Giri stepped out of his apartment, adjusting the light satchel slung over his shoulder. Inside, a few notebooks and tools rattled against each other - the essentials for another day of coding.
His bike leaned against the wall, collecting dust. The train had become his preferred method of commute. Those precious minutes gave him space to decompress, catch up on news, and indulge in his latest obsession - VTuber streams.
The morning air nipped at his face as he walked to the station. His phone already queued up with notifications from his favorite streamer - a white-haired shark girl whose energy could light up the darkest corners of the internet.
Her streams ranged from horror game playthroughs that had her jumping at every shadow to chaotic cooking adventures where she'd somehow turn simple recipes into entertaining disasters. But it was her signature "A!" - pitched somewhere between surprise and delight - that never failed to make him smile.
At the station, Giri swiped his IC card and found an empty seat near the window. He plugged in his earphones, and the shark girl's cheerful avatar filled his screen. Today's stream showed her attempting to build in some crafting game.
"It's... uh... structurally sound... probably!" Her nervous giggle accompanied the reveal of a house that defied several laws of physics. The chat exploded with encouraging messages and playful teasing.
The train glided past the park, and Giri's eyes drifted to the ancient tree standing sentinel among the modern buildings. Its gnarled branches reached toward the sky like fingers stretching through time. Something about its presence always made him pause, as if its roots held secrets about the fleeting nature of existence.
The automated announcement chimed - his stop at the SolarTech complex approached.
The train doors slid open with a soft hiss. Giri joined the stream of people flowing toward the SolarTech building, his earphones still buzzing with the VTuber's cheerful commentary. The morning crowd painted a vibrant canvas - burgundy hijabs, flowing saris, crisp button-downs in every shade. A testament to SolarTech's global reach.
His gaze drifted to the other side of the entrance. Black cars lined up like dominoes, disgorging men in identical dark suits. Among them stood Yuki, phone pressed to his ear, brow furrowed in concentration.
The lobby's cool air washed over Giri as he headed for the elevator bank. Yuki caught his eye and raised a hand, gesturing him to the side.
"Do you mind taking the next one? This will be quick."
Giri nodded, stepping away from the gathering crowd.
"It's about the phone call I just received," Yuki lowered his voice. "The S.I.P - they found some compatibility problem at headquarters. They suspect the one here will have the same issue."
"A team of engineers will come and take a look this morning," Yuki continued. "So it won't be available after afternoon."
"Which means..."
"Means your test will be delayed." Yuki's expression softened with sympathy. "I know you already scheduled your work for it."
Giri exhaled, his shoulders dropping. "As long as it gets fixed."
Yuki leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "I haven't told you how to get... there... have I?" His eyes darted around the lobby. "It's simple. Swipe the card, press and hold B1. When the button changes color, you should arrive at your destination in moments."
Giri nodded, catching the next elevator to his floor. The metal box hummed as it carried him upward, his reflection fractured across its polished surfaces.
The studio air felt different today - thicker, more charged. Or maybe it was just him. Usually, Kenji would greet him with some witty comment about coffee or code, but today his colleague remained hunched over his monitor, fingers flying across the keyboard. Hane mirrored the same intense focus, her screen reflecting lines of code in her glasses.
Giri settled into his chair, the familiar creak offering little comfort. His phone buzzed in his pocket. An unknown number.
"Giri Tran? This is a representative from the Heiwa Detention Center. We're calling regarding your mother."
His heart skipped. The voice continued, clinical and precise.
"Her case has been reopened. We are currently working on it internally. She will have the same lawyer as last time unless she herself requests a change. There is no action needed from you at this time; we are simply calling to inform you of the status since you are the next of kin. If you have any further questions, you are welcome to visit our center."
Giri's grip tightened around his phone. 'No action needed' - the phrase echoed through his mind, bitter and familiar. His family had taken every possible action years ago. They'd hired lawyers, gathered evidence, filed appeals. Yet here they were, still waiting for justice while his mother sat behind bars.
He pocketed his phone, pushing down the mix of hope and skepticism threatening to surface. The reopening meant something, but experience had taught him to temper his expectations.
