Checking Out at 5:15 PM Chapter 5: The Library Director's Mess and the Slouching Beauty (Patreon)

Why did Misaki need to work, even though I was free to clock out right at 5:15 PM?

My schedule was simple: my shift ended at 5:15 PM, but the library itself didn’t close until 7:00 PM. The staff was divided into two shifts. The afternoon shift stayed until the doors locked, but even then, their jobs weren't finished. They still had to write daily reports, tally the cash register for late fees, clean the aisles, shelve returned books, and submit the final paperwork to Misaki’s desk.

Technically, Misaki could have gone home at 5:15 PM with me and tackled the paperwork the next morning. But calling Misaki a workaholic "sometimes" was putting it mildly. Over the past two weeks, I have witnessed her relentless work ethic firsthand.

“Do you need to go home in a hurry?” she asked, looking up from her desk. “If so, you don’t have to wait for me. We can reschedule dinner for another night.”

Misaki knew it wasn't fair to keep me waiting. She wasn’t the type of boss to abuse her power, and she knew her overtime would likely drag on until 7:00 PM.

“It’s fine. I’ll wait,” I replied.

“Really?”

“Yes,” I nodded, keeping my face perfectly composed. “There is also some work I need to finish up.”

Liar.

I could practically hear the thought echo in Misaki’s mind. She knew exactly how capable I was. Unlike other rookies who made a mess by taking on too much without asking, or who caused silent disasters by ignoring the standard operating procedures, I followed the SOP strictly and efficiently.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, noticing the strange, intense look in my boss’s eyes.

“What kind of work?” she pressed, her voice lowering slightly.

“Er...”

“You’ve finished everything, haven't you?”

“...I am sorry.”

I had just made an excuse to stay, assuring her she didn't have to worry about holding me back. But honestly, how could I just abandon my gorgeous boss?

“But, what exactly are you working on, Kacho?” I asked, changing the subject. “It’s rare for you to fall behind.”

Misaki was incredibly efficient. Like me, if she could go home, she would. Who actually loved staying at work? Some people treated their jobs as their entire lives, especially single women like her. What did she even do when she went home to her empty apartment? Drink beer and watch movies alone? I wasn't sure. But then again, I was no different. My grand plan for the evening was to aggressively hunt monsters with a bow on my console in the new game that I have just bought.

“The Kancho (Library Director) suddenly told me to meet with representatives from a Tokyo publisher tomorrow,” Misaki muttered, a dark aura forming around her. “They just published several 'highly recommended' books for municipal libraries. But I can’t just blindly accept all of them. I need to review their catalog one by one...” She gritted her teeth, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “That bald bastard... I am going to take his position sooner or later.”

“...................”

The Kancho.

Even though Misaki practically ran the Kamakura Central Library as the section manager, there was still one person above her. The Library Director was an older civil servant transferred from City Hall, counting down the days until his retirement. His job was painfully easy because Misaki did it all for him, carrying the workload of two people on her slender shoulders.

A Tokyo publisher?

It was a bit unusual for a Tokyo publisher to send representatives all the way out to Kamakura, but municipal libraries bought books in bulk. These orders weren't cheap, often costing millions of yen.

I looked at Misaki’s troubled expression as she scrolled through the massive list of book reviews. I let out a soft sigh. “Should I help you?”

“...Really?” Her eyes widened, sparkling slightly.

“Yeah.”

“I owe you! I’ll buy you so much good food later!”

“Thank you, but let’s focus on the work first, Kacho, so we can actually leave.”

“Right!”

Misaki looked at me like I was her savior.

Our library in Kamakura had a massive annual budget—around 600 to 800 million yen, with at least 30 million dedicated solely to book purchases. But shelf space was limited. Since this request came from the Slack Kancho—who was probably busy playing golf—it meant the publisher had pulled strings with the mayor or someone high up in City Hall. Misaki couldn’t outright refuse, but she refused to accept useless stock.

