My determination channels into my biking speed all the way to the Zozo building. According to my watch, I have another fifteen minutes to get upstairs and sign in. Smelling the warm, pumpkin-scented breeze coming from the HORUS bakery, I question what better way to start the work week than with some treats to fuel my big toothy gaikokujin smile?

I take my time to select the best-looking, plumpest Totoro buns, some lemon Baumkuchen cakes, matcha-and-white-chocolate bagels, and an extra melon pan. The salesgirl from Saturday seems happy to see me again, and I’m happy to tell her that I have my freaking wallet this time. Outside, I lean against my bike as I wolf down my bread. No sign of any students to hide from, no sign of that rando with the kei truck, no sign of the old spitting lady. I don’t even see too many people staring me up and down today. My day is off to a great start already.

My phone buzzes in my purse. Cybelle it’s your MOTHER, we need to talk about this wedding! Not now, of course, you’re probably at work. Give me a shout when you can … scrolls across the external display. No backlash about not calling home again. Score.

“Sumimasen!” A Starbucks employee with a tray beckons me. “Pumpkin spice, ikaga desu ka?” I graciously accept one of the little espresso cups on her tray. Warm, creamy, and delicious. Hello, caffeine; I’ve missed you. I thank the girl and head in to buy a tall size for myself. Double score.

My sweet latte elixir is finished by the time I’m in the elevator. I feel pumped and more than ready to do some freaking English teaching. Today is going to be great. This week is going to be great. Good morning, everyone, I prepare to sing as the elevator bell dings. Let’s enjoy —

“Cybelle.” Manager rushes me the second the doors open. “Come-with-me-quickly-please-NOW,” he says in one breath.

Am I in trouble? Oh shit. I am in trouble. I’m about to get fired. Manager must have seen the security tape from yesterday morning and now he’s going to fire me. I’ll be going home super early for my sister’s wedding after all. Hang on; do we even have security tapes?

There’s no time to ask him. He ushers me through the empty lobby into the nearest classroom, Room Two, and shuts the door behind us. “Cybelle, I have something I must tell you.” Halfway through his sentence there’s a knock on the door. “Shimatta,” Manager hisses under his breath. “I will explain later.”

He opens the door. A grey-haired woman in a pressed suit and fancy scarf beams at me. I recognize her from the Head Office newsletters — Miss Saito, our bucho, a.k.a. the regional manager. Guess she’s here to fire me in person. Wouldn’t it have been easier to send a fax?