Checking Out at 5:15 PM Chapter 41: The Bookmobile's Breakdown (Patreon)

Perhaps some people had romanticized expectations about how my evening with Misaki had ended.

They probably imagined we enjoyed our ice cream, shared a romantic dinner with a few drinks, went back to her quiet apartment, and then completely let go—falling into each other’s arms, throwing caution to the wind, and becoming one under the cover of night, entirely inseparable until the morning light.

Yes, a part of my brain acknowledged that such an intoxicating, carnal possibility theoretically existed. Yet, as much as my body might have been tempted by the mature, beautiful woman walking beside me, my rational mind hit the brakes.

I just wanted to take my time. I had to admit that simply spending an innocent evening with Misaki was genuinely joyful.

So, after our ice cream, we grabbed a completely normal, unpretentious dinner, shared a single drink, and then politely went our separate ways home. After all, we both had to work the next day.

More importantly, the thought of actively pursuing a deeper, physical relationship with Misaki right now was a situation I actively wanted to avoid. I had only just started my new type relationship with Aoi. If I came close to Aoi only to immediately turn around and pull my boss into bed... wouldn't that make me an absolute scumbag?

But what about Misaki? How did she feel about our outing? And more importantly, how did she actually feel about me?

I wasn't sure. But I decided to securely box up that problem and shove it into the deepest corner of my mind because I had absolutely no idea how to properly handle it.

In university, I had a scumbag acquaintance who operated on pure instinct. He carelessly slept with anyone who opened their legs for him, regardless of their relationship status or emotional baggage. Did he ever feel guilty? Absolutely not. In his twisted mind, he never believed he was doing anything wrong. He blamed the women for falling for him, reasoning that if they knew his reputation and still chose to sleep with him, it was entirely their fault.

Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately for society—his life was cut violently short when a jealous ex-boyfriend tracked him down and stabbed him to death in an alleyway.

Perhaps witnessing that violent consequence was the root of my deep aversion to messy, scumbag-like relationships. It instilled a very healthy element of fear in me.

Besides, back then, I was exclusively with Aoi. I had genuinely believed our relationship would last forever. I thought we would eventually stand together at the altar, a future she completely believed in, too.

Yet, in the end, we parted ways because of my cowardice. Because I refused to survive in Tokyo, and chose my lazy peace over her ambitious love.

Right now, I was totally free. There were no heavy expectations binding me down, and I could do whatever I wanted. Yet even so, I preferred to just see how things naturally progressed. I wasn't in any hurry to start a new romance. I truly enjoyed my current, boring life, where I could clock out at exactly 5:15 PM and go home to an empty, peaceful house.

While I was in a relaxed, Zen-like state, seemingly enjoying my mundane life to the absolute fullest, the situation couldn't have been more different for Yui.

She had been an absolute, agonizing mess for the past few days.

“What should I do?” she muttered to herself, staring blankly at her laptop screen.

Writing. As a professional author, this was the one thing she absolutely had to do. Especially since she had been trapped in a suffocating slump for years. Her editor was waiting. Her publisher was waiting. Her fans were waiting. She desperately needed to create something.

Yet, ever since yesterday's children's reading event—ever since Aoi had casually dropped the devastating bomb about her identity—Yui couldn't focus on a single professional thought.

Motoi-san had a girlfriend before.

It was a perfectly logical, normal fact for a handsome man in his twenties. But the fact that his previous girlfriend was a woman that overwhelmingly beautiful, confident, and elite made Yui feel physically ill with inadequacy.

They might have broken up, but Yui possessed an active, dangerously vivid imagination of a novelist. She couldn't stop visualizing a scenario where Aoi’s sudden reappearance in Kamakura sparked the dormant, passionate embers they had buried. She imagined them falling back into each other's arms, their carnal desires completely overtaking their logic as they connected deeply, both in heart and body.

As she thought of the perfect, high-fashion Aoi, Yui’s mind betrayed her. She couldn't help but vividly imagine Aoi crying out lewdly beneath Motoi’s relentless, powerful stamina in the dark.

“W-What the hell am I thinking?!”

Yui violently shook her head, her face burning a brilliant, feverish red. She desperately tried to shove the dirty, intensely erotic thoughts out of her brain. But she couldn't stop. Her mind kept flashing back to the time Motoi had sat in the passenger seat of her car. She remembered the sheer breadth of his shoulders in his tight sports t-shirt, the raw, dense muscle of his arms, and the highly noticeable, heavy bulge pressing against the fabric of his trousers.

“Ugh...!”

Sitting in her usual, gloomy spot in the back corner of the library reference section, Yui grabbed fistfuls of her own hair. She pulled her thick, dark bangs down to completely cover her flushed face as she writhed in absolute agony.

She felt like a massive pervert. The thought of Aoi and Motoi rekindling their passionate love made her stomach ache violently. Her chest felt so tight she could barely breathe. It was a terrifying, suffocating mix of intense jealousy and deep, desperate longing.

Yet, what was even more terrifying was that her hands were moving.

Driven by the agonizing cocktail of jealousy, despair, and vivid erotic imagination, her fingers were flying across the mechanical keyboard. Without even realizing it, she was typing out a dark, heavily distorted, intensely psychological romance story.

Yui didn't actually want to write this specific story. Yet somehow, her hands completely refused to stop. The words were pouring out of her soul.

Is she okay?

I couldn't help but feel a deep wave of concern as I watched Yui from across the library. She was huddled in her usual dark corner, completely hiding her face behind her hair. She looked like the physical embodiment of gloom.

