Tokyo, 1991: Starting as a bank clerk.

Kiryu Yaya took a step forward, extended a hand, and patted him on the shoulder.

"President Nomura, bowing will not solve any problems."

"What you need to do now is not to beg the bank for a loan, but to muster the courage to stand up. First, face the mess you have in your hands, clear out what needs to be cleared out, restructure what needs to be restructured, and talk to the suppliers who need to talk. Squeeze out the abscess, expose the wound. It will definitely hurt, but you can only heal after you have gone through the pain."

"Let's resolve the current predicament first. Then, we can think of new solutions."

Nomura looked up at him, her eyes blurred with tears.

Kiryu Yaya's face showed neither condescending charity nor detached indifference.

That was the expression of someone who had truly weathered storms and witnessed others rise from the ashes.

He withdrew his hand, straightened up, and then handed over his business card:

"I look forward to the day when I can work with President Nomura again."

The warehouse was quiet for a moment.

The fluorescent lights hummed, and the fans whirred as they blew the labels.

Kenichiro Nomura knelt on the ground, looking at the name of Yaya Kiryu on the business card, and tears finally fell.

He took the business card, then slowly, very slowly, supported himself on his knees, pressing his forehead to the ground:

"I know what to do..."

"Kiryu-san, Chihaya-sama... thank you."

"Thanks……"

……

[World line converging - three forks selected]

The skill "The Manager's Obsession" has been unlocked.

[This skill, when actively used, allows one to perceive the true thoughts of the business owner.]

[Can be used once a day]

Kiryu Yaya leaned back in the passenger seat, looking at the system notification in front of him, the scene in the warehouse flashing through his mind.

He was no stranger to President Nomura's disheveled state.

The car drove out of the Fuji Metal Industries factory area and slowly merged into the narrow and congested roads of Higashi-Osaka.

The workshops and warehouses on both sides of the road receded one after another, their faded signs and corrugated iron fences fading into the distance, with the occasional truck carrying steel pipes rumbling past.

Chihaya Yuri gripped the steering wheel, driving quietly, letting the low hum of the engine fill the brief silence in the car.

About half a minute later, Chihaya Yuri turned her head and glanced at Kiryu Yaya.

"Kiryu-kun."

"Yes."

"What you said in the warehouse just now didn't sound like something a newcomer would say."

Kiryu Yaya turned his head slightly to look at her.

Chihaya Yuri's gaze had returned to the road ahead:

“I spent six years in the financing review department, working my way up from a regular employee to department head. I’ve met many clients and heard a lot of so-called business owners’ theories. But very few people can explain the essence of this job so clearly in one sentence.”

The traffic light ahead is red.

Chihaya Yuri lightly applied the brakes, and the dark blue Toyota came to a smooth stop.

“To be honest,” Chihaya Yuri said, looking at the traffic light without turning her head, “you surprised me a bit today.”

Her tone remained calm, but Kiryuu Yaya could tell that this was the highest praise Chihaya Yuri could give.

He didn't reply immediately, but just looked through the windshield at the slowly flowing river below the embankment.

Gray water, crooked willow trees, low factory buildings, chimneys, telephone poles, and old warehouses in the distance.

The scenery of eastern Osaka before him strangely overlapped with a winter from a certain year in his memory.

“Chihaya-sensei,” he began slowly, his voice slightly lower than before, “those words weren’t anything special. If I had to pinpoint anything special about them…”

Kiryu Yaya paused for a moment after saying this.

"All I can say is that I've experienced that feeling."

Chihaya Yuri lowered her left hand from the steering wheel and placed it next to the gearshift lever.

She didn't press for answers or interrupt.

But this gesture itself is a sign of quiet.

So Kiryu Yaya continued speaking.

"My father's name is Kiryu Seiichiro."

"In 1986, he ran a small metal processing plant in Osaka. It had fewer than thirty employees and produced stamped and cut automotive parts. It wasn't a large operation, but in its best years, the plant could run 24 hours a day and still not finish all its orders."

The traffic light hasn't changed.

This red light seems unusually long.

“I visited the factory a few times when I was a child. It was extremely hot in the summer. Once the machines were running, the whole workshop was like a metal oven. My father would always be standing next to the machines, smoking a cigarette and talking to people while holding blueprints. At that time, I thought he was very capable. It seemed like he could solve any problem.”

As he said this, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

"Later, the Plaza Accord was signed. The yen appreciated, and the costs for export companies went up all at once. Large factories cut costs first, and the first to be cut were small and medium-sized downstream supporting factories like my father's."

"Orders decreased by 60% in one quarter."

"Customers who used to deliver extra goods every week are now delaying. New mold projects that were promised are also being canceled one after another. The warehouse is piling up with more and more semi-finished products, but we are not getting cash."

The traffic light turned green.

Chihaya Yuri released the brakes, and the car slid off again.

A small truck was slowly blocking the lane ahead, with a faded "Safety First" sticker on its rear.

Chihaya Yuri didn't rush to overtake, but simply followed steadily behind.

“At that time, my father refused to admit defeat.”

Kiryu Yaya continued:

"He always said that this was only temporary, and that orders would come back once this period was over. In order to keep the factory afloat, he first used the company's working capital to cover labor costs, then he delayed payments to suppliers, and later he started discounting commercial bills."

"He thought that if he had a little more time, he could turn the situation around."

"But running a business like this sometimes isn't something you can get through just by willpower."

Chihaya Yuri's fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel.

She understood exactly what every word Kiryu Yaya said meant.

Working capital, overdue payment, bill discounting, and additional collateral.

Every step is a step closer to death.

“That autumn,” Kiryu Yaya said slowly, “he applied for an additional loan from the bank. He used his house as collateral, and the bank approved it.”

"Then, less than a month later, the situation became even more difficult..."

"The bank has withdrawn its loans."

The carriage suddenly fell silent.

Even the sounds of the engine and the tires rubbing against the road seemed to recede into the distance in that instant.

"€€Paid."

Kiryu Yaya looked out the window, his tone calm to the point of being almost indifferent:

"The house was frozen, it couldn't be bought or sold freely, and it was almost impossible to use it for financing. At that time, I didn't understand what these terms meant. I only remember that my father came home less and less often, my mother's insomnia became more and more severe, and I could always hear the phone downstairs ringing non-stop at night."

"The suppliers have started coming to our door."

"The bills are due soon, and the people chasing payment come three times a day. Some are relatively polite, but others just bang on the table at the door and say they'll block the machines in the factory if they don't get paid."

“My father still won’t tell the truth. When he sees me, he will pretend that nothing is wrong and ask me how my recent mock exams went and if I want to eat the new fried chicken from the bento shop.”

"That day was a Friday."

"When I came home from school and opened the door, the house was unusually quiet."

“My mother would usually be in the kitchen preparing dinner at this time. Even when the atmosphere at home was at its worst, there would at least be the smell of miso soup in the pot. But that day there was nothing. The entryway was cold, and the lights weren’t even on.”

He paused for a moment.

The dimly lit corridor, the stairs, and the damp smell seeping from the cracks in the door seemed to reappear before my eyes.

I went upstairs and pushed open the bathroom door.

Below the riverbank, the gray water flowed silently, carrying away the last bit of pale light at noon in April.

"The water in the bathtub was red."

"My father is dead."