The article goes live not because it is complete, but because the clock demands it.
Aki knows that better than anyone. What she published was enough to meet the deadline, but it is still surface-level. It's just the shape of the story, not its weight.
To get that, she has to go back to the gym.
She pushes her chair in and begins clearing her desk with renewed energy, stacking notes, sliding her recorder into her bag, already half a step ahead of herself.
The newsroom noise feels lighter now, less oppressive, as if her work has found its direction.
"I'm heading out," she calls toward the editor's desk, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "To Nakahara Gym."
Her section leader barely looks up from his screen. "Yeah. Take care."
Aki is smiling as she reaches the aisle, already picturing the gym; old mats, familiar faces, the smell of sweat and disinfectant.
But the leader's voice cuts through again. "Oh. Aki."
She stops, turning back.