“Bring your laptop here,” Misaki ordered softly, patting the empty space beside her. “Let’s sit side by side.”

“Okay.”

I pulled up a chair next to hers. The space behind her desk was incredibly cramped. As I sat down, the intoxicating scent of her citrus-floral perfume washed over me, mixing with the warm, slightly humid evening air drifting in through the cracked window.

“I’ll take this section, you take that one,” she instructed, leaning in close to point at my screen.

“Understood.”

“Thank you.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, her breath hot against the side of my neck. I could feel the radiant heat of her body pressing into my personal space. Every time she shifted, the fabric of her tight skirt rustled softly against her legs, and her thigh deliberately brushed against mine, sending an electric jolt straight up my spine.

“...Stop looking at me like that, Kacho,” I murmured, my throat suddenly dry.

“Yosh, let’s do it!” she coughed, quickly looking away, her cheeks flushing a deep, beautiful pink. “Also, shadow me at the meeting tomorrow. It’ll be a good experience for you.”

“Yes.”

As we worked in tandem, the soft, rhythmic clicking of our keyboards filled the silence. Beside me, Misaki couldn't keep her eyes on her screen. I could feel her gaze occasionally darting to my face, tracing the line of my jaw, the way my glasses sat on my nose, and dipping lower to catch a glimpse of my exposed collarbones beneath my unbuttoned collar. I pretended not to notice her heavy breathing.

The books the Tokyo Publisher was pushing were predictably impressive. They were heavily marketing the ultimate buzzword for modern Japanese local governments: SDGs (Sustainable Development Goals). They were pushing a massive, 15-volume, full-color hardcover encyclopedia set detailing global economics, environmental engineering, and civic planning. The price? A staggering 150,000 to 200,000 yen per set.

“This one isn’t needed because...”

“Ah! You’re exactly right!”

Our thighs bumped and pressed together beneath the desk as we enthusiastically tore through the list. Before I knew it, I had finished my portion of the reviews. I glanced at the clock on the wall.

“It’s almost 7:00 PM.”

Misaki blinked, pulling herself out of her focused trance. “Go take a break. I should be finished soon.”

“I’ll help with the closing duties on the floor,” I offered.

“Alright.”

My body felt incredibly stiff—and entirely too warm—from sitting pressed up against her for so long. I needed to move. I walked toward the front desk just as the intercom clicked on, broadcasting a universal signal across Japan. At exactly 6:45 PM, a gentle, instrumental version of Hotaru no Hikari (Auld Lang Syne) began to play, filling the library with its melancholic chime.

“It’s closing time!”

“Hurry up! Don’t dawdle!”

“I’m sorry! I need to check this out!”

I shook my head with a wry smile as a group of students frantically packed their bags after waking up from their naps.

“The library is now closing. Please bring all materials to the circulation desk and make your way to the exits,” I announced over the PA system, my voice echoing through the quiet aisles.

As I walked the floor to ensure everyone was leaving, I noticed a figure tucked away in the darkest corner of the back aisle.

She was incredibly gloomy and entirely unapproachable. She slouched forward, intensely focused on the open book in her lap. But despite her terrible posture and the oversized, frumpy sweater she wore, she couldn't hide the incredibly lush, heavy, mature curves of her body. Her unkempt, long black hair spilled over her shoulders.

As I stepped closer, the faint, sweet scent of old paper and black coffee reached my nose. I could hear her soft, heavy breathing in the quiet aisle.

“Sensei,” I said softly, not wanting to startle her. “It’s time for the library to close.”

“...................”

The woman jumped slightly. She turned around, her thick-rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. Her heavy-lidded, sleepy eyes blinked up at me in absolute confusion before realization hit her.

She let out a soft, breathless gasp, standing up so hurriedly that her massive chest bounced heavily beneath her sweater.

“I-I am so sorry!” she squeaked, bowing her head deeply.