Chapter 58: Volume 1, - 58: Zero
Ren woke at five in the morning, long before his alarm was set to ring.
The small, single-room tatami apartment in Kawaguchi was still dark, save for the faint grey dawn creeping around the edges of the window frame. Without getting up from his futon, he reached for his smartphone resting on the tatami mat beside his pillow, his thumb opening the bookmarked login page for Marui Credit Services.
He logged into the main portal for account ending in 4108—the account that had once carried Marui’s full claimed balance of ¥1,824,100.
Account Ending: 4108 Current Balance: ¥18,900 (Pending Settlement)
Ren stared at the dim screen, letting out a quiet, measured breath. The transfer he had authorised on Monday had left his bank account, but the clearing system had not yet posted the final credit to Marui’s master ledger.
He knew how financial clearing houses worked; until the internal portal updated to reflect a cleared transaction, he could not declare himself debt-free based on a bank transfer receipt alone. He had to wait.
Ren put the phone face-down on his low folding table, got dressed in his green QuickMart polo shirt and dark trousers, and headed out into the cold morning air for his shift.
The morning shift at the store moved with agonising slowness. Every half hour, during quiet lulls behind the counter, Ren pulled out his phone beneath the register ledger to refresh the browser page.
At 10:15 a.m., the portal status shifted.
Account Ending: 4108 Current Balance: ¥0 (Processing Final Reconciliation)
A small knot in his chest loosened, but his mind remained cautious. Processing was not the same as account closure.
At 1:30 p.m., during his fifteen-minute break in the staff breakroom, he logged back into the portal. The processing banner was gone. In its place was a clean, plain line of text:
Current Balance: ¥0. Unbilled Trailing Interest: ¥320.
It was simply the daily interest accrued during the short settlement window before the principal cleared. Ren immediately initiated a direct bank transfer for the remaining ¥320 through his mobile banking application. He knew the payment would take time to clear through the clearing house, so he closed the app and returned to the shop floor to finish his work.
By five in the afternoon, Ren was back in his apartment. He sat down at his low folding table under the quiet glare of the ceiling light and opened the Marui portal once more.
He tapped refresh. The screen loaded.
Account Ending: 4108 Current Balance: ¥0.00 Account Status: Paid in Full / Closed
Ren did not jump up. He did not shout. His hands grew completely still over the table.
He logged out of the portal entirely. He cleared his browser cache, re-entered his ID and sixteen-character password, and logged back in.
Account Overview: KISARAGI, REN Total Outstanding Balance: ¥0 Account Status: Paid in Full / Closed
Slowly, carefully, Ren clicked the option to generate the official zero-balance confirmation statement. He downloaded the PDF document to his laptop, connected his compact desktop printer, and watched as the paper fed through the tray.
He picked up the warm sheet. The header was clear: Marui Credit Services, Account Ending 4108, Balance ¥0.
Every yen of his original consumer debt burden was officially, verifiably cleared.
Ren sat back on his cushion. He waited for a sudden surge of overwhelming emotion, or a glowing translucent window to appear in his vision celebrating the milestone.
Nothing appeared. The room remained entirely quiet, smelling faintly of warm printer toner and cold air from the window frame.
Then, his phone vibrated sharply against the low table.
Ren’s entire body jerked. A cold spike of adrenaline shot through his stomach, his pulse racing in immediate, instinctive panic.
’Did the transfer fail? Is there another charge?’
His mind instantly dropped into automatic survival calculations. ’If the trailing interest didn’t post correctly, I need to clear the discrepancy before six o’clock to avoid an administrative late fee—’
He looked at the screen.
It was an automated marketing call from his mobile carrier offering a plan upgrade.
Ren declined the call and set the phone down with a hand that trembled slightly. He pressed his palms hard against his eyes, letting out a long, shaky breath. His nervous system simply had not caught up. For months, every unexpected chime, every private caller ID, every letter in the post had signalled danger. A collector, a penalty, an administrative fee. The habit of quiet panic did not vanish just because a database entry had changed to zero.
At six o’clock, Ren walked down to the local supermarket to buy ingredients for dinner.
As he stood in the cold grocery aisle, he picked up a bottle of soy sauce and a pack of fresh chicken thighs, placing them into his plastic basket. Near the front display, he noticed a small tray of fresh strawberries. Something he had not bought for himself since leaving university.
There was no Marui instalment next week. There was no minimum payment due on the tenth. There was no high-interest balance lingering in the background.
The realisation settled over him with a vast, quiet stillness. He did not need permission from a ledger to buy fruit. He did not need to choose between eating dinner and keeping his phone line active.
He placed the strawberries gently into his basket.
When he returned to his apartment, his phone chimed with a text message. He picked it up and saw Suzune’s name on the display.
Suzune: How did the final clearing go today? Did Marui post?
Ren: It’s zero. Everything is closed.
Suzune: I’m so proud of you, Ren. Really, truly proud. Eat a good dinner tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow at the bakery.
Ren smiled softly, setting the phone aside.
To reach this day, while recognising that their ordinary lives continued tomorrow.
Around him, the rest of the world moved forward without pause. Nanami would be back for her Wednesday afternoon shift tomorrow. Yui still had her own shifts at QuickMart. The small local businesses he advised still faced real inventory costs, utility bills, and payroll obligations.
Ren reached down and picked up his dark blue accordion debt folder. The thick plastic organiser that had held every demand letter, late notice, and balance sheet since the day his father’s ruined legacy had fallen onto his shoulders.
He opened the clasp and placed the freshly printed zero-balance statement right at the front, covering the old warning notices.
He did not throw the folder away. He did not burn it or tear up the old notices.
Ren closed the plastic clasp with a firm snap and placed the folder neatly on the bottom shelf of his small bookcase, right beside his current business ledgers for Kisaragi Business Support.
He kept it because forgetting where he had started would be dishonest. He needed to remember the weight of that terror. Not to keep suffering from it, but so that as KBS grew, he would never forget the people behind it.
Ren stood up, walked to the window, and looked out over the quiet roofs of Kawaguchi.