Point Exchanges Dungeon Collector - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Day I Quit My Job

I remember that day with strange clarity. The cicadas were screaming loud enough to cling to your ears, and heat shimmered up off the asphalt like steam.

In the thick of that summer, I quit my job.

The reason — well, I don't think there was anything in particular. It just never sat right with me, somehow. The air felt wrong, I guess, or maybe I'd just never been comfortable there. Days that started with fieldwork and ended with mountains of paperwork back at the office. Called into the conference room whenever the clock struck the hour, for discussions that dragged on without ever building toward anything. Every day just flowed past. Not by my own will — more like the feeling of being a gear, fixed in place, turned by something else.

"That's enough, I guess."

The words slipped out in some unguarded moment. How much weight that "unguarded moment" actually carried, I wouldn't understand until much later.

By the next day, I'd handed in my resignation. Five years at that company, and it was accepted with surprising ease. My boss, my coworkers — they barely moved their mouths, let alone tried to talk me out of it.

— Ah. I guess I'd just been "anyone would do" at that workplace.

That thought crossed my mind, but no anger or sadness came with it. I just found myself strangely convinced it was true.

Right now, I'm alone in my apartment. A rented one-bedroom, about fifteen years old, close to the station and just a short walk from a convenience store. The wallpaper's gone a bit yellow with age, but it's more than good enough to live in.

I sank into the worn-out sofa, and the backrest gave a dull creak under my weight. Staring up at the ceiling, I let my eyes drift to the window. From beyond the apartment complex came the excited voices of elementary schoolers on their way to class. The metallic jingle of their backpack clasps sounded strangely vivid — nostalgic and distant at the same time.

"...Guess I had days like that too, once."

The words, meant for no one in particular, got swallowed up into the dry silence of the room.

I hadn't been back to my hometown in years. Once my parents passed, there was no one left to keep in touch with. My old family home, if I remember right, is still being looked after by relatives on my mother's side, but I've never had much of an urge to go back myself.

Time just drifted by, vague and formless. The ticking of the clock's hands sounded strangely loud.

"...Guess I'm hungry."

The sudden growl of my stomach finally got me moving. As I got up off the sofa, sunlight filtered through the curtains, laying faint patches of light and shadow across the floor. I wandered over to the kitchen and opened the fridge.

"...Huh."

Inside, there was nothing but half-used condiments and water. A bottle of dressing well past its expiration date sat forgotten in the corner, looking like it didn't belong there at all.

Opening the cupboard didn't turn up so much as a cup noodle. Even the canned food I'd meant as a stockpile was nowhere to be found — I could only recall eating the last of it at some point.

"Oh, right... I ate through all of it the other day."

Buried in work, I'd gotten into the habit of eating out for every meal. I hadn't even noticed there was no food left in the house — not until today.

In the quiet room, my stomach growled again.

"Well then — guess I'll go pick something up."

I muttered that under my breath, checking for my wallet as I glanced toward the front door.

Quitting my job didn't mean everything would suddenly change. Even so, today's air felt just a little lighter than yesterday's.

* * *

The moment I opened the door, a wave of muggy heat rushed in.

The concrete ground had already been baking, practically ready to steam. Heat reflected off the asphalt and wrapped around my feet, until it felt like I was being scorched from below as well. Looking up, a cloudless summer sky was pouring down light like it had something to prove.

"...Ugh, it's hot..."

The words had slipped out on their own, dissolving into the dry air. The weather forecast had mentioned a chance of sudden downpours toward evening, but right now there wasn't the faintest hint of that. The sky was blue, the sun was high, and even the wind carried heat in it.

I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and started walking.

A memory of my old suit-wearing days flickered through my mind. Back when, in this same heat, I'd tie a necktie, put on a jacket, and make my rounds to clients — in the name of "common sense" or "manners," drenched in sweat but grinding through the work without a word of complaint. That version of myself feels like a stranger to me now.

A salaryman brushed past me, grimacing as he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. A bag full of documents on his arm, his pace a little hurried. His figure overlapped, for a moment, with who I'd been until just recently.

"...Good work out there."

The words almost slipped out loud, and I caught them at the back of my throat. Instead, I let out one long breath.

Now, the real question was still ahead of me. I was hungry. But where should I buy what? A supermarket, or a convenience store? I weighed the two options in my head.

For selection, the supermarket obviously won out — plenty of prepared dishes, plenty of bento varieties. But the supermarket was a bit of a walk. Especially in this heat.

"...Guess I'll just go with whichever's closer."

