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3 A.M. One of the store's two microwaves dies with a pop and a curl of smoke, leaving a single working unit — and a slowly forming queue of night-shift oddballs who each need to heat something, each taking longer than the last: a salaryman's coffee, a student's family-size gratin, an old man who keeps opening the door to check and restarting, and the tracksuit regular microwaving something frozen solid on max time. Kaito just wants to heat his own bento and watches his turn get pushed further and further back, holding the cold box in the same dead-eyed spot as the queue grows. At dawn the delivery guy fixes the 'dead' microwave in two seconds (it was unplugged) — but Kaito's shift is ending and Rin has already eaten his bento cold on camera, because it was never getting warm anyway. She wins, he gets nothing.
Page 1
A wide, quiet establishing page shows the 24-hour convenience store under fluorescent light, with rain-dark windows and the hot-food counter in focus. Two identical white microwaves sit side by side. There is no visible dialogue or caption. The story function is to set up a tiny workplace crisis: Kaito’s night will revolve around access to these machines.
Page 2
Kaito slides his small bento into the right microwave and starts it. The machine pops with smoke and a spark, forcing him to flinch back. In the next beat he stares deadpan at the two microwaves: the right one is scorched and dead, while the left one still hums. No reader-visible dialogue appears. The page establishes the mechanical failure that turns lunch into a queueing ordeal.
Page 3
Kaito picks up his bento and moves toward the one working microwave. A rumpled salaryman appears with a canned coffee and cuts in politely. Kaito is too tired and too courteous to argue, so he waves the salaryman ahead while clutching his own cold bento. There is no visible speech text. The page begins the escalation: every polite concession pushes Kaito farther from food.
Page 4
The salaryman leaves with his warmed canned coffee, and the microwave sits open. Kaito steps forward with a fragile flicker of relief. Before he can use it, a young hoodie student darts in and shoves an enormous family-size gratin tray into the machine. No visible dialogue appears. The page repeats the near-miss and turns Kaito’s hunger into a running gag.
Page 5
The microwave display counts down from six minutes as the huge gratin rotates. Kaito stands aside, dead-eyed, gripping his small cold bento while condensation gathers on the lid. Rin watches with one earbud in and films his misery on her phone with a faint smirk. No speech bubbles are visible. The page stretches time for comedy and makes Rin the detached witness to Kaito’s suffering.
Page 6
A full-page silent beat shows Kaito standing in the same spot, holding his cold bento in both hands and staring flatly ahead. The working microwave hums nearby, and its glass reflects more waiting customers. There is no visible dialogue or caption besides Kaito’s name tag. The page freezes the running gag into an iconic image of small, exhausted defeat.
Page 7
The student finally removes the gratin tray, and Kaito steps forward again with tired hope. A small old man in a flat cap shuffles ahead of him, places a dish in the microwave, starts it, then opens the door seconds later to peer inside. No visible dialogue appears. The page escalates from waiting to ritualized interruption, making the microwave feel unreachable.
Page 8
The old man keeps opening the microwave door to check his food, closing it, and restarting the timer from zero each time. Kaito watches with his cold bento drooping in his hands as if his soul is leaving his body. There is no visible speech text. The page uses repetition to deepen the absurdity: Kaito is being defeated by etiquette, patience, and one tiny appliance.
Page 9
The old man finally takes his dish and shuffles away. The microwave sits open, and Kaito’s trembling hand reaches toward the door while he holds his bento in the other hand. A tracksuit regular slides in first with a rock-solid frozen brick of food. No visible dialogue appears. The page turns Kaito’s fragile hope into a new, worse obstacle.
Page 10
A finger punches a long time into the microwave display: thirty minutes. The tracksuit regular turns back with a matter-of-fact expression while the frozen brick rotates inside the humming machine. Kaito’s face goes completely blank. No reader-visible dialogue is present. The page lands the cruelty of the escalation: the remaining microwave is not just occupied, it is captured for half an hour.
Page 11
The running gag returns as a full-page silent panel. Kaito stands in the exact same spot, hollow-eyed, clutching the cold bento with both hands. The microwave glass reflects an even longer queue, and a single tear-like sweat drop runs down his cheek. There is no visible dialogue or caption apart from his name tag. The page heightens the joke by repeating the composition with greater emotional damage.
Page 12
Rin sidles up beside Kaito, lowering her phone for a moment and glancing at his cold bento. She gestures at it with calm, practical reason. Kaito, hollow and stubborn, clutches the bento tighter while staring into the middle distance. No visible dialogue appears. The page contrasts Rin’s unbothered logic with Kaito’s irrational commitment to eating the meal properly heated.
Page 13
Grey dawn light washes through the convenience-store windows. A delivery worker arrives with stacked crates and sets them down near the counter. He notices the scorched right microwave, tilts his head, and crouches behind it to investigate. There is no visible speech text. The page shifts from night-long suffering toward a mundane revelation.
Page 14
The delivery worker pushes the right microwave’s power plug back into the wall socket. The supposedly dead machine lights up and beeps cheerfully back to life. Kaito stares with a hollow thousand-yard expression, his cold bento hanging limp in one hand. No visible dialogue appears. The page reveals the cruel joke: Kaito’s entire vigil may have been avoidable.
Page 15
Kaito finally turns toward a working microwave and lifts the lid of his bento. The box is completely empty except for crumbs. Kaito freezes in blank horror. Nearby, Rin stands mid-chew with full cheeks, holding up her phone and wearing a faint smirk. There is no visible dialogue. The page twists the resolution into a betrayal gag: even the food Kaito protected all night is gone.
Page 16
The closing page mirrors the opening, now with dawn light in the windows and both microwaves lit and working. Kaito slumps face-down over the counter beside the empty bento box. Rin sits nearby with her phone raised, calm and amused. Visible speech bubble: “Cold bento review. Two stars.” The page resolves the chapter with Rin turning Kaito’s all-night suffering into a dry, modern review.