The train ride back to the izakaya was quieter than before.

No frantic businessmen. No suffocating crowd of office workers in tailored suits. Just a few scattered passengers staring out at the passing cityscape, lost in their own thoughts.

Much like Kazuya.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

[Missed Call: Sasaki]

He exhaled, shutting off the screen.

There was no point in answering. He already knew what Sasaki would say. They might try to persuade him to reconsider, but deep down, Kazuya knew he didn’t belong there anymore.

Still, as the train rattled forward, the doubts began creeping in.

Had he just made the biggest mistake of his life?

His savings weren’t endless. The izakaya paid enough to get by, but barely. If something happened—if the place shut down, if the owner decided to sell—what then?

He had walked away from a job that could’ve secured his future. A career that, for all its faults, had once given him stability.

But at what cost?

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

No.

He had made his choice. He wasn’t going back.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

No more second-guessing.

The train pulled into his stop, and Kazuya stepped off, shaking off the lingering thoughts.

There was work to be done.

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The izakaya was already buzzing when Kazuya arrived.

Customers filled the small shop, the scent of grilled meat and simmering broth hanging thick in the air. The clatter of dishes and the murmur of conversation blended into a familiar, comforting hum.

Takashi caught sight of him from behind the counter, flipping skewers over the charcoal grill.

“You’re early,” Takashi said, raising an eyebrow. “Thought you had... something today.”

Kazuya slipped on his apron. “It’s done.”

Takashi didn’t push for details. Instead, he simply nodded. “Then let’s get to work.”

Kazuya was grateful for that.

He dove into his tasks, moving with an energy he hadn’t felt in a long time. Chopping vegetables, washing dishes, helping at the grill when needed—he didn’t let himself stop.

As long as he kept moving, he didn’t have to think.

Didn’t have to hear that nagging voice in his head telling him he had just walked away from his last chance at success.

----------------------------------------

“Kazuya.”

Emi’s voice cut through the noise of the kitchen.

He turned to find her standing near the sink, arms crossed, watching him carefully.

“You’re working like a guy trying to outrun his own thoughts,” she said. “What’s going on?”

Kazuya frowned. “Nothing. Just... focused.”

Emi wasn’t buying it.

She leaned against the counter, studying him. “You sure? Because you look like someone trying to convince himself he made the right choice.”

Kazuya’s grip tightened on the knife in his hand. “I did make the right choice.”

She nodded slowly. “Then why are you trying so hard to prove it?”

The words hit deeper than he expected.

He opened his mouth to argue, to tell her she was wrong, but the truth was—she wasn’t.

He had thrown himself into work not because he was at peace with his decision, but because he was terrified of regretting it.

Emi sighed. “Look, I don’t know what happened at that interview. But you came back. You’re here. That means something, doesn’t it?”

Kazuya exhaled, setting the knife down.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I guess it does.”

She gave him a small smile. “Then stop working like you’re running from something. You’ve already drawn the line. Now stand by it.”

Kazuya stared at her for a moment before nodding.

He had drawn the line.

He wasn’t going back.

Now, he just had to make sure he kept moving forward.