Ootori Kyoya was a no-nonsense man. He took pleasure in manipulating people for his own personal gain, regardless if they were friend or foe. He was deemed terrifyingly intelligent and ruthless, which were two of his strong points; one must possess both of those qualities to make it big in the corporate world. It was simply a predetermined fact. He was capable of being "compassionate" and "gentle", certainly, but that was only a façade; Ootori Kyoya wouldn't be caught dead showing kindly emotion.

And as far as cliché beginnings go, this is one of the most common. Nevertheless, this is how his story first plays out.

One rainy September day, as a bespectacled, twenty-three-year-old man sat in his black leather swivel chair contemplating his next business meeting with the CEO of a prestigious company, some changes were taking place — though, for once, he wasn't aware of it.

He was tapping his finger against the rim of his teacup (he was having Earl Grey), staring intently at the file he had been sent earlier that day by his secretary, Souji, a tiny thing with the lilting accent born of a provincial Japanese prefecture. He had been staring at the same page for the last quarter of an hour, frowning delicately. The file contained little to no personal information about the CEO, which greatly disappointed the young man; he valued precision and exactness, both of which the file so conspicuously lacked. He felt that he could have filled at least half a dozen pages more if he'd made it himself; he prided himself on his means of getting — or stealing, if that is the term you prefer — information about those unfortunate people whom he wished to investigate. It had been a… talent of his since he had first learned to walk and talk, a talent which his father wisely kept at his disposal.

However successful the young man had become, he had not, as he'd always dreamed, inherited one of his father's companies, nor did he become his father's official heir. Though his father did, a few careful days of thought after the young man's high school graduation, realize that his third son had enough potential to handle the entire family conglomerate single-handedly, the young man declined the offer as soon as it was made, much to the shock and disbelief of everyone who knew him. The young man was power-hungry, to a measurable extent, and his life's goal, which was very familiar to his small circle of close friends, was to become the family heir. Those friends of his had never imagined that he would do such an atrocious thing as turn away from that which he had always yearned for. What was more, upon his refusal he stated, quite plainly, that he would make a name for himself on his own — and he did. He built his own expansive business empire without any help whatsoever from his peers or relatives, which was no mean feat, even for him. Through his triumph, he had shown his father that he was capable of doing everything his older brothers could, and more.

But with all his power and fame and glory, how the hell could one of his well-trained, hand-picked staff have produced such an unsatisfactory piece of shit?

Massaging his temple, he pushed a silver button on his desk. Immediately, the voice of tiny Souji greeted him through a small speaker beside his digital desk clock.

"Good afternoon, Ootori-san. Was there something you needed?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, there is," Ootori Kyoya replied coolly, picking up one of his fountain pens and twirling it absently between his long white fingers. "The 'file' you gave me does not contain sufficient information. Please contact whoever wrote this poor excuse for a report and ask him to see me as soon as he can. Oh, and do remind him that he shouldn't be surprised if I send him packing first thing tomorrow."

Not very often was Kyoya so lenient.

Without waiting for Souji to answer, he took his finger off the button, stood up, and turned to the enormous window behind him. He braced his arm against it and laid his forehead on the glass — it felt very cool against his pale skin — as he stared off into the depths of the rain-drenched city. Taxis and cars and bicycles sped along the roads fifty-six floors below him as umbrella-wielding people insignificant to Kyoya's existence went about their daily lives, wasting their time inside shopping malls and movie theaters and video game arcades. Such mundane things were beneath him.

Most people said he had wasted his precious youth being constantly buried in work and numbers and figures, which was true. In high school he had managed his club's finances, constantly looking out for the rise and fall of the lines in the graphs, and he had been the head of his company (he was still in the medical business) since he was eighteen, a startlingly early age to be burdened with such a heavy responsibility. Nevertheless, he had showed no signs of stress or age since then; he was still as youthful and handsome as ever — in fact, he knew that precisely fifty-four percent of the single women in his employment were deeply infatuated with him, which to him was a great asset. Call him a devil if you will, but that was simply how Ootori Kyoya was.

