Checking Out at 5:15 PM Chapter 8: The Hokkaido Tanuki Plan (Patreon)

(Misaki’s Perspective)

“That guy is a complete pervert.”

Misaki’s voice was a husky, breathless whisper that vanished into the quiet expanse of her dimly lit apartment.

She had wanted to keep Motoi out drinking with her just a little bit longer tonight, but she knew it was highly inappropriate. As a section manager, using her authority to pressure a young, handsome subordinate into staying out late was textbook power harassment.

She wouldn’t actually force anyone to hang out with her against their will. But the moment someone let their guard down around her, she had a terrible habit of dragging them into her drunken orbit, rambling endlessly about her crippling fear of growing old alone.

...Yeah. Her biggest, most pathetic fear was turning 32 without a ring on her finger. If she dwelt on it too much, she would drown in a terrifying spiral of depression, which she usually treated by self-medicating with premium alcohol.

Frankly, most of her nights were spent slightly buzzed. It was the only surefire way to silence the exhausting overthinking that haunted her. If she wasn't drinking, she was working—bringing municipal reports back to her apartment, typing until her vision blurred, dragging her exhausted body to the bathroom to wash up, slapping on some expensive night cream, and collapsing into bed like a corpse. Wake up, and repeat.

Occasionally, she would go on a blind date arranged by her worried parents or an old acquaintance. They never explicitly said, "You aren't young anymore, hurry up," but the pity in their eyes hurt far worse than words.

She desperately wanted to get married. But when she looked at the dating pool of men in her age bracket?

“Let’s just stay single forever,” she groaned, tossing her head back.

At her absolute lowest moments, she had formed a foolproof backup plan: When she hit 35, she would take her savings, move to the freezing wilderness of Hokkaido, buy a mountain, and breed Ezo Tanuki (Japanese Raccoon Dogs).

Why tanukis? First, as Motoi had casually mentioned to her once, they were commercially viable for breeding, which meant she wouldn't starve. Second, despite their silly, cunning image in folklore, tanukis were strictly monogamous. They were fiercely loyal partners who raised their young together.

“Yup. Tanukis are the best. Bears are absolute scumbags,” she muttered decisively.

As she sat on her plush living room sofa, scrolling through cute tanuki pictures on her smartphone, her thoughts inevitably drifted right back to her subordinate.

He was incredibly cunning in his own way, yet he had effortlessly, permanently lodged himself in her mind.

“Your perfume... it smells really nice, Kacho.”

“Really... what on earth were you saying...” Misaki whined, her toes curling into the living room rug.

Just remembering the low, slightly rough timber of his voice sent a dangerous, giddy shiver straight down her spine. She had just stepped out of a hot bath. Her damp, dark hair was wrapped tightly in a microfiber towel, and she was wearing nothing but a loose, silky camisole and thin pajama shorts. The cool breeze from the air conditioner should have chilled her, but her skin felt completely ablaze.

Strangely enough, she hadn’t been angry when he called her out. Instead, during their walk to the train station, she had discreetly slipped into a public restroom just to sniff her own wrists, desperately wondering if her scent was really that intoxicating to him.

“What a pervert...” she whimpered, her face burning.

Desperate for an outlet for her surging emotions, she grabbed the large, fluffy throw pillow next to her and threw her body over it on the sofa. She squeezed it fiercely against her chest, practically trapping the cushion in a flawless rear-naked chokehold. The soft fabric pressed deeply against her heavy, bare cleavage as she buried her flushed face into it, imagining the fresh, masculine scent of his cologne.

“Motoi...”

She thought of the young, incredibly capable rookie. He had passed the grueling Tier-1 exams—a golden ticket to power and prestige—yet he chose the dusty shelves of the municipal library. She felt like he was wasting his massive potential. He could have gone anywhere. He could have met high-society women who were much younger, much better, much...

“But, I want to go home at 5:15 PM sharp.”

His absurd, brutally honest words echoed in her ears. He chose the library precisely because it gave him peace. And as long as that unshakeable schedule existed, he would stay right here. With her.

When that realization fully washed over her, the tight, anxious knot in Misaki’s chest miraculously loosened. A strange, profound sense of relief flooded her body.

“Really... why do I feel like this?” she whispered against the pillow.

