Giri stepped out of his apartment into the morning street. His satchel rattled over his shoulder as he closed the door.
His gaze lingered on the bike leaning against the wall, collecting dust. It was his means of travel in the past. But lately, the train had been more convenient, not just for catching up with the news during his commute but also for his latest obsession—VTuber streams.
At the station, Giri swiped his IC card and found a seat by the window. He pulled out his phone just in time for the stream to start.
A white-haired shark girl appeared on his screen, her cheerful voice filling his earphones. She was playing some kind of survival crafting game.
"It's... uh... structurally sound... probably!" she said, stepping back to admire the lopsided house she'd just built. The chat exploded with encouraging messages and playful teasing.
The train passed the old park, and Giri glanced at the ancient tree in the center. It had been there since he was a kid. He remembered running around its base with his mom and dad during weekend visits. Later, field trips with Shizuka and Moriya to relax and brainstorm ideas under its shade.
Now it watched him commute to work alone every morning. Same tree, different life.
He couldn't help but compare how tiny his life was against nature. The tree would outlive him, outlive his problems, outlive everything he thought was important.
The automated announcement chimed, snapping him back to reality. His stop at the SolarTech complex had arrived.
The train doors slid open and Giri stepped into the bright, warm morning sunlight. He joined the stream of people heading toward the building. The crowd around him was diverse - hijabs, saris, business suits from every corner of the world. SolarTech's global reach on full display.
On the other side of the entrance, black cars lined up like dominoes. Men in identical dark suits stepped out, nothing like the colorful crowd of employees. Among them stood Yuki, phone pressed to his ear, brow furrowed in concentration.
Giri was stopped by Yuki in the elevator lobby.
"Do you mind taking the next one? This will be quick."
Giri nodded, stepping away from the gathering crowd.
"It's about the phone call I just received," Yuki lowered his voice. "The S.I.P - they found some compatibility problem at headquarters. They suspect the one here will have the same issue."
"A team of engineers will come and take a look this morning," Yuki continued. "So it won't be available after afternoon."
"Which means..."
"Means your test will be delayed." Yuki's expression softened with sympathy. "I know you already scheduled your work for it."
Giri exhaled, his shoulders dropping. "As long as it gets fixed."
Yuki leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "I haven't told you how to get... there... have I?" His eyes darted around the lobby. "It's simple. Swipe the card, press and hold B1. When the button changes color, you should arrive at your destination in moments."
Giri nodded and headed to his floor.
The air felt different today—thicker and more focused. Maybe it was just him, or maybe the deadline pressure had finally gotten to everyone. Usually, Kenji would greet him with some witty comment about coffee or code, but today his colleague remained hunched over his monitor, fingers flying across the keyboard. Hane mirrored the same intense focus, her screen reflecting lines of code in her glasses.
Giri settled into his chair, the familiar creak offering little comfort. His phone buzzed in his pocket. An unknown number.
"Giri Tran? This is a representative from the Heiwa Detention Center. We're calling regarding your mother."
Giri tensed. The voice continued in that flat, official tone.
"Her case has been reopened. We are currently working on it internally. She will have the same lawyer as last time unless she herself requests a change. There is no action needed from you at this time; we are simply calling to inform you of the status since you are the next of kin. If you have any further questions, you are welcome to visit our center."
Giri's grip tightened around his phone. 'No action needed' - the phrase echoed through his mind, bitter and familiar. His family had taken every possible action years ago. They'd hired lawyers, gathered evidence, filed appeals. Yet here they were, still waiting for justice while his mother sat behind bars.
A frustrated sigh caught his attention. Hane sat at her desk with tense shoulders and a deep frown, fingers drumming against her keyboard.
"Everything alright, Hane?"
She spun her chair to face him, running a hand through her disheveled hair.
"I'm stuck on this reward system." Her screen displayed multiple windows of code and debug logs. "I've set up all the triggers correctly. The event flags are firing, the database is updating... everything should be working. But players aren't receiving their rewards."
She scrolled through lines of code, highlighting sections as she spoke.
"See? The reward function is being called, but for some reason, it's not actually distributing the items. I've checked the item database, the player inventories... everything checks out. I'm completely stumped."
Giri leaned closer to her monitor, scanning the code.
"Have you checked the transaction logs?" He pointed to a minimized window. "Sometimes, if there's a database lock or a timeout, the transaction might fail without throwing an explicit error."
Hane's eyes widened. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up the logs.
"The transaction logs..." She scrolled rapidly until stopping at a particular entry.
"Here!" Her cursor highlighted a line of red text. "Look, it says 'Transaction Aborted: Deadlock Detected.' What does that mean?"
Giri rolled his chair closer. "Mind if I?"
She nodded, scooting aside to give him space.
"A deadlock. That's... tricky. It usually happens when two or more processes are trying to access the same database resources at the same time, and they end up blocking each other. It's like two cars trying to cross the same intersection at the same time – they just get stuck."
"So, how do we fix it?"
"The simplest solution would be to implement some sort of locking mechanism or transaction queuing. That way, only one process can access those resources at a time, preventing the deadlock. You could also try optimizing the database queries to be faster, which would reduce the likelihood of a deadlock occurring in the first place."
Hane scribbled quick notes in her notebook, a smile brightening her face. "Thanks, that makes sense now."
