Chapter 55: Volume 1, - 55: Notice Given
The sharp buzz of the automatic doors echoed through QuickMart at seven-fifteen in the morning. Ren stood in aisle two, aligning plastic bottles of green tea on the cold shelf so their labels faced forward.
The white envelope sat in the inner pocket of his jacket, tucked into his locker in the back stockroom. He hadn’t brought it straight to Takashi Endo’s desk when he clocked in. Instead, he had taken his blue apron from the hook, tied the strings behind his waist, and picked up the morning box cutter.
He spent the first two hours on the floor. He restocked daily bento deliveries, wiped down the hot-food display case, and scanned morning coffee orders at register two. An elderly regular who bought steamed buns every Tuesday and Saturday smiled as Ren handed over her change.
The familiarity carried weight. For years, this store had been a grid of physical exhaustion. Yet when his university life had collapsed under the sudden weight of his father’s debt, QuickMart was the only place that had handed him an application form. It had paid his rent when he had no safety net.
At ten-thirty, when the morning rush quieted down, Ren unknotted his apron, folded it neatly over his arm, and stopped at his locker. He took the white envelope from the inner pocket of his jacket and walked into the back office.
Takashi Endo sat behind the metal desk, reviewing the weekly schedule on a scuffed monitor. "What is it, Kisaragi?"
Ren set the folded white envelope on the desk between the keyboard and a paper coffee cup.
Endo picked up the paper, pulled out the letter, and scanned the short text. "Resignation? April tenth? That’s barely nine days from today."
"I’m giving written notice," Ren said. "I can work every scheduled shift through the tenth."
"Nine days isn’t much notice," Endo said, his tone laced with sharp irritation. "April is already thin." He glanced up at Ren, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You’re leaving for that spreadsheet business?"
"Yes."
"Clients stop paying," Endo grunted, tossing the letter onto his desk. "Don’t assume these shifts will still be waiting if you change your mind." He clicked his tongue and looked back at his monitor. "Fine. I’ll process the tenth as your final day. You’re still responsible for every shift already on the roster until then. No last-minute swaps."
"Understood," Ren said.
A hot, sharp surge of anger flared behind Ren’s ribs. He wanted to look Endo in the eye and speak. Tell him about the Crown, his paying clients, the signed Kawashima retainer, the office in Suite 302, and the simple truth that his balance sheet was no longer what Endo imagined. He wanted the petty satisfaction of watching Endo’s dismissive expression shatter.
Ren took a quiet breath. The urge passed, leaving behind only dry, cold clarity. He didn’t need Endo’s validation. Demonstrating success to a manager who measured authority purely through shift schedules was pointless.
"Thank you, Endo-san," Ren said, and turned toward the door.
Yui Morita was stocking the beverage cooler near the back stockroom door when Ren stepped out. She held a crate of canned tea, her frame braced against the draft blowing from the shelving. She looked at Ren’s face, then down at his folded apron.
"Kisaragi-san... you actually handed it in?" Yui asked in a low whisper.
"My last shift is Monday the tenth," Ren said, stopping beside the cooler.
For a second, a genuine smile touched her face. "That’s amazing. Really. You’ve been running yourself ragged between this place and your firm."
"Thanks, Morita-san," Ren replied quietly.
Her smile faltered slightly, shifting into something more restrained. She looked past him toward the back office. "Who’s covering your late shifts? Endo’s already furious about the schedule. He’s going to dump your late hours onto me and the others."
The question punctured the quiet satisfaction of Ren’s departure. He had focused so entirely on his own risk model that he hadn’t considered the immediate weight landing on the person beside him.
"If you want out, Morita-san, I can help—" Ren began instinctively, stepping closer. "I was only—"
"Stop, Kisaragi-san," Yui interrupted firmly. She held up a hand, looking directly at him with a mix of pride and sharp self-awareness. "Don’t do that."
Ren paused, caught off guard.
"Don’t decide what I should do just because you feel guilty about leaving," Yui said softly. "You don’t even know what I want yet."
The words stung, but Ren recognised the boundary immediately. He bowed his head. "I’m sorry. You’re right."
"Just finish your shifts through the tenth," Yui said, her tone softening as she picked up another package of cans. "And make sure you actually succeed out there, so coming back here isn’t an option."
At two o’clock, Ren clocked out, changed into his street clothes, and walked through the front doors. Relief followed him into the afternoon air, but the look on Yui’s face stayed with him.
Yui watched the glass doors slide shut behind Kisaragi-san. Outside, the afternoon sun caught his coat as he walked toward the station with quick steps.
Mika Fujita looked at the draft roster posted beside the stockroom door and swore under her breath. "Good for Kisaragi, I guess. Doesn’t make this place any easier for the rest of us."
"Morita!" Endo’s sharp voice barked from the office doorway.
Yui turned. Endo stepped onto the floor holding a clipboard, his face pinched in frustration.
"Kisaragi is leaving on the tenth," Endo said loudly. "Fujita can’t cover every weekend slot. Morita, you’re taking Kisaragi’s Thursday and Saturday slots on the next roster after he leaves."
Yui stared at the clipboard in his hand. "I can’t take every late shift, Endo-san. I have class Thursday morning."
Endo didn’t even slow down as he turned toward register one. "Then figure it out with Fujita."
"That’s not what I asked," Yui said, her voice tightening as she stepped after him. "I already have a full week of shifts."
"And I’m telling you what coverage the store needs," Endo snapped, setting the clipboard onto the counter with a heavy clap. "If Kisaragi drops his hours, someone has to stand at the register. Adjust your schedule."
He turned back to his screen before she could answer again. Yui stood in the aisle, her jaw clenched, her hands resting on the edge of the display shelf until her knuckles turned white.
Mika came back from the stockroom carrying a flattened cardboard box to the recycle bin. She stopped beside Yui and watched Endo punch numbers into the computer.
"Don’t let him make it sound like Kisaragi leaving caused this," Mika said quietly, tossing the flat cardboard onto the bin.
Yui glanced over at her. "He still left us short."
"We were short before he quit," Mika replied with a dry shrug. "Endo just has an actual name to put on the schedule problem now." She looked toward the glass front doors, afternoon sunlight stretching across the pavement outside. "At least Kisaragi built a way out for himself."
Yui didn’t reply right away. She looked down at the box cutter in her hand, the steel blade gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights.
"Yeah," Yui said quietly. "He did."
"So maybe you should figure out what yours looks like," Mika said, turning back toward the stockroom.
Yui didn’t answer. She genuinely didn’t know yet.
She looked around the familiar, sterile store. The humming beverage coolers, the rows of brightly packaged snacks, and the stark fluorescent lights reflecting off the linoleum floor.
Ren’s resignation had changed his life. It hadn’t changed QuickMart.
Yui picked up her box cutter, sliced open the next carton of green tea, and began filling the cold shelf, her reflection staring back at her from the dark glass.