“Ruined Bridge”

Mr. Sako's mandate for a "five-year projection" felt less like a work assignment and more like a creative obstacle designed specifically to choke out her actual passion. She finally clocked out just past 11 PM, the building silent save for the whir of security cameras.

Weariness was a heavy cloak draped over her shoulders. The stress of balancing two careers—one safe and demanding, the other secret and creatively exhausting had settled deep into her bones. She smelled faintly of old paper and lukewarm office coffee.

The small, familiar comfort of her apartment was a welcome relief. She dropped her heavy work satchel and kicked off her sensible shoes, sighing as she finally stood on the worn rug of her living room.

"Princess Night, I'm home," Airi murmured, her voice rough with fatigue.

A sleek, black shadow materialized instantly, weaving sinuously between her feet. Neko greeted her with a demanding, high-pitched meow—a sound that was part complaint and part affection. Airi sank down onto the floor, running a hand over Neko's soft fur.

"I know, I know. I’m a terrible owner," Airi whispered, resting her head briefly on the cat's back. "But I have to pay for your gourmet wet food somehow, and now I have to pay for a second album's worth of defiance."

She forced herself up, quickly changing into an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. She knew she shouldn't; she knew her body was screaming for sleep. But Junpei's email was still fresh in her mind, and Ren’s voice still echoed the challenge: We need to keep the music flowing.

Airi walked over to her small writing desk, which was currently buried under a stack of Senior Analyst compliance manuals. She swept the manuals onto the floor with a decisive, weary motion. This small act of rebellion was the only defiance she had energy for tonight.

She pulled out her songwriting notebook, the worn, spiral-bound book filled with lyrics, hastily scribbled melodies, and emotional notes she couldn’t share with anyone. Tonight, she wanted to start a new track, something that captured the feeling of being pulled in two directions—a sonic depiction of the struggle between the gray office and the vibrant studio.

She opened the notebook and picked up her pen, flexing her fingers. The paper was cool and smooth beneath her hand. She stared at the blank page under the low glow of her desk lamp, waiting for inspiration to strike.

Title: Dual Existence. Theme: What happens when the anchor is tied to the kite?

She hummed a few notes, trying to recall a melodic phrase she and Ren had discussed briefly during their last urgent session. Her eyes grew heavy. The exhaustion was a tangible pressure behind her eyelids.

First line: The city is sleeping, but my mind is still counting... Counting compliance regulations? Counting half-beats?

The pen felt heavy in her hand. Her head lowered slowly, imperceptibly. Neko, seeing her human finally settled, jumped gracefully onto the desk and curled up beside the notebook, purring loudly—a low, rhythmic rumble of contentment.

Airi’s focus blurred. The warmth of the lamp, the soft purr, the deep ache in her neck—it was too much. The pen slipped from her fingers, landing silently on the wooden desk.

Her last conscious thought was a vague, worried memory of the Ascension track list, quickly followed by the profound, velvet darkness of sleep. She slumped over her notebook, resting her cheek directly on the open page.

~

A sudden, sharp beam of sunlight hitting her face jolted Airi awake. She woke with a gasp, disoriented and immediately dizzy. Her neck was painfully stiff, and her cheek was imprinted with the faint, faded ink of her own handwriting.

Panic seized her. The room was bright, the light indicating well past the hour she should have woken. She glanced frantically at the analog clock on her wall.

8:35 AM.

Her shift started at 9:00 AM. She was supposed to be walking through the Corporation doors in twenty-five minutes.

"Oh, no! No, no, no!" Airi scrambled backward, knocking her chair loudly against the wall. The brief moment of artistic surrender had cost her dearly. Missing a day now, as a Senior Analyst, was unthinkable.

She grabbed her phone confirming the clock was accurate, and the realization hit her: she had less than twenty minutes to get ready, sprint to the station, and squeeze onto the crowded train. Airi threw off her sleepwear, racing toward the closet. As she moved, she glanced back at the desk.

Neko was gone, but her songwriting notebook was no longer neat. It lay open, slightly damp, and violently damaged. One of the central pages—a page she had been using to draft the difficult, syncopated bridge for "Dual Existence"—was torn almost perfectly in half, right down the middle of the lyrics. The edges were ragged, and a few key words had been aggressively shredded into tiny, wet confetti.

The culprit, Neko, was now sitting a few feet away, meticulously licking her front paw, looking at the very picture of innocent detachment. The green eyes, however, held a distinct, satisfied glint. The cat had not only torn the page but had apparently decided it was a suitable, paper-based snack.

Airi stared at the destruction, the ruin of thirty minutes of careful, late-night thought, ripped apart by a creature with zero respect for intellectual property. The irony was savage. She was terrified of the agency ripping apart her music, only for her own cat to do the job first.

A frustrated, tired scream built in Airi’s chest, demanding release. She wanted to yell, to chase the cat, to weep over the loss of the fragile lyrics. She needed time to salvage the remaining fragments, to piece together the structure before the idea completely dissolved in her memory. But the clock on the wall mocked her. 8:37 AM.

She had no time for fury. She had no time for tears. She had no time for salvage.

"I can't believe you," Airi gasped, pointing a trembling finger at the serenely cleaning cat. "I will deal with you later! Later!"

Airi snatched up the ruined notebook, shoving it into her already packed satchel, and grabbed the nearest clean work clothes. She threw on her blouse, frantically trying to button it while simultaneously struggling to find her glasses.

Work. Work. Work. Focus on the office. She had to get there, apologize profusely to Mr. Sako, and try to make up the lost twenty minutes by working through her lunch hour—the one hour she usually reserved for Ren's music.

A final, frantic glare was sent toward Neko, who merely blinked slowly, a perfect picture of feline composure.

Airi grabbed her bag, her hair barely secured in a bun, her breath already catching in her chest. She had survived the promotion, the urgent album deadline, and the commute, only to be defeated by her own cat's paper-shredding midnight snack.

She slammed the apartment door shut, running down the stairs, already planning the desperate excuses she would offer Mr. Sako. The morning rush was officially chaos, and Airi Komatsu, Senior Analyst and Secret Composer, was at the heart of it.