The question came to him again, the same way it always did—uninvited, unhurried.
What is a life supposed to look like when it's working?
Ren Takahashi stood at the edge of the office floor, ID card already turned in, laptop wiped clean of anything personal. Around him, nothing had changed. Screens still glowed. Fingers still tapped keys in steady rhythms. Someone laughed too loudly near the pantry.
It all continued.
As if his leaving meant nothing.
He adjusted the strap of his bag and glanced once more at the rows of desks. Five years. Lines of code, deadlines, promotions that felt smaller than they sounded. He had done everything right—saved aggressively, invested carefully, freelanced late into the night.
Not because he loved the work.
Because he loved the idea of freedom.
"Leaving already?" a colleague called out.
Ren gave a small nod. "Yeah."
"Starting your company, right? That's bold."
"Maybe," Ren said.
The word didn't carry excitement; instead, it landed somewhere between curiosity, fatigue, and an emerging uncertainty that caught in his voice.
"Good luck, man."
"Thanks."
He stepped into the elevator before anything else could be said.
Outside, Tokyo moved like it always did—fast, precise, indifferent. The air carried a faint chill despite the sunlight. People crossed streets in organised streams, guided by signals and habits.
Ren walked without urgency.
His phone buzzed once.
Then again.
He checked it.
Aiko.
He stared at the name for a moment before answering.
"Hey."
There was a pause on the other end. "You left already?"
"Yeah. Just now."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"I've been thinking," she said. "About us."
Ren exhaled softly. "Okay," Tell me.
"I don't think… this is going to work."
The words landed gently. Too gentle for something that was supposed to hurt.
"Because of the stable job that I left?" he asked.
"It's not just that," she replied. "It's the uncertainty. You're leaving something stable for something that might not even happen. I don't think I can handle that."
Ren watched a train pass overhead, the metallic rumble filling the silence between them.
"That makes sense," he said.
"You're not even surprised."
"I thought about it."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Ren said. "You're choosing what you want."
"And you're okay with that?"
He considered the question.
"I think people should choose what feels right to them."
Aiko didn't respond immediately. When she did, her voice was quieter.
"You always say things like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're outside of everything."
Ren smiled faintly, though she couldn't see it. "Maybe I am."
Another pause.
"Take care, Ren."
"You too."
The call ended.
He slipped his phone back into his pocket and continued walking.
No anger surfaced. No resistance followed. His acceptance came naturally, emotion slipping quietly past like a wave that never crested.
Just a small adjustment, like shifting weight from one foot to the other.
His apartment was quiet.
Not the peaceful kind—just empty.
Ren set his bag down and moved straight to the kitchen. The coffee machine hummed as it brewed. He leaned against the counter, watching the thin stream of dark liquid fill the cup.
This is it, he thought.
No more office.
No more fixed hours.
From now on, I am making time for myself and my dreams.
Just me, my savings, and the plan he had been building for years.
He carried the coffee to his desk, opened his laptop, and began.
Spreadsheets.
Market projections.
Cost breakdowns.
Hiring estimates.
Office rental comparisons.
His fingers moved automatically, shifting between tabs, adjusting numbers, creating structure out of uncertainty.
"Okay," he murmured. "Phase one… small team. Remote first. Keep burn low."
He took a sip of coffee.
ouch ,
Still hot.
"Marketing can wait… should I develop my product first?"
The sun dipped slowly outside his window, unnoticed.
Time stretched.
Collapsed.
Reformed.
By the time he leaned back in his chair, the room was dark except for the glow of his screen.
Ren rubbed his eyes.
"What time is it…"
He glanced at the corner of the screen.
2:14 AM.
He let out a quiet breath. "Right."
His phone lay beside him. He picked it up, scrolling through stock charts out of habit.
Red lines. Minor dips.
Nothing unusual.
"I'll sell a few tomorrow," he muttered. "Free up some liquidity. Hire two devs first. Maybe three."
Wait for me, my money, ahem, freedom.
He placed the phone down and stood.
The apartment felt cooler now.
He didn't bother turning on the lights.
Just moved to the bed, lay down, and stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, he thought.
A simple word. Full of structure.
His last thought before sleep came quietly:
I'll adjust in the morning.
The sunlight arrived without permission.
A thin beam slipped through the curtains and landed directly across his face.
Ren shifted slightly, eyes still closed.
Then—
Buzz.
His phone vibrated.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
A constant, uneven rhythm.
He frowned and reached for it blindly.
"…what…"
His eyes opened slowly.
Notifications filled the screen.
Dozens.
Then more.
He blinked, trying to focus.
Market Alert
Breaking News
Price Drop Warning
Emergency Update
Ren sat up.
What the ,
He unlocked the phone.
The app opened.
And for a moment—
He didn't understand what he was looking at.
Everything was red.
Not scattered red.
Not occasional dips.
Everything.
A slow, creeping red that covered the entire screen.
His brow tightened.
"No… this is…"
He blinked again, as if the colours might correct themselves.
They didn't.
"…a glitch?"
He pressed refresh.
The numbers have been updated.
Lower.
He stared.
"This… doesn't make sense."
His heartbeat quickened slightly, but his expression stayed controlled.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood up.
