Day 12, August 29, 2015
Account Balance: Remains unchanged at ¥2,580,000
Profit Change: 0
Aria hadn't even taken her second bite of the rice ball when she saw the notification glow in her bag, a reminder from the company's punch-in system:
"Saturday attendance check-in."
She stared at it for five seconds, like it was a sick joke.
Then took a bite, chewed twice, and before swallowing, muttered:
"This is insane. Working on a Saturday… I've completely lost it."
Julian didn't look up.
He simply tilted the bottle of red wine beside him, topping off her glass with calm precision—
Like extending a quiet ritual past its expiration.
"You're not insane," he said flatly.
"You've just been trapped too long."
Aria glanced at him. No emotion in her eyes.
Just stillness.
"I'm not going," she said.
"I'm quitting today."
Julian raised an eyebrow, giving her outfit a once-over,
Gray hoodie. Wrinkled sweatpants. Same socks from yesterday.
"You're going in like that?" he asked.
There was no sarcasm. Just a poetic kind of neutrality.
Aria looked down, then took another bite.
"Guess I need to change into my war uniform."
She set the rice ball down and stood up.
Fingers brushing the table as she picked up her bag.
Before turning away, she lifted her glass.
Julian silently clinked his against hers.
"To escaping hell," he said.
"Cheers," she replied.
Two people are drinking wine at dawn.
As if life itself were just a trading account, cut losses, close the position, get up, and return to the battlefield.
Outside the convenience store, Aria bought a new document sleeve.
A crisp A4 sheet slid neatly inside her resignation letter, revised three times, finalized last minute.
She then ducked into a drug store and picked out a lipstick:
RD163, a sharp blue-based red. Not too warm. Doesn't yellow the teeth.
Made to leave one last impression.
Next, she hit UNIQLO.
Ten minutes: tried on, purchased, changed.
A fitted gray blazer, tailored at the waist.
A sleeveless black high-neck underneath.
Slim-cut trousers.
Black leather shoes that clicked with conviction,
Like a candlestick chart freshly cut from its losing streak.
She paused by the mirror outside the fitting room and popped in her earbuds.
The first second of Faint by Linkin Park exploded in her ears.
The woman in the mirror had clean makeup and a dead-still gaze.
She smiled faintly and muttered:
"If I knew trading made money this fast,
why the hell did I ever bother with a job?"
Then she turned.
Picked up the envelope like a blade sharpened long ago.
She didn't look up at the sky.
Didn't glance at the ground.
She just walked.
Straight toward the company that had tried to turn her into less than human.
Today, she wasn't saying goodbye.
She was going to war against every lie that ever sold endurance as virtue.
9:50 a.m. – Office Entrance
A few fresh hires stood near the punch-in machine, clutching their thermal mugs like shields.
Some looked half-asleep, others just defeated. One guy was checking his phone, reading the email subject line aloud:
"[URGENT] Do we need to come in today?"
He looked up just in time to see Aria approaching.
She was in a full suit, hair done, makeup precise, eyes sharp as a scalpel pulled fresh from cold storage.
Her heels were modest, 5cm, but each step landed like a trading bell tolling over a KPI graveyard.
He blinked, then muttered:
"Wait, wasn't Miss Lin on leave today…?"
Aria shot him a look.
Her smile was polite, almost gentle—yet colder than a market crash at midnight.
"I'm just here… to say goodbye."
No one responded.
She pushed through the door.
A gust of wind caught the hem of her blazer, like the first note in a symphony of corporate rebellion.
In the elevator lobby, a few coworkers, the kind who never said good morning
were already waiting.
When they saw her, they all instinctively took a half-step back.
As if someone had just walked in holding a resignation letter as a weapon.
Aria faced the mirror.
Pulled out her lipstick,
a blue-red that sliced like a scalpel.
"Just one last touch of color for you all."
Ding.
The elevator arrived.
She stepped in without looking back.
The door to the office opened.
Kobayashi was at his desk, pretending to be absorbed in some meeting documents.
He looked up and greeted her in that familiar tone of faux-authority concern:
"Miss Lin, you're late today."
Aria set down her bag, looked him dead in the eye.
"Are you out of your mind?" she said, not loud, but sharp enough to cut clean.
"Who the hell wants to be here? You make less in a year than I do in a single day."
The air thickened.
Something shifted.
Kobayashi's face twitched. He feigned calm, trying to activate "manager mode":
"I understand you've been struggling lately… but the company still values you. We're willing to give you another chance."
Aria let out a soft laugh.
Not amused, more like she was watching a clown warm up before a funeral.
"Another chance?
You mean, making me babysit your nephew while he fumbles through your PowerPoint?
Or taking the fall when your proposal tanked and I had to clean up the mess with the client?"
Her words were steady.
No rush.
Each one landed like a gavel.
People nearby began glancing over,
like they were watching a forbidden spell being cast in plain daylight.
Kobayashi's mask cracked. He lowered his voice, tried one last jab:
"If you leave like this, you know there won't be a reference letter."
Aria didn't blink.
"I need your permission to resign?
Who do you think you are?"
"You're just a desk-bound parasite in a button-down,
feeding off other people's work and dressing it up as KPIs to climb your way out of irrelevance."
Someone inhaled sharply in the back.
Aria reached into her bag and pulled out the letter.
Unfolded it carefully.
Like reading not a eulogy for the defeated,
but a declaration of victory.
She held the room with her gaze, then read the final paragraph aloud:
"At this company,
every hour of overtime is not a contribution—it's a shakedown.
Every so-called team collaboration is just blame redistribution.
Every attempt at 'motivation' is nothing more than manipulative emotional coercion.
I refuse to participate any longer."
She closed the letter.
Placed it gently in front of him.
"Thank you for showing me what a 'stable system' really means, how fragile and numb it can make a person become."
She turned and walked away.
No one stopped her.
No one spoke.
Because she had just said out loud.
What everyone else had only ever dared to think.
The elevator doors closed behind her.
Not once did she look back.
13:20 – Tokyo, Under a Slanted Noon Sun
Aria stepped out of the elevator and stood at the office entrance for three whole seconds—
like a soldier discharged from a warzone.
She didn't wipe her sweat.
Didn't fix her hair.
She simply slipped off her heels and changed into the flat shoes from her backpack.
She'd known this all along: you fight when you arrive, but you walk away steady.
On the train ride home, she leaned against the window.
Linkin Park had just ended.
The next song autoplayed into a piano version of Clair de Lune.
She smiled just a little.
For a brief moment, the world seemed… oddly kind.
Back home, she didn't turn on the lights.
She walked straight to the entrance, unbuttoned her blazer, and hung it carefully.
Then took the red lipstick out of her bag—RD163, battle-tested—and placed it gently into a drawer.
She wasn't trying to "go back" to who she was.
She was confirming something else:
That version of herself, the one who flinched, who obeyed, was gone for good.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Julian.
Just three letters:
G.G.
She replied with a single emoji — 🫡
Then powered her phone off.
From now on, there'd be no more Chat notifications.
No more pings dictated by the hive mind of the over-employed.
She stepped barefoot onto the tatami.
Made her way into the kitchen and opened the fridge.
Only one bottle of sparkling water left.
She cracked it open.
Took a deep gulp.
The carbonation hit her throat like a small explosion.
It tasted like freedom.
She looked out the window and whispered:
"I'm done waiting for anyone's permission."
"From here on out, I call the next move."