pocket. "After make-up and hair, okay?" It was more of a command than a question. I nodded and was turned from the room, where Mr. Himawari was waiting with Ms. Oguri.

"Are you ready for us, Miss Fujioka?" Ms. Oguri asked, her voice enthusiastic.

"Not really, but I suppose I'm not left with much of a choice, am I?" I responded lamely. The two laughed.

"No, you aren't, actually. Not if we are to keep our jobs," Mr. Himawari chuckled. I sighed and followed them to their station. They sat me down and Mr. Himawari began toying with my hair as Ms. Oguri took my hands in hers, setting them on the manicure table in front of us. She smiled apologetically.

"Sorry, Miss Fujioka, we are a bit short on time. Perhaps you can come back for the full treatment another time?" Sumire suggested.

"That won't be necessary," I replied. All this pampering was more irritating than anything. I'd much rather be home, asleep. "But, who is this President that you guys are speaking of?" They glanced at each other.

"You don't know, Miss Fujioka?" Ken asked carefully, tugging on my hair with a comb.

"No, and it is really beginning to grate on my nerves," I answered. "I want answers. Can't you tell me anything that's going on? Why am I even here?"

"Mr. President will explain everything, I'm sure," Sumire replied, filing my nails. "Just be patient. If he hasn't told you, it is not our place to do so."

I sighed again, frustrated. I didn't want these people to lose their jobs, so I quit asking questions. I began thinking the things I would say to whoever planned this, and of the different ways I could hurt him, as Sumire began applying my makeup. I really don't like makeup, and I'll never understand why so many women spend so much time putting it on. The whole experience was annoying as a whole, and I really, really wanted to go home. After about ten minutes, they asked me to stand up and look in the mirror. I was appalled by the sight reflected there.

My hair, which hung just below my shoulders, was side-parted and straighter than it had ever been. My face looked completely flawless, and the brown and navy tones they had applied accented my eyes. The business suit was tight-fitting, and the skirt was a bit shorter than I was comfortable with, and the slight slit on the side did not help one bit. Sumire removed the jewelry from my pocket and clasped it onto me. I cringed. I was no longer Haruhi Fujioka. I was some superficial scarlet woman, dressed to be some sort of secretary. The type who sleeps with their boss to get a raise.

Damn, it was going to take me a while to wash this makeup off tonight. How inconvenient.

I faked a smile, though, because the staff had been very kind to me. Aside from keeping me here against my will. "Thank you very much. You have all done very well."

"Well, we are the experts," Ken remarked, unable to conceal his smile. "We've performed a miracle."

I frowned. "Thanks, I appreciate that." They all laughed, and Elise handed me a purse to match the ensemble. Does the madness never end?!

"Good luck," they all said in unison, as I was pulled from the room by the guard. I looked up at him, with fire in my eyes.

"Good luck?" I asked menacingly. "How did they know I was planning to kill whoever sent you? I'll certainly need that luck..." He just laughed, infuriating me even further. "What's so funny?! I'm not even myself anymore! You guys have turned me into someone else! And for what?! I don't know! Because no one will tell me! I'm SO suing you all when this is over!"

He grinned wickedly. "Oh, trust me, Miss Fujioka. You won't want to sue once you learn what it's for. We're doing you a huge favor. The President will be very pleased."

"I didn't ask for any favors. And I NEVER ask strangers for favors. So this is ridiculous." I said, my teeth clenching again.

He opened the door and shoved me lightly into the limo. We took off and I glared out the window. "What's your name, anyway?" I asked him.

"Jin Chae," he responded.

"Korean?" I asked him, noting the foreign last name.

"Half," he replied, glancing back. I nodded. "We're almost there."

"I'm not going to be killed or anything, am I, Mr. Chae?" I asked hesitantly.

He laughed for about the millionth time since I was picked up. My left eye twitched in irritation. "Of course not. You will see, you may as well stop prying."

I scowled and stared back out the window. We seemed to be approaching a very large office building, with windows so large and clean that the sun was reflecting directly into my eyes. I closed them tightly and leaned back into the limo. Whoever owned that building was going to get a piece of my mind. For both the kidnapping and the damage to my eyes. The limo slowed to a halt and the door was opened for me again. Mr. Chae offered his hand once again, and I followed him into the building. As we entered, he bowed slightly to nearly every employee we passed, and he was being greeted from all directions. He returned their greetings, and muttered to me out of the corner of his mouth.

"Smile, and pretend that you came of your own free will. That scowl can only hurt, and you need to be helping your image."

