“Oi! Watch where you’re going!”

A garbageman shouted at a hurrying businessman who had just run into him, the pair of jumbling keys in his hand splitting open the full garbage bag he was carrying, and spilling the waste onto the street.

“I’m sorry.” The businessman, who must have been late 20s at most, shouted back, slowing for a moment to turn around, his hair sticking up from his head like an eccentric scientist thanks to the wind from running.

This was one of the main streets of Shinjuku, bustling music and rainbow neon framed the different buildings along the sides of its pedestrian brick road. And if you travelled a little further up, you’d find the matte black modernism-styled building of the Ha:Yami.

“My wife’s having our baby!” The businessman finished, an apology plastered on his face, yet his priorities on his wife. It was a fair excuse, and as he turned around and resumed his running, the garbageman grumbled and settled down to clean the accident.

He pulled a new white garbage bag out of a pocket on his all-white uniform, checked his blue gloves with a snap, and made sure the matching white flat cap on his head was secured before kneeling down and getting to work.

“Here, lemme help you.” An overweight middle-aged man in a stained white t-shirt said while kneeling down next to the garbageman to assist, his hands only slightly steady from the drink coating his breath, “It's what I can do, here’s hopin’ he’ll pay it forwards someday.” He continued, referring to the long-gone businessman.

The garbageman nodded his thanks, and the two set to work as a pair clearing up the rubbish that had scattered itself across the street.

Civil and discivil servant alike, hand-in-hand working together.

What a sight.

It was 3:21 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon, the Ha:Yami Club was set to open in roughly 40 minutes.

I had been told to come in earlier than usual, not that it changed much. I arrived most days early, but they wanted to make sure my habit extended to today and didn’t suddenly change at the last minute.

In other words, I was expecting some strong words from the bosses, not that they’d do it themselves. No, it’ll be Kiyoshi as their mouthpiece, as he always was.

An alleyway ran down the side of the Ha:Yami, connecting it to a parking lot that in turn connected to the road behind it. It was the same alleyway that Nao dragged me and Mikako to whenever our shifts ended at the same time so we could all hang out.

She’d light up a cigarette, and we’d all engage in small talk till they both leave and I walk home.

Home… it's never really felt like it, but to be truthful, not many places have.

The brick wall on the right with a yellow street light hovering over, and the matte black blocky walls of the Ha:Yami on the left, its orange neon sign resting on high over the side entrance we all use.

It feels strange without them.

I always use this side door to enter and exit the Ha:Yami, we all did. But to just sit out here, waiting, stalling for time before I head in and face the music.

That’s what feels different. No lingering smell of cigarettes, even though Nao tries so hard not to involve us in her habit; a habit I have worse than her, nor was there any banter, quips and quirks between the two of them going on and on about random things, and there were no invitations offered to me, ones I’d almost always deny, but… still, it felt weird.

To be here alone.

I’m reminiscing about a place I haven’t left, a time that I still live within.

But I’m no reminiscing old man like Takamura, visiting what once was, to relive the past that can never be. I’m here, right now, in this moment, everything I know about this place, everything I’ve experienced, and done, and hated, and… lived through.

It’s all still here.

I know what's coming, it won’t happen today, and it might not happen next week, or in a month, perhaps it’ll even take half a year. But it's coming, the curtain call of my time at the Ha:Yami.

Four years.

I won’t miss you, but… I may reminisce from time to time.

Maybe you weren’t the best for me, but you did your duty. Helped me escape, gave me a second chance at life, and granted me the ability to become Seina.

Change; It happens sooner or later.

And I’m glad to be trading you for acting.

It’ll be here soon, I just need to wait a little while longer.

My hand found the door, the keycard in my pocket coming out to swipe the panel next to the featureless automatic door, and with its beep, I placed my finger on the scanner. A green light flashed, and the door slid open.

The break room went quiet as I entered. Faceless hostesses cut their conversations like a ribbon-cutting ceremony, announcing my entry wordlessly with silence and shame.

My reputation here has never been the best among my fellow hostesses. The reasons behind it matter little, but they can be summarised by two key points, Seina, and me.

Seina is perfection. She cannot be matched by a single girl here, which makes her the favourite of Ha:Yami, and that draws jealousy.

And I am imperfection. Rot and decay given manifest, cling to this life and exist to become another. Cold and dead, a cadaver waiting for embalming before the funeral, but there are no guests here, and there never will be.

Their misconceptions led them to believe that I am arrogant, that I am a shell of a person, that I am cold, and selfish, that I am a heartless bitch, caring only for the clients to win their praise.

