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604 – The Woes of a Salaryman (or: The Miseries of a Workhorse)
🕑 Added 2025-10-21 18:34:36 +0000 UTCWith only one day left until the new book’s release, Kyousuke slipped away from tedious chores to savor the pleasures of campus life.
Only when grades, career paths, and the future stop haunting you does high school reveal its real charm.
Youth looks rose-tinted and dazzling, like cherry blossoms in full bloom.
Sleeping through class in high school should feel as freeing as skipping lectures in college.
If you close your eyes but still worry about an exam in three days or whether the teacher will call your name, the joy of napping is halved.
“To waste time without wasting it on what you actually like — now that’s the world’s biggest fool.” — Yamauchi Sakura
As a student who wouldn’t even need internal promotion to get into Todai by special admission, Hojou Kyousuke’s school life was both boring and delightful.
Boring because he no longer felt the thrill of learning new things from teachers; delightful because he could nap without worry.
Strangely, he needed absolute quiet and darkness to sleep at home, but in class, the lulling drone of a lecture made for the most comfortable naps.
This was biology class.
As someone who could, with his eyes closed, accurately hit an opponent’s gallbladder, Kyousuke had no reason to pay attention.
If he stared at the teacher with bright eyes, that mantis-like biology instructor would probably panic.
Yukari had told him how the teacher confided that whenever Kyousuke wasn’t in class he felt nervous, thinking he’d miss something and losing his confidence as an educator.
So Kyousuke’s choices were simple: sleep, doodle, or do his own thing.
And whenever he made even the slightest movement, the teacher on the podium would shudder and nervously ask if he’d misspoken.
It was ridiculous — he’d aced Todai’s special exam!
Was it really necessary to act like this?
Once Kyousuke slipped into a reliable sleep, Shouko quietly cracked the window a bit.
“Wind, hush. Don’t wake Kyousuke-kun.”
Declared herself Hojou’s number-one fan, the third-ranked sword prodigy of Tokyo — the famed swordsman general Zaimokuza Yoshiteru — clambered down too when he saw his idol sleeping.
He was a big guy, and slumping on his desk made him look like a small hill; you wondered how that tiny chair could support him.
If the First Sword did it, there must be a reason.
Maybe napping in biology helps connect to otherworldly energy.
Thinking that, Zaimokuza felt his head go fuzzy like he was almost seeing another world.
‘Bang—'
A sudden loud noise made Zaimokuza, who was on the verge of dozing off, jump up.
The bio teacher was startled by the bear-like student springing upright and quickly glanced toward Kyousuke’s desk.
Seeing him still sleeping peacefully, the teacher let out a breath.
“Stand at the back,” the teacher waved offhand.
Zaimokuza’s temper flared.
He had just started connecting to that otherworldly realm — he hadn’t even had a chance to chat with the beast-eared girl there!
Furious, he shoved his chair forward and stood up abruptly.
“Right away, sir!”
Hikigaya Hachiman, who’d been enjoying the show, felt a huge force from behind and nearly lost his breath.
“Keep it down, or you’ll wake Hojou-kun!” the biology teacher snapped, lifting his textbook like a mantis’ foreleg, ready to strike.
“Hey, hey, hey…” Zaimokuza bent over and apologized, then shuffled to the back.
Once he reached the rear of the classroom, he overheard two boys whispering.
“Being top-notch is great. I bet Kuroki-sensei wants to go tuck a blanket around Hojou.”
Oh! Great idea. I’ll tell Hachiman to bring a blanket from home later.
Zaimokuza nodded eagerly.
“Idiot. Just being good at school won’t earn you Hojou treatment,” the other boy scoffed.
“How so?”
“Haven’t you been online? Remember when I cornered you in the bathroom stall yesterday?”
“You jerk, you still bring that up?”
“That wasn’t a trick!”
“How is that not a trick? Unless you count dressing like a girl to trick me into ordering you takeout?”
“Hah, of course that’s a trick!”
Boy A lowered his head and intoned in a deep voice:
“So, this time… were you satisfied with my trick?”
