The machine buzzed softly as the papers came out warm and crisp.
He stacked them neatly and clipped them together. The clock on the wall showed a few minutes past eight. He rubbed his eyes as his shoulders felt heavy.
He looked around the empty room once more. The chairs were still, the lights dimmed, and the computers were all shut down. He could hear his own breathing as he walked to the door with the file in his hand.
The manager's office was at the far end of the hallway. Ethan had walked that hall many times during the day, but at night it felt longer. His shoes clicked softly against the tiled floor. The corridor lights buzzed above him.
He stopped outside the glass door with the gold plate that read Mr. Damian Holt, Office Manager.
Ethan hesitated for a second. It was late, and he wasn't sure if Mr. Holt was still around. But a faint light was glowing under the door. He knocked gently.
There was no reply.
He knocked again, a bit louder. Still nothing.
He turned the handle slowly and pushed the door open.
The smell of coffee and air freshener hit him first. The office was neat, as always, but his eyes went straight to the couch beside the window.
Mr. Holt was lying there, asleep. His head tilted to one side, one leg crossed over the other, and a small blanket thrown carelessly over his waist. His snoring was loud and steady. A half-empty cup of coffee sat on the small table next to him, and a file folder was open on the floor.
Ethan blinked, unsure what to do.
He took a slow step forward. "Sir?" he said quietly.
No answer.
He cleared his throat and tried again. "Sir, it's Ethan."
Still nothing.
He stood there awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The papers in his hand felt heavier. He didn't want to wake him, but he needed him to proofread the document before he sent it to the higher-ups.
He took a deep breath and stepped closer.
"Sir?" he whispered again, this time reaching out carefully.
He hesitated for a moment, then tapped his manager lightly on the shoulder.
Mr. Holt stirred but didn't wake. Ethan tried again, tapping him a bit harder.
This time the man's eyes opened halfway. He blinked slowly, confused at first, then sat up with a groan.
"What… what is it?" he muttered, rubbing his face. His voice was thick with sleep.
Ethan straightened himself quickly. "Sir, I'm sorry to wake you. Collins left a report unfinished, and I completed it. I just wanted you to go through it before I send it to the higher-ups."
Mr. Holt squinted at him, frowning. "What time is it?"
"Eight fifteen, sir."
The manager groaned again and leaned back, his eyes closing briefly. "Eight fifteen, and you're still here?"
"Yes, sir," Ethan said quietly. "I wanted to make sure everything was correct."
Mr. Holt sat up slowly and yawned. "You could've sent it without waking me up. It's not that deep."
"I just thought..."
"Don't think too much," the man interrupted. "Since you've done it, just send it as it is. I'll look at it tomorrow if there's any problem."
Ethan frowned slightly. "But, sir, I really think you should check it first. There might be small mistakes or figures that need to be..."
Mr. Holt opened one eye and gave him a cold look. "Are you questioning my instruction?"
Ethan shook his head quickly. "No, sir. I'm just saying..."
"Then don't say anything," Mr. Holt snapped, cutting him off again. He waved his hand lazily. "Go. Leave the office. I said send it. That's final."
Ethan swallowed his words. He could feel his chest tighten.
"Yes, sir," he said softly.
He turned to leave, but before he could reach the door, Mr. Holt spoke again.
"Wait."
Ethan froze. He turned slowly.
The manager pushed the blanket aside and stood up. He was tall, slightly built, with sharp eyes that still carried a trace of sleepiness. He walked toward Ethan in slow steps, his slippers dragging lightly against the floor.
Ethan stood still, unsure what to expect.
Mr. Holt stopped in front of him and looked him up and down. His face hardened.
"You really don't know when to shut up, do you?" he said.
Ethan frowned slightly, confused. "Sir, I didn't mean..."
Before he could finish, Mr. Holt's foot came forward fast, hitting Ethan hard in the leg.
The pain shot up instantly. Ethan gasped and stumbled backward, almost dropping the papers.
"Sir!" he said, shocked.
Mr. Holt's face twisted with irritation. "You think this office runs on your opinion? You think because you stayed late, you get to tell me how to handle a document?"
Ethan tried to steady himself. His leg throbbed. "I was just doing my job," he said quietly.
"Your job," Mr. Holt repeated, his voice rising. "Your job is to obey. You're not paid to think. You're paid to follow instructions."
Ethan stayed silent. His hands trembled slightly as he gripped the file tighter.
The manager leaned closer, his tone sharp and mocking. "You'll keep running errands for everyone here like the good dog you are. Isn't that what you do best? Fetch work. Fix mistakes. Stay late. Be everyone's helper."
Ethan lowered his eyes. He didn't respond. His jaw tightened, but he stayed calm.
Mr. Holt smirked. "Don't ever question me again. I'm the tiger in this office, and you're just another weak cub trying to roar."
He stepped back and pointed to the door. "Now get out."
Ethan stood there for a few seconds, trying to gather himself. His leg still hurt, and his pride stung even more.
"Yes, sir," he said finally.
He turned and walked out quietly, closing the door behind him.
The hallway was still and cold. He walked slowly, limping slightly as he made his way back to his desk.
He dropped the file on the table and sat down for a moment, his hands covering his face. His mind was blank.
After a long silence, he reached for his laptop and sent the document as instructed. His fingers moved without thought.
When he was done, he shut down the computer and gathered his things.
He didn't look back at the manager's office as he left.
The night outside was darker than before, and the wind carried a faint chill.
He walked to the elevator quietly, his steps steady despite the pain in his leg.
When the doors closed behind him, the reflection staring back from the elevator glass looked tired and empty.
He didn't know why it hurt so much, not just the kick but the words.
But he didn't say a word.
He just pressed the ground floor button and waited for the doors to open.