As a Yokohama Part-Timer, I Never Expected...

Blurb One:

When I woke up again, I had become one of Yokohama’s four-nothings: no money, no home, no memories, no identity. My body was covered in wounds, and someone had apparently sliced my abdomen open. I was about to bleed to death when someone rescued me.

He was a young man, younger than me, slender and tall, with a palm-sized face so pale he looked malnourished. He not only took me to the hospital, but also sorted out my food, housing, and identity. I was deeply grateful, and he had only one demand: I had to work for him.

Fine, I’d work. Working could make me rich, help me make friends, and even find a wife, so I accepted the job willingly.

After three years of working, going through demotions, promotions, and transfers, I was losing more and more hair and hunching further and further over. I was about to become a corporate drone for life when my lifesaver and former boss ran off with the money, blew up a colleague’s car, and left me with a mountain of work!

And at that moment, I, a Yokohama wage slave, actually...

Blurb Two:

He thought he had seen those eyes before: calm as an ancient well, unruffled, wise.

They were an illusion, and also the only truth in his world.

Blurb posted first on October 28, 2020.

Starts in November.

Theme: There are no difficult jobs, only resilient wage slaves.