The pouring tea stopped abruptly.

The pen dropped sharply.

The Director’s dominant hand tightened into a knot. He did not look up. “Is there a problem?” The words came slowly, the question rhetorical. Yumiko and Tsubasa both turned simultaneously to Tori, their eyes screaming that she shut up.

“I-it’s so far away,” Tori whined, looking down, her plain shoes touching toe tip to toe tip. “T-there’s nothing in Hokkaido but s-snow and m-music boxes.”

“Ignorant child.” Yumiko heard a desk drawer pull open. The dominant hand reached down, and as the Director rose to his feet, a short bamboo rod appeared, clenched within that palm. Yumiko shot her eyes to the kimono clad woman. She stepped back into the corner by the door, hands cradling the teapot, head lowered.

“Many hold this factory in the highest regard for its efficiency.” The Director spoke slowly, working his way around the desk, using his off hand to support himself as he moved with a significant limp. “There is only efficiency when there is discipline.” He pushed the bamboo tray aside, before gripping the edge for support. “Soldiers are to follow orders, without question.” His hand tightened firmly around the bamboo. “Otherwise there will be no efficiency. Is that understood?”

Again rhetorical.

No one dared speak.

The Director’s cold glaze swept the trio. “Would the one who is undisciplined present their self?”

Without hesitation Tsubasa stepped forward, eyes unwavering.

“Turn around.” The bamboo rod leveled with Tsubasa’s backside. “If you make a sound, I will hit you again, until you make no sound. Do you understand?”

She did not answer.

“Very good.” The Director turned to face Yumiko and Tori, nodding slowly. “Learn from the foolishness of others, lest you will become a fool yourself.

He raised the rod. “In war, fools die.”