The air inside the fifth floor floor was thick with the distinct, metallic scent of overheating monitors and lukewarm instant coffee.
As the calendar edged closer to the holiday season, the call queue turned into an absolute nightmare. The red indicator light on the wall monitor flashed continuously, showing over two hundred calls waiting in line. The floor hummed with the frantic, overlapping noise of hundreds of agents trying to deescalate angry customers who had been placed on hold for over an hour.
Yuuma sat at his station, his headset pressed against his ear, his fingers moving across his mechanical keyboard in a smooth, rhythmic blur.
"I completely understand your concern regarding the express shipping fee, sir," Yuuma said into his microphone, his voice dead steady and warm despite the screaming voice on the other end. "I am going to manually credit fifty dollars back to your account right now."
Beside him, Vanitas was leaning back, slumping deep into his chair while tossing a tiny paper ball into the trash bin near his desk.
"Man, my throat feels like sand," Vanitas groaned, clicking his mute button. "If one more person screams at me because their package didn't arrive in two days during a global storm, I am going to tell them that Santa Claus isn't real."
Yuuma let out a quiet exhale through his nose, not taking his eyes off his dual screens. "Save your energy. We still have four hours left."
"Four hours?" Vanitas wheezed, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "Bro, my brain is already fried. I am operating on pure spite and cheap energy drinks."
Before Yuuma could reply, a tall shadow fell over his desk.
Marcus was standing right behind them, holding a black leather clipboard and looking impeccably neat in his pressed blue dress shirt. He tapped the top of Yuuma's monitor with the blunt end of his pen.
"Aisaka," Marcus said, his voice carrying that familiar, slick fake friendliness. "Step into the coaching room for a minute."
Vanitas immediately rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath as Marcus turned his back. Yuuma simply unclipped his headset, stood up, and followed his manager into the quiet glass office at the side of the floor.
The moment the heavy glass door shut, the chaotic noise of the call center quieted down into a low rumble.
Marcus didn't waste time sitting down. He leaned against his desk, crossing his arms tight over his chest while staring at Yuuma with a cool, critical expression.
"Aisaka, I noticed your handle time went up by fifteen seconds during the last hour," Marcus started, narrowing his eyes. "You know very well that during pre holiday queue surges, every second counts. We cannot afford to have our top performers slacking off."
"I was handling complex billing disputes, Sir," Yuuma answered smoothly, keeping his posture straight and his hands folded behind his back. "Resolving them on the first call prevents repeat contacts."
Marcus let out a short, dismissive scoff. "I don't need excuses, Aisaka. I need efficiency. And speaking of efficiency, I have a small task for you today."
Marcus picked up a thick stack of printed escalation files from his desk and tossed them toward Yuuma. They landed on the wood with a heavy thud.
"These are the holiday audit logs from last week," Marcus said, smiling tightly. "I need them organized, cross referenced with the client database, and uploaded to the portal before eight tomorrow morning."
Yuuma looked at the mountain of paper, then back at Marcus's face. "Sir, my shift ends at six. This file stack will take at least three hours to process manually."
"Then work on it after your queue shift," Marcus replied casually, adjusting his gold wristwatch. "Consider it an opportunity to show management that you are ready for leadership responsibilities. You want that endorsement for senior lead, don't you?"
"Is this overtime approved, Sir?" Yuuma asked flatly.
Marcus chuckled, a cold, patronizing sound that didn't reach his eyes. "Aisaka, leadership requires sacrifice. We don't log overtime for professional development tasks. We do it for the team family. I knew I could count on your dedication."
Marcus didn't even wait for a response. He picked up his tablet, tapped Yuuma's shoulder twice, and walked straight out of the room, leaving Yuuma alone in the quiet space.
Yuuma stared at the stack of paper. A slow, familiar numbness settled over his chest. He picked up the heavy files, tucked them under his arm, and opened the door to step back onto the floor.
When he reached his desk, he found Vanitas leaning against the cubicle wall, waiting for him with a scowl.
"What did the snake want this time?" Vanitas asked, eyeing the thick stack of papers in Yuuma's hands. "Don't tell me he dumped administrative work on you again."
"Holiday audit logs," Yuuma said softly, setting the files beside his keyboard. "Unpaid."
"Unbelievable," Vanitas spat out, slamming his hand onto the desk divider. "That is HR work! That is literally his job! He is just going to put his name on those reports and take the management bonus while you sit here destroying your back for free!"
"It is fine, Vanitas," Yuuma said, adjusting his glasses. "I will just stay late and finish it."
"It is not fine!" Vanitas snapped, his usual jokes completely gone. "You are letting him walk all over you, Yuuma! You already took the twelve hour holiday shifts. Now you are doing his paperwork?"
"I don't have the luxury to argue," Yuuma replied, his voice dropping into a quiet, tired whisper. "I need this job. I cannot afford to get on his bad side."
Vanitas stared at him for a long moment, his jaw tight with frustration. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself, letting out a long, defeatist breath instead.
An hour later, the shift transition began.
Agents were packing their bags, chatting loudly about dinner plans and beer promos at the nearby bars. A few cubicles away from Yuuma, a quiet, tired agent named Brian was sitting frozen in front of his computer screen. Brian was a quiet guy in his early thirties, his eyes red from exhaustion, his shirt wrinkled at the collar.
Yuuma watched as Brian tried to organize a massive stack of unresolved ticket files on his desk, his hands visibly shaking as he typed on his keyboard. Brian's wife was eight months pregnant with their first child, and he had been taking every single extra shift available just to save up for the hospital bills.
