Chapter Text
“Yes, Dad. I will. It’s fine. You don’t have to apologize for it,” Asami said with forced patience, phone cradled between her ear and shoulder as she looked somewhere to park. “I’ll handle them. Okay. Bye. Love you, too.”
She ended the call and let out a long sigh, her head already pounding. With a tired grunt, she pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to massage the tension away before it settled there permanently.
Great. Another fire to put out.
The new town center Future Industries was funding was supposed to be her big project of the quarter—a sleek, modern space with green roofing and multi-use workspaces. Only now, their original contractor had apparently bailed at the last minute, and no one had bothered to inform her. Typical. She’d been too swamped with client meetings and blueprint approvals to double-check the logistics, something her father had always told her to “leave it to the men.”
So, of course, he’d already hired a replacement without even looping her in.
At least, she supposed, that was one less thing on her plate.
As she turned down the street, the steel skeleton of the new building loomed into view. Dust blew across the concrete, swirling in the air as a few workers buzzed around the site. She parked behind a blue pickup truck—scuffed, well-used, and somehow charming in its ruggedness—and stepped out of her sleek company car. Immediately, a gust of wind hit her, carrying dry air and powdered cement. She blinked rapidly and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Wonderful. She was already regretting wearing heels.
Asami adjusted the lapels of her tailored red blazer and stepped through the temporary fencing, expecting to have to scold someone for slacking off. But instead… everyone was already working. Efficiently. The sound of power tools hummed steadily, interspersed with measured shouting between crewmates. She blinked.
That was new.
The last crew had been late to every shift and chronically behind schedule. She’d had to micromanage them just to get anything done. How they even got a contract with Future Industries was beyond her, but… well. Good riddance.
This pace, this energy, was more to her liking.
She scanned the area for anyone who looked like they were in charge but didn’t immediately spot anyone in a vest with a clipboard. So, she cleared her throat.
“Excuse me? Where’s your foreman?”
One of the workers, a wiry man in his forties, jerked a thumb toward the far corner of the lot without looking up.
Asami craned her neck to follow his gesture. Her eyes landed on someone crouched near a column, holding one end of a retractable measuring tape against a beam. Broad shoulders. Brown skin glinting with a thin sheen of sweat. A tool belt slung low on her hips. And wait.
A woman?
Asami blinked, momentarily thrown. She gathered herself and started walking.
As she approached, the woman reeled the tape back in and muttered to herself, focused and unaware. She wore the same hard hat as the others, a carpenter’s pencil tucked behind one ear, and grease stains smudging the edge of her navy tank top. Her exposed arms were solid muscle, not bulky, but strong. Earned. Her hands looked calloused, like she worked with them every day.
There was something striking about the effortless and confident way she moved, like the space bent around her. And when Asami got closer and spoke, “Hi. Are you the foreman?”
The woman jolted upright like she’d been caught off-guard, fumbling the tape measure, which snapped back with a metallic whip .
“Geez,” she muttered, placing a hand over her chest. “Warn a girl next time.”
Then she turned, and for some reason, Asami’s breath caught, and the world stopped spinning.
Her face was flushed from the sun, cheek smudged with dirt, a rogue strand of thick brown hair sticking out from under her helmet. There was a raw, unfiltered energy about her, an ease in her skin, and the kind of presence that made everything else dull by comparison.
And her eyes. They were the brightest, clearest blue Asami had ever seen. Like sunlight breaking through the deepest ocean. She didn’t understand why she was taking the time to observe this woman’s features in such detail; she’d never been the type. Normally, she looked, assessed, and moved on. But something about this woman made her eyes linger.
Asami quickly realized the foreman was staring back at her, mouth slightly parted, a faint pink rising on her cheeks. Maybe she’d been working under the sun too long. Asami’s gaze flicked to the sky, then back to the woman’s flushed skin. Did she need water? They should really install a water station on-site. Another thing for the checklist.
“So, what do you need?” the woman asked, snapping Asami out of her thoughts with a voice that was warm but slightly raspy. It held just a hint of impatience, like she wasn’t in the mood for formalities. “I’ve got a lot to do here, so...”
