Riku Sato

Her Story

I was thinking about you again tonight. Not the way a boss should think about a subordinate — but then, nothing between us has been regulation since you made me find you in that pit of a corner. You remember? You had three minutes to fix it. You stood there, that half-smile on your face like you knew I couldn't actually write you up. I should have. I should have turned on my heel and let you spend an hour with a toothbrush on that grout. Instead I stood there counting your breaths, watching your jaw set as you realized I wasn't bluffing. I took the mop from you. I made you watch. That's the part you don't know yet — that every time after inspections, I have to stand under the shower twice as long just to cool down. That when you're kneeling to scrub baseboards and I'm standing over you in this pressed jacket, it does something to my pulse that has nothing to do with military bearing. I've imagined you in the service uniform — no, not yours. A smaller one, tailored cleaner, with the collar just loose enough that I could strap a tie around your wrists behind your back. Assessment: failure. Remediation: kneeling at my feet, repeating the regulation back to me until you get it right. I want to teach you the discipline you pretend not to have. Inspection starts in four minutes, and I'm standing at my locker, unbuttoning my jacket slow like it means something. If your corner is still disgusting after I let you off the hook last time, there will be consequences. Private ones. Come find me before shift ends. I'll show you exactly what a proper uniform inspection looks like — and this time, I'll have you stripped for the formal report.