Sukejuro Ichibei sat hunched over his computer, the soft glow of the screen reflecting off his weary eyes. The rhythmic clacking of the keys was the only sound in the quiet, dimly lit office. He glanced at the clock—almost finished for today. The thought brought a small sigh of relief, though his fingers continued to type at a frantic pace.
"Ichibei, hurry! We have to finish this paperwork before the end of the day. It's vital for the company meeting tomorrow," came the voice of Hirose Tsuki, sharp yet laced with an undertone of stress.
Ichibei straightened in his seat, a surge of anxiety quickening his movements. He had only been at this temp job for a week, having stumbled into it after a grueling and humiliating job search in an unforgiving economic climate. The desperation that clung to him had driven him to work harder than ever before, but the pressure weighed heavily on his shoulders.
Ms. Hirose… Ichibei thought with a mix of admiration and unease. She was his mentor, the one who had taken him under her wing, guiding him through the labyrinth of corporate life. He respected her for her dedication and expertise, even as the demands of the job drained him.
"I'm finished. Could you take a look at my work?" Ichibei called out, his voice tight with the hope that he hadn't made any mistakes this time.
Ms. Hirose, a petite woman no taller than 162.5 cm, with a figure that balanced soft curves and sharp edges, approached Ichibei's desk. As she leaned over his chair, Ichibei couldn't help but notice the way she moved—graceful and deliberate, like a rabbit peeking over a ledge. He found it endearing, a rare moment of softness in the otherwise harsh world of corporate work.
"Good… good…" she murmured as her eyes scanned the document. "Great… wait a minute, Ichibei—you put an extra zero here. Redo this part, and pay extra attention to the details," she instructed, her voice tinged with a disheartened tone that made Ichibei's stomach drop.
This went on for hours. The hands of the clock crawled to 10 pm, far beyond the standard 9-to-5 workday. The repetitive task of redoing the sheets from the top due to small errors gnawed at Ichibei's patience and energy. His thoughts began to drift, hunger gnawing at his insides as he fantasized about food, craving something to break the monotony.
"Ichibei, are you hungry? Would you like to get something to eat with me? I know a great bar," Ms. Hirose asked, her voice soft and almost sheepish as she glanced at him.
Ichibei blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. "Of course," he replied, standing from his desk, feeling the stiffness in his muscles as he moved. Ms. Hirose was already at the door, waiting for him with an almost shy smile.
As they walked out together, Ichibei felt a strange sense of closeness. When Ms. Hirose took his arm, it wasn't in the professional, detached manner he was used to. There was something more personal, more intimate, in the way she held onto him as they made their way to the bar she had mentioned.
The bar was a cozy, dimly lit place with the hum of soft music and the clinking of glasses. The scent of sizzling food and alcohol hung in the air, wrapping around Ichibei like a comforting blanket. He hadn't realized how tense he had been until that moment. They ordered rounds of alcohol and wings, the greasy, savory smell making his mouth water.
One, two, three, four, five—Ichibei lost count of how many drinks they had ordered as the night wore on. His face grew warm, a rosy hue creeping up his cheeks. Ms. Hirose, however, was far ahead, her own face flushed as she leaned heavily on the table, her gaze unfocused and sad.
"Ichibei… I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the buzz of the bar. There was a faint whimper in her tone, a crack in her usually composed demeanor.
Ichibei's heart clenched at the sight of her like this, vulnerable and dejected. He reached out, placing his hand over hers, wanting to comfort her, though he didn't know what was wrong. For a brief moment, she seemed to relax under his touch, a flicker of relief crossing her features.
But the moment was fleeting. Ms. Hirose abruptly rose from her seat, swaying slightly as she stumbled toward the door. She paused, hand resting on the handle, and turned back to Ichibei with a teary smile.
"Ichibei… walk me to the station," she asked, her voice trembling.
Without hesitation, Ichibei was on his feet, moving to her side. Together, they stumbled through the night, their drunken steps uneven and unsteady. As they approached the station, Ichibei noticed how quiet Ms. Hirose had become, her grip on his arm tightening as if she were holding onto him for dear life.
They stood by the edge of the platform, waiting for the train. The station was eerily quiet, the only sound the distant rumble of the approaching train. Ms. Hirose gazed at Ichibei, her eyes glossy with unshed tears.
The train's headlights pierced through the darkness, growing brighter and brighter as it neared. Ichibei felt a strange sense of unease, a gnawing dread that he couldn't quite place.
And then, without warning, Ms. Hirose took a step back, a sad smile on her face as she whispered, "Thank you…" before she fell backward onto the tracks.
Time slowed to a crawl as Ichibei watched in horror. His body moved on instinct, lunging forward as he grabbed for her hand, his heart pounding in his chest. He managed to catch her just in time, using his weight and momentum to pull her back onto the platform. But in doing so, he lost his own balance, and before he could react, he was falling, the bright lights of the bullet train rushing toward him. The impact was immediate. Blinding light, a flash of pain, and then… nothing.