Day 28

  Location: The District of Shinjuku (Enemy Territory)

  The sun hung high in the sky, a white-hot coin hammered against the blue dome of the heavens.

  I stood at the base of the beast.

  The headquarters of Fuma Industries did not scrape the sky; it pierced it. It was a monolith of arrogance, a tower sheathed entirely in reflective blue glass that mirrored the city back upon itself.

  "A castle of crystal..." I whispered, shielding my eyes with a hand that trembled—not from fear, but from the constriction of my polyester armor.

  In the Sengoku era, a fortress was built of stone and wood. It had crevices. It had texture. A skilled ninja could find purchase on a sheer wall by jamming a shuko (hand claw) into the mortar or finding a loose timber.

  But this? This was the "Anti-Ninja Architecture" I had feared.

  The surface was smooth as a polished mirror. There were no handholds. No shadows. If I were to attempt to scale this vertical lake, I would slide off like a raindrop on a lotus leaf.

  "Fuma Kotaro..." I hissed, adjusting the collar of my cheap recruit suit. "You have built a fortress that rejects the very concept of friction. Coward."

  I felt the "Noose of Windsor"—the silk tie Aoi-dono had knotted around my throat—tighten as I swallowed.

  My suit, the "Midnight Charcoal" polyester shell, was already becoming a sauna. The material did not breathe; it suffocated. It trapped my body heat, creating a localized tropical climate between my skin and my undershirt.

  "Focus, Masanari," I muttered. "You are not a warrior today. You are a 'Candidate.' You possess 'Conflict Resolution Skills' and 'Market Research Experience.' You are harmless."

  I clutched my plastic folder—the sheath for my Resume of Lies—and marched toward the entrance.

  The Spinning Gates of the Guillotine

  I halted five paces from the threshold.

  The entrance was not a gate. It was a machine.

  A massive, circular cylinder of glass spun relentlessly, its panels moving with the inexorable rhythm of a water wheel. Civilians walked into the pie-shaped segments and were rotated into the lobby, deposited safely on the other side.

  Or so it appeared.

  To the untrained eye, it was a door. To me, it was a timing trap.

  "The Wheel of Severance," I analyzed, narrowing my eyes behind my cheap sunglasses.

  "It moves without ceasing. If one hesitates... the glass edge will catch the heel. If one rushes... it will crush the shoulder."

  I watched a businessman enter. He moved with a sluggish, bovine pace. The glass panel grazed his briefcase. He did not even flinch.

  "He lacks Zanshin (awareness)," I noted. "He trusts the machine not to hunger for his limbs. I do not."

  I took a deep breath, timing the rotation.

  Panel passes... Gap opens... Panel approaches...

  Now!

  "Hah!"

  I exploded into motion. I sprinted toward the spinning maw.

  As the gap widened to its apex, I did not simply walk. I dove.

  I executed a forward combat roll, tucking my shoulder to minimize my surface area, tumbling through the pie-shaped wedge with the grace of a tumbleweed in a gale.

  I came out the other side, springing to my feet in a low crouch, my plastic folder held up like a shield.

  "Safe!" I exhaled.

  I looked around.

  The lobby of Fuma Industries was vast. The ceiling was lost in shadows three stories up. The floor was white marble, polished to a lethal shine. The air was frigid, conditioned to a temperature that would preserve a mammoth.

  And it was silent.

  Dozens of people in suits walked through the space, but their footsteps were swallowed by the sheer volume of the air.

  Several of them were staring at me.

  "Is he okay?" a woman whispered to her colleague. "He just... rolled through the door."

  "Maybe he's late," the colleague muttered, clutching his coffee.

  I straightened my tie, brushing an invisible speck of dust from my lapel.

  "Amateurs," I thought. "They do not understand the danger of the rotating glass."

  I scanned the room for the Receptionist. The gatekeeper.

  Usually, a fortress of this magnitude would be guarded by a grizzled samurai or a stern matron with a ledger.

  But the expansive white desk in the center of the room was empty of human life.

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  There was only... a thing.

  Standing behind the desk was a humanoid figure. It was small, perhaps the height of a child. Its body was made of pristine, white porcelain—or perhaps the same accursed plastic as my spoons.

