Checking Out at 5:15 PM Chapter 39: The Comfort of Routine (Patreon)

“It’s been a long time since I went home this early.”

Misaki stretched her arms high above her head as we walked side by side down the quiet Kamakura sidewalk. The sudden movement pulled the crisp white fabric of her blouse tightly across her generous chest, completely ruining the severe, professional lines of her tailored suit. She let out a soft, genuine sigh, the tense muscles in her shoulders finally relaxing.

“Thank you for your hard work today, Kacho,” I replied warmly, forcing my eyes to remain firmly on her face, trying to fight my man’s nature to look at beautiful scenery from my boss’s movement.

I wasn't exaggerating my gratitude. Unlike me, who packed my bag and marched out the door exactly at 5:15 PM, Misaki practically lived in the library. She rarely left before the sky turned completely dark, handling the bureaucratic nightmares so the rest of the staff didn't have to.

While some might pity her for overworking, I knew the reality of the Japanese corporate machine. There were countless ministry jobs in Tokyo that were a thousand times worse, demanding eighty-hour work weeks and absolute submission. Misaki absorbed the local municipal stress specifically so the Kamakura library staff could actually work with a smile, rather than drowning in depression.

If I was able to comfortably clock out at 5:15 PM every day, it was directly because she shielded me from City Hall.

For that, I was incredibly grateful. More importantly, having a gorgeous, highly capable boss was undeniably fantastic for my heart and my daily mood.

I was genuinely glad I worked at this sleepy coastal library. Every day wasn't a thrilling adventure—most of the time, the work was boring, monotonous, and aggressively mundane. But I wasn't an idealistic fool. I knew perfectly well that this "boring" civil service job, with its guaranteed stability and lack of corporate warfare, was exactly the kind of life millions of burnt-out men in Tokyo desperately envied. I fully intended to protect this peace.

“Don’t exaggerate,” Misaki scoffed softly, dropping her arms. “I just did what I wanted to do.”

Yup, I thought to myself.

Part of the reason she worked so late wasn't just dedication; it was avoidance. She simply didn't want to go back to an empty, quiet apartment. She wasn’t a naive twenty-something anymore. She was in her early thirties, completely single, and facing the terrifying, creeping societal pressure of dying alone.

Instead of letting herself be swallowed by the suffocating despair of an empty living room—overthinking her future until she inevitably ended up chugging premium beer on her couch just to numb the negative emotions—it was much easier to stay at the office. Work provided purpose. It kept her sharp mind occupied.

Beneath the perfect, impenetrable armor of the "Iron Lady," Misaki harbored the exact same vulnerable weaknesses everyone else possessed. She wasn’t nearly as invincible as she pretended to be.

Yet, without a doubt, the sudden arrival of Motoi had completely disrupted her melancholic routine.

For the first time in years, she actively looked forward to coming to work. Because of him, her workload felt infinitely lighter. Most of the part-timers were paralyzed by their own insecurities or lacked the administrative skills to handle complex problems. But Motoi was entirely different. He effortlessly navigated legal bureaucracy, charmingly de-escalated angry patrons, and completely modernized her filing systems—all before casually leaving exactly on time.

In Japanese corporate culture, there was a famous proverb: “The nail that sticks out will be hammered down.”

Usually, an arrogant, overpowered rookie like him would be completely isolated, bullied, and crushed by jealous seniors until he quit. But the adult world didn't actually run on harmony; it ran on a strict, ruthless hierarchy where the strong devoured the weak.

Motoi was undeniably strong. He possessed Tier-1 qualifications and a terrifyingly elite legal education that made his presence in a municipal library almost comical. More importantly, he possessed a razor-sharp emotional quotient (EQ) and a devastatingly handsome face. Because he was actively favored by Misaki—the absolute authority in the building—the jealous part-timers at the bottom of the hierarchy didn't dare breathe a word against him.

Motoi was on the fast track to municipal leadership. In a government institution, rank defined your entire existence. The person with the highest rank could basically act as God.

While civil servants couldn't be easily fired, Misaki could perfectly imagine exactly how Motoi would handle an insubordinate coworker. He wouldn't yell. He would just maintain that calm, breathtakingly gentle smile as he officially reassigned the offending employee to the damp, rat-infested archival warehouse in the basement, burying them in mind-numbing data entry until they suffered a mental breakdown and quit on their own.

The nail that sticks out gets hammered.

It wasn't a warning about harmony; it was a ruthless tool used by the ruling class to control the bottom feeders.

Thinking about Motoi’s hidden, domineering nature sent a sudden, violent shiver straight down Misaki’s spine. If he was that ruthlessly commanding in the office beneath his polite smile, what was he like in bed? She could easily imagine him completely taking control, subduing a woman with the exact same terrifyingly calm, absolute authority.

His girlfriend must be incredibly lucky, she thought, her breath hitching slightly.

Misaki wasn’t actually sure if Motoi had a girlfriend. But she strongly suspected he did, especially given how smoothly he deflected the aggressive, daily advances of the bored housewives and flirty coworkers.

“...What exactly are you thinking about right now, Kacho?”

My voice cut through the evening air. I couldn't help but ask. Misaki’s face had suddenly flushed a deep, beautiful red, and her eyes were completely glazed over.

“N-Nothing!” Misaki jolted, instantly panicked. She was terrified he could read her mind.

How could she possibly admit the wildly inappropriate fantasies she harbored about him? Some nights, when the loneliness in her apartment became unbearable, she would lie in bed wearing nothing but a sexy, expensive set of imported lingerie, hugging her pillows tightly as her fingers drifted downward, actively fantasizing about what would happen if the polite, perfect Motoi finally snapped, pinned her to the mattress, and completely devoured her.

