Chapter Text
Time: 10:00 AM, Day 2.
Meeting Room 3A was a "Cold Room"—no windows to the outside, only frosted glass facing the interior of the 24th floor. On the center of the table sat a single, physical folder marked with a red "CONFIDENTIAL" stamp. In this digital age, physical paper was only used for materials too dangerous to be hacked.
George tapped a key, and the briefing document appeared on the wall-mounted screen.
PROJECT CASE BRIEF: THE SILVER ARROW GROUP
Industry: Aerospace and High-Performance Engineering.
Status: A legacy name in British manufacturing and a Tier-1 supplier to multiple civil aviation manufacturers, primarily producing turbines for them, providing over 5,000 jobs in the English Midlands.
Threat: A hostile takeover bid from Vulture Capital Holdings (a US-based private equity firm).
Current Situation: Vulture intends to acquire a majority stake, lay off 40% of the engineers, sell off the land in Brackley, and transfer patent rights to tax havens.
George stood at the head of the table, his hands braced against the mahogany surface, his gaze sharp. "Our objective is simple: Premium Valuation. We are going to prove to the world that Silver Arrow is so efficient, so profitable, and so essential to British engineering that Vulture simply cannot afford the bill. We beat them with a balance sheet they can't swallow."
"A balance sheet?"
Kimi was sitting sideways on the edge of the table, casually tossing a stress ball—branded with a competitor’s logo—into the air. Thump. Thump. "George, raiders don't care about beauty. They aren't looking at the paint job; they’re looking at how much they can get for the scrap metal. They’re here to dismantle, auction, and cash out. No matter how pretty you make the reports, you’re just washing the sheep before you lead it to the slaughter."
George frowned slightly, but quickly replaced it with a polite smile. "It’s called decency, Kimi. As consultants for this legacy enterprise, besides safeguarding the money in their bank account, we also have a responsibility to protect their reputation. We have two weeks to build a defense proposal based on premium valuation arguments, retaining those major stakeholders and keeping their dignity intact."
"Dignity doesn't win hostile takeovers," Kimi said, catching the ball and finally looking George straight in the eye. "Why don't we just initiate a 'Black Box Project' and make it as chaotic as possible? Like, creating a technical bottleneck or a massive debt—the kind that gives anyone a headache just looking at it. We make those raiders realize that if they take over by force, they’ll be left with nothing but an empty shell."
"Absolutely not." George’s voice was low, carrying an unquestionable deterrence. "Are you proposing to fling mud at our client? Silver Arrow is a monument to British industry; no one is allowed to smash its signpost. As consultants, our responsibility is to guard its value, not to use... such low-handed sabotage. This is not the MSG way. As long as I am still the Project Leader, we will only speak with logic, transparency, and professional competence."
Kimi tilted his head, a faint, barely perceptible smile playing on his lips. "And if your so-called 'logic' loses British industry five thousand jobs? "
"It won't," George said sharply, closing his iPad with a sharp clack. "This conversation is over. Kimi, drop your crazy ideas and go back to your desk to start the manpower cost-benefit analysis. Use my template. And I mean the standard template—no non-linear experiments. Do I make myself clear? "
Kimi shrugged, his expression unreadable. He tucked his laptop under his arm and turned to walk out of the room. As the door closed with a hiss, George finally exhaled a sigh of relief.
Time: 11:00 AM, Day 5.
The "Kimi Hype" was like a localized cyclone sweeping through the 24th floor, and today, the humidity of the gossip was reaching a breaking point.
In the breakroom, Frederik Vesti and Doriane Pin stood by the high-end coffee machine, the expensive beans grinding with a roar that perfectly masked their lowered voices. They were looking at the floor-to-ceiling windows, but their minds were on the organizational chart.
"I heard Toto was on the phone with the Singapore partners," Vesti whispered, checking his watch as if the very time were a corporate secret. "He said Kimi is the 'missing piece' of the MSG puzzle. Said he’s never seen anyone map out an anti-takeover strategy that fast, not even during the Hamilton era.”
Doriane leaned against the marble counter, her brow deeply furrowed. "I’m just curious how well he actually performed in that Bologna Venture Capital Case Competition. It’s such a niche event—I couldn't even find a proper write-up or a press release on LinkedIn. It’s like he just... materialized out of thin air with a 'genius' label already attached."
Vesti shrugged, a silent 'who knows?' "It’s making everyone on the floor nervous," he muttered. "Kimi doesn't even seem to be trying. Have you seen his desk? Just a MacBook and half a half-eaten cannoli. No case files, no binders, not even a second monitor. What does he think this hostile takeover is? A group project he plans to just wing and slide through at the last minute? ”
He paused, his voice dropping another octave. "Although I have to report to him and shouldn't be saying this, but... George is going crazy. He’s been proofing the Silver Arrow presentation deck for seventy-two hours straight, surviving entirely on caffeine and spite. If Kimi finds even a single typo, this whole floor is going to explode."
The air in the room suddenly cooled down. It wasn't the AC; it was the arrival of that navy-charcoal suit.
"Is the market analysis for the afternoon brief ready?" George asked.
"It’s... it's almost ready, George," Vesti said, ducking his head.
