Jack followed Ryo through side streets and alleys that didn't quite match the city's usual grid — quieter, older. Like forgotten veins of the city where time flowed a little slower. They passed a bakery with steam fogging up the glass, a few faded barber shops, and a little noodle stand tucked between two crooked walls.
Without a word, Ryo stopped at a small corner shop.
"Wait here," he said casually, disappearing inside.
Jack blinked, looking around awkwardly. People passed, a couple dogs barked nearby. He was still thinking about what to say when Ryo stepped back out — one hand holding a warm paper bag, the other carrying two bottled teas.
"Here," Ryo said, tossing the bag to Jack. "You look like you're one collapsed lung away from meeting your ancestors."
Jack caught it. The smell of fresh meat buns and something fried hit him instantly.
"…Why are you doing this?" Jack asked, pulling out a bun and devouring half in one bite. "I mean—thanks—but you don't even know me."
Ryo sipped his drink, walking again. "Sure I do."
Jack narrowed his eyes. "How?"
"You're tired. You're broke. You're not asking for pity, just for something to work. That's all I need to know."
Jack chewed slowly, thoughtful. "That's not really an answer."
"Good. Means you're paying attention."
They walked in silence for a moment, the sounds of the city dimming as they turned another corner.
"So," Jack started, "this vibe — the coat, the glasses, the whole mystery-man thing — is this your job? Like, are you a recruiter or some kind of… philosophical drifter?"
Ryo didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, "You ever feel like the world's too neat? Like everything's arranged just enough to keep you distracted — coffee, work, weekend, repeat?"
Jack hesitated. "…Yeah."
"Well," Ryo said, flipping his newspaper open again as they walked, "that's the lie. The world's not neat. It's cracked. Frayed. Some people see the seams. Some don't."
He flipped to the next page, paused, then looked bored.
"Ugh. Crossword's already filled in. Who gives out newspapers with the puzzle done?" He crumpled the page, tossed it into a nearby bin, and continued, completely unfazed.
Jack raised an eyebrow. "You were saying?"
Ryo waved a hand. "Right, right. Cracks. Seams. Patterns. You — Jack Monroe — happen to stand on one. Whether you like it or not."
"…That doesn't really explain—"
"—It doesn't need to," Ryo cut in. "Some answers spoil the story."
They walked a little farther until they reached the end of the quiet street — and there it was.
A tall, sleek building with mirrored glass and matte black stone rising above them. Twin doors stood at the base — large, spotless, with a silver emblem above them shaped like a half-sun, half-moon.
No name. No number.
Just the sign.
Jack stared up at it. "This is a company?"
"In a manner of speaking," Ryo said, brushing some dust off his coat.
He stepped beside Jack, patting him gently on the shoulder.
"Here's where your maybe ends."
Jack turned. "You're not coming?"
Ryo checked a small, old-fashioned pocket watch from his coat.
"Got a trip in a few hours. Can't miss a second of it," he said with a casual shrug. "Don't worry — if you walk through those doors, you'll figure out more than I could ever explain."
He paused, looked Jack dead in the eye, and smiled.
"And if you don't... well, I'll probably see you again anyway."
With that, Ryo turned and walked down the street, whistling softly as the wind picked up again behind him — lifting the tails of his coat like they were made of smoke.
Jack stood alone in front of the double doors.
He looked up again. No label. No welcome. No guards.
He glanced down at his bag. Still dirty. Still old.
One hand slowly reached out toward the handle.
Then stopped.
He stared at it, heartbeat tapping just a little faster now.
Everything he had gone through today — all the rejection, the hunger, the hopelessness — had led him here.
And now he had to choose.
Jack hesitated for just one more breath. Then he placed his hand on the door handle.
Cool metal.
He pushed.
The double doors opened with a soft hiss, and a wall of cool air met his face — sharp and clean, smelling faintly of paper, ozone, and black coffee.
He stepped inside.
The difference was immediate.
The temperature dropped several degrees thanks to the neatly tucked AC units built along the upper side walls — humming softly, working overtime. The room stretched wide and tall, like a grand open-floor office lifted from a movie scene. Frosted glass dividers stood between rows of desks. Everyone inside moved with purpose.