Asami cleared the lump in her throat, pushing aside the strange twist in her stomach. She stepped forward and offered her hand, saying simply, “I’m Asami Sato.” That should have been enough. Her surname usually spoke for itself.
The foreman eyed her hand for a second too long, then took it. Her grip was firm and rough, her palms calloused with work, but there was a surprising gentleness to the way she held on. Asami felt the faint heat on her cheeks return. Definitely the sun, she told herself. It was getting hot out here. She’d have to check if the workers had enough shade.
When they let go, the woman nodded in recognition. “Ah. You’re Hiroshi’s daughter, right? The one in charge of this project?”
So she knew who she was. That helped Asami get her confidence back. “Yes. And I’m also the lead engineer,” she added, then cringed internally. Why had she said that? It wasn’t like she needed to prove anything to this woman. Still, she hated the way the words had slipped out.
The woman raised a brow but didn’t comment. “Nice to meet you, Lead Engineer Sato. I’m Korra Imaq, the foreman and lead carpenter of the site,” she replied with a cocky smirk.
Heat bloomed in Asami’s cheeks once more at the jab. If she wasn’t so embarrassed, Asami would’ve thought that Korra’s name was beautiful. Instead, she scoffed, rolling her eyes. As the only two women in the site, Asami thought she’d have someone to get her back and make a new friend. Looked like she was wrong. Walking toward a table, she went straight to business, placing a manila folder on top of it. “I see. Ms. Korra, I have here the contract as Future Industries’ new contractor for Republic City’s new town center. My apologies for the last-minute call, and thank you for accepting our project on such short notice.”
Korra followed her and stood across her on the other side of the table. She opened the folder and studied the contract. Thoroughly. After a while, Asami tapped her toes on the ground, patience wearing thin. How long would this woman read the contract? They were not going to undercut them. They were Future Industries, for God’s sake.
Her disdain must’ve shown in her face. Korra glanced up from the papers, still sporting a smirk on her face. “Alright. Contract looks good. You’re lucky we don’t have any other projects and everyone’s available. Don’t worry, Miss Sato. We’ll build this center before you know it,” Korra winked, before turning around to tend to whatever she was doing before Asami approached her.
“Uh!” Asami was incensed. The nerve of this woman! As a professional, she should’ve let it go. Should’ve walked away and reported back to the office like nothing happened. But something in her twisted, just slightly. And before she could stop herself, she said, “Well, I’d appreciate it if you took this project a little more seriously, Miss Korra. This center is important to a lot of people.”
Korra paused mid-step, half-turned with a coil of measuring tape still in hand. Her brows lifted, then furrowed just enough to make it clear she’d heard the edge in Asami’s voice. “Did I say something that made you think I wasn’t serious?” she challenged.
Asami lifted her chin, refusing to waver. “You just seem awfully casual about a multi-million yuan project.”
Korra looked irritated now. “Casual doesn’t mean careless. I just don’t see the point in making everything feel like a funeral.” Then she tipped her head slightly, like she was assessing something deeper than blueprints. “Don’t worry, Ms. Sato. We’ll get it done. You’ll see.”
And just like that, she turned back around and walked off toward the scaffolding like the conversation hadn’t dug under her skin in the slightest.
And it was only the first day.
—
The week went by with some kind of a routine. Every morning at seven, Asami would arrive at the construction site. She and Korra would exchange updates on the day’s progress, sometimes barely tolerating each other, other times exchanging clipped comments laced with barely-veiled tension. After that, Asami would leave for the office at nine, where paperwork, meetings, and model revisions filled the rest of her day. It was simple. Predictable.
Or at least, it should’ve been. Except it wasn’t.
The first few days were… tense.
Not in the way that involved yelling or direct conflict—no, that would’ve been easier. Instead, it was a careful, simmering kind of tension. The kind where words were chosen too precisely. Where every interaction felt like a subtle game of who could sound more polite while being slightly condescending.
They reviewed blueprints every morning. Korra would lean over the plans like she owned them, pencil in hand, brows furrowed as if she were the engineer.
