Checking Out at 5:15 PM Chapter 3: Morning Shifts and Hokkaido Bears (Patreon)

“How much?”

“...what?”

As I stood counting the number of ants crawling near the baseboards of the dimly lit hallway, preparing myself for whatever chaos my new library job might throw at me, the words slipping from Misaki’s lips caught me entirely off guard. The faint, lingering scent of her floral shampoo mixed with the sterile smell of floor wax, creating a strange, intoxicating contrast in the quiet morning air.

“I mean... how much was for the taxi?”

Misaki looked genuinely embarrassed, trying desperately to downplay the slightly disheveled state she had let me see. The morning air still held a crisp chill, but a flush of warmth seemed to radiate from her. She felt responsible; she couldn’t bear the thought of letting a newcomer pay for the cab that safely returned her home. It wasn’t a cheap expense, and to a fresh hire like me, it was a heavy burden she fully intended to lift.

Still, looking down at her, I couldn’t help but be captivated by how exceptionally cute she looked, especially with the deep, alluring crimson spreading to the delicate tips of her ears. Usually, she kept her long hair—which reached all the way down her back—tied in a strict, simple bun that perfectly framed those ears while she worked. Today, however, remnants of last night's drinking and lack of proper sleep betrayed her. A few stray, silky hairs had escaped her bun, gently brushing against her fair, slender neck. Yet, even with this subtle, messy vulnerability, her sharp, professional aura remained intact, proving that her career achievements were born of sheer competence.

I swallowed hard, the subtle scent of her perfume making my pulse quicken, but I maintained my composure. “No, don’t worry about it, Kacho.”

But Misaki was never one to take "no" for an answer. With a swift motion, she pulled a crisp 10,000 yen bill from her leather wallet and extended it toward me.

“Here, take this. Or, is it not enough?”

I blinked, quickly waving my hands to refuse. “No, this is too much, Kacho. I didn’t spend that much money last night.”

While Japanese taxis were notoriously expensive, her apartment was relatively close. Taxis here are metered, generally costing between 500 and 700 yen for the first kilometer, with an additional 80 to 100 yen charged for every 200 to 300 meters thereafter. A typical 15-minute, 5-kilometer ride would run around 2,500 to 3,500 yen. Even factoring in the 20% midnight surge, the total fare I paid was comfortably under 5,000 yen. I absolutely couldn't accept her money.

“Just accept it.”

Suddenly, her fingers closed around mine, forcefully pressing the crisp bill into my palm. The sudden contact sent a jolt up my arm. Her hand was startlingly soft and warm against my skin, a stark, alluring contrast to her tough, strict exterior.

“I know that I have troubled you last night, so... while I know that you might feel a little awkward to accept the money, I hope that you accept it since I also feel uncomfortable when I just took advantage of the newbie who had just entered the workforce,” she murmured, her voice carrying a husky, intimate undertone.

Misaki’s beautiful face was a little awkward, and while her make-up made it hard for one to see the crimson blush that emerged on her face, the change in the color of her ears was as clear as day.

Her beautiful face carried a rare, awkward expression; her impeccable makeup masked the blush on her cheeks, but the bright crimson of her ears betrayed her completely. Yup, she was thoroughly embarrassed.

Feeling the soft warmth of her skin against mine, a burning question echoed in my mind: why was this stunning 32-year-old woman still single? She was undeniably beautiful and cute. Sure, she could be a bit awkward, slightly sloppy, and prone to dragging new hires out drinking until midnight, but she was gorgeous, financially successful, and incredibly attractive as a woman. Yet, here she was, single, famously joking that if she didn't marry by 35, she would buy a mountain in Hokkaido just to live with a bear.

“By the way, does a male bear really leave the female bear once he makes her pregnant?” Misaki asked quietly, her eyes shifting away.

“Yes,” I nodded, taken aback by her bringing up our strange late-night trivia. “They usually left the female bear to fend for herself.”

I wasn’t lying; it was something I had read. The female takes sole care of the cubs until they can survive, while the male simply donates his sperm and abandons them

“A bear is a scumbag.”

“You are right.”

I was honestly surprised she even remembered that drunken conversation. Would you still go to Hokkaido to be with a bear, Kacho? I wisely kept my mouth shut; I wasn’t foolish enough to ask such a teasing question to my own boss, even if she was the one who made the remark.

“Anyway, sorry for last night, so tonight, do let me treat you to dinner.”

Misaki still felt overwhelmingly guilty for keeping me out until one or two in the morning. She knew that, as a first-year civil servant, my income was meager—a reason many quit early on. Secretly, she wanted to know me better, intrigued by my choice to work in the library instead of higher-prospect sectors like the Tax Bureau, Urban Planning, the Mayor's Office, or Cultural Affairs. She wondered if my true passion lay entirely with books.

My focus, however, was entirely derailed by her invitation. Dinner?

A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck as my exhausted body screamed in protest, but the memory of last night's incredibly delicious food—and the tantalizing prospect of spending more time with her—warred in my mind. My pain begged me to decline, but my greed urged me to go.

“You can order whatever you want. It’s my treat.”

“I will go.”

The words bypassed my brain entirely, but by the time I realized what I had agreed to, it was too late.

“Don’t go back first later. Wait for me to finish my work, so we can go together to the restaurant.”