I hesitated, but decided that I had no choice, so I reluctantly smiled. He led me into an elevator and pressed the button for the 48th floor. The top of the building. I must be meeting the head honcho, if we're going straight to the top...

The elevator slowly climbed the floors, and I tapped my foot impatiently. I couldn't wait to get this over with. The squeaking contraption finally came to a halt, and the doors opened to reveal a large, intricately carved door directly across from us.

"That door looks ridiculous. Your boss must have a mother complex, if something so feminine is his first impression." I thought it looked rather nice, actually, the carvings of sakura blossoms over a pond, but I'd never admit it. Not to kidnappers, anyway.

"If you insist, Miss Fujioka," Mr. Chae responded, not rising to my insulting statement. He knocked on the door three times, and we stood in silence for a few seconds. Then, a smooth, "Enter, please" came from the other side. I recognized that voice from the phone call. And it tugged at some part of my brain. I really did know that voice from somewhere... but where? Mr. Chae opened the door, and a blast of cold air greeted me as I peered inside over his shoulder. The room was very neat, organized, and... well, cold. There's no other way to describe it. It was the most unwelcoming office I had ever seen. The room was painted a deep blue color, making it look almost black. The huge windows behind a large desk were partially concealed by fabric of the same color. The walls were lined with bookshelves, more than I've ever seen outside of a library, and in the center of the room there were two sofas. Both dark blue, with a small table in between them. The office was lit only by a few lights on the walls. The lack of lighting cast a shadow over the face of the man at the desk, but I caught the glint of his eyeglasses when his head tilted to look at me. Mr. Chae pulled me into the room and stepped back outside, closing the doors behind him. I swallowed, and stepped closer to get a good look at my captor's face. I froze as I took in his familiar features, the neat dark hair and icy, apathetic eyes. He smirked.

"Welcome, Miss Fujioka. It has been a while, has it not?"

I blinked, speechless.

"Come now, is that any way to greet your old Senpai?"

I flushed, my previous anger overpowering my shock.

"So, Senpai, is this how you spend your spare time now? Kidnapping unsuspecting women from their beds at five in the morning?"

"How else was I to get you here?"

"Well, it may be old fashioned, but perhaps you could have asked?"

"I did. I called you first."

"You didn't ask, you demanded."

"Ah, no need to be so technical. Besides, you would never had agreed had I not used force. Am I right?"

"That's beside the point. What do you want from me?"

Kyouya Ootori leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands together. His smirk grew impossibly wider.

"I have a proposition for you, Miss Fujioka. Although, if you're going to be so... conscientious... it isn't much of a proposition. I'd rather like to call it an inescapable opportunity."

"What is it, then?" I asked impatiently. His glasses glinted sinisterly in the faint light, and I knew I wasn't going to like the answer. He glanced at his watch and feigned surprise.

"Oh my, come now, Miss Fujioka. We have somewhere to be."

"And where might that be?" I was growing more agitated by the second.

"Why, your job interview, of course."

"My... what?"

"I'm not in the habit of repeating myself. You know that."

Realization dawned on my face, and my mouth opened in horror.

"Oh, no. No, no, no." I stammered, backing toward the door.

Kyouya merely chuckled humorlessly. "Why, I'm afraid you haven't the choice, Miss Fujioka. My brothers are waiting in the meeting room on the 27th floor to determine whether or not you are a worthy employee for--"

"Oh, but I'm not!" I interrupted him. "Senpai, you can't be serious! I'm still in school! I have a career ahead of me!"

"I am aware of this, Miss Fujioka, thank you," he responded, unfazed by my frantic declination. He stood regally and drifted over to where I was standing. I backed up more. "It is all worked out for you. If you please, follow me."

I scowled, but I knew there wasn't any other way about it. Kyouya never took no for an answer. I followed him out the doors and glared at Mr. Chae as we passed him. He merely smiled back, pretending not to notice my anger.

I glanced up at Kyouya as we stepped into the elevator. He hadn't grown too much taller, but he still towered over me. It intimidated me more now than it did when I was a 15-year-old Host, because the sense of power he exuded was frightening. He seemed so terribly... refined. I felt like the commoner I was, standing there next to him. Not that I was ashamed, of course, but I knew it would be brought up at some point. I tugged the hem of my skirt down, feeling increasingly uncomfortable wearing something so revealing in such prestigious company. I wasn't much concerned with Kyouya's impression of me, but I was slightly worried about his brothers' opinions. And then an idea came to me. I forced back my smile, as the elevator doors slid open.

The second I stepped off that elevator, the turning point in my life was initiated.