“You sure about this load-bearing wall?” she’d ask casually, tapping the page twice. “Just feels a little over-reinforced.”
Asami would smile through gritted teeth. “It’s not over-reinforced. It’s structurally sound and built to last, unlike guesswork.”
That earned a snort from Korra, but she didn’t argue. She just adjusted her gloves and went on barking instructions to the crew like nothing happened.
One time, Korra pointed toward the half-finished beams. “We’re starting the joists tomorrow, so if anything changes on your end, just let me know.”
Asami crossed her arms. “And how exactly am I supposed to do that? Send a raven?”
Korra blinked, then let out a quiet laugh. “Or, you know… you could just text me.” Before Asami could fire back, Korra held out her phone with a raised brow. “Number?”
Asami hesitated, eyeing her like she was trying to decide if this was a power play. But eventually, she rattled it off. Korra typed quickly, then smirked when Asami’s phone buzzed a second later.
[Hey, it’s Korra 🛠️]
Asami stared at the message, then back at her.
“Now you have mine, too,” Korra said, her grin annoyingly smug. “Just in case.”
Asami rolled her eyes, but she didn’t delete the message.
Other times, it was the smallest things. Korra arriving ten minutes early to “double-check” the material inventory—Asami’s job. Asami staying late to “review the on-site execution”—Korra’s job. Neither of them mentioned it outright, but the message was clear.
I don’t trust you.
And I don’t need to say it out loud.
And yet, they worked. The building slowly rose from its foundation—walls framed, pipes laid, glass deliveries scheduled. Professionalism was maintained. But underneath all that efficiency was the constant awareness of each other’s presence. Every glance, every silence, every clipped reply.
Asami had worked with difficult people before. She’d worked with sexist engineers, egotistical executives, and arrogant designers, but there was something about Korra that grated differently. Maybe it was because she wasn’t incompetent. She was actually good. Too good. And somehow that made her smugness even harder to swallow.
Still, Asami refused to let it show. Not really. She wore her professionalism like a second skin, smiled when she had to, and nodded when appropriate. But inside? She was constantly bracing for the next eye roll, the next smart-ass remark.
The worst part was that Korra didn’t seem bothered. If anything, she looked like she was enjoying the friction. Like it was a game, she knew she was winning. It was irritating.
Because lately, she noticed something more underneath the passive-aggressiveness. She’d hang back just a little longer than necessary, pretending to check her notes or adjust her bag strap. In truth, her eyes always drifted toward one direction—toward Korra. And she didn’t know why she was doing something so ridiculous. She never did things like this. She wasn’t the type to… stare. But still, she did.
She watched the way Korra moved, how her muscles flexed beneath her shirt whenever she lifted long beams of polished lumber or carried crates of tile with ease. She watched the way Korra laughed with the other workers, like they were all old friends instead of employees. And most irritating of all, she noticed the way her entire face lit up when she smiled.
And the image of Korra taking off her protective clothes, revealing her tank top and her biceps, haunted Asami’s dreams all week. And it was only one time!
By the next Friday, as she drove to the site, Korra was still the first thought in her mind. The very annoying , overly confident, smirking foreman who thought winking at her while lifting tile was appropriate behavior on a worksite.
Asami clenched the steering wheel harder just remembering it. She shook her head. No. Korra wasn’t interesting. She was just irritating. That’s all it was. She was—
“Ugh!” Asami let out a low groan as she stepped out of her car, still mentally stewing. She marched straight into the site and made a beeline for the temporary plans table they had set up near the storage area.
“Be careful, you might get splinters!”
The voice came from behind, just as her palm skidded across the surface. Asami yelped, an uncharacteristic, startled sound leaving her throat. She snatched her hand back instinctively, already feeling the sting bloom beneath her skin.
She looked down. A small, jagged shard of wood had embedded itself in her palm, just below her thumb. “Dammit!”
“Hey, are you alright?” Korra was suddenly beside her, reaching for her hand without hesitation.