  It had a round head, large, soulless black eyes, and a tablet screen embedded in its chest like a glowing heart.

  It stood motionless, arms at its sides.

  "A Golem..." I breathed, taking a cautious step back.

  "Fuma has resurrected the ancient arts of the Karakuri puppets. But this... this radiates a cold intelligence."

  I approached slowly, my shoes squeaking on the marble.

  Squeak. Squeak.

  I stopped two meters from the desk. The creature did not move. Was it dormant? Was it a statue?

  I cleared my throat.

  "I am Hattori Masanari!" I announced, my voice echoing slightly in the cathedral-like space. "I have come to petition the Lord of Wind for employment! Identify yourself, White Sentry!"

  The machine’s head snapped up.

  Whirrr-click.

  The eyes flashed with a soft, blue light. The mouth did not move, yet a voice emerged from its throat—a high-pitched, cheerful, and utterly terrifying sound.

  "Hello! Welcome to Fuma Industries! I am Pepper!"

  I recoiled, assuming a defensive stance (or as defensive as I could be in a tight suit).

  "Pepper?" I repeated. "You are named after a spice? Do you blind your enemies with powder?"

  The robot ignored my query. It gestured with a white, jointed hand toward the tablet on its chest.

  "I don't see an appointment in the system. Would you like to check in?"

  It spoke with the confidence of a being that knows it cannot bleed.

  "I... I have an interview," I stammered, unnerved by its unblinking gaze. "At 10:00 AM. With the Human Resources Daimyo."

  "Understood!" Pepper chirped. "While I notify the staff, would you mind taking a short survey to improve our hospitality?"

  A survey.

  A test.

  I narrowed my eyes. "The Sphinx demands a riddle," I whispered. "Very well, Golem. I accept your challenge."

  I stepped closer to the desk, peering at the glowing slate embedded in its torso.

  The screen displayed a question:

  [ HOW ARE YOU FEELING TODAY? ]

  Below the text were five yellow faces.

  1. The Weeping Face (Despair)

  2. The Frowning Face (Discontent)

  3. The Flat Line Face (Neutrality)

  4. The Smiling Face (Contentment)

  5. The Grinning Face with Star Eyes (Euphoria)

  Sweat began to bead on my forehead.

  "It is a trap," I realized instantly.

  "If I select the Weeping Face, the machine will judge me as weak. It will alert security that a broken man is in the lobby. I will be purged."

  My finger hovered over the Grinning Face.

  "But if I select the Star Eyes... that is Euphoria. Why would a job seeker be euphoric before the battle? It implies madness. Or perhaps arrogance. Or chemical intoxication."

  The robot tilted its head.

  Whirrr.

  "Is something wrong?" Pepper asked. "You seem hesitant."

  "Silence, machine!" I hissed, wiping sweat from my brow. "I am calculating the strategic implications of my mood!"

  The Neutral Face? No. Neutrality suggests a lack of ambition. Fuma Kotaro wants soldiers, not stones.

  The Smiling Face? It is safe. But is it too safe? Is it the choice of a coward?

  "You are shaking," Pepper observed. Its voice tone shifted. It sounded... condescending.

  "My sensors indicate your heart rate is elevated. Are you nervous?"

  "I am not nervous!" I lied, my voice cracking. "I am vibrating with... with eager anticipation for the corporate synergy!"

  "I see," Pepper said. The blue lights in its eyes swirled. "Would you like to hear a joke to relax?"

  I froze.

  A joke? From a soulless automaton?

  "It is a sonic attack," I thought. "A chant of madness designed to break my concentration."

  "No," I said firmly. "I decline the jest."

  "Why did the robot go on a diet?" Pepper asked anyway, ignoring my refusal.

  "I said no!"

  "Because he had too many bytes!"

  Pepper let out a mechanical laugh. "Ha. Ha. Ha."

  The sound was dry. It was the sound of bones rattling in a crypt.

  I stared at the white demon.

  "Bytes..." I whispered. "Bites? You imply... you imply you eat flesh? You had too many bites of the previous applicants?"

  I backed away, reaching into my jacket for my plastic spoon—my only weapon.

