Work.
A banal word, almost innocuous to the ear.
Yet it governs the lives of millions of people on Earth in 2026.
Damien Smith is no exception.
Son of a lower-middle-class father and mother, he worked relentlessly at school, following the well-meaning advice of those around him. All of it for a better future, to become someone better — just like his father, who wore himself out day after day to provide his family with the bare minimum of comfort.
But the world doesn't always reward effort.
That was a lesson no teacher, no relative, had ever bothered to explain to Damien.
A lesson he would only discover once he entered the job market, after obtaining his degrees.
« *Cough… D-did you receive my report?* » Damien asked as he entered a soberly decorated office.
The once-promising boy had long ceased to exist.
Damien had changed, molded by the harsh reality of a ruthlessly competitive job market.
He no longer possessed the eloquence of the past, nor that measured voice that had earned him so many compliments from his professors.
Standing before the desk was a gaunt young man with an unkempt beard. His clothes were those of an ordinary employee, but his eyes betrayed a quiet emptiness.
That was how Damien Smith now presented himself.
The middle-aged man's voice rang pleasantly in Damien's ears as he spoke:
« Hmm… you perfectly captured the rendering I wanted, but— »
Damien allowed himself a faint smile on his tired, sleep-deprived face.
But the second half of the sentence made him frown.
« I-is there a problem? *cough* » he asked hesitantly, quickly bringing his hand to his mouth to stifle a series of coughs.
The middle-aged man furrowed his brow, visibly displeased by this "unseemly" display. No trace of empathy showed in his eyes — only subtle, carefully concealed contempt behind his professional mask.
Damien wasn't stupid. Nor blind.
Far from it. He had already noticed this particular trait in his direct superior long ago.
But so what? What could he possibly do against the contempt of a direct manager?
The answer was simple: shut his mouth and keep working.
After all, a man has to eat.
« Health issue? » Robert asked once Damien's coughing fit had subsided.
« N-no… I'm fine, » he hurriedly replied. He couldn't afford to stop. Not in December.
He needed that year-end bonus.
« If you say so… Anyway. I would just like you to work faster, because this deliverable barely made it on time, and— »
A long tirade of reproaches followed, pouring out of his superior's mouth.
In short: the CEO was extremely volatile and every single document that required his approval had to arrive within an extremely precise timeframe.
Was it logical? On paper, yes.
In practice… much harder to achieve.
'Does he really think it's easy to gather all the supporting documents?' Damien thought, nodding from time to time to show he was listening, even though his mind was wandering elsewhere.
After a good ten minutes filled with hypocrisy and "adult" formalities, Damien was finally released and headed back to his desk.
« Tss… work faster, as if I wasn't already drowning in other tasks… haa, » he muttered, clicking his tongue in irritation.
Before he could vent any more frustration, a sudden cold ran down his spine, starting from the nape of his neck.
Without hesitation, he spun around.
« Stop making that face, you look like a damn zombie! » called out a woman with glasses and slightly messy hair, holding out a can of beer toward him.
Unconsciously, Damien relaxed a little at the sight of the woman in her twenties, before quickly regaining control of himself.
He also snatched the can with surprising speed for someone who looked so listless.
'My god… there's nothing a good dose of alcohol can't fix,' he thought, clumsily wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
Elise watched her colleague's behavior with a small, teasing smile — a genuine expression Damien rarely saw in a world filled with fake kindness and hidden intentions.
« So? What's next on the program? » she asked as the two of them finally reached their shared desk.
Normally they shared the space with three other colleagues, but those were currently unavailable. Unlike Elise and Damien, they had been sent abroad on assignment.
Which was also why Damien had to work much more closely — and much more — with Elise lately.
« Normally, nothing too serious until next year, » he said, waking up the computer on the desk.
It had been on standby, but it quickly displayed Damien's Gmail inbox.
« Nothing too serious? We literally worked two weekends in a row! And they still decide to dump more tasks on us?! » Elise exclaimed, while her colleague remained stone-faced in the face of this reality.
