Checking Out at 5:15 PM Chapter 7: 25% ABV (Patreon)

“So, why did you join the library?”

The sudden question almost made me choke on my food.

“Sorry, sorry!” Misaki quickly apologized, sliding a ceramic mug of hot roasted green tea across the wooden table toward me. “Here, drink this first!”

Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.

I drank the tea desperately until my airway finally cleared. I grabbed a paper napkin, wiped my mouth, and looked at my gorgeous boss in absolute confusion. “Thank you, Kacho. But why ask that out of nowhere?”

When she had dragged me out of the library for our "second round," my biggest fear was that she would drag me to a smoky, loud izakaya where we’d be forced to survive on edamame and sheer willpower. Fortunately, when she asked what I wanted, I had blurted out the name of a famous oyakodon (chicken and egg rice bowl) restaurant near Kamakura Station.

Misaki had happily accepted. We were currently sitting in a cozy booth on the third floor of an old commercial building. The warm, golden lighting and the rich, savory aroma of sweet dashi broth and simmering soy sauce gave the place the vibe of a secret base, entirely hidden from the bustling night crowd below. It was perfect—until her question threw me completely off balance.

“What’s so weird about me asking?” Misaki sighed. She picked up her frosted glass mug, the condensation dripping down her fingers, and took a slow sip of beer. “You passed the Tier 1 civil servant exam. With that kind of elite qualification, you could have gone straight to City Hall or a major Ministry. It would have given you infinitely better prospects and a much higher income. Instead, you chose the municipal library.”

Working in a library might seem like a dream job for introverted bookworms, but the reality was far less romantic. The salary was notoriously modest, and the absolute ceiling for promotion was the Kancho (Library Director) seat—a position usually gifted to old, retiring politicians anyway.

Misaki herself hadn’t passed the brutal Tier 1 exam. Yet, I had. In the rigid hierarchy of Japanese civil service, as long as I didn’t catastrophically mess up, I could easily surpass her in rank and authority within a few short years. The only reason I was currently her subordinate was due to the mandatory two-year rookie period, where all fresh hires had to learn the basics at the bottom.

With my scores, I could have easily walked into the Ministry of Finance, Customs, or the Cultural Affairs Agency. So, why on earth was I stamping due dates on paperback novels in Kamakura?

“Do you just really love books?” she pressed, her sharp eyes studying me.

“Not that much,” I answered honestly. I enjoyed reading, but I had plenty of other hobbies I cared about more.

“...Then, why?”

I could tell she was genuinely intensely curious. Her head was tilted slightly, a few stray strands of dark hair framing her beautiful face. I felt a bit awkward, but I decided to just tell the absolute truth.

“Because my shift ends at 5:15 PM sharp.”

“...................”

Misaki just stared at me. Her mouth slightly parted in sheer disbelief.

I knew it sounded crazy, but it was the absolute truth. Civil service might not make you a millionaire, but it was the most economically secure job in the country. No layoffs, no corporate bankruptcies. I had total stability. But within the civil service, there was a massive divide.

“Look,” I explained, leaning over my half-empty bowl. “The prestige of the Ministries is great, but the workload is a nightmare. Do you know why Tokyo taxi drivers line up in the Kasumigaseki government district at two in the morning? Because the elite bureaucrats at the Ministry of Economy stay at their desks until they are half-dead. They only go home because the trains literally stop running.”

I took a breath, meeting her gaze. “The pay difference isn't worth my sanity. Instead of working from sunrise to the next sunrise, isn’t it better to work a peaceful shift, go home at 5:15 PM, play video games, and collect my paycheck?”

“.....................”

Misaki opened her mouth to argue, but couldn't. Logically, she knew I was right. But emotionally, thinking about her own crushing overtime and the sheer weight of the responsibilities she carried, my carefree answer clearly frustrated her.

“Excuse me!” Misaki suddenly raised her hand, flagging down a waiter. “Can I get a glass of shochu? On the rocks!”

“.................”

I stared at her in horror. I had just planned to finish my unexpectedly delicious chicken and egg bowl and go home. Why the hell was my boss suddenly escalating to hard liquor?!

“Kacho, why are you ordering shochu? Isn’t the beer enough?”

Beer was basically water for weary corporate workers. But shochu on the rocks? That was a totally different beast. If sake is the elegant "wine" of Japan, shochu is the rugged "vodka." Distilled from sweet potatoes or barley, its standard Alcohol By Volume (ABV) sat at a heavy 25%!

Normally, when you order it on the rocks, you wait for the ice to melt. The chill mutes the harsh bite, and the melting water dilutes the ABV down to a smooth 15%, making it perfectly pair with food without burning your throat.

But could Misaki wait for the ice to melt?

Absolutely not.

The moment the waiter set the clinking glass down, Misaki grabbed it and chugged the raw liquor as if she were trying to extinguish a fire in her soul.

“Hmn...” she winced slightly, her eyes watering from the burn.

