At some point, Zhou Zhuang had curled up under the blanket and fallen asleep.
Then—without warning—an alarm BGM blasted beside him: the kind of Level-2 emergency siren that felt like it had been carved into his DNA.
The moment it hit his ears, his body reacted on reflex.
He threw off the blanket and sat bolt upright. He didn't even open his eyes—just instinctively whipped his head left and right like he was already scanning for an escape event.
"MmMmMm?! What's happening—who is it? Which little cutie escaped?!"
"And who turned off my lights?!"
It was pitch-black. Zhou Zhuang immediately assumed it was some Abnormality's escape effect and, deflated, dropped into a seated slump.
A second later, he realized something important:
…His eyes were still closed.
He tried opening them.
Once his vision cleared, he discovered he was still sitting on his own bed. The so-called "Level-2 emergency alarm" was just the phone alarm he'd set before sleeping.
He shut it off and covered his face with both hands.
Sigh. I should change that ringtone next time. It's way too scary. If something actually happens and the company alarm goes off at the same time, I won't even know which one to listen to.
Then he suddenly remembered: the company's alarm wasn't this ringtone.
He lifted his head, distinguished the two in his mind—and slapped his thigh.
No, no, no. Lobotomy Corporation's signature alarms can't just be discarded. And hey—the "music in leisure time" vote passed earlier.
Alright. First target: the alarm sound.
Having decided, Zhou Zhuang folded his arms with satisfaction.
Good plan.
But… he felt like he'd forgotten something important.
He rubbed his chin, digging through recent memories.
What was it…?
He turned on his phone and checked the time.
19:50.
He slapped his thigh again—so hard he hissed in pain.
"F**k—! I told Angela we'd go eat together tonight! What is this fish-brain memory?!"
He jumped off the bed and half-hopped toward the office chair where his clothes were draped. After confirming which way was front and back, he threw them on in three sloppy moves and limped toward the door in a rush.
And then—
His toes, not fully inside the slippers yet, got ambushed by the bedframe.
A cold shock shot from his toe straight into his skull. His face scrunched up and he dropped to one knee, clutching the injured toe while inching toward the door like a wounded soldier.
He reached the door, leaned against it, and slowly pulled himself upright. He took a deep breath, pushed the pain down, and reached to open it—
Only to see the door open from the outside.
Standing there was the person he'd been about to run out and invite.
Angela.
The second she opened the door, she saw Zhou Zhuang: eyes glossy with two tears about to fall, clothes not properly arranged, and looking like he'd just lost a battle with furniture.
"Manager… you…"
"D-Don't—don't say it. I just smashed my toe. Give me a second."
He pressed his injured foot hard to the floor—trying to "fight pain with pain"—and immediately forced the tears out for real.
After a few rounds of this self-inflicted suffering, he gave her a thumbs-up, silently declaring that he was "ready to depart."
Angela watched him for a moment, then spoke gently:
"Manager… you do know the company has healing spray, right?"
"Huh? Angela, what are you talking about? I've already done one workday—how could I not know our on-the-job best friend?"
Angela smiled and shook her head.
Zhou Zhuang laughed—then halfway through the laugh, he realized what she meant.
He wiggled his toe.
No pain.
He moved it more.
Still fine.
The smile on his face instantly turned into a "suffering mask."
"…Woc. Then wasn't all my pain-based coping completely pointless?!"
He sighed, looked at Angela—who was still patiently waiting—and pulled himself together.
"Fine. I'm stupid, it can't be helped. Let's go, Angela. Dinner."
He even tried to imitate a "gentlemanly" gesture from memory—stepping aside slightly and indicating the direction with an open hand, inviting her to walk with him.
The two of them headed to the cafeteria together.
"Field-work style travel time…"
They pushed open the cafeteria doors and stood at the entrance, looking at the brightly lit room as usual.
Zhou Zhuang couldn't help asking:
"Angela, by the way… when does our company turn off the lights?"
The question was so pointless that even Angela couldn't hold back—she shot him a full-on side-eye.
Zhou Zhuang didn't get an answer, assumed she hadn't heard him, and called her name while turning to look—
Only to meet her utterly speechless expression.
He immediately realized what kind of nonsense he'd just asked, apologized awkwardly, and scratched his head with a "heh heh" smile.
They moved on.
Zhou Zhuang originally wanted to go to HamHamPangPang, but when they arrived at the familiar window, the door was already closed, with a sign that read "Off duty".
Zhou Zhuang found it oddly fresh—this was the first time he'd seen a place he wanted to go actually closed.
So they started looking for another stall that "felt right."
But Zhou Zhuang walked around for ages and couldn't decide.
His logic was basically:
First time inviting a girl to dinner—can I really just "make do" inside the company?
He already had mild decision paralysis. And when he couldn't read what the girl wanted, the choice became pure torture.
Angela wasn't demanding at all—but every time he asked her opinion, she answered the same thing:
"Whatever the Manager decides."
What was he supposed to do with that?
By the time they'd almost circled the open areas, he still hadn't picked anything.
Angela sighed at the sight of her Manager staring blankly at food windows like a malfunctioning vending machine.
Then she made the call.
"Manager. I suddenly want to eat street barbecue."
Zhou Zhuang snapped out of his loop, surprised.
"Huh? Angela, are you sure? Maybe we should pick—"
"Manager. I. Suddenly. Want. Street barbecue."
She repeated it—more heavily—cutting off his attempt to fall back into the endless spiral.
Hearing her firmer tone, Zhou Zhuang straightened up, stood at attention, and saluted.
"Yes! No problem!"
Then his shoulders slumped again.
"…But, Angela. Where do we go to eat street barbecue?"
Angela sighed once more, motioned for him to follow, and started walking toward the cafeteria exit.
....
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