Kenji arrived at the office wearing the new formal clothes he had found the other morning. The fabric still felt strange against his skin, like it didn't belong to him. As soon as he walked in, Ryo and Shinji turned from their desks.
"Oi, Kenji," Ryo smirked, "did you win the lottery or something?"
"Yeah," Shinji added, laughing under his breath, "or maybe you stole someone's money?"
Their voices carried that sharp tone of mockery, a little too loud in the quiet office. Kenji said nothing. He just walked past them, his eyes fixed ahead. He had no energy to respond, no words to give. He sat at his desk, opened his computer, and let the weight of silence shield him.
Outside, the sky was breaking apart. Thunder rolled like heavy drums in the distance, and flashes of white lightning cut through the clouds. Soon, rain poured down in sheets, hammering the windows and filling the air with a restless noise. The whole building felt dim and cold.
Kenji worked without noticing how time slipped away. The world shrank to the glow of his computer screen. Numbers, files, and words blurred into one another until he finally looked at the clock. Six o'clock.
The office was nearly empty now. Chairs pushed back, desks abandoned, only the faint hum of the lights and the rain outside. Kenji picked up the completed files and carried them to the HR office.
Emi was there, gathering her things to leave. She stopped for a moment when Kenji placed the files on her desk. Her eyes ran over them quickly. She frowned, but only slightly—there was nothing wrong with the work.
She looked at Kenji, and in that look was something unreadable. A sigh left her lips, soft and tired. "Bye," she said simply, and then she walked past him, heels clicking against the floor, her figure vanishing into the dim corridor.
Kenji stood there for a second longer, the sound of rain filling the silence she left behind. Then he turned and made his way home.
Morning light slipped weakly through the curtains as Kenji opened his eyes. His head throbbed, his body sore as though he had spent the night running, fighting—something beyond sleep. He sat up slowly, and then he froze.
The apartment was spotless.
Every surface gleamed as though someone had spent hours scrubbing. The dishes in the kitchen were stacked neatly. The bathroom smelled faintly of disinfectant. The small storeroom—usually cluttered—was orderly. It wasn't the first time he had seen this strange cleanliness lately, but today something new caught his attention.
On his desk lay a fresh paper bag. Inside it were new formal clothes, still folded sharply. Next to them were hair and face products he had never bought. His heart began to race.
He reached for his laptop. It was already open. The screen glowed. His breath hitched—his work had been done. Attendance sheets, reviews, reports… all completed. The tasks that normally chained him late into the night were already handled. He scrolled through in disbelief, fingers trembling.
Panic stirred in his chest for the first time. Someone had been here. Someone was moving in his shadow.
Kenji turned to the bed. A black hoodie lay across it, the one his mother had given him years ago. Old, worn, with a small white marking he had once drawn on the sleeve back in college. It was undeniably his.
He rubbed his aching arms. His body felt thinner, weaker—like some part of him had been drained. He clenched his teeth. Enough… today, I'll buy a night camera. I have to see what's happening while I sleep.
He forced himself to dress and left for work. On the bus, rain clouds hung low, and the chatter of strangers buzzed around him. At first, he paid no attention. Then a phrase slipped through the noise—
"Did you hear? The bank robbery last night…"
Kenji's head jerked up. He pulled out his phone. News reports flooded the screen. It was true: a theft had occurred at a nearby bank. He scrolled quickly, his stomach sinking. His own money had been in that bank—not much, but his all the same. Thankfully, the report said the bank promised to cover the stolen amounts within a week.
Still, as he read further, his pulse quickened. The suspect had vanished. Only one blurry picture remained—taken from behind.
Kenji's eyes went wide.
The man in the image wore a black hoodie. His black hoodie. The same sleeve, the same white marking he had drawn years ago.
His heart stopped.
"What—what—?" The words slipped out of his mouth before he could contain them. Too loud. Heads turned on the bus.
Kenji's face burned. He forced a shaky smile. "Sorry… sorry. Just a fly. Haha."
The passengers eventually turned away, but Kenji's hands trembled as he gripped his phone. He stared again at the blurry image. The shape, the clothes—it was his. His hoodie.
There was no mistake.
And yet… he had been sleeping.
Kenji could not shake the picture from his mind. The blurry figure in the hoodie followed him through every thought. The more he stared at the memory of it, the clearer it became.
Someone was using his apartment.
Someone was walking in his clothes.
Someone was doing his work.
And he was asleep while it happened.
His hands curled into fists. He looked at the black hoodie lying on his bed that morning and felt a cold sweat spread across his back.
"I have to get rid of it," he whispered to himself. "If anyone finds it… they'll think it was me."
The hoodie was no longer just cloth. It was evidence. It was danger.
When he reached the office that day, his thoughts were too heavy to focus. His desk felt meaningless. His chair looked strange. Instead of sitting down, he picked up the files that were neatly stacked — the ones he did not remember finishing, yet his name was written on them. The work was flawless, better than he usually managed.
Were they his files?
Or were they… someone else's?
Kenji didn't know anymore.
He gripped the papers tightly, his palms damp, and turned away from his desk. Instead of blending in among the rows of workers, he walked straight to the HR office. His footsteps echoed in the quiet corridor.
For the first time, Kenji noticed her in a sexual way.
Emi's red-painted lips pursed in a way that suggested a secret yearning. Her breasts, full and perky, strained against the confines of her crisp white blouse, the fabric clinging to the soft mounds as if begging for release.
The curve of her ass was a tantalizing delight, perfectly outlined by the black skirt that hugged her figure like a second skin, stopping just above her knees. She sat in her high-backed chair, the power she exuded enhancing the allure of her beauty.
Kenji's eyes lingered, and he felt his body respond to the unspoken invitation of her seductive presence, the tension in the room thickening like the scent of her sweet perfume.
Emi was sorting documents, her expression calm but sharp as always.
He placed the files on her desk. His voice felt heavy when he spoke.
"These… are the reports."
Emi glanced at the stack. Her eyes flickered with a trace of surprise, then softened into a faint sigh. She didn't ask questions. She simply nodded and slid the papers aside, as if it was nothing unusual.
Kenji stood there for a moment, uncertain, his mind clouded. He could feel her eyes on him, but he didn't explain. He didn't have words.
With a weak bow, he turned and walked out, the weight of the mysterious files pressing down on his shoulders.
"What is going on with me, was she always that hot"