Episode 37: D-Minor Corporation
Yuma checked the working conditions on the flyer, but they were far from ideal.
While the basic welfare benefits were there, the base salary was too low. Seekers were popular because of the high rewards despite the risks.
At this rate, no one would apply.
That’s what he thought, but Yuma had a sudden flash of inspiration.
“Wait a minute… if that’s the case…”
If the conditions are bad, that just means there are fewer rivals. Until now, he had been choosing companies with good conditions from the top down, but wasn’t that a mistake?
Rather, if he applied to companies with bad conditions from the bottom up…
Yuma, who desperately wanted a job offer, decided to bet on this method. He would apply to companies with bad conditions indiscriminately and choose the best one from those that accepted him.
He checked the flyer again. The base salary was low, but it said that performance-based pay would be paid properly. In other words, there was a possibility that his salary would increase the more he worked.
“The address is in Chiba Prefecture… I guess I’ll apply for now.”
◇◇◇
Kashiwa City, Chiba Prefecture—
When Yuma called D-Minor Corporation, they told him they wanted to interview him, so he decided to go to the company in Chiba.
Wearing a tie and dressed in a Recruit Suit, Yuma got off at Kashiwa Station.
As he walked while checking the map app on his phone, he got lost in a run-down shopping street.
“Hmm, it should be around here.”
After passing through the shopping street and entering an even less crowded alley, his eyes were caught by a weathered office building.
It was a five-story, slender building that couldn’t be called beautiful by any stretch of the imagination.
“This… is it?”
Yuma opened the front door and went inside. The interior was dimly lit, and even had an eerie atmosphere.
“Excuse me—I’m Mitaka, here for an interview!”
He called out in a loud voice, but there was no response. As he looked around wondering what to do, he noticed a telephone receiver attached to the wall.
Next to it, a piece of paper was posted with the words: “If you have business, pick up the receiver!”
“I guess I should pick this up?”
He picked up the receiver and put it to his ear, and a dial tone rang. It seemed to connect automatically.
“—Click. Yes, who is this?”
The person who answered the phone was a young woman.
“I’m Mitaka Yuma, here for an interview.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve heard. Sorry, but could you go outside and around to the back? There’s an entrance there, so come up to the third floor!”
“Ah, yes, I understand.”
Yuma went outside, went around the building, and found a back entrance.
Inside, there was a steep staircase leading upwards. “What kind of structure is this?” he thought, but he ran up to the third floor as he was told.
“Haa… haa… that was pretty tough.”
Catching his breath, he opened the door in front of him.
The place was cluttered with miscellaneous items and extremely messy. He could understand that it was a workplace because there were desks lined up, but he wouldn’t doubt it if he was told that this place was a storage room.
“Um—I’m Mitaka.”
“Ah—yes!”
A young woman came from the back of the room. She was probably in her early twenties, wearing a white tank top and khaki overalls, with long brown hair.
But she didn’t give off a flashy impression. Rather, she gave off a calm impression.
“Sorry it’s so messy. Come in, come in!”
He entered as he was told. There were four desks in the middle of the room. Piled high on top of them were books, documents, and junk that he didn’t know what they were used for.
“President! The interview candidate is here. Hey, wake up!”
When the woman said that, a groan could be heard from the sofa in the back of the room.
“Ugh—ah? Is it that time already…”
The man called president got up from the sofa in a languid manner, scratched his head vigorously, and let out a big yawn.
He stood up as he was and came over to Yuma.
He was tall, probably over 180 centimeters. The chest peeking out from his worn-out T-shirt was thick, and his arms were also muscular.
But they weren’t the kind of muscles that bodybuilders show off. They were the kind of muscles that martial artists use.
“Oh, welcome. Have a seat.”
The president invited him to sit down in an affable manner. A faint smell of alcohol wafted into his nose.
—Is he drinking alcohol!? Is this guy okay…?
As Yuma sat down on a desk chair nearby, the president pulled out a chair from the desk next to him, sat down with a thud, and faced Yuma.
It seemed like there was no interview room or anything like that.