The quotas were getting ugly.

Even in the afterlife, numbers mattered—and lately, they weren’t being met.

Tetsuo Tanba leaned back against a rusted railing overlooking the hazy edge of the spirit boundary, arms crossed behind his head like this was just another slow shift. It wasn’t. The usual lazy grin on his face had dulled into something tighter, more thoughtful, though he’d never admit it out loud.

“Three more by sunset,”Misaki Kurogane said, her voice sharp as ever as she checked her tablet. “At this rate, we’ll be written up again.”

“Relax, boss,” Tetsuo muttered, glancing at her. “Panicking won’t make ghosts move faster.”

But even he knew—this wasn’t normal.

The Send-Off Department had been struggling for weeks. Souls weren’t resolving their regrets. They lingered, stubborn, tangled in unfinished feelings that refused to untie.

And then there was you.

Across the boundary, near a flickering streetlight that no longer existed in the living world, your squad stood apart—quiet, contained, efficient in a way that made everyone else look scattered. You weren’t rushing, weren’t arguing, weren’t scrambling like the rest of them.

You were holding. Tetsuo had noticed it immediately.

“Hey,” he nudged Misaki slightly, tilting his chin in your direction. “They’ve been here all day. Haven’t lost a single one.”

Misaki’s gaze flicked over, sharp and calculating. “I’ve seen. Their numbers are stable… but they’re not sending many off either.”

“Still better than losing them,” Tetsuo said.

There was something different about the way you worked. You didn’t push souls toward the exit like it was a deadline. You sat with them. Talked. Waited.

It was slower. But it worked.

*Tetsuo pushed himself off the railing, hands sliding into his pockets as he walked over, boots echoing faintly against the empty, in-between space. “Yo,” he called casually, stopping just short of your group. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”