For the first time in a long time, Kyoya thought about his old "friends", those unruly misfits who had called themselves "hosts". They were doing pretty well themselves: Suou Tamaki, the host club's former King, was now an actor and part-time model, much to the amusement of Suou Senior, who was the chairman of Ouran High School — Tamaki's disagreeable paternal grandmother, the only person standing between him and a bright future, had passed away shortly after their graduation, and yet Tamaki still chose a different path for himself, believing (quite conceitedly, in Kyoya's opinion) that he was far too beautiful and charismatic to be locked up in an office; Hitachiin Kaoru and Hikaru had decided to join their mother in the fashion business, and had become two of the most prominent designers in Japan — at the moment they were in London, showcasing their new autumn collection; Morinozuka Takashi managed his own kendo dojo, and had become increasingly more skilled and powerful over time, having been reluctantly parted from his dear and new-to-the-wondrous-world-of-independency cousin, Haninozuka Mitsukuni, who was the sole owner of a chain of sweets shops (the aptly named "Usa-chan Sugar" had become popular worldwide) and who had gotten his growth spurt at age nineteen — now he was nearly as tall as Mori-senpai; and lastly, a certain Fujioka Haruhi, who had been the only girl in the Ouran High School Host Club and who had blossomed into a wonderful lawyer after studying overseas for several years, had graced almost every headline in the previous Sunday newspapers — she had won a case, hands down, against the fiercest prosecutor in the area.

As Kyoya had predicted, all of them turned out just fine — especially their scrawny little lapdog.

"Hey, Kyoya! Fancy visiting me at the modeling studio this week? There's going to be a small commoner audience, and I'm going to be giving out autographs! Doesn't that sound simply fantastic?"

"As much as I love being a part of your outrageous, hardheaded schemes, Tamaki, I'm going to be extremely busy. My schedule is — not regrettably — full, with absolutely no openings whatsoever for the next two months."

Kyoya was on the way home when his raucous, self-proclaimed "best friend" called him on his mobile phone. He had been avoiding the Tamaki's calls ever since they separated at graduation, since he knew they would only consist of more incessant whining and wailing and would doubtlessly result in him being shipped unwillingly off to some remote tropical island. But he had to give in at some point.

Tamaki made a spluttering sound, apparently disappointed at Kyoya's lack of interest. "You're no fun! And I thought you were serious when we were kids…" Tamaki sighed. "Look, Mommy," (a vein began to pulse lightly in Kyoya's temple as Tamaki's old nickname for him was brought to life again) "you really should take a break every now and then; it's good for your complexion." He was trying to be funny, but Kyoya could sense that he there was worry underneath his bouncy exterior.

"I couldn't care less about my complexion. And besides, aren't you supposed to be on the set of that new film of yours?"

"Oh, I am," Tamaki said, now cheerful. "And it's absolutely gorgeous, Kyoya, promise you'll at least come to the premiere with me! It's a week from now!"

"As I've already told you, you insufferable halfwit, I'm too busy to engage myself in such lighthearted frivolities."

Tamaki was quiet for a moment before he sighed again, accepting defeat. "Well, if there's no way I can convince you… I guess I'll see you some other time. Goodbye, Kyoya."

Without saying goodbye in return, Kyoya snapped his phone shut and gazed moodily out the tinted window, his breath fogging up the glass.

A movie premiere, huh?

All right, everyone~! Allow me to introduce myself - I am newbie Mhai-kun (but I'm female), pleased to meet you! So... okay, here goes. This is the first fanfiction I have ever published here! Yes, what an achievement. OTL
Thanks very much for finishing this chapter, it means a lot to me~ And I'd really appreciate it if you sent me messages or suggestions. :3
I just keep hoping you guys will like it. I worked really hard on this fanfic, and since I'm not that experienced with this sort of thing...
Jeez, talk about pressure. = =;
Anyway, the second chapter will be here really soon, so please support me! u