He had already experienced similar situations many times and had developed a certain immunity after several years in the company. Elise, on the other hand, was still relatively new and hadn't yet fully grasped the despair of the corporate administrative world.
« Indeed, the boss hinted that he would need us for things besides mission reports, » he replied with a small sigh, lightly massaging his temples.
He wanted to add something, but a new notification in his inbox interrupted him.
[Subject: Document #### Validation]
[Hello Sir. ####]
[The tax-related document is now ready. It requires your analysis and validation so we can finalize the process.]
[I also inform you that this task will most likely require overtime to be completed within the given deadlines. Please organize yourself accordingly.]
[Kind regards, ####, Chief Executive Officer]
« Did you read it? The director wants you to analyze this document quickly, and don't forget to include enough supporting documents to avoid any trouble. »
Damien's direct superior wrote in a message sent shortly after the CEO's email.
After reading both the email and the message, Damien's already pale face turned even whiter.
Elise noticed her friend's sudden, prolonged silence, so she approached and glanced at his screen.
« Th-they want us dead? We'll never finish this on time! » she said, slowly stepping back.
The tired but relaxed face Damien had seen earlier was gone. All he could see now was a young woman clearly at her breaking point.
Elise wouldn't hold up mentally this time, and worse — she might even jeopardize the work, he thought as he stood up.
« W-what should I do… I-I really just want to sleep at home, it's been two weeks since I last saw my cat… » the woman in her twenties muttered to herself in panic.
As her eyes grew hazy from stress and her hands frantically ran through her messy hair, a tap on her shoulder brought her back.
Elise looked up and met Damien's dark, empty gaze — which, unlike usual, somehow radiated a strange sense of reliability.
« You can go home. I-I don't think you're in any state to keep working, » he said, offering a soothing smile.
The working day was indeed almost over.
Elise had every right to leave.
But then… who would handle her workload?
« B-but if I leave, your workload will increase even more— » She wanted to say more, but Damien's dark eyes stopped her.
Even though they had only known each other for a relatively short time at work, Elise and Damien had grown close enough to understand each other without many words.
At that precise moment, Elise understood that Damien's request wasn't just kindness toward her — it was a real necessity. If she stayed, she would only slow him down.
« Thank you, » she whispered softly before leaving.
The door closed loudly behind her.
Standing outside, Elise looked at her friend's back.
She felt ashamed to abandon him, but she also understood that she would be useless.
Behind the door, her heart beat faster thinking about Damien's solid yet strangely reassuring back. Unconsciously, she blushed before shaking her head.
'Stop it… Be realistic: he doesn't even have time for himself, let alone for that kind of relationship. Impossible.'
Her footsteps gradually faded away from Damien's location.
He let out a sigh of relief, then sat back down in his chair.
« *Cough*… Yeah, she doesn't deserve this, » he murmured, staring at the white ceiling for long minutes before returning to work.
No one was coming to help him.
Heroes don't exist.
There was no god in his life.
He was alone.
So he wrote… again, again, and again.
Late into the night, many offices across the different departments emptied out.
Not Damien's.
He stayed.
Writing like the perfect modern slave he had become, until he finally finished and saved everything to the cloud at dawn.
« Finally, I c-can… »
As he stood up to get some coffee, he lost balance and collapsed to the floor.
His strength had left him without warning.
His body wasn't sick. He didn't have any hereditary disease.
He was simply too exhausted.
« Y-yeah… it's just fatigue… a-a little nap on the floor and— »
His sense of time began to dissolve little by little.
His thoughts grew hazy.
When his eyelids finally became too heavy, he saw Elise's tear-streaked face.
Was it a hallucination? A hidden fantasy he had kept buried deep inside?
He would never truly know.
The young woman tried to save him, but lacking real first-aid knowledge, she failed.
The last thing Damien's ears managed to catch before the final curtain was:
« We haven't even taken our leave yet… nor our Christmas bonus… »
A simple, ordinary sentence — almost anticlimactic for such a moment.
But it was enough to draw a faint, weary smile on Damien's gaunt, exhausted face.
That was the story of Damien Smith, 31 years old.
Single.
And a virgin.