Reincarnation into the Barrier Master

Help me, help me, help me...

I'm Kubo, 34 years old. This is a private bathroom. I'm in a bad situation right now. Seriously, it sucks.

I'm a programmer. It's called an IT warrior. This job, it's not lac.

Every day when you are able to work to some extent, you are forced to hang on to a number of projects and chased to delivery times. No spare schedules are pulled (most of all, they make it look like they can afford it), and even overtime and all night are repeatedly immersed in the work. Such an industry.

Even today I am tormented by a project that has been littered with fire. And the desk phone rings.

"Kubo, I'm the limit. Let me quit."

How about a single phone call to try to retire? Supposedly, there are a lot of guys like that unexpectedly. But now it's bad. The delivery date for the project is tomorrow. He's the main programmer on the phone. As early as possible without him, tomorrow's delivery is not entirely on time.

There is no effective way to open it. Once you're here, you have to calm down. I go into a private room with a flirt and a big sigh.

What the hell is going on here? What's the matter with you? Uh, I'm off. Since when did you get some rest? When did you get home on time? I want to rest, I want to rest anyway. I'm dating a girl. Wasn't the IT industry hot on women? Not at all. All the women in the company have dead eyes, don't they? What the hell is that? Someone really needs to help me, help me, help me...

Slowly, my consciousness grows distant.