#One For The Money#

TRACK 1: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8D79VCO6-nM

As the evening descended upon the bustling streets of Kyoto, the neon lights of the cityscape flickered to life, casting a vibrant glow onto the street as they advertised everything from sake to soaplands. Across the city, salarymen loosened ties, packed into subway cars, and for those working at 360 Hero Agency's newest branch, headed to the Torikizoku two blocks down the street. Nestled on the top floor overlooking the train station across the street, the establishment's wood paneling and soft lighting defied the building's otherwise sterile exterior. 

A gentle breeze alleviated the sticky heat that clung to Toru Imaishi like a wet blanket. To him, it seemed everything felt that way lately. From the morning commute to stumbling to bed, life just seemed to uncomfortably hang over him, leaving him greasy and dejected. At least alcohol cut through the grease.

Rather absentmindedly, Toru turned the corner past the building's convenience store, muscle memory carving a beeline straight for the escalator to the top floor. It wasn't until mere steps before the metal grating that he noticed the yellow caution tape and piece of paper taped in between the rubber-adorned handrails.

OUT OF ORDER

*You're fucking kidding me.*

Toru's irritation flared as he glanced up at the broken escalator, his heart sinking at the inconvenience. With a resigned sigh, he adjusted his grip on his suitcase and looked around for an alternative route. Spotting the staircase nearby, he squared his shoulders and made his way over, steeling himself for the climb.

Each step felt heavier than the last as Toru trudged upward, the weight of his fatigue dragging him down like an anchor. A bead of sweat dripped down his face as he passed the third floor. He could almost hear Coach Fujisawa's tenor voice booming through the stairwell of the science building as memories of his college rugby days flooded back to him. "Faster, Imaishi! You call that a sprint?" The memory brought a grim smile to Toru's lips, as though he could still feel the burn in his thighs that'd last for days after practice.

Taking a moment to catch his breath as he reached the top floor, Toru straightened his posture and adjusted his rumpled suit. He glanced around the empty corridor, his eyes landing on the door to the Torikizoku. The warm glow of light spilled out from the windows, inviting him in like a beacon in the darkness.

Toru was hit with a wave of sensation as soon as the automatic doors slid open with a hiss. The scent of grilled meat mingled with the savory aroma of sauce, causing his stomach to growl like an attack dog. Even sober, his sense of smell was better than most people, which definitely worked against him as he passed by the kitchen.

*Damn, of all the days to forget my lunch at home...*

The chatter of twenty different conversations filled the air, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the sizzle of food on the grill. As Toru made his way toward the usual spot near the window, he put his suitcase in front of him as a server slipped by, holding a tray of empty glasses high above her head. Through the clamor, he picked out a familiar voice, one no doubt made bolder by one or two beers.

"Oi, Daisuke-san, Daisukeeee-san! 1000 yen says you can't catch this piece of karaage in your mouth!" 

*AND they got started before me?* A loud cheer went up from his coworkers as Tatsuro Miiura flicked the piece of fried chicken up with his chopsticks, his aim clumsy as it arced through the air. Daisuke, mouth fully opened, leaned back on the wood bench, weaving about to try and predict its course. The karaage sailed through the air, and just as it seemed destined to miss, Daisuke's mouth snapped shut like a steel trap, catching the morsel with precision. The table erupted into cheers and laughter as Tatsuro fished out his wallet from the pants pocket, theatrically plucking a 1000 yen bill as Toru arrived at the end of the bench, dead-eyed from staring at his computer all day.

With a resigned sigh, Toru dropped his bag beside the table and slid onto the bench, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite his fatigue.

"Hey-hey, Toru! Long time no see!" Tatsuro exclaimed, slapping his coworker on the back a little too hard.

Toru flinched ever so slightly at the slap before returning the gesture with a force that made his junior coworker choke on his pint. "'Sup, Tatsuro-san." He leaned back against the bench and rubbed his hair, muscles protesting the movement after hours spent hunched over his desk.

Tatsuro leaned in, his breath smelling faintly of cheap beer and fried food. "You...old sponge, you. Let's get you drunk!"

Toru chuckled lightly, the weariness in his eyes slowly undoing. "That's what you could come up with?"

Tatsuro shrugged, before reaching across the table and gesturing towards a plate of chicken yakitori. "Hey, I'm on four beers and three hours of sleep, give me a break!"

Toru's gaze shifted away from Tatsuro to the rest of the table. Most of them worked in the PR office; among others, there was Daisuke, the event coordinator that always seemed to wear a slightly better suit than everyone else but wouldn't tell anybody the brand; Yuki, who Toru still believed was mad at him after he spilled coffee on her slide deck (why the hell would you PRINT THEM OUT they're on your computer they aren't going anywhere), and Mitsuyo, who spoke 3 languages and was probably going to get that promotion before Nyoro-yaro ever thought of giving it to Toru.

Then there was Futaba Kondou. Amidst half-full drink and spilled conversation, the accountant sat opposite Tatsuro, lazily stirring her miso soup with her chopsticks. Something seemed off about her tonight, something that made his gaze linger for a little bit longer than the others, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. For all his experience, he still had trouble figuring out women sometimes. Shaking off the thought, he grabbed the last skewer from the tray, taking a hearty bite as he flagged down the waitress.

"Excuse me, one mega lemon sour..." He trailed off, glancing over at Futaba, who was too busy checking her phone to pay any mind to her surroundings. "Uh, yeah, that's it, one mega lemon sour." The waitress nodded with a polite smile before hurrying off to fulfill Toru's order. 

***

FIRST DRINK OF THE NIGHT
TRACK 2: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OD7s62BTy9M

With a relaxed exhale, Toru set down his mug, turning back to the group. "You gotta be joking, Mitsuyo-san! You're really a Giants fan?"

Mitsuyo chuckled, taking a sip of his drink before responding. "Yep, born and raised in Tokyo. Giants all the way." 

"Oi, oi, oi, you know you live in Kansai right?"

Mitsuyo raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. "Haha, really? You're getting worked up over baseball, Toru-san?"

Taking a big swig of chuhai, Toru leaned forward, putting a thumb to his chest with gusto. "Damn right I am, I love baseball! Tigers are the pride of Kansai, yo. It's like you're a spy."

Mitsuyo shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "Hey, I can't help where I was born. But you gotta admit, the Giants are doing good this season."

Toru crunched down a piece of karaage. "Where? Where?"

"I mean..."

"You just gave up 3 runs to Ryukyu last game, that's a minor league team in a trenchcoat." Toru's interruption drew a few chuckles from the group as Mitsuyo's grin faltered slightly. "Ouch, Mitsuyo-san, that's gotta sting," Tatsuro chimed in, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Mitsuyo shot Tatsuro a mock glare before turning back to Toru, his competitive spirit reignited. "Alright, alright, you got me there. But let's see how the Tigers fare against the Eagles next week."

Toru smirked, welcoming the challenge. "When the Tigers win, you gotta sing the fight song at the chourei." He could feel the liquor kicking in way faster than it should. Never a good idea to drink on an empty stomach. Mitsuyo countered almost immediately. "Okay, if you lose, you have to wear a Giants jersey to work until the Giants win their next game."

"You bastard, it's a deal."


***