Episode 2: The Quiet SOS of Childcare

The nursery room in the evening was quieter than usual.

The voices of the children that had been echoing just a few hours ago were gone, and only the soft sound of the air conditioner's fan drifted through the room.

On the table, there were half-dried water droplets.
The round marks of small cups floated vaguely in the evening light streaming through the window.

Outside the window, the orange sky was gradually turning into a dark blue.
There were no children left on the slide in the garden either.

Yuki-sensei was writing her reflection alone.
She sat at her desk, moving her ballpoint pen across the paper.

The children's behavior today.
Lunch.
Nap time.
Interactions with friends.

Even though it should have been a routine task, her fingers felt unusually heavy today.
Suddenly, her hand stopped.
(...I'm just, tired.)

She had been feeling that way for a while now.
It was a little different from just being "busy."

It felt like a thin film was stretched over the back of her mind.

"Good work today."
A voice came from behind her.

When she turned around, Miki-sensei was standing there, already changed into her street clothes.

She had already taken off her pale blue apron and was lightly rolling up the sleeves of her black hoodie.
It looked like she had already clocked out, as she stretched slightly while rotating her shoulders.

"It was hectic again today, wasn't it?"
She smiled lightly.
But even that smile looked a bit tired.

"Yeah... I guess so."
Yuki-sensei smiled back.
Her reaction was just a little delayed.

Miki-sensei seemed to notice that small sense of unease.
But she didn't ask any further.

Because they were both people working in the field, they understood.
They knew there was a kind of "fatigue that one doesn't want to be asked about right now."

"I'm heading out first."
"Good work."
The door closed.

After the small click of the door, the silence returned.

Yuki-sensei let out a slow breath.

Several documents were piled up on the desk.

Communication logs.
Individual records.
Drafts of monthly plans.
Event preparation lists.

Stacked on the edge were even files for audits.

They were all necessary.
If someone told me they were all "meaningful," I would certainly agree.
But.

(...I feel like I'm writing the same things over and over again.)

Holding the pen, my gaze stops.
The content I just wrote and the content for a different form were almost identical.

"Mealtime behavior"
"Interaction with friends"
"Points of consideration"
The way they are written is different, but what is required is similar.

Outside the window, leaves swaying in the wind flickered, blocking the light from the streetlamps.

The events of the day also remained in my mind.
The "one-bite challenge" scene.
The gaze of the observers.
The discussion that followed.
I don't think I was wrong.
I wanted that child to feel a sense of "I did it."
I didn't want to force them to eat.

But.

(It's exhausting to interact while thinking that this might also be wrong.)

At that moment.
Something heavy sinks deep into my chest.

Lately, it had been increasing.
"Is it okay to say this?"
"Will I be blamed for this interaction?"
Checking in my head like that before acting.

I feel like I used to be able to interact more naturally.
Saying "sit down" to a child who wouldn't sit in their chair.
Holding hands with the teacher during walks.
But now,

"Isn't that coercion?"
"Is the distance appropriate?"
Such words cross my mind for an instant.

Of course, I think these are important perspectives.
There are certainly interactions that truly hurt.

But.

(If I get too scared, I won't be able to do anything.)

I look at the clock.
It was already quite late.

Yuki-sensei puts down her pen.
As she rolls her shoulders, fatigue spreads through her.

On the way home.
The scent of the night drifted along the road to the station.

The lights of a convenience store.
People waiting at a traffic light.
Laughter drifting from a restaurant.

Yuki-sensei walked through it all, looking slightly downward.

Her hand brushed against her smartphone inside her bag.
She took it out.
Several contacts were lined up on the screen.

She hesitated for a moment.
Her finger stopped.
She even thought about closing it.

The thought, 'Is it really worth consulting someone about something like this?' crossed her mind for an instant.

However,
today, she wanted to talk to someone.

She slowly tapped a certain name.
'Childcare Planner: Asahi'

A few days later.

A small cafe near the station.

Soft light from before sunset streamed into the glass-walled shop.
The sound of steam from the espresso machine and quiet chatter blended together loosely.

At a window seat, Yuki-sensei rested her hand on her coffee.
The steam rising from the white cup wavered slightly.

Only the fingertips touching the rim felt slowly warmed.

Outside the window, people were passing by without pause.

Office workers in suits.
A mother pushing a stroller.
High school students in uniforms.

Everyone was walking toward their own 'next place'.
Yuki-sensei felt as if she alone was standing still somewhere.

'Sorry to keep you waiting.'

A light voice spoke.When she looked up, Asahi was standing there.

A white shirt and simple navy pants.
The bag slung over her shoulder was also unadorned.

'It's been a while.'
Asahi smiled as she pulled out a chair.

'Oh, no... I'm sorry for the sudden request.'
Yuki-sensei straightened her posture slightly.

“Not at all.”
Asahi smiled as she closed the menu.

“Consultations like this are actually important.”
At those words, the tension in Yuki-sensei’s shoulders eased just a little.

Inside the shop, there was the small sound of a spoon touching a cup.
Someone was typing on a laptop at a seat in the back.

Amidst those everyday sounds, a brief silence fell between the two of them.

Yuki-sensei held her cup as if wrapping it in both hands.
As if she didn't want to let the warmth escape.

“...I’ve been thinking about quitting.”

The moment she said it, she was a little surprised herself.

The feeling of “what I had been thinking in my head” becoming “real words.”

Asahi didn’t look surprised.
She just nodded slowly.

“Around when did you start feeling that way?”

It was a non-judgmental way of asking.
Not “What’s wrong with you?”
But “Where did it start becoming painful?”

