The Next Morning
Kai woke up at five fifty-three.
He lay on the couch for exactly one minute staring at the ceiling. Then he pressed his palm flat against the floor out of habit.
Shira. Sleeping. Rhythm deep and even.
Mira. Already awake. Sitting on her bed , the still, hours-long stillness that had become familiar enough now that it no longer worried him the way it had on the first morning. It was just how she started her days. Quietly. Alone with whatever she was thinking about.
He sat up and reached for his phone.
He opened the banking app.
He looked at the number for a long time.
’Right,’ Kai thought.
The number was not good.
After the pharmacy yesterday and the groceries from two days ago and the cab on the first day and the fruit stand , three mandarins, forty-two coins each ,the debit card had exactly enough left for perhaps eight days of careful eating.
Eight days if nothing unexpected happened.
In Kai’s experience something unexpected always happened.
He put the phone face-down on the couch cushion and sat with his elbows on his knees and looked at the floor.
’Eight days,’ he thought. ’Figure it out in eight days.’
He picked the phone back up and opened his notes app and started a list.
Options: Find work ,any work, Sell something . he looked around the apartment. There was nothing to sell that wasn’t already theirs and necessary. Find work faster
He stared at the list.
’That’s not really three options,’ he thought. ’That’s one option written three times.’
He got up and put the kettle on.
He made breakfast quietly.
Rice porridge this morning , it stretched further than plain rice and cost less per serving. He’d done the math on that too, lying awake at two in the morning after Shira’s pain episode two nights ago. Porridge, eggs, whatever vegetables were cheapest at the corner market. Simple. Filling. Sustainable for eight days if he was careful.
He knocked on Shira’s door at seven.
"Breakfast," Kai said.
"Coming," Shira said.
Still different from the first morning. She’d been coming to the table every meal now without being asked twice. He didn’t comment on it. He just made sure the table was right every time.
He knocked on Mira’s door. Three knocks. His knock.
She opened it immediately. Whiteboard in hand. Already dressed.
She held up the board.
You woke up and checked your phone before you did anything else.
Kai looked at her.
She was aimed slightly past his left shoulder the way she always was — not at him exactly, but toward him.
"You heard that," Kai said.
The sound a banking app makes when you open it at five fifty-three in the morning is a specific sound, she wrote. I’ve heard it before.
Kai looked at that for a moment.
"Breakfast is porridge today," he said.
Mira held his gaze or the space where his gaze was for one more second.
Then she erased the board and stepped out into the hallway.
The three of them ate.
Shira ate without comment. She’d learned not to comment on what he cooked or if she noticed the portions getting slightly more careful, she kept it to herself. Mira ate neatly and completely the way she always did.
Kai ate and thought about his list.
Find work. Faster.
He had a plan for this morning. Three places he’d identified last night on his phone — a logistics depot two districts over that was hiring general labor, a construction supply company that needed inventory staff, and a food delivery service that didn’t list Gift classification as a requirement.
He’d mapped the routes. Planned his order. Estimated travel time.
He’d be back before lunch.
Mira set her spoon down.
She wrote something and slid the board across the table.
You’re going out this morning.
"Job hunting," Kai said. He didn’t see the point in pretending otherwise. "I’ll be back by noon. There’s porridge left in the cooker if either of you gets hungry before then."
Shira looked up from her bowl.
She said nothing. But she looked at him with that level expression ,the one that had replaced the blade-stare over the last two days. Taking stock of something.
"There’s a physio exercise sheet in the blue folder on the kitchen counter," Kai said to her. "The discharge papers included it. You don’t have to do anything. It’s just there if you want it."
Shira looked at her bowl.
"I know what my own discharge papers say," Shira said.
"I know you do," Kai said. "It’s just there."
He finished his porridge, washed his bowl, and got his jacket.
At the door he paused.
Both of them at the table. Shira with her tea. Mira with her hands wrapped around her cup.
’Eight days,’ Kai thought.
He didn’t say that.
"I’ll be back by noon," he said.
He closed the door behind him.
The logistics depot was first.
It took thirty-five minutes by two trains and a walk. Kai arrived at eight forty-five, filled out the form at the front desk, and waited twelve minutes to speak to the hiring manager.
The hiring manager was a broad man with a clipboard and the specific expression of someone who had seen too many applicants to bother with a resting face.
He looked at Kai’s form. He looked at Kai.
"Gift classification," the man said.
"Unclassified," Kai said.
The man made a sound that wasn’t quite a word.
"We operate heavy freight movement," the man said. "Unclassified means no enhanced strength, no kinetic ability, no environmental resistance certification."
"I’m a fast learner," Kai said. "I can work longer hours than classified staff. No ability means no discharge fatigue."
The man looked at him for a moment.
"We’ll be in touch," the man said.
They would not be in touch.
『 Rejected. Reason: No Gift classification. 』 『 Note: the phrase "we’ll be in touch" in this context means the opposite of what it says. Host should be aware of this. 』
Kai already knew that.
He got back on the train.