"Damn it! Crowded today as well," I muttered under my breath as I stepped off the bus, my frustration spilling over.
The moment my feet hit the pavement, I could feel the lingering ache in my legs from standing the entire ride.
It was as if every muscle in my body was complaining about the cramped, uncomfortable journey.
I couldn’t blame them.
After being packed like sardines in a tin can, it was only natural to feel a bit frustrated.
I sighed, rolling my shoulders to ease the stiffness as I tried to shake off the irritation.
The morning had started so beautifully, but the commute had quickly drained some of that warmth away.
Still, I was here now, at least. I had finally reached my office, albeit a little late.
Straightening my back, I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the crisp morning air.
The coolness calmed me, grounding me as I looked ahead.
There it was—the towering building of the company that had become my second home.
Its sleek, modern façade loomed large before me, a symbol of progress and ambition.
This was one of the leading electronics companies in the country, a place where innovation was born every day.
I remembered the pride I felt when I first got recruited here, fresh out of college, eager to prove myself.
"Haa… I should go now," I exhaled, trying to release the last of my frustration with that breath.
I steeled myself, adjusting the strap of my bag over my shoulder, and began walking toward the entrance gate.
"Good morning, sir," the two guards greeted me in unison as I approached the entrance.
Their voices were firm yet respectful, a reflection of the professionalism they maintained day in and day out.
"Good morning, good morning," I responded warmly, reaching into my pocket for my employee ID.
I handed it to them, the familiar plastic card catching the morning light.
They took it, giving it a quick glance before nodding and stepping aside to open the door.
"Keep up the good work, and make sure to take some rest when you can," I added with a smile as I walked past them.
They exchanged a look, one of those small, appreciative glances that told me my words weren’t lost on them.
It was a small gesture, but I knew how much it mattered to be seen, to be acknowledged for the hard work they did every day.
Once inside, the quiet hum of the building greeted me.
The cool, controlled air and the polished floors reflected the efficiency and precision that defined our company.
As I made my way toward my cabin, I passed by the janitor and a few other workers already busy with their morning routines.
"Good morning, sir," they greeted me, their faces lighting up with smiles.
These were the people who kept the place running smoothly, often unnoticed but always essential.
I nodded in return, offering them a small smile, a silent acknowledgment of their efforts before continuing up the stairs.
When I finally reached my cabin, I exhaled a small sigh of relief.
It was a space that felt uniquely mine amidst the sprawling corporate environment—a place where I could focus and breathe before diving into the day's work.
I placed my bag down on the chair, its weight gone, but the responsibilities it carried still very much present in my mind.
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
But there was no time to linger. After a brief moment of gathering myself, I stepped out of my cabin and made my way toward the working area.
The hallway felt familiar, almost like the veins of the building, leading me toward the heart of where everything happened.
As I entered the large, open space of the working area, the sight that greeted me was one of quiet determination.
My colleagues were already seated at their computers, their faces bathed in the soft glow of the screens.
Fingers tapped rhythmically against keyboards, and the low murmur of focused conversations filled the air.
This was the pulse of the company—each person contributing their part to something bigger, something that drove us all forward.
"Good morning, Team Leader," came the chorus of voices as soon as I stepped into the working area.
"Good morning, Team Leader!" another echoed.
I nodded, offering a warm smile in return.
"Yes, yes. Good morning, everyone."
As I made my way further into the room, I spotted two familiar faces approaching me—John and Helen, my two trusted assistants.
They both carried that confident air about them, their expressions calm and composed, as always.
They were the ones I could rely on to keep things running smoothly, even when the pressure was on.
"You're finally here, Team Leader," John said with a slight smirk, his voice carrying a hint of good-natured teasing.
"Good morning, Team Leader," Helen added, her tone more serious but still laced with warmth.
"Good morning, John. Good morning, Helen," I replied, meeting their eyes.
"How’s the work going?"
"Everything is going well, sir, but…" John began, but his voice trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air.
"But I think you should be prepared," Helen finished his thought, her words measured, her gaze steady.
I frowned slightly, a mix of curiosity and concern stirring within me.
"Huh? Why do I need to be prepared?" I asked, my brows furrowing as I looked between the two of them.
What could possibly be waiting for me today that had them so on edge?
Helen and John exchanged a quick glance, the kind that spoke of shared understanding without words.
"Well, you’re late again, sir, despite the manager’s many warnings," John remarked, his tone carrying that mix of jest and concern that only a trusted colleague could deliver.
His words struck me like a sudden realization, bringing the morning’s events into sharp focus.
I froze for a second, the reality sinking in.
"Ah, I guess he’s going to give me another lecture," I sighed, bracing myself for what was to come.
It wasn’t the first time, and probably wouldn’t be the last, but that didn’t make it any easier.
Just as I was mentally preparing myself, a voice—sharp and unmistakably filled with irritation—cut through the air, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
"Has Michael arrived?"
The voice belonged to a man in his fifties, our manager, whose face was a storm of anger as he entered the room.