A frustrated sigh caught his attention. Hane sat at her desk, her usual laser focus replaced by tense shoulders and a deep frown. Her fingers drummed against her keyboard - a nervous habit she'd developed during crunch times.
"Everything alright, Hane?"
She spun her chair to face him, running a hand through her already disheveled hair.
"I'm stuck on this reward system," Her screen displayed multiple windows of code and debug logs. "I've set up all the triggers correctly. The event flags are firing, the database is updating… everything should be working. But players aren't receiving their rewards."
She scrolled through lines of code, highlighting sections as she spoke.
"See? The reward function is being called, but for some reason, it's not actually distributing the items. I've checked the item database, the player inventories… everything checks out. I'm completely stumped."
Giri leaned closer to her monitor, scanning the code.
"Have you checked the transaction logs?" He pointed to a minimized window. "Sometimes, if there's a database lock or a timeout, the transaction might fail without throwing an explicit error."
Hane's eyes widened. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up the logs.
"The transaction logs..." She scrolled rapidly until stopping at a particular entry.
"Here!" Her cursor highlighted a line of red text. "Look, it says 'Transaction Aborted: Deadlock Detected.' What does that mean?"
Giri rolled his chair closer to Hane's desk, his fingers hovering over her keyboard.
"Mind if I?"
She nodded, scooting aside to give him space.
"A deadlock. That's... tricky. It usually happens when two or more processes are trying to access the same database resources at the same time, and they end up blocking each other. It's like two cars trying to cross the same intersection at the same time – they just get stuck."
Hane's brow furrowed as she processed the information.
"So, how do we fix it?"
"The simplest solution would be to implement some sort of locking mechanism or transaction queuing," Giri explained. "That way, only one process can access those resources at a time, preventing the deadlock. You could also try optimizing the database queries to be faster, which would reduce the likelihood of a deadlock occurring in the first place."
Hane scribbled quick notes in her small notebook, a smile brightening her face. Her eyes lingered on Giri's calm demeanor, admiring how he handled complex problems with such ease.
If only she knew the storm brewing beneath his composed exterior - the weight of his mother's case, the pressure of the VR integration, the constant battle between corporate demands and creative vision. But Giri maintained his facade, built from years of weathering life's challenges. He'd learned early that sometimes the strongest walls were the ones nobody could see.
Giri nodded, the office air growing thick. He forced his attention back to the code, each keyboard click echoing his unspoken conflict.
A few hours later, an e-mail notification popped up on his screen.
—
Subject: Urgent: Sensory Immersion Pod Testing - Overtime Request
From: Yuki Tanaka
To: Giri Tran
Body:
Giri,
Due to unforeseen technical difficulties encountered by the engineering team in Kaito, the Sensory Immersion Pods will not be fully operational until late this evening. As the "Awakened" expansion deadline is rapidly approaching, we require you to conduct the scheduled testing during overtime hours.
Your participation is crucial to ensure the timely release of the expansion. Paid overtime will be provided for your time.
Please note that the nature of this testing involves highly sensitive pre-release content. Maintaining absolute confidentiality regarding the test and its results is of paramount importance. Please refrain from discussing any aspect of the testing with anyone outside this conversation.
Regards,
Yuki Tanaka Lead Project Manager
—
Giri's eyes scanned the email again, each word adding weight to his shoulders. The singular recipient line stood out - just him, not the usual team-wide distribution. His cursor hovered over the reply button while his other hand reached for his phone, thumb brushing over his father's contact.
The elderly home's visiting hours ended at seven. Even with overtime pay, the choice between professional obligation and family duty twisted his gut. His father needed him today, especially after the news about mother's case.
Rising from his desk, Giri headed for the elevator. The ride to Yuki's floor felt longer than usual, each floor number ticking by with mechanical indifference. The hallway stretched before him, its overhead lights casting long shadows across the polished floor.
Yuki's office door stood ajar, revealing a dark interior. No shuffling papers, no keyboard clicks, just silence. The assistant's desk lamp cast a soft glow as her fingers danced across the keyboard.
