Her gaze shifted to the phone lying beside her. With a weak, almost lifeless movement, she reached for it. Her skin was pale—deathly pale—like a ghost clinging to its last breath of flesh.

“...5:48 AM?”

The words left her mouth in a trembling whisper. Her voice was thin, fragile, as if the act of speaking alone exhausted her. Her hands shook uncontrollably—hunger gnawing from the inside, exhaustion pressing down from the outside. Her mind was a fog, blank except for one persistent thought: work.

Slowly, she dragged herself toward the edge of the sofa.

A faint, bitter grin tugged at her lips. She had just taken what people would call a “beauty nap” on this hard, lumpy excuse of a couch. Pushing herself upright, her legs buckled instantly, trembling with weakness.

How many days has it been since I last ate?

She didn’t know. She didn’t care. All she could do was move—one dragging step toward her office desk.

“Damnit… I forgot about these…”

A heavy sigh slipped past her lips as she picked up her laptop and carried it to the dining table. The moment she opened it, a sharp blue glare spilled over her face, revealing eyes disturbingly blank, empty of light.

“So… how many do I have left again? SUBJECT: [HQ DAILY REPORT REQUEST]… What?”

Her stomach sank. She snatched her phone from the couch, scanning the email with growing dread. Shit. I forgot about the daily reports HQ requested.

The form was standard—tedious, but mandatory. A checklist of numbers, updates, and notes that every assigned worker had to submit to headquarters before the deadline. And she… had forgotten.

Already, she could hear the sting of her seniors’ voices echoing in her head.

Minutes slipped away—6:10, 6:20… now 6:29 AM. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, desperation dripping from every keystroke. She stared into the pixel glow like it was the only thing keeping her alive.

Then—beep!

Her alarm ripped through the silence. 6:30 AM.

She slammed the laptop shut, but as she rose, her body betrayed her—her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the cold, unyielding floor.

Her legs wouldn’t carry her. Not even for a single step. Sweat prickled her skin. The clock in her head screamed: The office. Now.

Crawling, she dragged herself up using whatever her hands could grab—chair backs, shelves, doorframes. Her knees shook violently, threatening to give way again.

No time to eat. No time to breathe. She brushed her teeth, slipped into her office clothes, and grabbed the brown briefcase lying on the bedroom floor. In went the laptop, documents, files, phone—anything she needed.

One glance at the clock: “6:47 AM.”

“Ugh—why is the world so unfair…” she muttered, shoving a snack into her bag to pacify the hollow ache clawing at her stomach.

Then she was out the door—without even locking it.

The walk to the station was a blur—twenty-five minutes swallowed in a haze of weak steps and cold air. The train ride stretched to forty more before she finally reached her stop.

But instead of relief, reality struck her like a slap—this early in the dawn, and yet the station was already flooded with people.

Her chest tightened.

A heavy sigh slipped from her pale lips. Her right hand fumbled inside her uniform pocket until she pulled out her phone.

[7:12 AM]

Her eyes widened. Sweat trickled down her temple as her heart raced. I’m definitely going to get scolded. She rushed down the escalator, pushing through the sea of strangers.

The train hadn’t arrived yet, and the station air was suffocating. Too many people, too little space. Every breath carried the stench of sweat, perfume, and stale coffee. Her gaze shifted again to the screen in her hand.

[7:20 AM]

The announcement rang overhead—the train was finally arriving. As the doors opened, Haeru pushed her way inside, bumping shoulders without apology.

Her eyes shook as her thoughts spiraled, replaying her seniors’ cold words with cruel clarity.

“Haeru, may I ask what this is? Why does it say you only submitted one report for Chief Hittoki?”

“You’re kind of useless, aren’t you?”

“Is it just me, or does your face get uglier each day?”

That calm yet merciless tone echoed in Haeru’s mind. Her hands trembled as though her body still carried the trauma of every sharp word they had ever thrown at her.

Minutes crawled by before the train finally reached her stop. Her legs threatened to give out with each step, her stomach screaming for food. But as always, Haeru ignored it.

She stepped onto the station tiles, her stride uneven, fragile. Fear clung to her with every movement, every shallow breath. By the time she reached the office building, her vision blurred. Still, she forced herself through the transparent glass doors.

The sound of heels striking tile echoed across the lobby—click, click, click.

A woman’s silhouette approached, arms crossed, eyes sharp and unyielding. Her perfume lingered in the air, rich and expensive. Haeru froze.

“It’s late, Haeru.”

The words slid off Chief Setsuko’s lips like ice.

A shiver ran through Haeru’s spine. Her gaze fell to the ground, her body shrinking into itself. Her vision wavered.

The sharp sound of heels closed in—closer, closer. Then, without warning, something scorching spilled over her head.

Haeru flinched, but didn’t move to defend herself. Hot coffee drenched her hair, seared her scalp, burned her neck and ears until her pale skin glowed red.

The office remained indifferent. Fingers hammered on keyboards. Printers churned out paper. Conversations carried on as if nothing had happened.

Chief Setsuko laughed.

“Pathetic. I bet you’ll be the same pathetic mess in your next life.”

Haeru’s heart clenched, but she said nothing. The burning lingered on her skin as she quietly sat at her desk.

Her blank eyes flickered across the computer screen. A flood of emails filled her inbox.

[Total loan from ****: ¥635,820]

[Total loan from ****: ¥719,156]

[Total loan from ****: ¥23,028]

[Total loan from ****: …]

Her head spun. The numbers blurred together, each one cutting deeper than the last.

It was all because of him—her late father.

That man had ruined her mother’s life, and hers too. The caring, loving father she once knew had been nothing more than a mask. What he left behind wasn’t love, wasn’t comfort—only a mountain of debt stretching across Japan.

A bitter sigh escaped her lips. Her eyes glistened, but no tears fell.

She turned back to her computer screen, letting herself sink into that artificial glow—the only escape from a reality she no longer wanted to face.

–End