“Are you sure?” I asked, tilting my head.

“Of course I’m sure!” Misaki instantly snapped back into her Iron Lady persona, glaring at me fiercely. “Are you doubting your superior?”

“...No, Kacho. My apologies.”

I decided to keep my mouth shut. I doubted her denial, but facing that terrifying, icy glare, I had no choice but to relent. Strangely enough, I had to admit that despite her cold, stern scowl, if I harbored even a fraction of masochism in my blood, I would have dropped to my knees and declared her my absolute Queen right then and there.

Unfortunately for the aggressive women around me, my romantic preferences were incredibly vanilla. That was exactly why I actively ignored the dangerous advances of the local married women who frequented the library.

The idea of engaging in a secret, illicit rendezvous with a bored Kamakura housewife was undeniably thrilling. The raw, carnal pleasure of a forbidden affair sounded amazing. But the aftermath? The screaming spouses, the messy divorces, the total destruction of my peaceful career?

No thanks. I was a normal man, but I wasn't a suicidal idiot. I wanted a safe, boring, and absolutely stable relationship.

“So, what’s the plan, Kacho? Do you have a specific place you want to visit?” I asked.

Since she had actively stopped me from going home and asked to walk with me, I knew she had a destination in mind.

Was she going to invite me back to her apartment again?

I wouldn't entirely mind. I had been perfectly comfortable sleeping on her sofa during the thunderstorm. It wasn't that I found her unattractive—if anything, I found her dangerously alluring. Like I had told myself before: if she was somehow still single and preparing to run away to Hokkaido in a few years, I would absolutely step in and marry her myself.

But I hadn't expected the ghost of my past to suddenly reappear. Aoi’s return into my life had thrown my peaceful timeline into absolute chaos. She had already started consulting me on legal contracts and administrative loopholes for her PR pitches—a dangerous, slippery slope that dragged me right back into the high-stress legal world my parents dominated, a world I had desperately tried to escape by becoming a librarian.

“Do you... actually have a plan for tonight?” Misaki suddenly stopped walking, a flash of guilt crossing her face. “Did I just ruin your evening?”

“No, I have absolutely nothing to do,” I reassured her.

It was the truth. After 5:15 PM, my schedule was gloriously empty. I usually just cooked a simple dinner, played some video games, and went to sleep. It was a peaceful routine, but occasionally, a sudden disruption like an evening stroll with my gorgeous boss was incredibly welcome.

Even after a grueling nine-hour shift, Misaki looked impeccably sharp.

Unlike Aoi, who dressed like a flashy, high-fashion Tokyo model, Misaki’s wardrobe was built for intimidation and elegance. She wore a tailored, dark navy pantsuit that hugged her hips perfectly. Beneath the blazer, her crisp, high-collared white blouse was completely devoid of cheap frills or distracting lace. The blazer featured sharp, padded shoulders that accentuated her statuesque, authoritative frame while subtly hiding the generous curves of her chest.

She completed the look with a pair of beautiful, pointed-toe leather kitten heels. The heels pushed her height to an imposing 168 centimeters, making her taller than the vast majority of men in this country.

She exuded an aura of absolute command. The word "Queen" suited her perfectly.

“I know this is incredibly rich coming from me,” Misaki narrowed her eyes, completely shattering my analysis of her outfit, “but are you thinking about something weird right now?”

“No, I am not.” I looked at her with perfectly calm, gentle, completely innocent eyes. I didn't even crack a smile, ensuring I looked utterly serious.

“Hmm....” Misaki crossed her arms, clearly doubtful, but she had zero evidence that her subordinate was currently mentally undressing her.

“So, are you inviting me back to your apartment again, Kacho? I can cook dinner for us if you’d like.”

“Eh?!”

Misaki jolted, her heart violently skipping a beat. She wasn't angry—he had been to her apartment before, so it was a perfectly natural assumption. But the casual, domestic intimacy of him offering to cook for her in her own private kitchen made her stomach flutter wildly.

Desperate to regain control, she blurted out the one question that had been haunting her.

“Don’t you... have a girlfriend waiting for you or something? Is it really okay for you to come over?”

“No, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“...Really?” Misaki’s eyes widened in shock, followed instantly by a massive, crushing wave of pure relief. She had finally managed to casually confirm his relationship status! But her paranoid mind immediately supplied a second, terrifying option. “What about... a boyfriend?”

“I am completely straight, Kacho.”

I stared at her, completely speechless.

“Oh, thank God—I mean, that’s great!” Misaki exhaled heavily, then immediately panicked. “A-Ah, but it isn’t like I have any prejudice against that, okay?! I completely support it!”

“You don’t need to explain yourself. I’m not offended.”

“I know, but... you know how it is. The modern corporate era is incredibly sensitive. If I don’t explicitly clarify my stance, HR will have my head.”

“You are right,” I nodded solemnly.

We both let out a synchronized, exhausted sigh at the sheer terror of modern corporate bureaucracy.

“Anyway,” Misaki cleared her throat, regaining her composure and pointing down the street. “Let’s get something to eat out here first.”

“What’s the plan?”

“We are getting ice cream.”

With a completely cool, deadpan, authoritative expression, the Iron Lady turned and marched directly toward the local ice cream parlor.

“...Okay?”

I stood there for a moment, completely speechless. I had never in a million years expected my terrifying, strict boss to have a massive sweet tooth. I couldn't help but smile since the gap was just too cute.