Squeezed on the Train
2026-07-11
The morning rush-hour train is a little more crowded than yesterday.
Bodies press close enough to hear each other breathing, yet no one looks at anyone else. Gyuba-chan is squeezed between two suited silhouettes, briefcase crushed out of shape, tail dangling somewhere near a stranger's leg.
The phone buzzes in a pocket — a message from a recruiter: "Due to your target company's shift to AI automation, the scheduled interview has been cancelled."
Gyuba-chan stares at the blurred reflection in the window, suddenly remembering something heard a few days ago — that hardworking senior from the next department, gone overnight, just like that.
A thought surfaces: "Is it possible that no amount of effort matters anymore?"
The train lurches. Everyone leans together, then rights themselves.
Outside, morning light climbs the buildings, inch by inch — same as always, without hesitation.
Gyuba-chan glances down at the crumpled briefcase, and quietly, gently, straightens it out again.
Not because effort is guaranteed to pay off.
Just because there's no other way of living TA likes better than moving forward.
The train pulls into the station. Doors open. The crowd flows in one direction.
Gyuba-chan follows, stepping into this uncertain era, pushed along by AI.
Gonna do my best today too.