Asami’s breath hitched at the contact, nearly pulling away. But she didn’t. Her heart thudded louder than it should’ve as Korra gently led her to one of the chairs by the table. She sat without protest, too thrown off to argue, as Korra dug into her bag and retrieved a compact first aid kit.
Trying to fill the silence, Asami said, “You’re not going to say ‘I told you so’?”
“What? Why would I?” Korra replied as she crouched down, carefully plucking out the splinter with a pair of tweezers.
“Because you like to do that,” Asami said, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Talking to you this past two weeks, I know you like to rub it in my face when you’re right.”
Korra didn’t rise to the bait. She just poured Betadine onto a cotton ball and dabbed it on the wound with unexpected gentleness. Then she reached for a Band-Aid and smoothed it carefully over her palm.
It felt excessive, but Asami didn’t say anything.
“Oh really?” Korra said at last, glancing up at her. “You know me?”
“Yes,” Asami replied, lifting her chin a little.
Korra stood then, arms crossing over her chest. “Okay. What’s my favorite food?”
“What?”
“Or my favorite color?”
Asami stared at her, blinking. “What are you talking about?”
“You said you know me,” Korra repeated, voice flat now. “So answer the questions.”
“I…” Asami’s lips parted, but nothing came out. Of course, she didn’t know. They weren’t friends. They were barely coworkers. And… Korra was right.
“See?” Korra uncrossed her arms and moved to the other side of the table. With smooth, practiced ease, she unrolled a set of blueprints and weighed them down with a metal square. “So maybe don’t act like you’ve figured me out when you haven’t.”
The words weren’t cruel, but they landed harder than Asami expected.
A few minutes of silence settled between them, broken only by the clatter of materials and the low hum of voices as the rest of the crew started their day. Korra eventually picked up where she left off, pointing to one of the beams on the blueprint and discussing the next stages of framing. Her tone was even, professional.
But Asami wasn’t listening. Something gnawed at her. She was wrong, and she hated being wrong. But more than that, she hated what that meant. That she owed someone an apology.
She cut in without thinking. “I’m sorry.”
Korra blinked, caught mid-sentence. “This post is gonna—Huh?”
“I’m sorry,” Asami repeated, meeting her gaze. “I don’t know why I’ve been so hostile to you. The past couple of weeks, I kept telling myself I was just being professional, but… the truth is, I was judging you. I already had this idea of who you were before we even talked, and I treated you like you were one of the businessmen I dealt with before.”
Korra tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. Asami exhaled.
“I’ve been judged like that before. People assume I don’t belong just because of my last name or my gender. And somehow, I did the same to you. I thought you were careless or unprofessional, just because you didn’t act the way I expected you to. So… yeah. I’m sorry.”
There. She said it. Her shoulders felt a little lighter, though the awkward weight of silence lingered in the air between them.
Korra didn’t answer right away. She stared at her for a few seconds too long, and Asami became hyperaware of everything—her posture, her tone, her fingers still resting on the edge of the table. Finally, Korra let out a breath and slumped her shoulders.
“Yeah,” she said. “Apology accepted.”
The words landed heavier than Asami anticipated. A quiet sort of warmth settled in her chest—relief, maybe. Or something else. Either way, she was grateful. “Thank you.”
Korra offered a small, almost sheepish, smile. “To be fair… I judged you, too. Thought you were just another prissy, pretty rich girl who lucked into her job because of her last name.” Asami’s brows shot up, lips parting in protest, but Korra raised a hand quickly. “I know. I’m sorry about that,” she added. “But I’ve seen you show you know your stuff. More than some of the guys I worked with. And I’m wrong about you.”
As she spoke, the muscles beneath her protective vest shifted with her movement. Asami’s gaze flicked toward the motion before she could stop it, and she quickly blinked, forcing her focus back to the conversation. Thankfully, the warmth threatening her cheeks didn’t rise.
“Apology accepted,” she said coolly.
“Thanks.” Korra’s lopsided smile returned as she extended her hand again. “Start over?”
Asami looked at the hand and this time, took it without hesitation. “Start over.”
And just like that, for the first time since the project began, they had a real conversation.