The Commute

The train doors slid open, and the morning rush surged like a riptide. Fin Sato braced himself, gripping his battered leather satchel with both hands as a sea of humanity shoved him forward. Somewhere between Akihabara and Kanda, his body became a fleshy wedge in the human puzzle, every inch of personal space obliterated. Someone's elbow jabbed into his ribs. Another commuter's damp umbrella grazed his knee. He inhaled sharply and immediately regretted it. The faint smell of damp polyester and someone's half-eaten breakfast lingered in the humid air.

Thirty-four. He was thirty-four years old. How did this become his life?

The rhythmic clatter of the train was drowned out by his thoughts. Once, Fin had been a gamer—no, the gamer, an elite beta-tester for Ram Online, back before it became a global phenomenon. Back when the game was buggy and raw, its servers an uncharted wilderness for only the bravest to conquer. Fin remembered those late nights, the glow of the CRT monitor lighting his face, the sound of his fingers flying across the keyboard like a symphony. He had guildmates who called him a legend. People cheered when he discovered glitches no one else could. He'd been immortalized in forums and YouTube compilations for pulling off near-impossible plays.

Now? Now he was another suit in the shuffle, a nameless cog in Tokyo's corporate machine.

The train screeched to a halt at his station, and Fin squeezed his way to the doors, muttering apologies in every direction. He stumbled out, adjusting his tie and wishing he could trade it for the hoodie he wore in college. The city greeted him with its usual grayness—skyscrapers that kissed the smog-filled sky, endless streams of salarymen flowing like ants, and vending machines buzzing faintly on every corner.

As he trudged toward his office building, the bright green logo of Starbucks caught his eye. He slowed his pace, tempted by the idea of a freshly brewed coffee. He could already taste it: the rich aroma, the smooth bitterness that would cut through the fog in his brain.

He pulled out his wallet and glanced at the contents. Three crumpled ¥1,000 bills and some loose change—barely enough to scrape through the week. A tall latte was, what, ¥440? That was nearly half a lunch. He bit his lip, weighing the decision in his mind.

Was it worth it? He could walk into the office and grab a cup of the free, bitter brew from the communal pot. Sure, it tasted like it had been filtered through old socks, but it wouldn't cost him a yen. On the other hand, the idea of starting his day with a Starbucks latte, just this once, felt like a luxury he deserved.

But then the math hit him. His next paycheck was still ten days away. After rent, utilities, and his meager savings transfer, he'd barely have enough for groceries and his prepaid train pass. He thought about the ¥200 konbini rice ball he'd skipped dinner for last night, and his stomach tightened.

With a deep sigh, Fin shoved his wallet back into his pocket and tore his eyes away from the Starbucks. "Not today," he muttered under his breath, surrendering to practicality.

The automatic doors of his office building slid open, and the familiar, sterile air-conditioning washed over him. Work wasn't bad, though. If anything, it was the most tolerable part of his life. His boss, Morita-san, was a relic of the old-school corporate world but surprisingly kind. Fin's team was filled with eager twenty-somethings, fresh out of university and brimming with ideas. He'd been skeptical of them at first—thinking their enthusiasm would fizzle out—but they surprised him. They worked hard, asked questions, and weren't afraid to laugh at his lame dad jokes.

"Morning, Sato-san!" a cheerful voice chirped, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Ren Hayashi bounded over, a bright-eyed ball of energy with tousled black hair and an oversized grin. In one hand, he held two matcha lattes. He thrust one toward Fin without asking.

"For you, boss!" Ren declared, grinning as if handing over the Holy Grail.

Fin blinked at the drink, then at Ren. "You know I'm not your boss, right?"

"Eh, details," Ren said with a shrug. "Besides, you've got boss vibes."

Fin shook his head but couldn't suppress a small smile. Ren was the newest member of their team, only twenty-two and already the office favorite. His ability to brighten a room was maddeningly effortless. It was hard to dislike him, even when he was unbearably loud or brought up yet another bizarre fact about sea otters during lunch.

As Ren plopped into the desk across from him, humming some obnoxiously catchy pop song, Fin sipped the latte. Too sweet, but not bad. He glanced at the younger man, who was already buried in his monitor, typing furiously while nodding his head to a beat only he could hear.

For a brief moment, Fin envied him—the energy, the ease, the confidence. Then, with a sigh, he turned to his own screen and settled in for another day.

What he didn't know was that Ren's world was anything but simple.