1 Last Day of Reality

Mirai Shizuku worked as a fashion designer and part-time seamstress at the QLU INU company — located at the heart of Tokyo. She belonged to an aesthetic department to ensure her craft for a fitting standard with satisfying results — according to the surveys. The company had gone world-class ranking from her deserving, outstanding craft which made it benefited her with a long-term contract. Her charm boosted her confidence which made herself more recognizable.

Mirai stood in front of an enormous, wide table for her crafting session. She was having a hard time to configure her design. She wore a casual, errand-styled outfit to show what kind of her surroundings. The office room was a cozy-looking mess with scattered fabric sheets, and organized sewing tool. She sighed out her stress to overcome her outstanding challenge. She wanted to take a break, but instead she forced herself to urge for a complete process. The heat severely bothered her. She broke her sweat down with her wiping hands and pants, but it was relentless.

At first, she handled a scissor and thought of a proper alignment to adjust the cutting procedure in a plain, smooth method. Her narrow eyes determined with close focus. She executed it with a professional, slick chance. She slid a cutting scissor to test her patience. The probable percentage could exceed an average outcome compared to her junior colleague.


The result was a slight curve of its trail. She expected from her substantial experiences to benefit her support, but it was inevitably obscure. She considered her first try of a fabric sheet — wasteful. She rubbed her forehead once again to break out her sweat. Her frustration was bothering her composure.

"Long-term contract, eh? The overworking hours have been declared all around the employees. Just what kind of productive schedule were they having?" Mirai muttered of her complaint.

She reluctantly stressed over her burn-out. She wanted to spend time having a vacation with her close colleagues/friends, but instead the employers forced her and the entire employees to do otherwise — for beneficial purposes. Although it was sufficient to stand on its pride, it consumed her to keep the number of stocks high for exceeding profit.

Suddenly, the man who came from the marketing department called Mirai for an essential reminder.

"Mirai-senpai, the marketing director called you for a short errand."

"I'm coming."

Mirai responded with exasperated acceptance. Before exiting her office, she massaged her forehead to conquer her stress away. She thought of a supposed rule to not bother her, but the marketing director had its superior ability to discipline one or several employees and ruin their career — if anything could happen otherwise.

She walked around the hallway to see her destination. Her wandering eyes helped her relief, but the effect wasn't sufficiently solid. Her confused mind endangered her to keep coming. Her nervous legs said about her true depiction.

Until she stepped in front of the door with the secretary's desk, she instead skipped the permission and knocked the door by herself. She knew about it, so the reason answered her purpose. She legally had her ticket to hasten.

"You may come in," the voice responded to her knock.

With that, she respectfully opened the door. The revelation showed that the marketing director was toying his pen and smiled gratefully. He was a middle-aged man in a vibrant suit with a unique personality. He gracefully stood up from his chair to pose his celebration.

He joyously cried, "Oh, my Dress Diva. How have you become such a symbol of grace? The stockholders were so happy about the result despite your past scandal. You heeded with such a hopeful smile to receive such charming blessing."

"Yeah," Mirai mumbled with secret frustration.

He supposed to grant her an important welcome, but rather he merely announced their prosperous result.

"Is there anything more to say?"

"Yeah, I would like you to have a tour while continuing your current design. It seems that a well-known actress named Jessica Turner would like you to request for suggestion and additional feature request."

".... Sorry. Say wha–"

"There's nothing to say…. Pack up your bags to let her some rescue… for tomorrow."

She could have spent her time on break after her current creation, but it was inevitably behind schedule. She slightly dropped her own jaw. She shook her reddish-blushed head to regain her composure. She held her two hands in an opposing side of her head. Her stress vigorously forced her promise — an unexpected, natural pain involuntarily rushed her blood.

She couldn't believe the reality anymore. Daily overworking schedule treated her as a special machine.

But today was a glitch.

Her legs rattled around as she suffered an abnormal, hurried stress. Her widened eyes showed how her risky heart was throbbing with concealed heat. She didn't want to shame the marketing director, but her enraging intentions pushed it hard.

Her body went falling apart.

Her mind went beyond its exceeding force.

Her soul squandered.

Her fragility introduced her state.

Brief echo was all she heard. He tried to help her, but nature did otherwise. Her vision went gradually blurring…

Until her unconsciousness completed the task of death, nature finally denounced her death.

What am I treating for?

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