I Was Offered a Job
I was offered a job.
A quiet bookstore.
Sometimes, when you melt into a hush like that, your thoughts don't so much settle as scatter—random scraps of nothing multiplying in the silence.
Where should I go after my shift.
What would I even do once I got home.
Man, I'm hungry.
That was exactly where I was.
My part-time stint at the bookstore had somehow already reached its second week. When I'd first started, managing the stock and greeting customers had felt like a mountain of worry. Now I just leaned on the desk and waited for someone—anyone—to walk in. These days the bookstore welcomed fruit flies of unknown origin far more often than actual customers, and as for book management… nothing was selling, so inventory was a non-issue. With nothing going out, bringing anything new in was nearly impossible. Every so often I'd reshelve a few volumes the neighborhood kids had knocked askew, or dust something off. That was about the extent of it.
Now and then the thought would surface—Is it really right to be drawing minimum wage for this little work?—but then I'd remember how much empty time I was burning, and the answer would dissolve into a shrug.
"Hmm… no idea."
I killed the hours with that kind of idle noise, shaking the water bottle I'd brought from home. Inside, the liquid sloshed like a tiny stream and announced, quite clearly, that there wasn't much left.
I twisted off the cap and checked the contents.
There's really almost nothing. One gulp would finish it, right?
Tilt it and you could see the bottom. It was water mixed with a drink from home, so a small pang of regret arrived even as my mouth watered.
Tip it too hard and it might splash my face, so I eased the bottle over and dumped what remained down my throat.
Gulp—gulp.
The regret went with it. As the drink slid past, the thoughts drained away too, and the bottle emptied in kind. I tipped it fully vertical and shook the last stubborn drop into my mouth.
Out of pure habit I gave the bottle a few up-and-down shakes, then looked down to check. It hadn't come out as clean as I'd hoped—but that final clinging bead was never going to be drinkable anyway, so I folded the attachment away and stood up.
Ah. I need to pee.
Coming out of the bathroom, I worked my way down the aisle, dusting the shelves as I went.
This damn dust. I wipe it every day and it just keeps coming back. I'd rather do a full deep clean at this point… but the boss doesn't seem to care either way. Honestly.
Duster tucked under one arm, I brushed books and shelves as I passed—
…A customer?
Beyond the two tall bookcases, I could make out a human shape draped in a robe as black as a crow.
An adult customer… it had been a very long time. The bookstore sat so far back in its corner that people in their twenties and thirties never seemed to find it at all. Two elderly regulars who'd lived in the neighborhood forever. And the local kids who wandered in after hearing the old folks talk. That was the full catalog of my clientele: elders, and children.
And now, in a shop like that, someone new.
Curiosity stirred, along with a flicker of worry that they might turn out to be difficult—but this was a bookstore. Surely no one would track all the way out to a tucked-away place like this just to cause trouble.
Besides, right now the worry mattered less than the simple question of what books they were choosing.
One way or another, they were a customer. I got ready to take a payment.
Ah—right. Before that.
I'd been dusting. Time to air the place out.
I dragged a scrap of paper from the floor near the entrance with my foot, opened the door, and wedged the paper into the gap between door and floor. It creaked as it slid into place. I pushed the propped door outward and let the air move.
The moment I did, the stuffy smell that had been circulating through the shop drained away, and the floating clumps of dust drifted, little by little, toward the open door.
Moments like that made it obvious: people really do need to ventilate. Savoring the sudden freshness, I swept up the remaining dust and headed for the counter.
I wonder when the customer will come over.
I wiped the already tidy counter out of habit and sat down.
Even with someone in the store, the air was so still you could forget they existed if you weren't paying attention. It had become ordinary—and that was the problem. Getting this used to silence made me wonder, a little, whether I'd even be able to handle another job. I was working a little too comfortably, if I was honest.
Click. Click.
Oh. Here they come.
From beyond the shelves the black cloak had hidden almost everything. From the counter, though, I could see a sturdy frame, broad shoulders, and the casual way they carried a surprising number of books in one hand. It felt rude to think it, but they did not belong in a bookstore. Military base, gym—somewhere like that felt far more natural——
"Customer…?"
As if I weren't there at all, the figure in black simply walked past the counter.
Shock. Bewilderment. Anger. The feelings that should have risen never got the chance. My body was already moving, chasing on pure reflex. A bookstore with no customers was bad enough—add a shameless thief on top of that? Absolutely unforgivable.
Past the door I'd opened for air.
The hem of the customer's robe—
"Huh?"
Thud—crash!!
"Ah, shit…"
A second ago I'd clearly been chasing a thief.
I'd even grabbed the sleeve—
"What the hell are you…"
I touched the place I'd hit, slowly, and pushed myself up off the floor.