Thankfully, I recognized the bottle on the menu. It was Iichiko, a premium barley brand known for being incredibly crisp, light, and dangerously easy to drink, hiding its high alcohol content behind subtle floral notes. But 25% ABV was still 25% ABV!

“Drink some water, Kacho.” I reacted instantly, pushing my glass of ice water toward her.

She took it with both hands, gulping it down obediently.

“Fuh...”

She let out a heavy, incredibly warm sigh. The alcohol hit her bloodstream almost instantly. I could physically see the radiant heat spreading across her skin. A deep, gorgeous cherry-blossom pink flush crept up her slender neck and settled heavily on her cheeks. Her eyes grew hazy, heavy-lidded, and undeniably sultry under the warm restaurant lights.

Because it was warm inside the restaurant, she had taken off her tailored blazer earlier. Now, slumped slightly in her seat, she was wearing only her crisp white button-down blouse. The thin, slightly sheer fabric clung tightly to her, doing an incredibly poor job of hiding the lush, heavy curves of her generous chest. Every time she breathed, the buttons looked like they were fighting a losing battle.

“Don’t worry...” she mumbled, resting her chin on her hand, looking at me with those hazy, hooded eyes. “I won’t judge you for joining the library just to go home early.”

“Kacho...”

As expected, I thought, deliberately forcing my eyes up to the ceiling. A woman with a generous chest truly has a generous heart. I kept that thought strictly locked away, terrified she would legally execute me if I spoke it aloud.

“But...” she slurred softly.

“But...?”

“...I am sorry about earlier.”

“...Okay?” I blinked. I wasn’t sure why she was apologizing.

“...I trouble you with so many things,” she mumbled, her glossy lips pouting slightly. “Whether it was last night, or forcing you to stay late with me today... I ruined your 5:15 PM plan.”

Hearing my incredibly capable, fearsome "Iron Lady" boss apologize to me in such a weak, vulnerable voice completely short-circuited my brain. Had she literally chugged straight liquor just to gather the liquid courage to apologize to a rookie?

Was this woman incredibly awkward, cowardly, or just dangerously cute?

“Ah, no, it’s completely fine. Really, don't worry about it, Kacho,” I assured her quickly.

She let out a soft huff. Her slightly messy hair bun, the flush of her skin, and the incredibly mature, womanly silhouette pressing against her white shirt were a breathtaking combination. I shifted awkwardly in my seat, suddenly having a very difficult time maintaining control over the biological reaction happening in the lower half of my body.

What the hell am I thinking?

“But...” Misaki muttered, breaking my trance. “You’re also at fault... for making the office feel so comfortable...”

“What?”

“Nothing!” Misaki sat up abruptly, her chest bouncing heavily against the table edge. She pointed a slightly unsteady finger at me. “You’ve finished eating, right? Good. Accompany me for another drink.”

“...Again?”

“Don’t worry! I’ll pay for you.” She puffed out her chest proudly, fully aware that her senior salary dwarfed my rookie pay.

“.......................”

I wanted to argue, but looking at her adorable, flushed face, I surrendered with a heavy sigh. Still, as she stumbled slightly getting out of the booth, I quickly went to the register and paid for our food.

“Hey! Stop it!” Misaki hurried over, grabbing my sleeve. “I told you I’m treating you!”

“It’s fine, Kacho. You gave me that 10,000-yen note yesterday, remember? I just used it to pay.”

“You...!”

Frustrated, Misaki grabbed my shoulder. Because she was slightly shorter than me—even in her heels—she had to pull me down slightly to glare into my eyes.

“This second round is definitely on me!” she declared, her face inches from mine. “If you pull out your wallet again, I will purposely make you stay at the library until 7:00 PM tomorrow!”

“...Please spare me from that.”

I was officially speechless, but I couldn't help the small smile forming on my lips. She let out a beautiful, bell-like laugh, her soft, incredibly warm body pressing tightly against my side as we walked out of the restaurant and into the cool Kamakura night.

As we stood on the dimly lit street, the sharp, citrus top notes of her perfume from earlier in the day had entirely burned away. Because we were pressed so closely together, my senses were completely overwhelmed by what remained on her skin—a soft, incredibly inviting, powdery warmth that smelled like pure, intoxicating womanhood. It was so domestic, so intimate, it briefly made me wonder if she was just horribly lonely.

“What?” she asked, noticing my gaze. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No... well...”

“What is it?”

“Your perfume...” I murmured, my voice dropping slightly. “It smells really nice, Kacho.”

“...................”

The streetlights weren't very bright, but even in the shadows, I could see the immediate, violent reaction my words caused. The casual confidence she had built up vanished in an instant.

“Pervert,” she squeaked, looking away quickly.

“...Sorry.”

Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud. But as we walked shoulder-to-shoulder toward the next bar, her face remained burning red. Somehow, I had a feeling my strict, workaholic boss wasn't going to be able to forget those words for a very, very long time.