  "You threaten me, Golem? You confess to cannibalism in the lobby?!"

  "Sir?"

  A heavy hand landed on my shoulder.

  I spun around, dropping into a sloppy judo stance, nearly ripping the inseam of my trousers.

  Standing behind me was a human. A large man in a blue uniform. He wore a utility belt laden with keys and a radio.

  The Security Guard.

  He looked at me. He looked at my defensive posture. He looked at the plastic spoon I was gripping like a dagger.

  He looked at Pepper, who was still smiling its frozen, plastic smile.

  "Sir," the guard said, his voice weary. "Please stop screaming at the receptionist."

  I slowly lowered the spoon.

  "He... it... threatened me," I explained, straightening my tie. "It spoke of biting. It claimed to have consumed too much."

  The guard sighed. It was the deep, resonant sigh of a man who deals with the insanity of the Shinjuku district every day.

  "It's a pun, sir. It's a computer joke."

  He pointed to a set of elevators in the distance.

  "The interview room is on the 14th floor. Go. Before I change my mind and toss you out."

  I looked back at Pepper.

  The robot waved its hand. "Have a productive day!"

  "You have won this round, White Golem," I whispered, tucking my spoon back into my pocket. "But know this... I did not select a face. I remain an enigma to your algorithm."

  I turned and marched toward the elevators, my dignity in tatters, but my spirit unbroken.

  The Box of Ascendance

  I stepped into the elevator. It was a glass cage.

  As it rose, the ground fell away. The cars below turned into toys. The people turned into ants.

  I pressed my face against the glass, looking out over the city.

  "So high..." I murmured.

  Fuma Kotaro looks down on this every day. He sees the world as a board game.

  "I am coming for you, Demon," I said to the reflection in the glass.

  The elevator dinged.

  Floor 14: Human Resources / Strategic Operations.

  The doors slid open.

  I stepped out into a hallway that smelled of lavender and fear.

  A row of chairs lined the wall. Sitting in them were five other men.

  They all wore black suits. They all had the same haircut. They all looked at their knees, muttering to themselves.

  "My competition," I noted.

  I walked to the empty chair at the end of the line.

  I sat. The plastic of the chair was hard.

  I placed my Resume of Lies on my lap.

  "I am Hattori Masanari," I repeated Aoi’s mantra in my head. "I enjoy team-building. I am passionate about data entry. My weakness is that I care too much."

  I looked at the man next to me. He was trembling.

  "First time?" I asked.

  He jumped. "Y-yes. They say the interviewer... she's terrifying. They call her the 'Iron Lady of HR'."

  "Iron Lady?" I smiled grimly.

  "Good. I have brought a spoon."

  The man scooted his chair away from me.

  Days Remaining: 72

  Masanari’s Cultural Notes

  1. The Revolving Door (The Wheel of Severance)

  A sadistic architectural feature designed to cull the slow and the weak. In the chaotic flow of battle (or commuting), a door that requires timing is a defensive fortification. I suspect the Fuma use it to filter out clumsy spies.

  2. Pepper (The White Golem)

  A common sight in the lobbies of this era. The locals believe it is a helpful assistant. I know the truth. It is a vessel for a trapped spirit, forced to tell bad jokes for eternity. Its chest-tablet is a window into its hollow soul. Do not trust its smile.

  3. The Elevator (The Box of Ascendance)

  A moving room that defies gravity using hidden cables. It is a marvel, yet terrifying. If the cable snaps, it becomes a coffin. I always stand with my knees bent, ready to absorb the impact of a fall.

  Next Episode Preview:

  Episode 29: The Iron Lady and the Tea of Truth

  Masanari: "I enter the interrogation chamber! The 'Iron Lady' stares at me with eyes of ice! She offers me tea... but I know the game! Is it poisoned? Is it a test of etiquette?!"

  Interviewer: "Mr. Hattori, explain this gap in your employment history. What were you doing between 1582 and 2026?"

  Masanari: "I... uh... was on a very long sabbatical? Studying... the blade? No! Studying... Excel?"

  Next Time: Masanari sweats through his suit and accidentally insults the company ethos!

  Ko-fi.com/ninjawritermasa