Yet, despite her miserable posture, I could see that she was currently producing a massive amount of work. She had arrived as soon as the library doors opened this morning, and her hands hadn't stopped flying across her laptop keyboard since. She was typing with all her might, pounding the keys as if she was actively possessed by a demon.

An average patron might think she was having a breakdown, but I knew exactly what I was witnessing. Sometimes, creative professionals entered a unique, terrifying state of hyper-focus. In a certain basketball manga, they called it entering "The Zone."

It was a state of extreme, almost dangerous concentration where a person could output 120% of their theoretical capacity. It wasn't limited to sports; it absolutely applied to art, writing, and intense work.

From my careful observation, Yui was currently locked deep inside The Zone. She was hunched completely forward, her spine curved dangerously as her eyes locked onto the glowing screen with manic intensity.

I really hope she fixes her posture soon, though, I thought with a wince. She was still young, but if she kept hunching like a gargoyle, she was going to permanently destroy her lower back.

I decided to leave her alone and let her work. I had my own tasks to focus on.

But when I stepped into the main administrative office to drop off some paperwork, I immediately noticed a tense atmosphere. Misaki was standing in the center of the room, surrounded by three senior coworkers. They all looked incredibly troubled.

Oh no...

Even without hearing the conversation, I knew instantly that they were dealing with a massive trouble. In moments like this, the smartest, safest course of action for a junior employee was to silently turn around and walk away. I wasn't technically free; I had my own designated tasks to complete. If I could do less work for the exact same salary, why would I willingly volunteer to do more?

My paycheck wasn't going to increase a single yen if I took on extra responsibility.

Yet, as I took a slow step backward, four pairs of eyes snapped toward me.

I completely ignored the senior staff, but when my eyes met Misaki’s, I paused. She looked incredibly stressed, but she immediately bit her lip and looked away, actively refusing to pull me into her administrative mess.

Seeing her struggle, I let out a heavy, internal sigh. My rigid policy of laziness completely crumbled.

I stepped fully into the room. “Is there something wrong?”

“Ah, Motoi-kun.”

“The truth is...”

While Misaki remained silently conflicted, the senior staff members immediately jumped at the chance to explain the disaster.

“The bookmobile?” I blurted out, summarizing their panicked explanation.

Naturally, I knew exactly what the bookmobile was; it was one of the most important services the municipal library offered.

“The book should go to the reader, not wait for the reader to come to the book.”

That foundational philosophy had sparked the creation of mobile libraries in the late 19th century. While massive public libraries were built in wealthy city centers, rural populations, the elderly, and the disabled were entirely left out. To solve that inequality, the bookmobile was born.

Kamakura Central Library maintained a dedicated bookmobile route to serve the isolated coastal neighborhoods, the elderly care homes, and the local schools that lacked proper funding for their own libraries.

Without a doubt, I respected the service. It was a lifeline for people who physically couldn't travel to the city center.

But what was the problem today?

“Sato-san is sick?” I asked.

Sato-san was the senior staff member exclusively in charge of the bookmobile. He drove the massive, modified van along the winding Kamakura coastal routes, handling all the specialized borrowing, returns, and community interactions.

“Yeah, it was incredibly sudden,” one of the senior coworkers sighed, rubbing her forehead. “His wife just called the front desk. He collapsed this morning and is currently resting in the hospital.”

Today was the most heavily scheduled day for the Kamakura bookmobile route. With Sato-san hospitalized, the massive van was completely grounded.

“Does no one else here have a driver’s license?” I asked, looking around the room in disbelief.

“......................”

The senior staff completely avoided my gaze.

It seemed strange to foreigners, but it was actually incredibly common in Japan. Because the public transportation infrastructure was so flawless, the vast majority of urban residents never bothered getting a driver’s license. Unless you lived deep in the countryside, a car was an expensive, unnecessary liability.

Furthermore, simply acquiring a driver's license in Japan cost upwards of 300,000 yen (roughly $2,000 USD) and required weeks of intensive driving school.

Unlike the bestselling author Yui, who could casually afford an expensive SUV even while in a multi-year slump, librarians were notoriously underpaid, especially those who weren’t the civil servants. If I pointed out how little disposable income librarians actually had, I would probably make half the room cry. We were completely reliant on municipal budgets, and if our library wasn't as popular as it currently was, City Hall would have slashed our funding years ago.

The current reality was bleak. The bookmobile was a vital service that hundreds of isolated patrons were actively waiting for today. Canceling the route simply because no one knew how to drive was a massive, embarrassing failure for the institution.

“Well...”

Frankly, my personal philosophy dictated that I should never mix emotions with my career. Work was just a transaction for survival. There was no need for me to play the hero. If the bookmobile couldn't run today, the logical solution was simply to issue a formal apology on the city website and follow the standard operating procedure for a canceled service.

But as I looked at Misaki, who was currently biting her nail in deep, genuine distress over failing her community... my logic failed me again.

“Should I handle this?” I asked quietly.

“Eh?” Misaki’s head snapped up.

“The bookmobile. I have a license. I can be the driver and handle the route today.”

“Eh?!” The entire room gasped in shock.

Fifteen minutes later, I was walking out toward the library's loading dock to prep the massive van.

But just as I unlocked the heavy driver's side door, Yui, who had finally exhausted herself and broken out of her manic writing zone, happened to glance out the window. Seeing Motoi climbing into a massive truck, her curiosity overrode her exhaustion, and she immediately hurried out to follow him.