The Pale Bonsai
Act I "Another decimal, Kobayashi." Sato did not look up from his ledger. The pen scratched against the paper, a dry, abrasive sound that filled the silent office. I held the rejected batch in my hands, the paper thin and brittle, smelling of dust and old ink. The deadline for the 1920s tax records was three days away. My permanent tenure depended on this batch being flawless. I had worked...
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