"Manager! Calm down a bit!"
Another man, older, perhaps in his sixties, followed close behind, his tone pleading as he tried to temper the manager’s fury.
John and Helen exchanged quick glances, their eyes filled with sympathy.
"Well, good luck, Team Leader," they whispered almost in unison, before discreetly moving aside, giving me a clear path to the oncoming tempest.
Taking a deep breath, I quickly moved forward, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Good morning, Manager," I greeted him with a deep bow, hoping to diffuse the tension that was practically crackling in the air.
But instead of calming him down, I felt a swift thud on the top of my head—a punch, delivered with more exasperation than force.
It didn’t hurt, not really, but it certainly got my attention.
"Good morning, my foot! You brat! How many times have I told you to be on time?" he barked, his voice booming through the office like a thunderclap.
I straightened up, rubbing the spot where he’d hit me, and forced a sheepish smile.
"Yes, yes, please forgive my insolence. I’ll be on time from now on, I promise," I said, bowing again, hoping my sincerity would appease him.
But before I could even finish my bow, another punch landed on my head—this one with a bit more weight behind it.
I winced slightly as a dull ache spread from the point of impact.
"What 'next time'? I can clearly see you’re lying! How many times do I have to explain to you that punctuality makes a man perfect?" he scolded, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and something almost akin to concern.
His words were harsh, his tone biting, but beneath all of that, I could sense the underlying care.
This man, who now stood before me fuming, had been my greatest supporter.
He was the one who had seen something in me, who had taken a chance on me when I was just another fresh graduate with more dreams than experience.
It was his guidance, his unyielding belief in hard work and discipline, that had shaped me into the leader I was today.
He was tough, no doubt about it—a real stickler for the rules, especially when it came to punctuality.
But he was also the one who had picked me up when I stumbled, who had pushed me to do better, to be better.
In a way, he was like a father figure, albeit a very strict and occasionally grumpy one.
Some might even call him a tsundere, with that rough exterior hiding a softer, more caring side.
"Manager, calm down a little," came the steady voice of our planning department head, a man who had been both a mentor and a guide to me throughout my career.
His tone was calm, almost fatherly, and it carried a weight that few could ignore.
He was a man of immense experience, someone who had seen it all over the years.
His presence alone was often enough to bring a sense of calm to even the most chaotic situations.
He had always been there for me, offering advice when I needed it and steering me back on course when I wavered.
I owed much of my growth and success to his guidance.
As the head of the planning department, he had a way of seeing the bigger picture, of understanding that mistakes were part of the learning process.
And perhaps that’s why he had been grooming me to take over his position once he retired.
In many ways, I was his successor, the one he had chosen to carry on his legacy when he finally stepped down.
But today, his efforts to calm the manager seemed to be falling on deaf ears.
The manager, still fuming, continued his scolding, his voice carrying across the office with a force that would have rattled anyone less accustomed to it.
"You need to learn, Michael," the manager barked, his anger not so much directed at me personally, but at what he perceived as my failure to meet the high standards he had set.
"How many times do I have to repeat myself? Punctuality is not just a rule—it's a sign of respect for your work and your colleagues!"
"Yes, sir. I understand," I repeated, bowing once more, trying to show that I was taking his words to heart.
The planning department head placed a gentle hand on the manager’s shoulder, a silent plea for restraint.
"He’s still learning, and he’s doing his best. Let’s not be too hard on him," he said, his voice a soothing counterpoint to the manager’s harsh tone.
The manager huffed, clearly frustrated, but the department head’s words seemed to penetrate through his anger.
The older man had that kind of influence—a quiet authority that commanded respect without ever needing to raise his voice.
The manager shot me one last stern look, then exhaled sharply, his anger starting to ebb.
"Just remember, Michael, you’re not a rookie anymore. People look up to you. Don’t let them down."
"I won’t, sir. Thank you," I replied, my voice firm with sincerity.
The weight of his words settled heavily on my shoulders, but it was a burden I was willing to carry.
I knew I had to live up to the expectations—not just for myself, but for my team, and for the department head who had placed so much faith in me.
Despite the tension of the moment, the rest of the workplace remained largely unaffected.
This wasn’t the first time the manager had lost his temper, and everyone had grown accustomed to these outbursts.
It was almost a routine by now—a scolding followed by a lecture on responsibility and discipline.
They weren’t worried; they had seen this play out before.
And in their expressions, I found a sense of reassurance, a reminder that this, too, would pass.
The planning department head gave me a subtle nod, his way of saying, "You’ll be fine."
And with that, the manager finally relented, allowing the tension to dissolve back into the rhythm of the workday.
As I stood there, feeling the last of the adrenaline drain away, I couldn’t help but feel grateful—not just for the support of my colleagues, but for the stern guidance of my superiors.
They pushed me because they cared, because they saw something in me that I was still striving to realize.
And with that thought, I took a deep breath and prepared to dive into the day’s work, more determined than ever to prove that their faith in me was not misplaced.