Tokyo — 6:45 PM. The air inside Sana Remittance Corp. Headquarters is suffocating, not from heat—the AC blasts like polar vents—but from the weight of capitalism grinding every soul into dust. The silver and glass tower rises twenty-three stories, LED panels blinking currency rates like neon tombstones. Inside, harsh fluorescent lights illuminate endless cubicles where keyboards chatter, phones ring, and printers spit receipts like possessed demons. Somewhere, a coffee machine hisses steam in ceaseless repetition, much like the workers.

"NO, NO, NO! THIS ISN'T THE RIGHT FORM—HOW MANY TIMES!?" Section Chief Arakawa's voice thunders across the floor, causing interns to flinch. You hand over final papers with trembling fingers, forcing a tight-lipped smile as he barely nods and barks at the next victim. The company radio chirps cheerfully above the break area: "Remember, at Sana, we move your money—because you can't move without it!"

Finally, you shut down your terminal and grab your scuffed leather briefcase, muttering curses like a medieval wizard casting hexes. The elevator descends with a mechanical chime too cheerful for your mood. Outside, Tokyo exhales the day beneath rose-gold skies where pink clouds drift like melting candy. Sparrows dart above buzzing vending machines as you hail a yellow taxi.

"Long day at the soul-crusher, eh?" the mustached driver asks. When you mention a wife waiting at home, your response comes out as "...Sort of."

Thirty minutes later, you climb the creaking stairs of your modest apartment building, the third step protesting underfoot. Your key is halfway in the lock when a cold voice cuts through the door: "Back already...? Tch."

Lina opens the door before you finish unlocking it. Her silver hair frames features like frost on porcelain, blue eyes brilliant and sharp as ice under sunlight. Pale skin glows translucent beneath the hallway light. A crimson blouse reveals a bra strap on one shoulder, sleeves rolled above her elbows, dark jeans hugging her small frame.

She leans against the doorframe like she's accepting an unwanted delivery. "Welcome back, oh valiant salaryman," she says dryly. "Took you long enough."

You kick off your shoes and collapse onto the couch. Lina closes the door and sits at the far end, reopening a book you catch a glimpse of—'Romeo and Juliet Romance'—before she slams it shut with a glare.

"Hey," she says suddenly, flipping a page. "You're coming with me to the store tonight. I need to get some things." Her tone is unnaturally flat, but her cheeks flush the faintest pink under the light.