I muttered that to myself and turned my feet toward the convenience store. Squinting against the sunlight, I set off, a little unsteady. The asphalt radiated inescapable heat, and it felt like every step drained a little more of my strength.

From across the street, a woman came walking slowly under a parasol. A cool-looking hat, a breezy summer dress. Watching her out of the corner of my eye, I felt keenly how little I'd thought this through.

"...Should've at least worn a hat..."

My scalp stung under the sun, a slow, searing ache. Shielding it with my hand didn't do a thing — if anything, the heat seemed to gather even more thickly in the shadow of my palm.

The road to the convenience store sloped gently downhill. Out here, a little removed from the city center, the daytime was surprisingly quiet, with barely anyone around. All I could hear was the cicadas, and now and then a wind chime carried in on the breeze.

New houses lined both sides of the road, their front yards still holding the smell of fresh earth, lush green lawns and newly planted trees swaying gently.

Come to think of it — I remembered hearing that this whole area used to be nothing but rice paddies.

But now, only scraps of that old scenery remained. Somewhere along the way, boxy, prefab houses had sprung up everywhere like mushrooms after the rain.

Even so, around one corner stood an aging wooden house, its front garden holding what looked like a potted tomato plant soaking up the sun. A little further on, the smell of sun-warmed grass brushed past my nose.

"...I don't hate places like this — the ones that got left behind."

No one answered the words I'd muttered. But a gust of wind blew through, rustling the leaves of the trees. It almost felt like an answer of its own.

— Just a little further to the convenience store. One more push, I told myself, feeling the breeze against the sweat-damp back of my shirt as I kept walking.

* * *

The automatic doors slid open with a faint electronic chime.

The instant I stepped in, cold air wrapped around my whole body. The chill of the air conditioning seeped into my sun-baked skin, and I stopped in my tracks without meaning to. To a body that had just fled the blistering heat outside, it felt like a lifeline.

"...Ahh, I'm alive again..."

The words slipped out, meant for no one to hear. I could feel the sweat clinging to the back of my T-shirt slowly cooling in the chill.

I might have stood there dazed at the entrance for a few seconds — maybe closer to ten. But I snapped back to myself and glanced behind me, worried I might be holding someone up. Luckily, there was no one else around. My shoulders relaxed a little.

The inside of the store sat under the dim glow of fluorescent lights. The glass of the refrigerated shelves had fogged over faintly, and sports newspapers were shoved haphazardly into the magazine rack. Cheerful pop music played softly in the background, drifting somewhere at the edge of hearing.

I wandered over to the bento section, where packages sat lined up neatly, packed edge to edge — every one of them tempting enough in its own way.

Katsu-don, fried chicken bento, makunouchi — but out of all of them, the one my hand reached for was the ginger pork bento.

— A safe bet. Never disappoints. Thinking that, I stared through the packaging at the pork and onions inside. Soaked in sauce, they looked almost like they were still steaming, an illusion so convincing I nearly believed it.

"Convenience store bentos really aren't anything to laugh at these days..."

I muttered that under my breath, a small wry smile crossing my face. Back when work had me buried, this kind of quick convenience-store meal had bailed me out more times than I could count.

Next, I headed to the tea shelf and grabbed a bottle of unsweetened green tea. Then I made a detour to the snack rack by the register, tossing a small bag of potato chips and a pack of cheese crackers into my basket too. Just a little treat for myself, was the feeling.

The register wasn't self-checkout — an older woman rang me up with a friendly smile. When she asked, "Would you like this heated up?" I shook my head. In a few minutes I'd be back out in that scorching heat anyway. If nothing else, I wanted to bring the bento home while it was still at least a little cool.

I finished paying and stepped back outside, shopping bag in hand.

— And once again, the weight of summer pressed down on me.

Maybe because I'd just come from the air-conditioned store, but the outside air felt even thicker and heavier than before. Sunlight that scorched the skin, slowly, relentlessly. Light and heat poured down without a shred of mercy, making the coolness from moments ago feel like a lie.

"...Yeah, it's still hot..."

Grumbling, I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. My hunger was closing in on its limit, and my stomach had started making its case loudly and without shame. At the sound of it growling, I couldn't help but laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you, I hear you. Heading back now."

I answered my own stomach like that, swinging the bag as I started walking. Whether the fact that my heart felt just a little lighter than it had that morning was relief at having closed one chapter, or simple anticipation for the meal about to fill my stomach, I couldn't quite say.

The cicadas were shrieking away again. Beneath the sun, I made my way back one step at a time along the sidewalk, glare rising off the pavement.