Misaki stepped close, the enchanting scent of her perfume wrapping around me again as she softly patted my shoulder. Underneath her fingertips, she couldn't help but notice how firm my muscles felt beneath the fabric. The memory of our tightly entangled bodies from when I carried her last night flashed in her mind, a sudden, flush-inducing realization that despite my lean frame, my body was surprisingly muscular.

What am I thinking? she scolded herself, shaking off the alluring thoughts as she hurried through the office. Although she had her own private space, she preferred hovering near everyone’s desks to keep them from slacking off, even during this slower season, which also served as an excellent time for me to learn the ropes.

“Do your best on your work.”

 “................”

Taking a deep breath of the air she left behind, I accepted my fate. Tonight, I probably won't get enough sleep again. But as the library's opening hour loomed, I couldn't afford to stand around looking defeated.

Retreating to the quiet, dusty-scented changing room, I opened my metal locker. I stripped off my tailored suit jacket, replacing it with the standard Kamakura municipal dark-blue waist apron, securing it tightly over my crisp dress pants. Proper attire in a public-facing job like mine isn't just vanity; it's a vital shield when facing unpredictable patrons. Good patrons were a blessing; bad ones were a nightmare. Add lazy coworkers who pawned off their duties onto disorganized part-timers, and the environment could quickly turn chaotic.

Midashirami. Personal grooming dictates the social hierarchy. Look sloppy, and patrons yell while bosses nitpick. Look sharp, and people instinctively step back with respect. By maintaining an intimidatingly professional aura, the slackers avoided me entirely. So, I put in the effort to look impeccable, knowing it saved me trouble in the long run. I left the suit jacket behind to avoid ink and dust, but even so, I had to admit the result was striking. With my perfectly ironed shirt, straight posture, and dark apron, I looked less like a rookie civil servant and more like the sophisticated manager of a high-end cafe. The apron also provided practical deep pockets for pens, a box cutter, and a small notepad.

Ready for battle, I left the changing room to help with the opening. Then, right on cue—

“Hurry up and open the door! I am in a hurry! Let me borrow today’s newspaper!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

An elderly patron's fist pounded against the thick, frosted glass door, the heavy thuds echoing obnoxiously through the quiet lobby.

“Please wait for a moment. The library will open immediately. We’re still in preparation.”

A sloppy, thin, slouching coworker was already bowing defensively. Opening early was strictly forbidden; the municipal schedule dictated a strict nine-to-five operation, and opening early would shatter that structure.

“What are you saying!? I am paying the tax! You should just follow my words! Where do you think your income comes from?! It’s from my tax! If you know, then just open the damn door—”

“What happens?” I asked smoothly, stepping into the morning sunlight pooling near the entrance, though I already knew the situation.

“Ah, Motoi-kun!” the older staff member sighed, his tense shoulders sagging in profound relief. “The patron here wants to enter as soon as possible to borrow the newspapers, but the library hasn’t been opened yet...”

“I see...” I murmured, my voice a calm, deep rumble. I approached the cold glass, looking down at the irate man with perfectly composed, icy politeness, and bowed slightly.

“I am sorry, Riyousha-sama.”

Because a public library is funded by taxpayer money, patrons aren't technically "customers" buying a product. While some libraries still use Okyakusama out of habit, strict municipal libraries train staff to use polite language without labels, or specifically Riyousha-sama (honored user), to maintain a professional bureaucratic distance. That was the term I chose.

“But our library hasn’t been opened yet, as we are still preparing, so we can give the best to everyone," I continued smoothly. "I know that it might vex you, but please wait for a moment since we will be ready to open soon.”

“W-Well, if you say so...”

The angry patron deflated slightly under my imposing gaze, his mouth snapping shut. My sharp appearance radiated a commanding status that made him hesitate to unleash the fury he had shown my weaker coworker.

“Also,” I added, my tone softening into a chillingly pleasant hum, “according to Article 260, vandalizing or destroying public buildings, train stations, public bridges, or monuments carries a maximum penalty of up to 5 years of imprisonment.”

I smiled warmly, completely ignoring the sudden, sickly pallor draining the color from the man’s face.

“So, please refrain from slamming the door like before, Riyousha-sama.”

As I spoke, I casually shifted my gaze upward. Subconsciously, the patron's eyes followed mine, landing squarely on the blinking red light of the surveillance camera that had clearly recorded his every move.

“So, please be patient, okay?” I offered my most dazzling, unyielding smile.

“Ah, yes,” the man squeaked, his aggressive posture shrinking until he was utterly quiet and meek.

Suppressing an eye roll, I patted the shoulder of my starry-eyed coworker.

“I am going to prepare. Can I leave this place to you?”

“Ah, yes, please leave it to me!” he nodded vigorously, practically vibrating with awe.

“Be polite, okay?”

“Yes!”

As we walked away, we both had to stifle our amusement. While introverts and bookworms romanticized the library as a peaceful dream job, the reality revolved heavily around relentless hospitality and managing difficult patrons. Fortunately, I was prepared to handle them. Still, as I sat down at the circulation desk (the front counter), the library was open, and my work for today started.

Taking my seat at the front circulation desk, the heavy glass doors finally unlocked, and my work for the day officially began.