March Notification

Regarding Employment Renewal

On the first day of March, a notification arrived from the company. The subject line is the same every year. You never know what is inside until you open it. After checking the subject line, Kenta stood up from his chair and quietly began washing the dishes he had left sitting out. Then, remembering it was trash collection day, he took the trash bags outside. After returning, he picked up his smartphone again.

Kenta remained motionless for a while, staring at his smartphone screen. The body of the message was short.

You are not eligible for renewal this fiscal year. Your contract will end on the last day of March.

That was all it said.

This system began fifteen years ago. With the spread of AI, corporate personnel needs began to fluctuate significantly every year. Companies that held onto too many people lost their competitive edge, and those that were slow to lay off staff collapsed.

Is the problem sudden unemployment, or is unemployment itself the problem?

The government's conclusion: just get rid of the suddenness.

Since then, one-year contracts have become the standard for employment in this country. Every year on the last day of February, companies decide to let go of 20% of their staff. Meanwhile, on April 1st, they welcome 20% new members. People flow in March. Like tuna swimming in the open ocean.

The generation raised in this society has a slightly different sensibility. They call the time they spend belonging to a company a stay. Resumes do not list work history, but rather where and for how many years they stayed. People describe it like this:

A company is a port.
It's like a train station.

On my final day at the office, after saying goodbye to everyone, I left earlier than usual. When I stepped outside, a still-cold wind was blowing through the street. The city was the same as always, nothing had changed. But inside Kenta, a small hole had opened up—

On his way home, he visited a small izakaya he had visited several times with colleagues. The wooden sign read Port. When he opened the door, the smell of oil and steam spread out.

Welcome.

From the back of the counter, the owner looked up. He was a man in his fifties, tossing a pan with thick arms. Kenta ordered a beer. Then, from across the counter, the owner said,

You look down.
I got the notification today.

The owner said without stopping his work.

The March one?
Yes.
Today?

Taking the pan off the heat, the owner laughed. He turned his body toward Kenta.

Back when I was an employee, I was called in by my boss once, too. I was tapped on the shoulder. Though that was before this system started.

Kenta looked up.

After I quit, I thought about it for a while. Wondering what I should do.
The result of that is what you see now.

So, you opened an izakaya?
Yeah.

The owner laughed heartily.

Well, it just means things have a way of working out.

Outside the shop, the sound of a passing train could be heard. As Kenta stared at his empty glass, scenes from the past crossed his mind—every April 1st, several colleagues would leave the workplace. It wasn't that those who remained were special, nor that those who left were inferior.

Among the colleagues he met after a long time, some looked more vibrant than before. Some stayed at the company, some moved to other companies, and some went independent.

Perhaps March is the season to decide those things all over again.

It means that the present isn't everything.

He heard the owner's voice. Kenta returned from the past to the present. While tossing the pan, the carefree voice reached him. "Yes," Kenta smiled slightly. Oil splattered, and a savory aroma spread.

In this country, unemployment is announced in advance.

People call it this.

The March Notice—