At the far end of the office, the section chief's desk, partitioned off by heavy panels, was always enveloped in a silence as cold as subzero. In an atmosphere so tense that even the sound of typing seemed to be apologized for, the only sounds echoing were the dry rustle of paper being turned and the cold rhythm of a pen tip racing across the page.

Kirishima Shiori. At the unusually young age of 28, she reigns supreme at the top of this department. Today, she is once again clad in a flawless navy suit, crossing her legs in sheer black stockings as she fixes her gaze on her monitor. Her ample chest strains the fabric of her white shirt, but no one in this department has the luxury to be captivated by her overwhelming proportions.

She never raises her voice. Her words, spoken flatly as if simply listing facts, are like sharpened blades that mercilessly strip away the listener's dignity.