"Whatever. As long as we get somewhere to sleep and something to eat tonight, I've got no problem. They can scheme all they want," Alfie said with a shrug.
"Well, well, gentleman," a calm voice interrupted. "I see you brought your kids along this time around, huh?"
The manager turned his chair toward them, his sharp eyes glinting under the dim light.
"Huh? Kids? What the hell is he talking about?" Alfie whispered to Jackson.
"Pipe down, Alfie," Jackson replied quietly. "I guess that's what people will think when they see us together. Mister Sasaki isn't exactly old, but… if he'd married early, he could be our father. So yeah—some people might mistake him for one."
"That's insane," Alfie muttered.
"If you care for a drink, we can get you some," the manager said pleasantly. "Come on, have your seats."
He gestured toward a leather sofa in the corner of the office.
The three of them sat, watching both the manager and the guard standing beside him—each with polite smiles on their faces.
Something doesn't feel right here… I'm having a bad feeling about this, Sasaki thought silently.
"Yeah, we don't mind… for the drink," Sasaki said after a short silence.
"Just what I'd expect from an expert," the manager said, stroking his long mustache. "Always calm, always choosing the right words."
The guard who had brought them in left the office to fetch the drinks.
"Hahaha, don't be so serious. Look lively for once, my friend," the manager said cheerfully.
He seemed to be addressing Mr reaper alone, clearly assuming he is the father and we're the sons.
Such a stupid old man, Alfie whispered to Jackson, who couldn't help but chuckle.
The manager's eyes flicked to them instantly, his expression darkening.
I won't fall for this lame trick, OS. You've failed, he thought grimly.
"All right, my friend," the manager said aloud after a pause. "What brought you here exactly?"
Sasaki cleared his throat. "Well, you see, me and the boys need a job here in your company. Just for today—just until nightfall. I know it's already getting late, but we only need enough money to buy food and pay for a motel. From here on, we can handle two days' work in just two hours. Trust me—if the materials are available, leave it to us."
The manager's eyes narrowed.
Hmm… I see. This is a different pattern, talking about the impossible. But I won't fall for it by rejecting, he thought.
"Well, if that's what you want," he said at last, "then you're hired for three hours and assigned two days' worth of work. After you're done, you'll get full pay for the two days. That should be enough for your troubles."
That was too easy… or maybe they're just kind and generous people, Jackson thought quietly.
The door opened with a soft creak as the guard returned, carrying three glasses and a bottle of red wine on an aluminum tray.
I'm not in the mood for continuous wine, you fools, Sasaki thought, frowning at the large bottle.
The guard poured the wine, and the three of them drank silently before setting their glasses down.
"Thanks for the drink, mister. Can we get to work now?" Sasaki asked, standing up. Alfie and Jackson followed.
The manager nodded toward the guard, who returned the gesture. "Come with me," the guard said, leading them out of the office.
He brought them through the corridors and into a large warehouse. Inside was a smaller room filled with stacks of red worker uniforms.
"There's no size for your boys… I don't know how we're going to do this," the guard said.
"Don't worry, sir—we can work with our own clothes. It's only for three hours," Alfie replied.
"We can't, you fool!" Jackson snapped. "After ruining your clothes, what'll you wear later, huh? Same dirty ones?"
"We can buy new ones with the money," Alfie argued.
"You can't waste money on clothes when we're being offered free uniforms," Jackson replied.
"Enough, both of you," Sasaki said firmly. "Alfie, Jackson—put on the clothes and adjust them to your size. Fold the sleeves and trousers until they fit. As Jackson said, we can't waste money for clothes when we're offered workers clothes right in front of us."
"Okay, fine… you guys should pipe down," Alfie muttered, exhaling heavily.
I don't get it… how are they keeping up this act of being poor so well? I almost believed them for a second, the guard thought to himself.
"Hurry up a little. Your three hours have already started," he added.
Alfie and Jackson changed quickly, keeping their old clothes in the room. Sasaki did the same. The guard then led them into the main working room of the bakery.
Inside, the air was warm and filled with the smell of freshly baked bread. The engines rattled rhythmically as workers moved in silence, their hands mixing flour and ingredients with precise motions.
Bright Renshical electric bulbs lit up every corner and all over the ceiling.
"Here's how you make bread from our recipe," the instructor, an old man in same red uniform, said as he approached. He handed an instruction book to Sasaki.
Sasaki took it and studied the pages carefully. The book was full of drawings—step by step from the first process to the final stage.
"You've got less than two hours and thirty minutes now," the old man said. "Make it count. Remember—our milk is always more than the sugar. That's what makes our bread taste different. Don't forget that."
Then he walked away, disappearing into the bustling room.
"I asked for two hours; he gave me three," Sasaki muttered quietly. "I guess it's worth it anyway."
He continued to study the instruction book with Alfie and Jackson standing close beside him.