The office floor fell silent all at once. Chairs shifted, screens lit up with fake busyness, and even the sound of typing grew mechanical, forced. Everyone knew who was coming.
The glass doors opened, and in stepped a group of people.
At the center was Ayaka Takahashi, dressed in a dark tailored suit, her posture sharp, her face calm and unreadable. Beside her walked an older man—her father, Mr. Takahashi, the chairman of the company. His gray hair and dignified aura carried a quiet authority that made the room feel heavier.
Trailing them were the HR head, Emi, and two senior managers, pointing things out as they moved through the office. Their voices were respectful, almost rehearsed.
"This department handles the client data…"
"These are the junior associates' workstations…"
Heads bowed as Ayaka and her father passed by. The employees sat straighter, trying to appear hardworking and valuable. Not a single joke, not a single whisper. The air was stiff with nerves.
Kenji sat at his desk, pretending to review some old files. He didn't even lift his head when the group walked by—he didn't dare. He was just one more shadow in the corner, another name no one remembered.
The group passed him without stopping. Nobody introduced him, nobody spared him a glance.
And just like that, the CEO moved further down the row, her presence leaving the faint scent of perfume and the quiet pressure of importance behind her.
Kenji exhaled slowly. For everyone else, this was a once-in-a-lifetime moment. For him, it was just another reminder of how invisible he was.
Inside the CEO's office, the air was far heavier than the open floor outside. The large glass windows overlooked the city, glowing in the evening haze. Ayaka sat on the leather chair, her posture firm, her expression calm, but her eyes sharp like she was dissecting the room with every glance.
Her father, Mr. Takahashi, stood near the window with his hands behind his back. The senior managers and Emi, the HR head, sat nervously across the desk.
Ayaka finally spoke, her voice smooth but commanding.
"This company has too much dead weight. I've gone through the reports. Productivity is low, especially in the lower departments. That won't continue."
Mr. Takahashi gave a faint nod. "We'll give them one month. After that, those who cannot keep up will be dismissed. It's time to cut unnecessary costs."
A silence followed. No one dared to argue.
Ayaka leaned slightly forward, her sharp eyes turning to Emi.
"Tell me, Emi. Who are the employees worth keeping? I want names. Competent ones. People who actually contribute."
Emi swallowed, straightening her back. "Y-Yes, ma'am. There are a few I'd recommend."
She quickly listed them off:
"Satoshi Tanaka—always ahead with his reports.
Daichi Nakamura—skilled with client communication.
And Hiroshi Kuroda—excellent technical performance."
Ayaka's face remained unreadable, but she nodded. "Good. Keep watching them. If they continue to perform, they'll be safe."
"And the rest?" her father asked without turning his head.
Ayaka's tone didn't waver. "They'll prove themselves in the next month… or they're out."
The room fell silent again. Outside, employees were still pretending to work hard, but none of them knew that invisible lines had just been drawn—lines between those who had value and those who were already considered disposable.
And somewhere on the office floor, Kenji sat, completely unaware that his name had never even been close to mentioned.
(KENJI POV)
That evening, when I finally dragged myself home, my body felt like it was sinking into the floor. I didn't even bother changing my clothes. I just lay down on the bed and, as usual these days, sleep pulled me in almost instantly.
For the past month, it had been the same. No matter what I did, no matter how much coffee I drank, my body always felt heavy, my eyes always threatened to close. It was like my life was shrinking, reduced only to work and sleep. I wondered about it for a moment, but sleep was stronger than my thoughts.
When I opened my eyes the next morning, I felt that same soreness again—my muscles tight, my arms weak, and a faint ache in my head. I sat up slowly, holding my forehead. That was when I noticed something strange.
The room… was spotless.
I blinked, rubbed my eyes, then looked again. The floor was clean, not a single empty cup or crumpled paper lying around. I could see the desk clearly for the first time in weeks. "When… did I do this?" I muttered.
I walked to the kitchen. The sink was empty. All my dirty dishes, which had been piled up for days, maybe weeks, were now washed and stacked neatly. Even the counters gleamed.
My chest tightened a little as I opened the bathroom door. The tiles were clean, the mirror clear. Even the small storeroom, usually stuffed with dust and boxes, was perfectly arranged.
I knew I hadn't done this. I never had the time… or even the energy.
Stepping into the living room, I stopped again. On my desk lay a few neatly folded clothes. Formal ones—shirts, trousers, even a tie. Clothes I didn't remember buying.
"What the hell…" I whispered. My voice sounded strange in the silence of the apartment.
I tried to shake the unease away. I had no time for this. Glancing at the clock, I realized I'd be late if I kept standing here. Still, when I went to shower, I saw something else that made me freeze.
My body.
Even though the scars and cuts were fewer than before, they were still there, scattered across my skin like faint reminders of something I didn't understand. Each time I saw them, the same question returned.
How?
How were they appearing? Why couldn't I remember anything?
But the clock ticked again, pulling me back into the world I couldn't escape. Office. Work. Survival.
I let out a tired sigh, put on the new formal clothes, and walked out of the apartment, ignoring the throbbing in my body. Some things had no answers… at least not yet.