The Tokyo 2020 Olympics were a record-breaking financial disaster. Coupled with the COVID-19 pandemic, Japan found itself in the mires of debt and economic insecurity. The poverty rate, rising since the 2010s despite official statistics claiming otherwise, started rising even more rapidly, and the gulf between rich and poor widened dramatically in the early 2020s. The underemployment rate soared to more than 60% for both young men and women, and even with a full-time job they knew they would be overworked and underpaid. Naturally, the suicide rate shot up in tandem. Japan was going through a major, unprecedented recession.

With one exception.

The special economic zone of Shinkōmi—an area previously called Tokyo Waterfront City—became the only part of the country where casinos were legally allowed to operate. The project for the development of this district was called the "Casino Bill", and it was widely criticised at the time. The government accepted bids for the contract to build the area, and the winner, a conglomerate called Takasato group, was suspected of rigging the bids. After much political struggle, the bill's ambitious designs were shrunk to a more realistic proposal, only allowing small-scale public casinos in specific areas. When the dust settled, all that remained was a steel-frame monument on a vacant lot and a community of homeless people and sex workers.

After this disaster, the leader of the Takasato group, Takasato Ryūjirō, offered to buy the whole area and take over operations. Everyone assumed that would fail just like the first attempt did, but the government was in such dire straits that they accepted the offer, and Takasato was given full control of Shinkōmi. The Casino Bill was amended to slash the public-only requirement, and a year later the city was overflowing with people in pursuit of liberty and money, locals and foreigners alike. All-encompassing resorts, office buildings and recreational attractions, entertainment facilities sprung up one after another. Next came the residential and business districts, and from then on, Shinkōmi became the one bright spot in the darkness Japan found itself in.

But of course, not all of the attention the place attracted was positive. Gangs started competing for territory, and Japan's recovering economy couldn't pay the upkeep costs of a police force strong enough to deal with these problems. Once again Takasato came to the rescue, and in ceding that last bit of power the government effectively gave up on controlling Shinkōmi, and soon after they designated it a "special administrative region", all but fully ceding control to Takasato. The bridges connecting it to the surrounding mainland and the ferries in and out were now under their purview, and people were allowed in only by their grace.

...people are allowed out only by their grace.

Now, more than a decade later, the economic bubble around Shinkōmi has shrunk back to normalcy, and though the casinos are still thriving, regular jobs and poverty exist once again, as does petty crime. The old city center has been condemned as the many corners and safety regulations that were cut in the early days of construction have come back around to demand their dues, and it's become a lawless core to a city that is itself not entirely lawful. The surrounding districts are busy the way cities tend to be, their people living and dying as people tend to do.

Murase Clinic stands concealed among rows of prefab houses, opened seven years ago, privately owned and operated by Dr. Murase Takuma. He specialises in internal medicine, dermatology, and gastroenterology, and has an upstanding reputation that attracts not just patients from the local neighbourhood but also workers from the business district. It opens late, relatively speaking, at 10AM, then Dr. Murase takes a long lunch break between 1:30PM and 4PM, and then it stays open until 1AM. These unusual hours are appreciated by workers who themselves work unusual hours and would have more difficulty getting appointments elsewhere.

Towa has a part-time job at the clinic in exchange for low wages and being allowed to live in the apartment on the third floor of the building. The second floor contains the secondary medical ward, full of hospital cots, and the first floor is where the primary medical ward is, next to the exam room.

Dr. Murase doesn't, himself, live at the clinic, and actually the idea of employing and housing Towa there was his; he claimed he wanted Towa to "build character" or something, and so he never fired Towa, no matter how badly he overslept. That said, he was used to Towa's antics, and so he didn't really rely on Towa showing up on time, either.

Not that Towa cares. Quite the opposite, really; improving his life would be a hassle, and he has no interest in it. If Taku someday decides to kick him out on the street, then so be it. He doesn't feel any fear for the future, and doesn't have any sense of urgency. He knows that things will work out regardless.

Or they won't, and then he'll die. It's about the same to him, really.

He steps out of the shower, not bothering to dry his hair, and sleepily scans the room. His gaze settles on a pocket watch hanging from his easel, a golden hexagonal piece with rose petals engraved in the center surrounded by thorny vines and underlined by the word "euphoria". One of his coworkers, Rei, found it lying around somewhere in Towa's room a few years ago and put it where it is now, but Towa himself can't remember when or where he got it or how it ended up in his room in the first place. The actual clock is stopped, but Towa's never felt like winding it, so it's basically only there for decoration.

The ticking of his functioning wall clock distracts him from his reverie, and he looks up at it: 11:15AM. Which is to say that Taku lied about the time. He doesn't care, but he does hurry up a bit, because otherwise Taku will come back up to bother him and no one wants that.

Towa gets dressed quickly, steps out without locking the door behind him—there's nothing worth stealing in his studio anyway—and calls the lift—he can't be bothered to climb down the stairs.

Arimura Tsukasa, another part-timer at the clinic, is manning the reception. When he spots Towa he scowls, rises to his feet, and leaves the desk, his facial expression screaming "YOU'RE LATE". He probably came in to cover for Towa, which happened on occasion... and that occasion happened a lot.

"Yo."

He doesn't respond immediately, opting to instead just glare at Towa in distaste. "Towa-san," he says after a moment.

"Look, I'm sorry I'm late, alright?"

"...I'm quite used to that by now. I just wish you'd take your things to your room rather than leaving them lying around." He gestures at a box that seems to have come in through the mail.

"...uh..."

"Or would you prefer I threw it all out?"

All mail delivered to the clinic is taken to the staff room and Arimura is in charge of sorting it. Towa occasionally buys art supplies or books online, but other than that, he never gets any packages, so anything else he received he assumed was junk and didn't bother collecting.

"Yeah, go ahead," he says with a shrug as he walks past him to step into the staff room.

Arimura narrows his eyes and his gaze follows Towa until he's walked into the staff room and then past the curtain that divides the reception area from it. He sighs again and walks off down the hall.

Towa's already forgotten about this interaction by the time he sits at the reception desk and starts his work day: several hours bored out of his skull, calling patients to the exam room and processing their payments and prescriptions one after another.

He goes through it robotically and gets lost in the haze of understimulus.

After his shift ends in the afternoon Towa goes back up to his apartment, does nothing for several hours, and finally comes back downstairs once the workday is done. He walks into the empty waiting room and sits slumped on a bench there. Not for any reason, really; he just feels like it.

Taku yawns and stretches while he walks out from the hallway, trailed by his orange Smoke. He turns his head from side to side, cracking his neck so loudly it sounds almost like he broke something.

"Good work today," Towa says without any feeling.

Taku snorts. "Wish I could say the same for you."

"Hey, I worked hard."