"Tatsuto learns fast," the boss had assured me without any basis. After listlessly absorbing the post orders, the trainee shadows me inconspicuously. Then the tables turn when I place Tatsuto on inbound, exploiting the pre-lunchtime decline in activity (which lasts all of 15 seconds) for low-pressure instruction. Tatsuto performs as well as can be expected for his first day. I need to use the bathroom, but the dread of leaving an impressionable newbie with Zeke bestows the strength to hold it.

Tatsuto presents himself as bright and fertile. He won't come with toxically ingrained habits or a dreadful cynicism. These are the ones supervisors gush over. Most of all, with no major plans for his life right now, he'll be in it for the long haul. That's a godsend. The taxing overtime will finally end.

"Mr. Arashiyama!" The starry-eyed rookie becomes twice as starry eyed and nearly jettisons my daydreaming self out of the chair. He's stopped checking people and now violently shakes Jun Arashiyama's hand, the man behaving perfectly as if he doesn't mind the acclaim (a talent that made him Border's media dog.)

"Mr. Arashiyama, you saved me from a neighbor once! I'm your biggest fan." His yells make the lobby sound like a PR event. "Can I have your autograph?" Tatsuto asks before having read (or conveniently ignoring) the section of the manual proscribing autograph requests.

"Sure, sure," Jun obliges, maintaining his easygoing nature. Thankfully he's as chill in real life as he presents himself onstage.

"Jun, we have a meeting," Ai Kitora—who is definitely not as chill in real life as Netsuki makes her perform onstage—coughs. They are in uniform, returning from defense duty and surely have debriefings. I try to intervene, but there's no quelling Tatsuto's weeb moment.

He hugs the autograph Jun hastily scrawls in a notepad and thanks the celebrity.

"I've always wanted to join Border!" Tatsuto finishes.

"Really? Maybe I can give you a recommendation," Jun says to the young'un. "Give me your info,"

Tatsuto can't talk fast enough.

Kitora scoffs as she comes through the machine, offended at having her unimportant time wasted. Tatsuto is so far on cloud nine he's immune to all passive-aggression.

Hopefully this is a phase, and it will pass.

"Do you have any questions so far?" I ask when we're alone and ready to refocus on training.

"Yeah. How much do Border agents make?"

My overtime will be around forever.

The security desk telephone never rings. Except when it does.

"Border Security, Main Entrance," I answer mechanically.

Mr. Kinuta's grating vocals nearly rupture the line. "Whatever you do, don't let Shun Midorikawa leave the building!"

"Bye, Shun!" Zeke casually waves at the middle schooler sprinting through the magnetometer, which lights up like a Christmas tree. The boy bangs through the exit door to freedom.

"Sure. We'll get right on that," I reply without missing a beat.

Border agents cannot leave in trion bodies except for emergencies or on defense duty. I memorize the assigned squads each day for convenience.

"Do they ever try to sneak out in trion bodies?" Tatsuto asks.

"Not really, but we have to ask if they're in uniform."

A task made harder for newbies who don't know the ins and outs of the custom outfits.

"Mr. Ninomiya, did they suddenly summon you to defense duty?" I ask the top B-rank squad's captain when he emerges in a fine suit.

"No, I just came from a meeting," he explains matter-of-factly.

"Oh, this is your personal suit, not a trion body." I feign a laugh. "Hope the meeting went well. Have a good day." He shows no sign of accepting the apology or if he was even perturbed in the first place.

"Ninomiya Squad always wears suits," I explain to Tatsuto.

A self-assured grin presages Ninomiya Squad gunner Sumiharu Inukai, replete with trademark untucked, unbuttoned dress shirt. I force a laugh.

"Coming from a meeting too? Funny that this is also your look in real life."

Inukai winks and passes through breezily.

"And it's as easy as that," I brag to Tatsuto.

Outside, Ninomiya catches sight of his teammate with suspicion.

"Did you genuinely walk out of the building in your trion body?"

"I have an interview for an internship tonight, and this is easier than getting changed."

The greatest part of the job: the early afternoon lull. Everyone who will show up to work today has already, and those who did show up have returned to their desks from lunch break with takeout or dirty lips. The morning meetings have passed with no more scheduled visitors. It's too early to go home for the 8-hour shifters (unless you're a security guard). The result: a pleasant nothing to do. When not working overtime, the lull eases me back into society at large, which I would rejoin at 2 o'clock.

So, I'm surprised when a figure I haven't seen in a while makes his presence known in the lobby a little after 1.

"Mr. Kanda! It has been some time."

"Indeed. Actually, I'm here because they never sent me my last check, so I've come to pick it up."

This happens a lot. Why it does is beyond me, but it happens a lot.

"Oh, certainly. Do they know you're here?"

"Yes, I spoke to Mr. Karasawa."

"OK, well, as I'm sure you know, even though you're a former employee, I'm afraid you'll have to wait outside the checkpoint unless somebody escorts you in."

"No, I understand. I expected that."

