Chapter 32: Volume 1, - 32: A Slow Thursday at Suite 302
Thursday, 9 March 2023
The fifth step on the stairwell landing between the first and second floors always groaned twice. It was a dull, wooden friction sound. A low creak-clack that echoed through the narrow stairwell every morning before taking Ren’s full weight. He had stopped noticing it, but today, in the quiet morning air, the familiar sound felt strangely grounding.
On the second floor, the heavy oak door to Tanaka Tailoring stood propped open three inches with an antique cast-iron pressing iron. Inside, old Mr. Tanaka sat behind his long cutting table under a low-hanging green lampshade, his small radio playing a muffled Showa-era instrumental tune. Steam hissed softly from his pressing iron, smelling of hot wool and damp cotton. Ren offered a brief, polite nod through the gap as he passed, receiving a quiet nod in return from the old man without a break in his steady scissor cuts.
Further up, on the fourth floor, a contractor’s renovation crew had been working since eight. Every twenty minutes, the sharp, reverberating whine of a hammer drill echoed down through the concrete ceiling, followed by the dull thud of timber being stacked against exposed framing.
Ren unlocked Suite 302, stepped inside, and let the heavy door latch shut behind him.
The room was cool and still. Dust motes drifted lazily through the pale morning sunlight filtering through the slatted blinds.
There were no client appointments scheduled for the day, no urgent bank follow-ups, and no estate consultations pending. It was a day built entirely of empty hours.
Ren set his shoulder bag on the main desk, rolled up his sleeves, and decided to spend the morning on tasks he usually pushed to the margins of his week.
He started with the floor. Pulling a small broom and dustpan from the narrow utility closet beside the washroom, he swept the linoleum inch by inch, moving the wooden chairs aside to reach the grey dust that accumulated along the skirting boards. Outside, the street traffic hummed along the main avenue, punctuated by the occasional rattle of a delivery van turning into the back alley.
After sweeping, he pulled a small tube of graphite grease and a flathead screwdriver from his canvas tool wrap. The bottom drawer of the metal filing cabinet had been sticking for days, catching on its lower guide rail whenever it was pulled past the midpoint. Ren knelt on the floor, pulled the heavy steel drawer completely off its track, and wiped away the hardened grey grease from the ball-bearing slides. He applied a fresh, thin line of lubricant along both rails and worked the drawer back into place. It slid shut with a smooth, satisfying mechanical click.
By noon, the contractors upstairs paused their drilling for lunch, leaving the building in profound silence. The only sound remaining was the faint, rhythmic ticking of the wall clock above the bookshelf.
Ren sat at his desk, opened his ledger, and began clearing out the administrative queue. He logged three minor operational receipts. A roll of clear tape, a packet of blue felt pens, and a box of heavy paperclips, entering each figure into the digital expense log down to the single yen. He straightened the stack of blank intake sheets, refilled the printer’s paper tray, and wiped down the laminate surfaces with a damp microfibre cloth.
At two in the afternoon, as he was filing a fresh sheaf of blank carbon-copy receipts, his phone vibrated against the desk mat.
The screen displayed Yui’s name. Ren picked it up, pressing the receiver to his ear.
"Hello, Morita-san?"
"Good afternoon, Kisaragi-san," Yui said softly over the line. Her voice was light and gentle, accompanied by the quiet hum of the QuickMart breakroom refrigerator in the background. "I hope I’m not interrupting your work."
"Not at all," Ren replied, leaning back against his chair. "It’s a very quiet day today. Just organising files and cleaning."
"That sounds nice," Yui murmured, a sweet, quiet smile evident in her tone. "It’s quite busy here today. Endo-san has spent the last two hours reorganising the storage racks in the back freezer, so everyone is stepping very carefully around the counter."
"I see," Ren said, a faint, dry trace of humour touching his voice. "I suppose that means the floor grates are spotless."
Yui let out a small, soft chuckle. "He hasn’t mentioned the grates today, thankfully. Oh. Sato-san brought in a large box of mandarins this morning. I put two of them inside your locker in the breakroom so they’ll be there for your shift tomorrow night."
Ren paused, touched by the simple, thoughtful gesture. "Thank you, Morita-san. That’s very sweet of you."
"I just wanted to make sure you’d actually stopped for lunch today," she replied gently, her voice dipping lower as someone passed the breakroom door.
"I had lunch an hour ago," Ren assured her calmly. "Don’t worry."
"I’m glad," Yui said softly. "I should get back to the floor before Endo-san comes out of the freezer. Have a peaceful afternoon, Kisaragi-san."
"Thank you. Take care with the shift, Morita-san."
The line went quiet as she hung up. Ren set the phone back on his desk mat, the gentle warmth of the brief conversation lingering in the quiet room.
He stood up, walked over to the window, and opened the glass pane an inch to let in the crisp March air. Below in the alley, a steam valve released a pale white plume from Mr. Tanaka’s pressing shop, dissolving quickly into the chilly afternoon sky. Upstairs, the contractors resumed work with a low, rhythmic thud of a rubber mallet against wood, but the sound felt distant and unobtrusive.
Ren made himself a cup of hot green tea, leaning against the edge of his desk while the steam rose into the quiet air.
Three months ago, a day like this. Devoid of immediate tasks or pressing deadlines would have filled him with cold, suffocating panic. In those days, an unscheduled afternoon meant wasted hours, lost income, and the relentless, creeping dread of unpaid interest accumulating faster than he could work. Every quiet moment had felt like a trap, a temporary lull before another financial blow landed.
Now, he looked across the clean, ordered space of Suite 302. The rent for the month was fully settled. The payroll for Nanami was logged and scheduled. The client ledgers were balanced to the single yen, and his own personal accounts were stable. The quiet of the room was no longer an empty void waiting to be filled with panic; it was simply space.
He finished his tea, washed the cup at the small sink, and returned to his desk to review the upcoming schedule for Friday.