Day 13, August 30, 2015
Account Balance: Remains unchanged at ¥2,580,000
Profit Change: 0
10:38 a.m.
Aria rolled over and pushed herself up with one elbow, eyes adjusting to a wall drenched in morning light.
She blinked once, instinctively reaching for her phone to check Slack—
But there was nothing.
She froze for a second before it hit her:
"Oh, right. I quit."
No alarm.
No unread messages.
No push notification from the time-tracking app warns her that she was "late to check in."
No one is waiting for her to open Jira and pretend to care.
She sat there for ten seconds not thinking, just breathing then stretched her arms up, got out of bed, and padded toward the bathroom in her pajamas.
Didn't even bother to change.
The bathwater was just right, borderline too hot.
She sank in completely, hair undone, face half-submerged like an animal that had finally shed its armor after war.
Steam curled into the air.
Leaning back against the tub, a thought flickered:
"Isn't tomorrow Monday?"
"And if I'm not at my desk tomorrow… what will Kobayashi say?"
She let out a quiet laugh.
Not a loud one, more like the smile of someone who had finally realized:
"I don't have to perform anymore."
She picked up her phone, switched it to airplane mode, leaned her head against the rim of the tub, and slid back under the water.
Today, she didn't belong to any organization.
1:00 p.m.
She slid into a window seat at the little tonkatsu place she'd always meant to try—
but never did, because "lunch break wasn't long enough."
Sunlight filtered through half-drawn blinds, falling in stripes across the lacquered table.
She ordered the double-cheese katsu set with a glass of black oolong tea.
Not because it was cheap.
Not to hit a calorie target.
But because she wanted it.
The pork cutlet arrived still sizzling, cheese stretching like silk as she took a bite.
From the next table over, two guys in work uniforms were murmuring:
"Hey, eat quickly. We've got roll call again at 1:30."
And that's when it hit her.
She no longer belonged to that world.
The one where you scarf down lunch in thirty minutes, pretending not to drown.
She picked up her phone, snapped a picture of her meal, added a warm-toned filter, and opened Instagram to draft a caption:
"No fake smiles. No company cafeteria. The air even tastes sweet."
She stared at the screen for a few seconds.
Didn't post it.
Just set the phone down… and kept eating.
The katsu was even crispier than she'd expected.
After lunch, Aria didn't go home right away.
She lingered at a corner magazine shop, casually picking up two finance magazines.
One featured a cover story on "Market-Neutral Strategies in a Turbulent Global Economy."
The other: "Five Ways to FIRE Before 30."
Standing at the register, she found herself chuckling.
"I already blew up before 30," she thought. "Guess that counts as one way."
At 2:00 p.m., she walked into an old theater and caught a re-release of Kingsman: The Secret Service.
There were only three people in the entire hall. She sat dead center, like it was a private screening.
On-screen, gentlemen flipped midair while bullets cut arcs through space.
But she only remembered one line:
"Manners maketh man."
By the time she exited the theater, it was 4:10 p.m.
Tokyo's afternoon light was oddly sharp, the wind dragging itself lazily through the streets.
She stood at a crosswalk waiting for the signal to change, when a thought popped into her head:
"I wonder… is the S&P up right now?"
Her hand moved instinctively toward her phone. The screen lit up, but she paused.
Didn't open the trading app.
Instead, she slid the phone back into her pocket, picked up the magazines, and walked slowly home.
Like an addict still fighting through withdrawal.
6:00 p.m. – Home Again
The apartment was dim.
She didn't bother with the lights.
The leftover daylight spilling in through the balcony felt like a quiet kind of mercy.
She boiled some water, steeped a cup of unsweetened genmaicha, and sat cross-legged on the tatami.
Tea to her left.
Finance magazines to her right.
But her eyes weren't taking in any of it.
The tea was slightly too hot.
She didn't blow on it.
Her gaze drifted to the calendar. A red circle marked "August 18", beneath it: Day 1.
Today was Day 13.
She blinked once, reached for her laptop, and opened the Excel spreadsheet where she logged every trade.
The numbers are loaded.
¥2,580,000.
She reviewed all her trades from the past 13 days, marking the logic behind each win, the rationale behind every position.
"Still short ¥7,420,000," she whispered.
The number was quiet.
But it crept like water pooling in the corners rising slowly.
Aria rubbed her fingers together, like trying to erase something invisible.
But nothing disappeared.
She leaned back in her chair, looked up at the ceiling, and murmured:
"I can't just keep floating in this state."
"Rest is a reward, not an escape."
11:23 p.m.
Night had fallen.
It had started to rain—quiet, persistent.
She sat at her desk, still holding the teacup by the handle.
Her fingertips were cold.
Then finally, she picked up her phone.
Unlocked it.
Thumb hovered for a second.
She tapped the familiar icon:
Matsui Securities.
The screen loaded.
Her breath hitched.
Heart pounding like the market at pre-open.
A few seconds later, the real-time chart appeared.
AAPL was red. BABA was consolidating.
The candlesticks flickered in her pupils like a silent fireworks display.
She pushed her hair to one side.
Stared at the screen.
And whispered, almost smiling:
"Alright… let's dance again."