" 'Almost ready' is not a precise way of putting it," George said, his fingers tightening slightly around his water bottle. His voice sounded exhausted, and his eyes looked dry as if rubbed with sandpaper, but his posture remained an immovable fortress.
Just then, the glass door swung open. Kimi wandered in, a stark contrast to the sea of grey suits. He looked like he’d just rolled out of a very expensive bed, his hair artfully messy and his jacket slightly askew.
"Ah! Here it is!" Kimi exclaimed, spotting a rogue phone charger plugged in behind the water cooler—directly behind George.
Without a word of "excuse me," Kimi leaned right over, invading George’s personal space with an almost provocative casualness. George could smell the faint, distracting scent of Kimi’s espresso, with the cold morning air of London still clinging to his jacket.
As Kimi bent down to yank the charger out, his jacket caught on something, hitching up on the belt loop of his jeans. It was a tiny, messy imperfection.
Before George's brain could veto the impulse, his hand had already moved. He reached out and grabbed the hem of Kimi’s jacket. Instead of helping to smooth it out, he gave it a sharp, downward tug—not enough to be violent, but enough to make the fabric bunch awkwardly, making Kimi look more disheveled than he already was.
"You’re shedding, Kimi," George said, his voice sounding like a polite blade. His hand lingered for a fraction of a second longer than necessary—a silent manifestation of hierarchy.
Kimi didn't even bat an eyebrow. He straightened up, charger in hand, and turned to face George. He didn't look annoyed; instead, he looked highly intrigued. He flashed a bright, mischievous grin, revealing a pair of sharp, prominent canines—a look that belonged more to a young predator than an associate.
"Thanks, George," Kimi said, his eyes gleaming with mischief, clearly well aware of how much he was rattling George. "I knew keeping you around would be useful. Your obsession with details... really lives up to your reputation."
Kimi winked at the two colleagues who were watching in a daze, then turned and sauntered out with a swagger.
George stood by the water cooler, the perfect, calm mask on his face finally showing a hairline crack. He looked down at his hand—the one that had touched Kimi's jacket—and felt a strange, lingering heat.
"Back to work," George dropped the sentence.
Vesti and Doriane didn't need to be told twice; they vanished on the spot instantly.
Time: 8:45 PM, Day 7.
The air conditioning was emitting a monotonous, low hum. Markus, the lead analyst, had bloodshot eyes as he stared at a massive spreadsheet.
George was standing over Markus's shoulder with his arms crossed. "The depreciation logic is solid, Markus. It aligns with the tax-shield projections."
"It’s not. Check Column AT," Kimi’s voice drifted over from the beanbag chair in the corner.
George didn't move an inch. "We’ve checked Column AT four times already, Kimi."
"Then check it a fifth time," Kimi said, standing up and walking over. He pointed a finger at the formula bar. "You're calculating the asset tail-off based on a 15% flat rate, but Silver Arrow uses a declining balance method for their factory equipment. You’ve over-valued their liquidity by eight million."
George felt a cold prickle crawl up the back of his neck. Markus grunted, leaning forward as his fingers flew across the keyboard. The office went silent, save for the click-clack of the mechanical keyboard.
"He's right," Markus said flatly. "Logic was flawed in Column AT. It needs to be fixed."
Markus rubbed his face hard with both hands. He looked less surprised and more resigned to the fact that he would have to work another hour of overtime.
For George, having his error caught by Kimi stung worse than a direct insult. George had missed this detail. His "blueprint" had a flaw, and this "genius" had found the loophole without even breaking a sweat.
George raised an eyebrow, rested his right hand on his hip, and let out a breath: "Good catch."
"No problem," Kimi said, already turning to head for the door. "I'm going to grab a kebab. You want me to bring you anything, George? A smoothie? Or a celery stick? "
Time: 8:15 PM, Day 11.
In the days that followed, Kimi behaved "surprisingly obediently." Aside from the occasional stray, meaningless trash talk, that distracting scent of espresso on him, and a lunch meeting he had with Toto that left George thoroughly unsettled, he always completed his assigned tasks exactly on time—not a minute early, not a second late.
George is at his desk. A few notifications ping.
Alex: Hey
Alex: Just saw MSG's LinkedIn update, a 22-year-old Senior Associate???
Alex: Is Toto scouting for consultants or a boy band?George: He has talent, Alex. Raw, unpolished talent.
Alex: “Unpolished” is George-speak for “he didn’t use your tailor.”
George: 😒
George: You know what? He wore a T-shirt to a meeting with Toto.
George: My God! A T-shirt 🙄🙄Alex: Oh wow. Impressive.
George: This kid just needs to be taught a lesson. Completely undisciplined and lawless.
Alex: [Photo attached: A picture of Alex looking exhausted at Grove Associates] 💀
Alex: Look at this face, George. This is the face of a man who hasn't seen a T-shirt in three years.
Alex: Send the Italian kid over here. We need a little bit of chaos around here🕺🪩George: You can have him. I’ll cover the shipping 🙄🙄
Alex: Oh, is our Princess George getting angry? 😏 Don't pop a vein before the pitch.
Alex: btw Carlos says if you win this, you're buying the first three rounds at the Gala.
Alex: Yeah! 🍺🍺🍺