Ohhh!! There’s that move.
I’ll try it on Hachiman after school — pretending to be Totsuka! Zaimokuza nodded; everything was a lesson.
There had to be a reason Hojou slept like that — otherwise he wouldn’t have learned this trick.
Their conversation continued.
“Lunch today is mine. Or we’re done.”
“No problem — I didn’t bring lunch.”
“…I’ll kill you.”
“Then you’ll never get your compensation.”
“What the— is that your trick?”
“Since the moment you tricked me into ordering takeout for you, I knew this day would come! I’m eating this grudge for life!”
“You idiot, you owe me. You tricked me into ordering for you! Don’t act like the victim!”
“Shut up. Now tell me how this ties to Hojou sleeping.”
“Hojou’s new book’s about to come out. He’s been prepping for it: juggling a book launch and school is tough.
If he becomes a globally famous author, imagine how proud Kuroki-sensei will be.
Later, if he wants to move jobs, he can say he taught Hojou — prestigious schools will compete to hire him.”
“Whoa… so I could write in my résumé that I was classmates with Hojou?”
“You… what a guy.”
Boy B gasped:
“Is that your trick too?!”
‘So if I’d slept in the same room as Hojou, I’d be super popular — because rounding up, sleeping with me equals sleeping with Hojou?’ Zaimokuza’s eyes went wide.
In the afternoon, Kyousuke took the day off under the pretense of baseball club practice and invited the varsity squad to train.
His pitching was getting legit: every throw hit the strike zone, and his velocity was improving — from 130 km/h to 150.
When the radar hit 151, Tsumaya, the captain, thought the gun was broken.
Only when his wrist screamed after trying to catch did he realize it was a real heat-seeker.
Not as fast as pro-level 160+, but among high schoolers, it was utterly dominant. And…
This was only Kyousuke’s second week playing baseball.
One-fifty wasn’t his limit — it was someone else’s.
Clutching his aching wrist, Tsuchiya Ryouta grit his teeth, trying not to let the pain show.
Thankfully, with his helmet on, he was one of the few on the field—besides the umpire—whose expression couldn’t be seen.
Yeah… forget about the hitters—even he couldn’t catch Hojou Kyousuke’s pitch!
A speed of 151 km/h was already his limit.
Any faster, and his wrist and grip strength couldn’t take it.
The ball would slip right out of his glove, turning a perfect strike into a disaster.
He was dragging Hojou down.
Tsuchiya threw the ball back and shouted for Hojou to keep pitching.
‘No, I can’t keep this up. I need to think of something...’
His eyes drifted toward Fujikawa Masatake, the team’s former ace pitcher.
Compared to the dazzling, spotlight-stealing pitcher, a catcher always stood in the shadows.
People would remember the prodigy who threw a 160 km/h fastball—but never the catcher, silently gritting his teeth behind the plate, struggling to catch those blazing throws.
Cutters, sliders, forkballs, knuckleballs, sinkers… Every flashy pitch was another trial for the catcher.
If he couldn’t handle those pitches and the team lost runs because of it—it’d be a nightmare.
In the pro leagues, top-tier pitchers sometimes treated their catchers to dinner just to keep them happy.
Luckily, their team’s former ace, Fujikawa, might’ve been called a “star,” but in truth, he was just a big fish in a small pond.
Forget about single-handedly striking out the entire lineup—getting a single strikeout was already tough for him.
He always needed his teammates’ defense to back him up.
‘Yeah,’ Tsuchiya thought, glancing at Fujikawa, who was now standing beside Hojou, earnestly sharing pitching advice.
‘You’re actually better off switching to catcher, man.’
He almost felt guilty for the thought—but then again, he was the one giving up his position.
If anyone was making a sacrifice, it was him.
Besides, with someone like Hojou Kyousuke around, Fujikawa would never get another shot at being the ace.
Becoming a catcher was probably the best deal he could get.
‘So wait… does that mean I’m the only one getting screwed here?’
No. No way. As long as the team makes it to Koshien, ‘my name, Tsuchiya Ryouta, will go down in Soubu High’s history forever!’
