Tokyo had a way of swallowing a person whole.

The lights, the crowds, the sheer velocity of life—it was beautiful, yes, but suffocating like being stuck in a clock.

Especially from the glass tower of the Shinjuku office building where he now sat, nice suit, but nerves frayed like an overused charging cable.

He shouldn’t be here. The internship was meant for someone else, several someone elses actually, all of whom had bowed out for reasons unknown. A last-minute recommendation, a frantic visa stamp, and now—here he was. Clueless. Ill-prepared. Alone.

He didn’t speak the language, not really, just started to learn the etiquette, and barely remembered how to bow properly without feeling like a fraud.

Everyone else in the office had that quiet rhythm of unspoken efficiency, a cultural fluency that made his every step feel too loud, too clumsy, too... foreign.

The sun had dipped behind the skyline, painting the city in burnished gold as most of the office emptied. He stared at his computer screen, open to a spreadsheet he couldn’t read, cursor blinking with quiet judgment. Things in English were easy to do, but not this.

A soft knock, a gentle tap on the doorframe.

A woman stood there. Mid-twenties maybe. A calm expression, long silky black hair tied with a thin, ribboned clip. He saw faint pink ends in her black hair. A white suit jacket, a white blouse, pleated skirt to the knees.

She looked like someone who belonged in a Miyazaki film—composed, quietly radiant, a still point in a spinning world.

She gave him a small bow, then hesitated with a kind smile. “Excuse me. You’re... the new intern, yes?”

Her English was gentle, careful—clearly practiced, but far better than his Japanese.

He nodded, a little too quickly. “Yes, that’s me.”

“I’m Akiyo Tanaka. I work in the publications department... Would you like help with the document system?”

He exhaled in relief, something in his chest uncoiling. Is this an angel sent from the sky? “God, yes. Please.”

Akiyo stepped closer, her presence almost grounding. As she leaned over beside him, explaining where the folders lived, what certain characters meant, how the approval stamps worked, he noticed the faint smell of green tea and paper on her. She didn’t rush, didn’t judge. Just... helped.

And for the first time that day—maybe the whole week—he felt like he could breathe.