In the days that followed, Gisela felt like she was going crazy.
"Miss Meinhardt. Why is this file mislabeled?"
"It... must’ve been a filing error. I’ll fix it right away."
"Fix it faster. And double-check the system next time."
The next day, it happened again.
"Miss Meinhardt. Why aren’t these timestamps aligned?"
"I’m sorry. I’ll correct them."
"You apologize often. Learn to prevent errors instead."
Another morning came.
"Miss Meinhardt. Why does this chart look like a child drew it?"
"I... I thought the layout was acceptable—"
"You thought wrong. Redo it."
Every morning, she arrived at her desk determined to avoid drawing attention. Yet somehow, Klaus always found a reason to summon her. It became a pattern so consistent that she began to brace herself the moment she entered the building.
"Miss Meinhardt. Why is this number rounded?"
"I assumed it wouldn’t affect—"
"You thought. You assumed. Is your brain functioning correctly?"
Even brief moments of peace didn’t last. Klaus appeared constantly, almost as if he materialized out of thin air the moment her confidence tried to recover.
"Miss Meinhardt. Why wasn’t this attached?"
"I must have forgotten—"
"Then stop forgetting."
"Miss Meinhardt. Why are you still here? I asked for this folder ten minutes ago."
"I’m printing it—"
"Print faster."
At one point, she tried to defend herself.
"Director, with all due respect—"
"No. If you had respected your work, I wouldn’t be speaking to you right now."
She bit her tongue. There was no use arguing. Somehow, even breathing felt dangerous around him.
Each night, Gisela dragged herself home exhausted. Her chest grew tight whenever she heard footsteps approaching her desk. She tried harder, worked longer, and even started triple-checking.
Yet every time she thought she improved, Klaus arrived with another critique.
"Miss Meinhardt. The formatting is wrong."
"But I used the company template—"
"Then fix the template too."
It was as if he already knew where every mistake would appear before she even made it. Some co-workers whispered that he must be targeting her specifically. Others speculated he simply wanted to test her limits.
Gisela didn’t know which answer terrified her more.
By the end of the week, her nerves were frayed. Her shoulders stayed tense even when he wasn’t near. Yet she still worked. She still tried.
Because every time Klaus left her desk, after tearing apart her work and confidence, he would say the same thing in that quiet voice that somehow carried more weight than shouting.
"Do better, Miss Meinhardt."
And every time, she tried.
Days passed like that. By then, Gisela half expected his voice every time someone walked behind her. Her shoulders would jump before she could stop herself. Her coworkers avoided even glancing in her direction, fearing they would be dragged into it.
Then one afternoon, something strange happened.
She felt him approach again. She braced herself, hurriedly checking her screen, her papers, anything to appear prepared. His shadow cast over her desk. She tightened her grip on her pen.
"Miss Meinhardt."
"Yes, Director?" she answered quickly, standing so fast her chair bumped the desk.
For a moment, Klaus didn’t say anything. Instead, he placed a small paper bag on her desk.
"...What is this?" she asked, confused.
"Your lunch."
"My... lunch?"
"You haven’t eaten today, have you?" he said. "Your productivity has been decreasing as the day progresses. Eat."
Gisela stared at the bag in disbelief. Inside were a sandwich and a small bottle of lemon tea. She looked back up at him, lost for words.
"Director, I—"
"Eat."
Klaus walked away before she could protest. She remained standing there, frozen. Her coworkers peeked from their cubicles, equally stunned.
She sat down slowly, unsure whether she should laugh, cry or run. After a moment, she opened the sandwich. It was still warm. She took a bite.
It was good.
"...What just happened?" she whispered to herself.
Her brain refused to process it. A man who had spent days grilling her to the brink of tears had suddenly bought her lunch. It felt wrong, suspicious even.
Was this how he operated? Was this normal?
As if to confirm her confusion, Klaus passed her desk again about ten minutes later.
He didn’t stop, nor did he lecture her, he just walked by and said, "Finish it before it gets cold."
Gisela nearly dropped her tea.
The following days only made things stranger.
Klaus remained harsh and merciless with his critiques. Yet every now and then, in brief moments, he showed an unexpected softness.
One morning, Gisela arrived before sunrise. She wanted to get ahead on the reports and avoid another scolding. The office was quiet and empty.
At least, she thought it was.
"Miss Meinhardt."
She nearly dropped her pen. "D-Director... You’re early."
"So are you." He looked at her screen. "You’ve been reviewing the reports I assigned."
"Yes. I just thought I should start earlier. To... do better."
Klaus nodded. "Good."
She waited for the sting of criticism, but it didn’t come. Instead, he placed a small box on her desk.
"...What is this?" she asked again.
"Morning bread," he said. "I happened to have bought extra. Eat it while it’s fresh."
She opened the box. It was a simple buttered roll that was still warm.
"Thank you."
"Do not thank me," he said. "If you collapse from hunger, it delays work."
Gisela stared at the roll, then at him. "...Yes."
That day, he didn’t scold her until noon.
Later that week, she was working overtime, long after her coworkers had left. Her eyes felt hot from staring at the screen too long. She rubbed them, trying to focus. She hadn’t noticed Klaus approaching until he spoke.
"You’re still here."
"Director. I’m just finishing—"
He placed a neatly folded fabric on her desk.
It was a blanket.
"...What?" her brows raised.
"You’ve been working late. You might fall asleep eventually. This is cleaner than your jacket."
Gisela stared. "I’m... not planning to sleep here."
Klaus looked at her as if she had said something astonishingly naïve.
"Your tone suggests that you believe that," he said calmly. "But all evidence says otherwise."
"...Thank you."
He nodded. "Good. Continue.
She stared at the blanket for a long time, too confused to function.
Was he being kind?
Was this kindness?
She wasn’t sure.
Another afternoon, she was carrying a large stack of documents across the floor. Her arms wobbled. Before she could react, Klaus took half the stack from her.
"...Director, I can—"
"I need them as well," he said, not looking at her. "It’s inefficient to let one person struggle with both."
He carried the papers to his office and set them on his desk. He didn’t comment on her awkward stumbling, nor did he scold or insult her competence.
Gisela just stood there, too confused by the situation.
"Don’t just stand there," he said.
"Yes, Director!"
She nearly tripped trying to catch up.
And yet, the next day.
"Miss Meinhardt. Your formatting is a disgrace."
The scolding returned with full force.
Gisela could only stare at him, unable to understand how the same man who insulted her work could also hand her breakfast. Her mind couldn’t reconcile the two images.
Later, in the break room, she overheard two coworkers.
——Is he nice or not?
——I don’t know. I thought he was a demon, but then he gave someone extra vacation hours.
——I don’t understand him either...
Gisela sat there, holding her tea. She wanted to raise her hand and say, ’Yes. Me too. Someone please explain this man.’
But she remained silent.
Because no matter how many confusing acts of kindness he committed, Klaus never once softened his expression, nor had he ever acted as if he was doing anything unusual.
It was all delivered with the same cold, matter-of-fact tone.
One evening, when she was packing up to leave, Klaus passed her desk.
"Be careful on the way home. The roads are icy."
She blinked. "I... Yes. I’ll be careful."
She watched him walk away, and a quiet thought formed in her mind.
’Is he worried... or is he just planning to scold me if I slip?’
She couldn’t tell.
And the uncertainty was starting to drive her insane.