I suppose not all of those are misconceptions, not entirely.

But it doesn’t really matter, it never has.

It took 5 minutes before Kiyoshi came to collect me, the breakroom in stale quiet until I left. From the outside, it must have looked like I had been condemned to death, the executioner guiding me to the guillotine with pointed words, rather than spears.

“Kanemoto, with me.” Kiyoshi commanded, with no trace of emotion or care in his words, the same type of tone an AI uses, unfeeling and diplomatic.

He took me to an office, its walls wrapped in brown wood, with bookshelves covering them more. There was a desk off to one side, resting before the sole wall without anything adorning it.

With a gesture, he pointed me to one of the black leather seats before his desk, while he took the office chair behind the computer.

And he did nothing.

Silence.

His arms crossed, the elaborate patterns and sharp reds of his tattoo peeking out from under his black shirt. He just watched me, observed my every moment, scrutinised every little thing my eyes glanced across.

“What happened yesterday?” He suddenly asked, blunt and with no room for nonsense.

“I left.”

“Why?” He leaned further back into his chair, settling in for a long conversation, but still rather impassive even after my own blunt reply.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“I refuse to be a drinks jockey.” I clarified, not that it needed clarification, especially after yesterday. It was rather obvious why I left, but this was the song and dance of conversation, the probing jousts of letters and sentences that clash against armour not of steel, but of reason.

Or perhaps of charisma?

Shame there was none of that in this room; Not without her.

“We’ve never had this problem before. Why now?” He continued pressing the attack, searching for understanding in lies, without even the comprehension of what foundation my lies were set in.

“Will the reason make a difference?” I asked, cold and stubborn, every bit the woman I was moulded into, forced to be, will always be.

Not Seina, never her. Though she is the explanation, the obvious answer to why I repudiate to perform a role where I am not her.

I do not exist, this void of I that sits beyond the peripheral of what is recognised to be personhood.

“No, it won’t.” He confirmed, fortifying his position, erecting barriers adverse against excuse.

“You’re not punishing me.” I queried, not confusion plastered on my face, but understanding.

I could not be touched over a minor outburst, because then they lose Seina. And that is too high a price to pay for any general, commanding not soldiers, nor words to be jousted with, but people.

“Not this time.”

This was no trial or hearing. No, I was not here to be judged guilty or confirmed innocent.

This was a stage, an act. There is no anger in him, no looming shadows of damnation behind his tone. So that leaves the question of…

“Why am I here?”

“The bosses weren’t impressed.” He declared as if they weren’t already hidden within this very room.

“I’ve worked here for 4 years with nothing but merit. They’ll get over it.”

They already have.

“For this incident, sure. But for the next one, maybe not.”

“All this, just for a warning?” I asked, disbelief, not laced in my words, but swirling around in my mind.

“You rocked the boat yesterday. It sets a bad precedent for the other girls, coming off sick leave and doing that. You’re one of the top earners, people watch you, follow you even, and they talk. Too much, sometimes.” He stated as if it were some divine revelation and not just common sense of the untalented chasing the talented.

But they’ll never catch her. I’ll never catch her.

I hummed my acknowledgement, to which he raised an eyebrow in disapproval, the first real emotion he’d shown this entire meeting.

“Kanemoto.” He warned, using that name as if it were ordnance to attack me with. Which is what it is, and it stings all the same. “Don’t let this happen again.” He didn’t say ‘or else’, but the intention was clear.

Another hum from me, his words not worth the effort to counter them with my own.

“You can go-”

“No, I have a request first.” I cut him off, this was too one-sided for me, and I had a goal in this meeting, a condition, per se.

It was simple, if you want to continue making use of Seina, then you will loosen the chains attached to me, and I will replace them with ones far more to my liking.

A trade-up, Ha:Yami for acting.

However, it is a slow trade, completed carefully as we gather the credit needed, refine the contract, and set up the bonds for the transaction.

“In your position?” Kiyoshi said, almost amused by my audacity, but still polite enough to hear me out. “Go ahead.”

“I want weekends off.”

Rehearsals take priority over everything, well, almost everything. And I cannot afford a day where I miss them, but I also cannot simply quit the Ha:Yami without the backup fully prepared.

“Weekends are our best days. You know that’s impossible.” He stated, a twist in his neck as he disinterestedly brushed me off.

“Give me a counteroffer.” I shot back, a cannonball through the wooden hull of compromise.

“Fine, tell me why you need weekends off?” And it stuck true, spitting the decks and barrelling out of the other side.