"Excellent." I say with a plastic smile and then glance around for more work to occupy the time.

There isn't any; it's the curse of the early afternoon lull. Even with my back turned, I feel the visitor's presence. A visitor I used to routinely check on a regular basis. Someone I used to habitually greet daily. Someone with whom I was always cordial. Someone with whom I'd have thrilling conversations, such as "looks like you left your cell phone in your pocket." (Does he remember me? Does he even care?)

That dearly intimate someone now stood here.

Silently.

We wait. I feign looking for approaching personnel.

There's no one. No one to quash the awkwardness of the silence. Zeke has his headphones on, eyes glued to his phone. I don't think he even knows Kanda is here. Tatsuto went to the bathroom about 20 minutes ago, and I'm sure he's lost now, but I can't leave Kanda alone. But wait. I'm not alone. Zeke's here.

…No, on second thought, I can't leave.

I'm not trained for small talk. My small talk is "did you leave your badge at home today?"

The awkward silence continues. Kanda sizes up the lobby, but I can't tell if he's noting differences since his last visit or really digesting the atmosphere of the (un)welcoming space for the first time.

Most people by now would have pulled out their phones, and then the obligation to converse would be superseded by the imaginary duty not to distract him from personal business. (Angry Birds is important. Do kids even play Angry Birds anymore?)

Kanda continues to mill. No one is coming. I accept my allotted fate.

"So, what's the weather like in Kyushu?"

"Oh, I haven't been yet."

"Oh, I see."

The awkwardness returns. Just as potent despite having been banished for a whole five seconds.

"You're going to college now, right?" Rhetorical question; I know he is. "How are your classes?"

Kanda's shoulders relax, and I can tell this query has piqued him.

"It's what I expected. They're hard."

"It's college," I shrug in concurrence. I remember college once. And now I'm here. (I try not to think about that.)

My oh-so-agreeable response has killed the flow again. Normally my introversion would consider this a good thing, but my introversion never considers the consequences.

I look around for Mr. Karasawa. Of course, he's not here.

At last, Kanda pulls out his phone. I'm saved.

He takes a peek at something and then initiates the question. "Actually, Yuba said they left the check at the desk."

At this, all my senses perk up. Finally, a subject that's within my realm of expertise, for which I have a well-rehearsed, cut-and-dry answer. I tip my glasses further up the bridge of my nose. I imagine Yuba would do the same.

"Actually, Border's policy is we cannot hand off checks. It has to be delivered to you directly."

I grin smugly. My favorite answer: "I'm not allowed to do that, so stop asking."

Do they stop asking? No, they never do.

"Are you sure? He said it'd be here."

"We cannot take checks," I repeat sternly but still with that gentlemanly flourish that actually just makes me sound weak yet I pretend it doesn't.

Also, I'm 90% certain Zeke would hand off a check if anyone asked him to, but that's beside the point.

"Can you look?" Kanda urges with a hint of impatience. Clearly, he has business. So what? We all have business. Well, I don't, but he's not the Queen of Sheba!

"Even if I find your check lying around, I cannot give it to you." I will die on this hill.

"Say I came behind the counter, picked up the check myself, and left, what then?"

I stare. I haven't been this disarmed since Yuma said—actually, I'm not going to think about that.

"I'm going to look for your check now as a courtesy," I say prudishly.

I search everywhere. Under everything. In the filing cabinet. Of course, no one can find anything in the filing cabinet, so opening the drawers is more me putting on a show than anything.

"Kanda!" cries a voice from inside the facility, and here comes the angelic Karasawa waving the heavenly slip of paper.

"Thank you, Mr. Karasawa," Kanda bows and receives his payment.

"Come visit us again sometime," Karasawa invites.

"Please don't," I resist the urge to say.

"I hope our security guards were treating you well." Karasawa gestures at me specifically, and I don't realize I'm blushing.

Kanda takes a glance at me, right in the eyes. An unreadable glance.

"As well as I expected," he bows and departs.

I…don't know how to take that.

Kenji arrives at 1:45. Zeke leaves at 1:46. Tatsuto still hasn't returned. I ask Kenji to grab a mini-rush of 3 people on outbound.

"OK, but I'm not on the clock yet," he feels the need to vocalize before proceeding to assist the three departures anyway, chatting familiarly with each. Kenji is the only one of the original guards still around.

"So, who's here?"

"I'm doing a double. We've got a trainee"—had a trainee. I hope Jun didn't actually recruit him. Kenji is already doing other things. I stop talking.

After clocking in, Kenji shoves his overstuffed backpack of supplies under the shelf by me.

"I do inbound on Wednesday," he establishes, cautioning me not to tread on sacred tradition. Kenji is a fixture here after all, the only one of the inaugural team to have stuck around.

I relocate my belongings to outbound. This is great. Now Tatsuto can practice with the outbound rush.

Gosh, I hope Tatsuto knows we eat lunch on the clock.

At last, Tatsuto returns with a new set of autographs.

"That Kuga kid is really cool!" he exclaims elatedly.

I hold my tongue.