The Giant Leprechaun

Akio deflated in a sigh as his conference call dragged its bloated corpse toward the finish line. Around him, the office looked like a graveyard, scattered coffee cups, abandoned notebooks, and the crumbling remains of everyone’s hopes and dreams.

Across the office, Kubo Shinji’s was sweet-talking someone on the phone, not the usual flirtatious style, but something closer to grovelling. Akio didn’t pay him much attention at first, his focus was on the spreadsheet hell glowing on his monitor, but bits of Shinji’s pleading voice leaked through.

“No, no, Ms. Turo, we absolutely understand. Backflips are dangerous... off a desk especially...” A pause. “Yes, ma’am. I promise, it won’t happen again.”

Akio stared at his screen, the rows of numbers merging into a meaningless sludge. After an entire day of useless meetings and fire-drills, his actual work had been left to rot. His task list was multiplying like bacteria in a forgotten lunchbox, and he could do nothing but watch it grow.

If he didn’t somehow bulldoze through everything tonight, he could kiss his deliverables goodbye.

“Of course, I’ll have a talk with her,” Shinji continued, voice syrupy-smooth. Then, dropping the act entirely, he grumbled into the receiver, “Never letting Naomi and Amaya babysit again. Those idiots.”

Akio let out a small snort. Somehow, it was comforting to know that even invincible creatures like Shinji could be steamrolled by two circus brats.

He shook his head and refocused, cracking his knuckles. Fine. If meetings had eaten his whole day, he’d just have to work overtime. No problem. He could still save this.

He opened a new document, rolled up his sleeves when—

THUMP.

A fat stack of files slammed down on his desk with enough force to send his mouse skittering sideways. Akio jumped a foot in his seat, whirling around to find Shinji grinning at him.

“Here you go, champ!” Shinji said brightly, slapping the pile for good measure. “Tomorrow’s entertainment.”

Akio stared at the stack. Then at Shinji. Then back at the stack.
He could feel his blood pressure spiking.

“Tomorrow?” he repeated, voice high and thin. “No, no, I’ll just do it tonight. If I don’t, I won’t finish everything by Friday, and then it’ll cascade and I’ll miss Monday’s deployment, and then it’ll be—”

He reached for the files automatically, brain already calculating how many hours of sleep he could afford to lose, but Shinji simply smacked the back of his head.

Akio jerked upright, scandalized. "That’s workplace violence!" he hissed, rubbing his head.

“File a complaint with HR,” Shinji said lazily. “Tomorrow. For now, you’re going home."

Akio's mouth flapped uselessly, like a fish yanked out of water. "But— but the deadlines—"

Shinji cut him off with a laugh, dropping into the chair next to him.
"You’ll do it tomorrow," he said. "You're already clocking overtime, and I'm not about to let you mutate into one of those burnt-out salaryman zombies. Trust me. Bad vibes. Kills the whole office ambiance."

Relief and confusion collided inside him. Shinji rarely got so... bossy.

Akio shoved the cursed stack of files aside and tugged on his jacket. No point in arguing with someone who could charm upper management into giving him a raise for breathing.

As he packed up, his mind wandered to the old branch back in Uji. His former team lead would’ve hurled those files at his head and told him to “walk it off.” There were no “bad vibes” in Uji. Just deadlines, caffeine, and emotional trauma.

Kubo’s version of leadership was... confusingly effective.

He threw tasks with one hand and donuts with the other. And somehow, this team crushed deadlines with half the stress and double the productivity. Akio respected it. Even if it made no logical sense whatsoever.

Stepping outside, the evening breeze kissed his face like a reward for surviving the corporate battlefield. For the first time all day, Akio could actually hear his own thoughts again.
They weren’t profound. Mostly just:

Food. Now. Or perish.

His stomach let out a pitiful growl. Right. Dinner. Adult responsibilities. Basic survival. Time to rise to the noble calling of the grocery store.