"Okay… okay…"
A short laugh escaped him.
"Still dreaming." What an idiot I am
He raised his hand and pinched his cheek.
Hard.
"…right."
The sensation was immediate.
Sharp.
Real.
ouch ouch
He lowered his hand slowly.
The room was silent except for the faint hum of the city outside.
Ren turned on the TV.
The screen flickered to life.
Every channel showed the same thing.
Graphs collapsing.
Urgent headlines.
Fast-speaking anchors.
"—global financial instability—"
"—largest drop in recent history—"
"—markets reacting to—"
"—investors in panic—"
He muted the sound.
Silence returned.
Ren looked back at his phone.
Numbers continued to fall.
He scrolled through his portfolio.
Stock after stock.
Down.
Down.
Down.
"…how far…"
He calculated quickly.
Roughly.
Then again, more precisely.
His fingers slowed.
"…more than ninety per cent."
"This wouldn't happen if I diversified across different types of investments, not just stocks. I've made more than enough profit in the past, so I believe I can manage it—but why do I always feel the need to sell early?"
The words came out flat.
No emphasis.
No disbelief left.
Just a statement full of regrets .
He lowered himself onto the floor, back resting against the wall.
The cool surface pressed against his shoulders.
For a long time, he didn't move.
The apartment felt different now.
Not empty.
Heavy.
The kind of quiet that settles after something breaks.
His breathing was steady, but shallow.
"…two years," he murmured.
The estimate formed naturally.
Patterns.
Cycles.
Recovery timelines.
He had studied them all.
"This won't recover quickly."
His gaze drifted to the window.
Sunlight had fully entered the room now.
Bright.
Unconcerned.
"…minimum."
Two years.
Maybe more.
The plan he built—
Didn't collapse.
It simply… stopped existing.
Ren closed his eyes briefly.
A faint sting gathered behind them, but didn't fall.
"…funny," he whispered.
"How do years of my money just drop all of a sudden? I knew this could happen, I was prepared for it… But why does it still feel like everything is slipping out of my hands?"
Stability huh? Then should I work like a slave again? Then fuck it, I am not gonna do it,
He let out a quiet breath.
Wait… I didn't lose everything, did I? I still have years of skill. It's not like every company vanished overnight. It might fall again—but that takes time… so what can I even do right now, except hold on and give it what I can?"
"Yeah… that makes sense."
Silence returned.
Then, slowly, something else surfaced.
A memory.
Soft.
Warm.
His grandparents' house.
Wooden floors that creaked with every step.
The smell of old books and fresh tea.
His grandmother is calling him for dinner.
His grandfather was fixing something by the window, always humming.
A place that didn't move fast.
A place that didn't demand anything.
Ren opened his eyes.
"…I haven't been there in three years."
The thought settled gently.
No urgency.
No pressure.
Just a possibility.
He looked around his apartment.
Clean lines.
Minimal furniture.
A life optimised for efficiency.
"…I don't want to go back," he said quietly.
Not to the office.
Not to the same rhythm.
He rested his head against the wall.
"Not yet."
Another pause.
Then—
"…I'll go there."
The decision didn't feel dramatic.
It felt… practical.
Simple.
"I'll stay for a while," he continued. "A few months. Maybe a year."
No fixed timeline.
No strict plan.
Just space.
Ren stood up slowly.
His body felt lighter, though nothing had changed.
He picked up his phone again.
The red was still there.
Unmoving.
Unresolved.
"…okay," he said.
Then he set it down.
By afternoon, he had already made arrangements.
A moving service.
Basic packing.
Only essentials.
The rest could wait.
Boxes filled the room quickly, reducing his life into manageable pieces.
Tape sealed things closed with soft ripping sounds.
shrrk… shrrk…
Ren paused once, holding an old photo he found tucked inside a drawer.
He, much younger, was standing between his grandparents.
All three are smiling.
He looked at it for a moment.
"…it's been a while," he said quietly.
Then placed it carefully into his bag.
Evening arrived.
The city lights flickered on, one by one.
Ren stood near the entrance of his apartment.
A single suitcase beside him.
The rest would follow.
He glanced back once.
No attachment.
Just an acknowledgement.
Then he stepped out.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
…
Outside, Tokyo continued as always.
But for the first time in years—
Ren didn't feel like he was part of its movement.
He adjusted his grip on the suitcase.
"…let's see," he murmured.
Not hopeful.
Not hopeless.
Just… open.
As he walked toward the station, a faint breeze passed through the street.
Cool.
Carrying a scent he couldn't quite place.
For a brief moment, it reminded him of something distant.
Something quieter.
Something waiting.
Ren paused.
Looked around.
Nothing unusual.
Just the city.
He shook his head slightly and continued walking.
But the feeling lingered—
Like a memory that hadn't fully formed yet.
Or a door that hadn't been noticed.
Not yet.
He sat by the train window, music murmuring through his headphones, head resting lightly against the glass. The world blurred past, but his thoughts stayed still—
"Am I really doing the right thing?"
A quiet voice answered, almost amused,
"What happened to you, Ren? Since when did you start doubting yourself? No matter what you choose, I'm still here."
He let out a small laugh.
"Yeah… guess I'm stuck with me."
"TO BE CONTINUED"