Every day of her life had been a stagnant, unchanging routine. But the moment Motoi arrived, the heavy air in the library shifted. Despite his elite qualifications, he didn't act superior. He blended in seamlessly with the part-timers, the contract workers, and the jaded civil servants like her who had taken a decade just to reach middle management.

“What am I even thinking?”

Shaking her head to clear the dangerously domestic fantasies brewing in her mind, Misaki finally stood up and retreated to her bedroom. Yet, as she slipped beneath the cold sheets, a deep, lingering warmth radiated from her core. Tonight, she fell asleep instantly, completely free of her usual anxiety.

Was it the lingering effects of the shochu? Or was it a certain bespectacled, cunning subordinate?

She wasn’t sure yet. But a tiny, fragile bud of romance had definitely been planted in her heart, waiting for the chance to bloom.

(Motoi’s Perspective)

“Delicious.”

Sitting at the small dining table in my apartment, I took a slow sip of my freshly brewed black coffee. The bitter, roasted aroma filled the quiet room, perfectly complementing my simple breakfast.

The morning sunlight streamed through my window, warming my shoulders. I still had plenty of time before I needed to clock in. Because I didn't have to commute across prefectures to some high-stress corporate headquarters, my mornings were blissfully slow. Best of all, I had actually woken up well-rested because Misaki had graciously released me before 10:00 PM last night.

“She really is a good boss,” I murmured to myself.

Releasing a subordinate before midnight was practically a miracle in modern Japanese corporate culture. Countless salarymen were held hostage at izakayas until the last train departed. Young workers couldn’t refuse a superior’s invitation without being permanently labeled as insubordinate or "unable to read the atmosphere."

Working for a massive corporation or a government Ministry was like serving in an army under ruthless generals. If the CEO was competent, the troops thrived. But if the leadership was toxic? The soldiers didn't die in battle—they died of overwork, or they simply hollowed out, their souls drained completely dry by endless work. It was exactly why so many brilliant youths refused to work in Kasumigaseki anymore. You were given a brutal choice: overwork yourself to death for peanuts, or overwork yourself to death for a high salary.

I had strategically chosen the hidden third path: a highly stable, completely stress-free job with decent pay. Because civil servant salaries scaled automatically with seniority, my income would steadily increase as I aged, even if I did the bare minimum.

Yup. Civil service was the absolute best.

But as I washed my coffee mug and locked the front door to my apartment, my thoughts drifted back to Misaki.

Despite her intimidating "Iron Lady" reputation at the library, the woman I saw last night was incredibly different. She was awkward, slightly cowardly when she apologized to me, and undeniably, breathtakingly beautiful.

“Really...” I sighed, walking down the sunlit street toward the library.

Was it okay for me to harbor special feelings for my boss?

I approached life highly strategically, which was why I picked my career so carefully. Romance required the exact same level of caution. If we dated and broke up, the workplace fallout would be catastrophic.

But I couldn't deny her raw, womanly charm. The idea of letting a woman that gorgeous isolate herself on a freezing mountain in Hokkaido to breed tanukis felt like a tragic waste of premium wife material.

If she just cut back on the heavy drinking, I’d seriously consider marrying her, I thought with a wry smile.

Older women lacked the volatile, dramatic instability of girls in their early twenties. They were reliable partners with simple, domestic goals—like building a warm family. When I pictured the way Misaki had laughed last night, the soft flush of her cheeks, and the incredibly sensual way she had tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a heavy heat settled in my lower stomach.

I shook my head, slapping my cheeks lightly. Focus.

Once I clocked in, I refused to let those distracting thoughts cross my mind. It was highly unprofessional to fantasize about my boss's soft curves while being paid by the taxpayers' hard-earned money. I pushed the romantic daydreams aside and focused entirely on my work.

It wasn't until my lunch break rolled around that I finally exhaled.

Stepping out of the air-conditioned library, the bright, midday Kamakura sun beat down on my shoulders. The faint, salty breeze blowing in from the coast mixed perfectly with the mouth-watering scent of sweet soy sauce and fried pork cutlets wafting from the local diner down the street. I was starving, ready to enjoy a quiet, solitary lunch while I sorted out my complicated feelings for my boss.

But just as I approached the diner's entrance—

“Motoi-san?”

A soft, timid, and incredibly familiar voice cut through the street's ambient noise.

I turned around, blinking in surprise. Standing there in the bright sunlight, completely removed from her usual gloomy corner of the library, was Sensei.

Yui.