I'd tumbled. Rolled. I'd been trying to catch that thief and then I'd gone down hard. But what surrounded me now wasn't the street outside the bookstore. White floor. Black walls. Both of them stretching on without end.
It looked like a cleanly cut graphics workspace—except there was a trash can in front of me.
And far off, a door—
"Hey. What the hell are you."
"—!"
Right. I wasn't alone in here.
That damn thief was here too.
Haa… how had I ended up in a place like this with a thief of all people.
Irritation and anger kept me silent as I glared. The thief glared straight back, as if to ask what my problem was.
Red eyes… yellow hair… horns…?
"Answer."
A short, simple word. Something I heard every day—and yet the way this man said it was different. It didn't arrive through the ear so much as drive itself straight into the chest. I was clearly supposed to answer… and yet answering…
"Ha… breathe."
The man in front of me shrugged off his robe and tapped my nose.
"Haa…! Heu…"
Fear? Or that bizarre appearance? Either way, I wanted out. I should not get any more involved.
"You're not going to answer?"
"…"
Ignore him.
Do not engage.
"Hmm. You're the one who grabbed me, aren't you."
"…"
I couldn't answer. I mustn't answer.
Instinct was screaming it: do not get entangled with this being.
Click.
Even if he moved, as long as I didn't pay atten—
Whoosh—!!
He was already in front of me. A hand locked around my head and forced my face up.
What filled my vision was the face I'd been telling myself not to look at—and, beyond it, a black sky that went on forever.
Meeting that gaze—
"You're free to ignore me. I assume you're also prepared for the fallout that comes with it."
"…"
The word fallout hit, and a greeting left my mouth on pure reflex.
"Ah—h-hello…"
No answer came back. I slowly lowered my head and waited.
From that angle I could neither read his expression nor catch his reply cleanly… but I was scared. That expressionless mouth. Those red eyes that held no interest at all. Looking into them properly was still more than I could manage.
"Well… so you can see me, then?"
"Yes…?"
"Interesting. Humans normally shouldn't be able to see me."
A blunder. No matter how terrified I was, listening to the enemy talk…
What was I supposed to do. Nothing useful came to mind. I still didn't understand what had happened at the bookstore, and the present situation made even less sense.
"…You really can see me. How many of these do you see?"
In the middle of my panic he held three fingers up in front of my face, looking almost amused.
I had no idea what he was after. I only knew I had to match whatever he asked for as best I could.
I still had a lot of things I wanted to do with my life.
"…Three."
"Hmm. Fascinating."
He murmured something I couldn't parse, opening and closing his fingers, glancing between them and me.
I couldn't follow the shape of his thoughts. All I could do was accommodate him, finish whatever this was, and get out of this bizarre space. After that I would go back to being someone who knew nothing—back to ordinary life, same as always.
So please. Just let me leave.
Heart clenched tight, I waited for his next words and took in the room around me.
What was this place?
A white floor that looked like marble, though it wasn't slippery—just pure white. And walls of absolute black that didn't look like paint.
Someone might shrug and say, "Isn't this just a normal room?"
Sure. A space like this could exist. I could make my own bedroom look like this if I wanted.
But the strangeness was the scale. The walls rose high enough to dwarf most apartment buildings, and the stretch of floor behind the man alone looked longer than a sports field.
That was where the dissonance lived—and the fear.
While I was still trying to organize those thoughts—
"Hmm. A human. Perfectly suitable."
He muttered it to himself, staring at me.
Whether it was the wrongness of the space or the simple fact that humans adapt to almost anything, I found myself looking back at him and waiting for whatever came next.
That muttered line from ten minutes ago was the last thing he said.
He didn't move, either.
What was I supposed to do.
Was it because I was perceiving this space too clearly? Moving further felt terrifying. Speaking to him first felt just as bad.
…I want to go home.
"You. Interested in working?"
He held out a hand and offered me a job.
Work.
Like the bookstore. Like a convenience-store shift.
You work to earn money.
Except right now money wasn't the point. Survival was.
Survival had become the entire goal.
So wasn't this actually an opportunity? At the very least, this being had decided I was useful for something…
"If you want, I'll compensate you as well."
"Ha—I'll do it! A-anything is fine!"
Accept the job and he probably wouldn't kill me. Safety, then—guaranteed, more or less.
Finish the work, take the pay, go home. Go back to being the version of me that knew nothing. Back to a quiet life.
"I like how quick you are. Then first… change into the uniform."
He snapped his fingers. His horns and eyes lit up, and red smoke began to rise from my body as well.
As the smoke slowly sank into me—
"Huh…?"
Why is my chest…?