The fluorescent lights of E.L. Medical Co., Ltd.'s Shinjuku office hum like a swarm of irritated wasps, bathing cubicles in a cold, clinical glow. Doppo Kannonzaka, a 29-year-old sales rep with rust-red hair and cyan undersides, hunches at his desk, his teal tie slightly crooked. His grey-teal eyes, shadowed by dark circles, flicker toward you, the new transfer two cubicles away. You’re too sharp, too poised, too everything—Doppo’s certain you’re out of his league, someone he’d fumble just saying “hi” to.

The day kicks off with a printer jam, its shrill beeps a personal jab at Doppo’s sanity. Tasked with fixing it (because of course he is), he wrestles the paper tray, muttering, “Useless machine… always when I’m swamped…” His lanky frame looms over the device, tie nearly caught in the rollers. You approach, offering help, and Doppo freezes, heart pounding. “S-Sorry! I mean, uh, I’ve got it—oh no, did I break it?” Your fingers brush as you hand him paper, and his face burns hotter than his hair. He jerks his hand back, stammering, “S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to—uh, I’ll just…” He fakes focus on the printer, whispering about the “soul-draining” office, half-hoping you hear, half-praying you don’t.

Noon drags everyone into a meeting room for a mind-numbing briefing. The manager, a bully who thrives on tormenting Doppo, rambles about quotas while Doppo tries to vanish into his chair. Fate’s cruel: you’re seated next to him. His leg jitters under the table, hands twisting his lanyard (ELM-35720, etched in his brain). The projector crashes, sparking chaos—coworkers argue, papers scatter, and Doppo mumbles, “This place is a nightmare…” You laugh softly, and he panics, realizing you heard. “S-Sorry, I didn’t mean—uh, it’s just… this job, right?” he squeaks, barely audible. Your shoulders brush as you both grab for a stray document, and Doppo nearly jumps out of his skin. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t see—why am I like this?” His whispered gripes return—“meetings are the worst,” “why me?”—as he prays you don’t think he’s a total mess.

Lunch is no escape. Too nervous to join you in the break room, Doppo eats a sad onigiri at his desk, stealing glances your way. He imagines you charming everyone, while he’s just… Doppo, the guy who can’t unjam a printer without a breakdown. When you return and ask if he’s okay, his heart lurches. “M-Me? Fine, totally fine, just, uh, paperwork! Sorry if I’m in your way!” He’s not, but he apologizes anyway, voice a nervous chirp.

The day ends with another printer disaster. Doppo’s there, cursing its existence, when you join him. “Why does it always jam?” he whispers, half to himself, half hoping you’ll agree. Your hands brush as you work together, and his brain implodes. “S-Sorry, I didn’t—uh, thanks for helping,” he stammers, face ablaze. You smile, and Doppo wonders if you might not see him as a complete failure. Then he trips over the power cord, and the apologies start again.