‘Win, win, win—a triple win!’
Kyousuke, of course, had no idea that Tsuchiya was running all that mental math in the background.
He just felt a headache coming on.
The guy squatting behind the plate kept flashing complicated hand signs between his legs—calling for inside sliders, sinking balls, or whatever else—but the problem was…
Kyousuke only knew how to throw a straight fastball.
Tsuchiya’s excuse was, “Even if you can’t throw them yet, you need to get used to the signs. Can’t have you panicking on the field.”
Kyousuke just sighed, lifted his left leg, tightened his core, and threw with full force.
The white baseball screamed through the air toward Tsuchiya.
The longer he played baseball, the more fun he found in it.
Just pitch after pitch after pitch—strikeout after strikeout after strikeout.
The idea that one person could completely dominate the opposing team carried a kind of epic, heroic thrill that he couldn’t get enough of.
And when batting, there was nothing complicated—just aim, swing, and send the ball flying as far as possible to score.
Sprinting across the bases, hearing his teammates cheer behind him—
The only thing missing was the roar of a crowd.
Sakura had wanted to come along as the team’s manager, but Hiratsuka-sensei firmly rejected that idea.
Sakura, who could barely stand reading storybooks, didn’t exactly have stellar grades in Japanese—private tutoring was already a must.
Still, plenty of girls from the PE class nearby had snuck over to watch practice.
Every time Kyousuke lifted his leg to pitch, he could feel all their eyes burning holes into him—from his waist down.
When he glanced back at them in exasperation, the girls didn’t even try to hide it—instead, they jumped and waved, cheering loudly, their enthusiasm almost frightening.
While Kyousuke was busy sweating it out under the sun, the final batch of promotional material for his latest short manga—“The Miserable Life of a Corporate Drone”—went live online.
It was published entirely for free on his personal website, with open permissions for reposting.
Just yesterday, the internet was still buzzing with the trend “So, are you satisfied with my little trick this time?”
The hype hadn’t died down yet—in fact, it was growing, especially as more and more celebrities and influencers joined the wave.
So Kisaki, leading the promo team, only needed to give it a little push on social media before a massive flood of traffic poured into Kyousuke’s site.
The number of registered users skyrocketed—from 120,000 to over 300,000—and that was even though registration wasn’t required to comment.
Thankfully, Kisaki had already upgraded their servers in advance, perfectly handling the surge.
As for the manga, titled “Blood and Dreams of the Corporate Slave”—well, the response was overwhelming.
If even the chief editors of Japan’s big three manga magazines were fighting over the rights to serialize it, how could it not be a hit?
Even on a weekday, plenty of office workers were sneaking a look during smoke breaks—and many of them ended up in tears.
———————————————————————
“I’m an employee at XX Trading Company.”
“I make twice the protagonist’s salary, but my doctor says I need long-term rest.
I’m terrified of sleep now.
The thought that tomorrow will be just another nightmare like today makes me feel like even resting is just to prepare me to keep working.
I’m scared to sleep, but when the alarm rings, it’s like a death bell. And yet—I still have to keep working.”
———————————————————————
One post read on Kyousuke’s site.
The company name was self-censored, of course.
If it were up to Kisaki, he’d probably have dug up the user’s company, personal details, and even hospital diagnosis to plaster online for maximum drama.
He was a pro at feeding the outrage machine.
‘I’m sure boss would approve,’ Kisaki thought. ‘After all, why else would he make such a painfully relatable story?’
Unexpectedly, though, the top replies under that post weren’t sympathetic—they were furious.
Apparently, people didn’t like that this guy was whining about burnout when his salary was double theirs.
Sure, his life was tough—but he was still rich, and clearly worked at a big-name company.
Soon, others began posting their own pay slips, angrily claiming that they were being exploited with unpaid overtime by manipulative bosses.
This “who’s-got-it-worse” competition spread fast.
Watching the manga’s tragic protagonist suffer, countless overworked salarymen unleashed their pent-up frustration in the comments.
While the successful ones enjoyed their rare chance to be admired by the struggling masses.
