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Time: 5:00 PM | Location: ABC Corporation, Downtown Chicago
Raigo Tenku sat hunched over his desk, the cold glow of the computer screen reflecting off the dark circles that clung stubbornly beneath his eyes. His usually sharp, well-kept appearance had eroded over the past 36 sleepless hours. The beard that shadowed his chin was untrimmed, giving him the look of a man worn by time and forgotten by rest.
But none of that showed on his face.
He had trained himself long ago to wear composure like armor—firm jawline, neutral eyes, unshaken breath. Even when everything inside him begged for collapse.
He had just clicked "Save" on the last document for the day, his fingers trembling slightly as they hovered over the keyboard. Slowly, he stood and reached for his bag, slinging it over one shoulder like a soldier sheathing his weapon after battle. Today was supposed to be over. He had earned the right to go home, collapse on his mattress, and sleep until time itself paused.
And then, from across the open office, came the voice. Bright, cheerful, and altogether too loud.
"Rig!"
Raigo blinked slowly, letting out a breath that was more sigh than air.
David.
David Elliot Walker. Nephew to Gregory Walker, the managing director of ABC Corporation. Tall, sharply dressed, hair like it had been combed by angels, and a grin so wide it could eclipse the sun. He had that kind of charisma that people gravitated toward—maybe it was his family name, maybe it was the expensive cologne, maybe it was just that blinding confidence.
David approached with his usual swagger, one hand already raised in greeting, the other holding a paper cup of coffee he wasn't going to finish.
"What is it this time?" Raigo muttered, not even bothering to mask the irritation in his voice.
David gave a sheepish smile. "Actually, I haven't finished a few of my files today. But, I have to head out early. My frie—"
"David! Come fast, it's getting late for the show!" a woman's voice called out from the hallway—Natalie, the HR executive who had been throwing hearts at David all month.
David turned on his heel. "Raigo, I can only count on you! Please finish it, I owe you one!"
And he was gone before Raigo could even curse.
Raigo stood there, bag in hand, blinking. Then, with a deep exhale, he placed his bag back down, shoulders slumping with the weight of his unspoken thoughts.
"One day's worth of files?" he mumbled to himself. "That idiot would take a day. I can finish in an hour."
He wasn't boasting. Raigo had the pedigree to back up his arrogance. Top scorer in the SATs. Graduate from the most prestigious university in the U.S. A list of published research papers in economic systems and corporate psychology. He'd once been scouted by a think tank in Japan. He'd turned it down to stay here—biggest mistake of his life, maybe.
But none of it mattered now.
All of that, and he was still the guy people dumped work on.
He set the alarm on his phone for 30 minutes. Just a nap. That's all he needed.
5:30 PM
The shrill ring of the alarm pierced the stale air of the office.
Raigo woke with a groan. His neck ached, his eyes stung, and he still hadn't slept nearly enough to fix the throb behind his skull. Yawning, he dragged himself to David's desk, expecting a few neat folders.
What he found instead jolted him fully awake.
Ten towering stacks of paperwork, each at least an inch thick. Digital files blinking on David's terminal—untouched, unorganized.
Raigo's mouth hung open. His brain scrambled for words, for logic, for something—anything—that could explain this betrayal.
"You son of a—" he started, then hit the chair with a palm, sending it rolling into a filing cabinet.
Pulling out a cigarette—strictly against company policy—he lit it without a second thought. The smoke curled above his head like a ghost of his lost patience.
He pulled out his phone and dialed.
"Hello, David? You said it was just today's work. But here there's—"
"Hello? Hell—Yo—no—aud—" came the garbled response, background noise roaring like a concert.
And then, nothing.
Call dropped.
Of course.
Raigo stared at the mountain of work. He could leave. Just walk away. No one could blame him.
But they would. Somehow, they would.
Because he was the quiet one. The foreign one. The genius who never spoke about his past. The one with no uncle in the upper floor.
He took a long drag from the cigarette and rolled up his sleeves.
6:15 PM
Talia Monroe, the floor supervisor and head of Operations, was doing a final sweep before she left. She paused by Raigo's desk, raising an eyebrow.
"You're still here?" she asked. Her voice wasn't cold, but it wasn't friendly either.
Raigo didn't look up. "Finishing up David's queue."
Talia glanced at the files. Her lips tightened. She didn't say anything for a long moment.
"You know you're not obligated to clean up his mess."
Raigo gave a slight shrug. "I'm not. But if I don't, he'll just say I left things incomplete."
Talia nodded slowly, as if she understood—but didn't agree. "I'll make a note of it in the logs. Don't stay too late."
He offered a weak "Thanks," but she was already walking away.
6:45 PM
Gregory Walker, the boss himself, exited his office with coat in hand. The man looked like a retired navy admiral—silver hair, pristine suit, eyes that cut like steel. He paused near the elevator and noticed the only light still on in the sea of cubicles.
He walked over.
"You're still working, Raigo?"
Raigo nodded.
"That David's queue?"
Another nod.
Gregory's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "You didn't need to pick that up."
Raigo looked up this time. "No one else was going to."
Gregory paused. "I see."
There was a silence between them. Heavy. Complicated.
"Good work ethic," Gregory said finally, then turned and left.
But he never said "thank you."
8:00 PM
It was past dark now. The city outside glowed through the tall office windows, casting long shadows. Raigo had removed his jacket, rolled his sleeves, and was tearing through the backlog like a machine. Excel sheets. Inventory reports. Team logs. Budget reviews.
He was fast, meticulous, and brilliant.
But tired.
He slouched in his chair, rubbing his face. Just as he leaned back, he heard footsteps.
From behind the corner emerged someone unexpected—Lena Carter.
She was a marketing associate, usually quiet and tucked into the back end of the office with the creative team. Tonight, she held a bag of food and two cups of hot tea.
"I heard you were still here," she said, placing the food on his desk.
Raigo blinked. "How did you—"
"I saw the email logs. David clocked out early. His work was still pending. You showed up on the internal tracker."
She smiled, but it wasn't pity. It was solidarity.
"You shouldn't have to carry all this."
Raigo stared at her. Then, softly, almost inaudibly, he said, "I don't have a choice."
Lena pulled up a chair beside him.
"Then let me help."
Later That Night
Together, they worked in silence. Occasionally, they spoke—about music, about cities they'd never been to, about the pressure to prove yourself when no one remembers your name.
As they filed the last report, Raigo leaned back.
"Do you think anyone will even notice?"
Lena looked at him.
"I noticed."
And for the first time in what felt like years, Raigo Tenku was tired but smiled.
Not because he'd finished the work. Not because someone finally acknowledged it.
But because for once, he didn't feel invisible.
Somewhere Else | The Concert
David danced with Natalie under blinding lights, posting selfies, tagging the company, smiling for a life he didn't build.
He never noticed the phone buzzing in his coat.
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