Vanitas, who was standing up and strapping his backpack onto his shoulders, noticed where Yuuma was looking.
Vanitas looked at Brian's trembling hands, then looked over at Yuuma. Their eyes met across the cubicle divider. No words were spoken, but in that single shared look, both of them instantly understood what was happening. Brian was breaking down.
"Hey, Brian," Vanitas called out, walking over and slapping a heavy, friendly hand onto the guy's shoulder.
Brian jumped slightly, looking up with a startled, panicked expression. "Oh, hey, Vanitas. Sorry, I am just... I am trying to finish these escalation logs before I log off. If I don't submit them tonight, Marcus said he will give me a written warning for poor performance."
"Your shift ended ten minutes ago, man," Vanitas said gently, looking at Brian's pale face. "Your wife is waiting for you at home, right?"
"Yeah," Brian swallowed hard, his eyes welling up with sudden, uncontrollable fatigue. "She had doctor checks today. I am supposed to pick up her vitamins on the way back, but if I miss this deadline..."
Yuuma stood up from his chair, picking up his own pen and notepad. He walked over to Brian's desk and set a hand on the back of the chair.
"Go home, Brian," Yuuma said softly.
Brian blinked, looking up at Yuuma in disbelief. "What? No, Yuuma, I cannot just leave these..."
"Leave them," Yuuma insisted, his tone steady and calm. "I have to stay late to process the floor audit files anyway. I will merge your escalation tickets into my pile and submit them under your agent ID."
"Yuuma, no, that is too much," Brian stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he looked between Yuuma and the massive pile of work on his desk. "That will take you hours. You already look like you are about to collapse."
Before Yuuma could reply, Vanitas unslung his heavy backpack and tossed it violently onto the empty desk next to Brian.
"Alright, that does it," Vanitas grumbled, pulling out his chair and sitting down with a loud, dramatic sigh.
Yuuma looked at him, surprised. "Vanitas? Your shift is over. Go home."
"Shut up, Yuuma," Vanitas said, pulling up the client database on the screen in front of him. "You think I am going to let you sit here by yourself till midnight doing work for Marcus and Brian? If you die of exhaustion on this floor, who is going to lend me a red pen?"
"Vanitas, you don't have to do this," Yuuma said quietly.
"I know I don't have to," Vanitas muttered, his fingers already flying across the keyboard to open Brian's ticket queue. "I am doing it because I hate Marcus, and because I cannot stand watching you act like a martyr every single day. Now give me half of Brian's files and sit your broke ass down."
Brian stared at both of them, tears finally slipping down his tired cheeks. He stood up slowly, grabbing his worn leather bag, and bowed his head deeply toward them.
"Thank you," Brian whispered, his voice shaking with genuine emotion. "Thank you so much, guys. I won't forget this. I swear."
"Go home to your wife, man," Vanitas chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. "Buy those vitamins."
As Brian hurried toward the glass exit doors, the floor gradually emptied out until only the ambient blue light of a few monitors remained.
Yuuma and Vanitas sat side by side in the quiet aisle. The hum of the air conditioner was the only sound accompanying the fast, steady clicking of their keyboards as they worked through the massive stack of papers together.
Around nine in the evening, Vanitas tossed a lukewarm cup of instant coffee onto Yuuma's desk.
"Drink," Vanitas ordered, taking a sip from his own cup. "Your eyes look like two burnt coals."
Yuuma picked up the paper cup, feeling the heat seep into his cold fingers. "Thank you, Vanitas. For staying."
Vanitas leaned back in his chair, staring up at the dark acoustic tiles on the ceiling. "We are idiots, you know that right? Doing extra work for free in a place that would replace us in two days if we dropped dead."
"I know," Yuuma said softly, taking a small sip of the bitter coffee.
"So why do you stay?" Vanitas asked, turning his head to look directly at Yuuma through his glasses. "I know you need the money for your family, but there are other jobs out there, man. You carry a dark weight around every day. It is like you are slowly fading into the background."
Yuuma looked down at his own hands resting on the desk. He thought about his mother's tired tears, his father's stoic silence, and the unpaid medical bills tucked inside his drawer at home.
"Because if I stop moving, everything falls apart," Yuuma murmured, his voice barely audible over the hum of the server room nearby. "I don't have the option to fade away."
Vanitas stayed silent for a long moment. Then, he let out a short, quiet breath and reached over, aggressively slapping Yuuma on the back.
"Well, too bad for you, because I am not letting you fade away on my watch," Vanitas smiled, his chaotic, bright energy returning to his face. "Now finish those last five files so we can get out of this tomb."
Yuuma looked at his friend, feeling a small, genuine warmth settle deep inside his cold chest. He didn't say anything, but he offered Vanitas a short, quiet nod.
By eleven at night, they finally submitted the last electronic file and stepped out of the glass building together into the cool night air.
As Yuuma sat on the quiet, empty bus heading home, he pulled out his phone to check his banking app. The screen illuminated his face in the dark vehicle.
A small notification popped up on his screen:
ACCOUNT CREDIT: MONTHLY TOP METRICS PERFORMANCE BONUS - PHP 3,500
Yuuma stared at the numbers on the screen. It wasn't a fortune, and it certainly didn't make up for the unpaid hours or the constant disrespect from management. But as he looked at the amount, he knew it was enough to buy Hannah's next round of medicine and put a decent meal on the table this weekend.
He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the cold glass window of the bus as the city lights blurred past him. He was exhausted, broken, and running on empty, but for tonight, his family was safe.
ns216.73.216.48da2
and then Add to home screen.