He detoured into the supermarket on the way home, savouring the rare chance to grocery shop without an agent of chaos attached to his hip. Usually, Amaya would race to every candy aisle and drop a dozen weird snacks into the cart while Akio was busy checking expiration dates.

Tonight, he would be an adult.
A responsible, mature adult who filled his cart with adult things.

Rice. Vegetables. Salmon. Miso paste. Sensible. Dignified. Grown-up.

...Okay, maybe just one bag of chips, for morale.
And a bar of dark chocolate, for antioxidants.
...And, before he could stop himself, his hand snaked out and grabbed a pack of Amaya’s favourite gummy bears. He stuffed it into the basket like a bashful teenager hiding a love letter.

It was disturbingly hard to shop without her bad influence.

Groceries secured; he made the final trek home. Five flights of stairs later (because their building’s elevator was broken again) Akio arrived at the door half-dead and very relieved.

He jiggled his keys at the lock, grocery bags carving angry lines into his fingers. “I’m home!” he called, kicking off his loafers.

There was a thud, a burst of laughter, and the scuffle of furniture.

Akio froze in the genkan, bags dangling from his hands, heart inching up into his throat. What on earth... Dropping the bags, he creeped forward cautiously, half expecting to find that Amaya had unleashed an exotic pet in the apartment or maybe she was practicing extreme sports in the living room again. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him.

In the middle of their living room, Amaya was locked in an intense tug-of-war over a bag of potato chips with what appeared to be a giant redheaded man.

The stranger was huge, he towered at least a head and a half above Amaya, his broad back nearly eclipsing their couch as he held the bag high out of her reach. Amaya, undeterred, had climbed onto the arm of the couch, one foot propped on the cushions and one hand clinging to the man’s shoulder for leverage as she stretched her other arm up, fingers grasping at the chips.

They were both laughing, loudly. Amaya with her familiar, high-pitched giggles and the stranger with his deep, booming chuckle. The coffee table was littered with evidence of an ongoing snack war, a few stray chips, upturned soda cans (thankfully empty), and their potted ivy plant pushed aside to make room, its leaves now shining with a crispy cheese-powder dusting.

For a split second, Akio’s brain short-circuited. It looked like some bizarre David-and-Goliath scene, except David was a goofy acrobat in mismatched socks, and Goliath was… a walking protein shake, in a bright green tank top with a cartoon platypus on it?

Akio blinked twice.

Who was this guy and why was he manhandling Amaya and more importantly, why was he in their apartment?

A dozen panicked scenarios exploded through Akio’s mind: Was this a kidnapper? A crazed circus fan? A wandering snack thief with incredibly defined biceps?

But Amaya’s delighted squeals as she clung to the man’s shoulders suggested she was in no danger at all. If anything, she seemed to be having the time of her life.

And Akio, standing in the doorway with his grocery bags and slightly pathetic expression, felt a stab to his chest.

Before Akio could find his voice, Amaya made one more giant leap for the chip bag. With the agility of a cat, she launched herself off the couch arm onto the man’s back. “Gimme my chips, you oversized leprechaun!” she hollered, bubbling with laughter as she clambered up.

The redheaded giant howled with laughter and spun in a wide, clumsy circle, which only made Amaya cling tighter, now piggyback style on him with her legs wrapped around his waist.

That was it.

Akio didn’t know who this overgrown gingerbread man was, but the living room was not a jungle gym and Amaya was not his backpack.

Decision made. It was definitely time to intervene, if only to save their apartment from total destruction.

“Amaya!” he barked. “What in the world is going on?!”

It came out sharper than intended, clipped and a little too loud, but also… yeah. Exactly how he meant them.

The truth was, he didn’t really have a reason to be upset. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He was just her roommate. Her accidental roommate.

He had no right to feel anything about this.

And yet—there it was.

That slow, twisting knife in his chest as he watched her laugh with someone else. Like she’d forgotten he was even part of the equation.

Maybe she had.

Seeing her hanging off some random guy like he was the best amusement ride in town, like he fit into her world in a way Akio never quite will…

Yeah… it sucked.