“I’m busy.” He didn’t need to know, he didn’t care to know. We had passed the song and dance, and were now in the after-party of conversation, neither of us able to scrounge up the effort to be anything other than blunt and efficient.

“Give me a timetable.”

“10 a.m. to 8 p.m..” The timeframe of rehearsals, the period where the only concern of mine will be those of Seina’s.

And her concern is to defeat a goddess.

“Can you get here at 9 p.m.?”

Success. A deal stuck, yet not one solely in my favour. In truth, the Ha:Yami likes its employees to have at least two days off per week, this is not a burnout job. If hostesses get tired, they become unable to perform their duties, they slip, and slack.

They become irritable, unpleasant.

And how can you sell an experience if you yourself are loath to be there?

“Yes.” I replied, with the expertise of a lawyer’s tongue in my mouth.

“Good. So two half shifts for the weekends, is that agreeable?” He searched for confirmation, preparing to note down the change on his computer idly waiting on top of the desk.

It was given with a hum, no words needed once more.

“You have a second day off, if you want to use it.” He asked curiosity in his words.

I had rarely taken the second day off in the past, you are required to have one day off, but for your second you can choose to work overtime, provided you sign a contract stating that you have willingly dismissed that day off for that week every week.

It got tedious after a while, but now that was behind me.

“Wednesday.” I announced, much to his surprise, though he did not show it openly. But it was hidden in the details, in the slight shift of his body as he readjusted his arms before his fingers began again on the keyboard.

“Your new days are Monday to Friday, full shifts, excluding Wednesday. And Saturday, Sunday, 9 p.m. to 1 a.m.. Is that correct?” He asked for final verification, even though he had already imputed it into the system, just a single button press before it was sent off.

“Yes.” I drew the word out, this was a challenge, one that would only be accepted if my assumption proved correct. “And one more thing.”

“Go on…” He wearily signalled for me to continue.

“I only want solo duty from now on.” I said, Kiyoshi’s face remaining totally passive, unflinching even at a demand that would be outrageous if it were to come from anyone else.

The assumption went like this, how valuable am I to Ha:Yami Club, valuable enough to make demands?

“That’s asking too much.” He claimed, yet he couldn’t say no, he couldn’t say yes, either. As this wasn’t even his jurisdiction.

“You haven’t even asked yet.” I goaded, us both knowing he isn’t the shark in this tank.

His eyes met me, he may have some control over what happens in this club, but his neck is tied with a leash far stronger than mine.

At least I can quit, he lost that option a long time ago.

Kiyoshi’s fingers went back to the keyboard, he sent off a message, and the reply came instantly.

Approved.

That was all the message said, but was anything more needed?

“Fine, it's accepted. You’ll only be given solo duty from now on.”

The assumption was correct. Seina is worth too much to the Ha:Yami, and that means that so am I. After all, the bosses have no clue about the difference between me and her, to them, we’re the same.

It feels good to use someone else's strengths for your own benefit.

Not that this won’t benefit her as well.

“Your schedule for tonight,” He continued, wrapping up this meeting that went far differently from what he had expected. “You’ll be working with Nao in Private Room 4 tonight. One VIP, female. Once she’s done, you’re both free to leave.” He added as he opened a yellow envelope and passed me the schedule.

“Ok.”

There was a reason he offhandedly mentioned the VIP was a woman, it was a tone of caution. A woman, in a private room with two hostesses, that’s cause for a scandal even if nothing happens.

In other words, he’s reminding me to shut up.

But I took it in a different way, this is a warning. Women clients differ greatly from men, perhaps not in the way people think. It’s just, that they’re always so much more- what’s the word?

entitled?

Yes, that's it. A male client will always be aware of the difference between a man and a woman, they'll act more cautious, and even if they desire you, they're unlikely to push too far. To them, chivalry is not given from respect, but from weakness. A woman is a delicate piece of porcelain, easy to break in the hands of a man, so care is always needed. But in the hands of a woman? No, the similarity removes the boundary of care, the situation becomes, "We're both women, which means I automatically understand you. Know you completely." All the while forgetting that gender is but one part of the building blocks that make a human.

“You’re dismissed, Kanemoto.” Kiyoshi said, forgetting that I wasn’t one of his soldiers.

“Goodbye, Shikichi.”

And hello, Seina.

We’re all a slave to something, Kiyoshi is subservient to his bosses, Hatsuko is obsessed with her reputation, Emiko is a follower of her heart, but me? Well, at least I know the face of my owner…

Because it's the same one I see in the mirror.