"No problem. Let me know if you need help implementing the fix."
Giri returned to his desk and settled back into his work. Hours passed in the familiar rhythm of coding and debugging until an email notification popped up on his screen.
---
Subject: Urgent: Sensory Immersion Pod Testing - Overtime Request
From: Yuki Tanaka
To: Giri Tran
Body:
Giri,
Due to unforeseen technical difficulties encountered by the engineering team in Kaito, the Sensory Immersion Pods will not be fully operational until late this evening. As the "Awakened" expansion deadline is rapidly approaching, we require you to conduct the scheduled testing during overtime hours.
Your participation is crucial to ensure the timely release of the expansion. Paid overtime will be provided for your time.
Please note that the nature of this testing involves highly sensitive pre-release content. Maintaining absolute confidentiality regarding the test and its results is of paramount importance. Please refrain from discussing any aspect of the testing with anyone outside this conversation.
Regards,
Yuki Tanaka
Lead Project Manager
---
Giri's eyes scanned the email again, each word adding weight to his shoulders. The singular recipient line stood out - just him, not the usual team-wide distribution. His cursor hovered over the reply button while his other hand reached for his phone, thumb brushing over his father's contact.
Something about the timing felt wrong. He needed to talk to Yuki about this.
Rising from his desk, Giri headed for the elevator to Yuki's floor. The hallway was empty when he arrived.
Yuki's office door stood ajar, revealing a dark interior. No shuffling papers, no keyboard clicks, just silence. The assistant's desk lamp cast a soft glow as her fingers danced across the keyboard.
"Excuse me," Giri kept his voice gentle, not wanting to startle her. "Have you seen Yuki?"
She looked up, blinking as if emerging from deep concentration. Her glasses reflected the glow of her monitor.
"Oh, Giri. He left a little while ago. Something about an urgent meeting with the higher-ups. He said he'd be out for the rest of the morning, possibly longer."
"Did he... mention anything about the Awakened testing?" Giri tried to maintain a casual tone despite the tension building in his chest.
The assistant's brow furrowed, creating small creases above her glasses.
"Just that there were some... complications. He seemed pretty stressed. Why?"
"I was wondering about the overtime schedule—" Giri caught himself. The email had stressed confidentiality. "Just wanted to clarify a few things."
As he walked back to his desk, Giri pieced things together. Yuki must have sent that email from his phone. The timing and the assistant's words lined up too perfectly.
But why today of all days?
His fingers drummed against his thigh as he considered his options. Something about this whole situation didn't feel right.
For now, he had to focus. The morning's tasks demanded his attention. Lines of code filled his screen as he dove back into work with Hane. Hours passed in the familiar rhythm of debugging and problem-solving.
When lunch break arrived, Giri found a quiet corner in the cafeteria. He stared at his father's number on his phone screen, thumb hovering over the call button.
Taking a deep breath, he pressed it.
"Hello?" His father's voice, warm and familiar, filled the line.
"Hi, Dad," Giri forced brightness into his voice, even as his free hand clenched into a fist under the table.
Giri clutched his phone tighter as his father's warm voice filled the line.
"Giri? Is that you? How are you, son?"
"I'm okay," Giri shifted in his seat. "Work's been busy. How about you?"
After exchanging brief updates about the weather and daily routines, Giri's grip on his phone tightened.
"Dad, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I went to see mom and... got some news. Then work exploded with deadlines and I just... I went straight home and completely spaced on our visit."
A pause. "What news about your mother?"
"They said her case has been reopened. They're handling it internally, and said there's nothing I need to do right now. But..." Giri's voice softened.
"But it's brought everything back," his father completed the thought, his voice gentle.
"I still feel bad about yesterday," Giri's words came out barely above a whisper.
The line went quiet for a moment. Then his father's warm voice returned.
"It's alright, Giri. I understand. Work is important." A light chuckle followed. "Besides, there's nothing much to see here anyway. It's the same old routine. You didn't miss anything exciting."
"But I promised," The guilt weighed heavy in Giri's chest. "I promised I'd be there."
"And I appreciate that," his father's tone remained understanding. "But I know how demanding your job can be. I used to be the same way, you know. Working all hours, always chasing deadlines. I understand what you're going through."
The revelation caught Giri off guard. "You do?"
"Of course," Another soft laugh. "I remember countless times when I had to cancel plans, miss family dinners, because of work. It's part of the job, especially when you're passionate about what you do." A nostalgic pause followed. "Back in my day, it was blueprints and concrete, not lines of code. But the principle is the same. You pour your heart and soul into a project, and sometimes, that means sacrifices. Just promise me you'll take care of yourself. We can reschedule for next week?"
"I will," Giri felt his shoulders relax. "Next week, definitely."
After ending the call, a familiar lightness spread through his chest. The simple act of sharing his struggles had lifted a weight he hadn't realized he'd been carrying.
He closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath as the break room's ambient noise washed over him.
Maybe things would be alright. Maybe this time, things would be different. His mother might actually be released. They could live together again—him, his parents, in the same house. His mother could look after his father while Giri was at work. That would finally ease the guilt he carried about putting his father in the elderly home in the first place, telling himself the staff would be more experienced than he could ever be.
Glancing at his watch, he still had time left in his break. He stood up and headed for the coffee machine, that newfound lightness still lingering.