People hustled from desk to desk, arms loaded with folders and binders. Phones rang. Voices murmured urgent calls. Keyboards clicked like machine guns. Somewhere, a printer beeped and spat out dozens of pages without pause. Someone passed Jack in a hurry, three pens in their mouth and a headset halfway falling off.
It was chaos — but controlled chaos. Efficient.
Alive.
Jack stood still just inside the threshold, staring. His eyes shifted from desk to desk, from blinking monitors to people shouting over shoulder-height dividers, to the glowing company logo on a massive circular light display near the ceiling — a half-sun, half-moon symbol. The same one from the flyer.
He didn't know where to go. Or if he even belonged here.
Then, the door beside him swung open with a low click.
Jack flinched.
A large shadow crossed his path — tall, broad-shouldered, and calm like a wall that could walk. The man who stepped in looked like he belonged in a boxing gym, not behind a desk. Black hair slicked back, thick beard trimmed neat, shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to show forearms built like steel beams.
His presence filled the space without effort.
He stopped, glanced down at Jack, and raised a brow.
"You lost, bud?"
Jack tried to respond, but the words came out tangled.
"Uh—I—I think I—I was told—Ryo said—uh, I—" he stopped himself.
This guy… this was the most physically built person Jack had ever seen in an office setting. His brain couldn't quite file it under "normal."
The man chuckled softly. His voice was warm — deep and casual, like someone used to being both a leader and a neighbor.
"Name's Adam Morgan," he said, extending a strong, steady hand. "Group leader. Ryo's assistant, technically. But he likes to vanish half the time, so I mostly run the ship."
Jack shook his hand weakly, still dazed. "You… know Ryo?"
Adam smirked and pulled out his phone. He raised the screen to show Jack.
A message blinked on the display:
FROM: Ryo Saito
"New guy coming in. Treat him like he matters."
"Ryo's subtle, huh?" Adam added, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "Guess that means you're Jack."
Jack blinked. "How did you know my—?"
"You'd be surprised how fast Ryo works when he wants something done."
Adam gave him a solid pat on the shoulder — not painful, but heavy with presence — then turned toward the rows of desks and motioned for Jack to follow.
"Come on. We'll get you set up."
Jack opened his mouth, trying to ask something, but Adam cut him off before he could form the sentence.
"If you're about to ask where your interview is, don't worry. Around here, we don't care if you've got a degree or a silver tongue. Long as you can type fast, send clean emails, and not crash the system, you'll be just fine."
They passed rows of people tapping away at their keyboards and filing documents into odd-looking wall slots marked by color-coded strips. Jack noticed strange things in the background — things he didn't quite register at first: files labeled in symbols instead of names, printers that printed sideways pages, desks with drawers that opened into pitch-black spaces.
But no one seemed fazed by it. Everyone just worked.
Finally, Adam stopped at an empty desk — spotless, freshly cleaned, with a small computer screen already blinking and ready. A new notepad sat beside the keyboard, still wrapped in plastic.
"There we go. All yours," Adam said, motioning at the chair. "Fresh desk. Fresh start."
Jack looked at it, stunned. "I… thank y—"
Adam cut him off again, gently this time. "No need. We should be the ones saying thank you."
Jack looked confused.
Adam gave a small grin and added:
"And thank you… for trusting this place. Most people walk away before the first door opens."
And with that, Adam walked off into the flow of the office — calm, quiet, and unreadable — leaving Jack alone with his thoughts and a blinking cursor on a clean screen.
He sat down.
Jack sat quietly at the desk, staring at the glowing monitor. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, still unsure.
Behind him, the office buzzed with life — keys tapping, voices rising and falling, printers humming like a living organism with a thousand limbs. It was all so strange. Yet somehow… he didn't feel out of place.
He looked down at the nameplate slid onto the desk's corner.
Blank.
Waiting.
He picked up the pen beside it, held it for a moment, then wrote:
Jack Monroe.
As he leaned back in the chair, the cool air brushed his cheek again.
Far above, the company logo glowed gently on the ceiling — the half-sun, half-moon symbol casting its quiet light down on the room.
Somewhere, in another office, a clock ticked.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow, everything would change.