"Excuse me," Giri kept his voice gentle, not wanting to startle her. "Have you seen Yuki?"
She looked up, blinking as if emerging from deep concentration. Her glasses reflected the glow of her monitor.
"Oh, Giri. He left a little while ago. Something about an urgent meeting with the higher-ups. He said he'd be out for the rest of the morning, possibly longer."
"Did he... mention anything about the Awakened testing?" Giri tried to maintain a casual tone despite the tension building in his chest.
The assistant's brow furrowed, creating small creases above her glasses.
"Just that there were some... complications. He seemed pretty stressed. Why?"
"Oh, nothing," Giri forced a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just wanted to clarify a few things."
Yuki must have sent that email from his phone, Giri realized as he walked back to his desk. The timing and the assistant's words lined up too perfectly.
His fingers drummed against his thigh as he considered his options. The elderly home visit couldn't wait - his father needed support after the news about mother's case. But the testing... SolarTech's deadlines loomed like storm clouds on the horizon.
For now, he had to focus. The morning's tasks demanded his attention. Lines of code filled his screen as he dove back into debugging the reward system with Hane. Each function call and database query provided a temporary escape from his dilemma.
Hours ticked by in a blur of keystrokes and compiler messages. The morning sun climbed higher, casting long shadows across his keyboard. His shoulders tensed with each passing minute, the weight of his decision growing heavier.
When lunch break finally arrived, Giri found a quiet corner in the cafeteria. The usual buzz of conversation faded into background noise as he stared at his father's number on his phone screen. His thumb hovered over the call button.
What could he say? How could he explain another delay, another missed visit? The words tangled in his mind, none of them feeling right.
Taking a deep breath, he pressed the button. Each ring stretched into eternity until-
"Hello?" His father's voice, warm and familiar, filled the line.
"Hi, Dad," Giri forced brightness into his voice, even as his free hand clenched into a fist under the table.
Giri clutched his phone tighter as his father's warm voice filled the line.
"Giri? Is that you? How are you, son?"
"I'm okay," Giri shifted in his seat. "Work's been busy. How about you?"
After exchanging brief updates about the weather and daily routines, Giri's grip on his phone tightened.
"Dad, I'm really sorry about missing yesterday. Work got crazy. And… I got a call this morning. From the Heiwa Detention Center."
A pause. "About your mother?"
"Yeah," Giri's voice softened. "They said her case has been reopened. They're handling it internally, and said there's nothing I need to do right now. But…"
"But it's brought everything back," his father completed the thought, his voice gentle.
"I still feel bad about yesterday," Giri's words came out barely above a whisper.
The line went quiet for a moment. Then his father's warm voice returned.
"It's alright, Giri. I understand. Work is important." A light chuckle followed. "Besides, there's nothing much to see here anyway. It's the same old routine. You didn't miss anything exciting."
"But I promised," The guilt weighed heavy in Giri's chest. "I promised I'd be there."
"And I appreciate that," his father's tone remained understanding. "But I know how demanding your job can be. I used to be the same way, you know. Working all hours, always chasing deadlines. I understand what you're going through."
The revelation caught Giri off guard. "You do?"
"Of course," Another soft laugh. "I remember countless times when I had to cancel plans, miss family dinners, because of work. It's part of the job, especially when you're passionate about what you do." A nostalgic pause followed. "Back in my day, it was blueprints and concrete, not lines of code. But the principle is the same. You pour your heart and soul into a project, and sometimes, that means sacrifices. Just promise me you'll take care of yourself. We can reschedule for next week?"
"I will," Giri felt his shoulders relax. "Next week, definitely."
After ending the call, a familiar lightness spread through his chest. The simple act of sharing his struggles had lifted a weight he hadn't realized he'd been carrying.
He closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath as the break room's ambient noise washed over him.
"Maybe things would be alright. Maybe this time, things would be different."
Glancing at his watch, he still had time left in his break. He stood up and headed for the coffee machine, that newfound lightness still lingering.