Yuki-sensei began to speak while thinking a little.

“There’s so much paperwork, and...”
She traced the rim of the cup with her fingertip.

“There’s preparation for events, and monthly crafts to make...”
She looked blankly at a bus running outside the window.

“Even though the things I have to do every day are set, I feel like I’m being chased by something.”
She gave a small smile.
That smile was tired.

“I also feel like I’m writing the same kind of paperwork over and over again.”
Asahi didn’t take notes.
She just listened quietly.

She didn’t interrupt halfway through.
There was an atmosphere of “listening properly until the end.”

Yuki-sensei continued.
“Lately...” her voice dropped just a little.

“Even with interactions, I find myself thinking ‘Is this okay?’ a lot.”

“Is it okay to say this?”
“Is this way of speaking to them okay?”
“Will this cause a problem later?”
She had developed a habit of checking things in her head once before acting like that.

Asahi nods slightly.
"Do you feel like your spirit is being whittled away?"

Yuki-sensei looked up, appearing slightly surprised by those words.
"...Yes."

Not "tired," but "whittled away."
That expression felt strangely fitting.

Asahi also brings her cup to her lips once.
She takes a slow sip and quietly sets it back on the table.

"I think 'quitting' is a perfectly valid option to have."

At those words, Yuki-sensei's fingers pause slightly.
She had expected to be told that she "shouldn't quit."

Asahi continues.
"Before that, why don't we try to sort things out?"
"Sort things out...?"

"Is it that 'the work is hard'?"
She holds up one finger.

"Is it that 'the environment isn't a good fit'?"
She holds up another.

"Or is it just that 'you're exhausted'?"
She says them as if separating them one by one.

"If we don't separate these, everything starts to look unbearable."
Yuki-sensei thinks for a moment.
She drops her gaze to her coffee.

"...It might be all of them."
She smiles faintly.

Asahi smiles a little, too.
"That happens, too."
She does not deny it.

The atmosphere was such that one couldn't even blame oneself for "not being able to sort things out properly."

"Why don't we look together for ways to 'lighten the burden' that you can do right now?"

Yuki-sensei looks up.

"There is also the option of introducing you to a counselor."
Asahi continues quietly.

"There might also be a way to bring in an external coach."
She pauses for a moment.

"These methods take both time and money."
"If you want to do full-scale operational improvement, the difficulty level is even higher."
Her words showed she was also looking squarely at reality.

She wouldn't end it with just "if you try hard, things will change."
Asahi leans back against her chair.

She looks out the window for a moment.
It seemed as if she was organizing what she could do right now in her head.

(It's hard to change everything.)

(But if it's just a part...)

At that moment,
recalling the words that had once slipped out at another nursery, "I want to talk to people in the same position,"
Asahi leaned forward again.

"It's not a big thing, but..."
She takes out her smartphone.

On the screen is a simple prototype of a group chat.
"What if there were a place where childcare workers could talk casually?"

"A place for interaction... you mean?"

"Yes," Asahi nods.

"It could be online, or it could be in person."
"Whether it's venting or sharing worries, a time to talk with people in the same field."
Yuki-sensei thinks for a moment.

She gazes blankly at her own reflection in the cafe window.

Asahi gives a wry smile.
"There aren't many users yet, though." She pauses for a moment.

"But I think just being able to feel that you're not alone makes a difference."
Those words sink quietly into her heart.
Yuki-sensei takes a sip of her now slightly lukewarm coffee.
The bitterness spreads slowly.

(Indeed...)
She had been thinking, "I want to quit."
But in truth,
perhaps she just "wanted to be understood."

"If it's people doing the same job..."
Yuki-sensei murmurs softly.

"Maybe they would understand how I feel."
Asahi nods quietly.

Outside the cafe, the evening city was gradually turning into night.

But inside Yuki-sensei,
something that had been on the verge of stopping,
had begun to move, just a little bit.

On the way home.
People returning from work were lined up on the station platform.

Office workers in suits.
Students with earphones on.
A woman carrying a convenience store bag.

Each of them is waiting for the train quietly, carrying their own fatigue.
A slightly cold breeze blew across the platform.
In the distance, the sound of a train running could be heard faintly.

Standing just behind the white line, Yuki-sensei looked up at the sky, lost in thought.
The night sky visible through the gap between the buildings was not yet completely black.
A hint of the evening blue still remained.

She had walked this same spot yesterday, too.

She had passed through the same ticket gate,
stood on the same platform,
and felt just as tired.

Today, the scenery looked just a little bit different.

On her smartphone screen was that small group chat from earlier.
"Childcare Workers' Small Room (Tentative)"
There were only a few people in it so far.
The name hadn't even been properly decided yet.

Yet, for some reason, that small screen looked a little warm.

"Whether to quit or not."
That was still undecided.

Tomorrow, she might be chased by paperwork again.
There are events.
There is craft-making.
The moments of wondering, "Is this okay?" while interacting with the children will surely come again.

Even so, maybe I'll try to keep going a little longer.
That feeling remained within her.

It wasn't a strong determination like "I'll do my best."
It wasn't a burning passion, either.

The feeling that had been leaning toward "the end" until yesterday,
was facing just a little bit toward "tomorrow" today.

The train slid into the platform.
The wind blew strongly, and her hair swayed slightly.

The doors opened.
People got off, and people got on.

In that flow, Yuki-sensei also quietly took a step forward.

She still hadn't found a "reason to continue."
But a "reason not to quit" had begun to emerge, just a little bit.