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3 A.M., rain on the dead-hours store. Kaito's backless four-legged counter stool develops a wobble — it rocks on a diagonal, one leg forever a hair off the floor. Unable to work the dead shift perched on something that will not sit level, Kaito declares quiet war on the wobble and resolves to make the stool sit dead flat before dawn, spiraling over which of four legs is the short one — a thing nobody can verify, because it rocks a new way every time it is pressed. All night he presses a palm flat on the seat, watches one foot lift, and mutters the same dead-eyed beat: '...still.' He shims the legs with folded cardboard, a coin, a bottle cap — each shim only walks the rock to a fresh corner. A ladder of regulars each deliver a verdict nobody can verify: the tracksuit regular says it's rocked for years, sit still and it settles; a drunk salaryman swears it's the FLOOR that tilts and drops onto it to 'test,' rocking it worse; a cheerful jogger insists all four legs are fine and it's Kaito himself who's uneven. He flips the stool, measures the legs, waits out head office's hold line, while Rin livestreams the vigil as 'Man vs Stool — 6 Hours,' with one flicker of near-sincerity before raising her phone again. Near dawn, hollow, Kaito finally stops fighting, sits without bracing — and the stool holds dead still, the running beat inverting into a serene '...level.' Then the reveal Rin planted at ten o'clock pays off: she folded one flat gum wrapper under a single foot on camera and slipped it back out the instant he gave up. His six-hour war leveled nothing; the stool was fine the whole time. Rin takes the perfect stool and sits on it dead still, filming her outro, while Kaito is left standing. Dawn fills the spotless store exactly as the night began — and by the second register the other stool gives one soft rock on its own, Rin's phone already raised, already live.
Page 1
A wide establishing shot of the convenience store deep at night. Fluorescent tubes buzz overhead, coolers glow along the left wall, and rain streaks the tall windows behind the counter, showing an empty street. Kaito (name tag KAITO) sits perched on a single round backless wooden stool behind the register, sipping from a cup. Rin (name tag RIN) leans on the counter beside him, eyes on her phone. KAITO: Three a.m. The good part. Nobody comes, nothing moves. RIN: Nothing ever moves for you.
Page 2
Three panels. Top: Kaito shifts his weight on the wooden stool and it tips slightly beneath him, small motion lines around the legs. He looks faintly surprised. KAITO: Hm? Middle: A tight close-up on the base of the stool — one rubber foot is lifted a hair off the tiled floor, leaving a tiny gap, with a small wobble line. Bottom: Kaito stares down dead-eyed at the stool. Beside him Rin raises her phone with a tiny smirk, already filming it. KAITO: ...It moved. RIN: It's been doing that since ten. Fun, right?
Page 3
Four panels. Kaito presses a palm on one side of the round stool seat and it dips; then he presses the opposite side and it rocks the other way, motion lines on both. KAITO: One leg is short. KAITO: ...Or that one. Rin films over his shoulder, flat and unbothered. RIN: Bet it stops the second you give up. A tight close-up on Kaito's face, deep eyebags, jaw set with grim resolve. KAITO: It will sit level before my shift ends.
Page 4
Two panels, the running-gag beat. Top: a side profile of Kaito seated on the wooden stool, one palm pressed flat on the round seat, head bowed, staring straight down with a flat dead-eyed expression as one foot sits a hair off the floor. KAITO: ...Still. Bottom: the same framing pulled in tighter — a single sweat drop at his temple, exhausted flat stare. No dialogue; a held silent beat.
Page 5
Four panels. Kaito tears off a small blank scrap of cardboard, deadpan and focused. KAITO: Wedge it. Simple. He crouches by the stool base and slides the folded cardboard under the lifted foot. He sits and presses the seat — now a different corner of the stool lifts off the floor. His face falls flat. KAITO: ...Now that corner. Rin speaks flatly into her raised phone. RIN: One down, three corners to go.
Page 6
Five panels. The sliding doors open and the tracksuit regular enters — tall, shaved head, grey zip-up tracksuit, carrying a clear plastic bag of empty cans, rain behind him. He glances flatly at Kaito wrestling the stool. TRACKSUIT REGULAR: That stool's rocked for years. TRACKSUIT REGULAR: Sit still. It settles. Kaito, dead-eyed, keeps a hand on the stool as the regular walks off with his bag of cans. KAITO: It does not settle. Rin films the exchange with a tiny smirk. RIN: Three years of settling. Sure.
Page 7
Three panels. Kaito slides a small plain coin under one rubber foot of the stool, deadpan and focused. KAITO: Thicker. This time. The running-gag beat repeats in the same side profile: Kaito seated, palm flat on the seat, head bowed, dead-eyed, one foot lifted a hair off the floor. KAITO: ...Still. Rin films, flat. RIN: Number two.
Page 8
A single full-page panel at floor level. Kaito lies flat on the tiled floor behind the counter, cheek pressed to the tiles, one eye squinting as he sights down the length of the four stool legs like lining up a pool shot. The wooden stool looms over him. At the edge of frame, Rin's sneakers and her phone are angled down at him. RIN: This is the content.
Page 9
Six panels. The sliding doors open and a drunk salaryman enters — flushed face, loosened tie, rumpled white shirt, jacket over one arm. He waves a lazy hand. SALARYMAN: It's not the stool. He gestures grandly at the whole floor, swaying. SALARYMAN: It's the FLOOR. Whole place tilts. He flops heavily onto the wooden stool to demonstrate; it rocks hard with big motion lines. Kaito lunges forward with both hands out. KAITO: Please do not— The salaryman rocks gleefully on the stool; Kaito is horrified and dead-eyed; Rin films with a tiny smirk. SALARYMAN: See? Tilts! KAITO: You are making it worse.
Page 10
Three panels. The drunk salaryman is gone; the wooden stool still rocks on its own with small motion lines as Kaito stands over it, dead-eyed. KAITO: Worse than before. A tight shot of Kaito's flat, exhausted face with a single sweat drop. Silent. Kaito crouches and rights the stool with both hands, setting it square on the floor. KAITO: ...Reset.
Page 11
Four panels. Kaito holds the wooden stool upside-down on the counter, inspecting its four legs, deadpan and intense. KAITO: One of you is the traitor. He lays a blank strip of receipt paper along two of the upside-down legs to compare their length, squinting. KAITO: Measure. Then I'll know. Rin lowers her phone slightly, a rare soft, almost-warm look at him. RIN: It's four a.m. and it's a stool. You know that. Rin, quiet and almost sincere, then lifting the phone back up. RIN: ...Only you'd try to make a stool perfect. RIN: Kind of admire it. Anyway — back live.
Page 12
Five panels. The sliding doors open and a cheerful jogger enters — young woman in a light zip hoodie and running shorts, high ponytail, small towel around her neck, bright smile. She peers at the stool. JOGGER: The legs are fine. She crouches by the stool and gives a confident thumbs-up. JOGGER: All four. Perfectly even. She points cheerfully straight at Kaito. JOGGER: It's you. You sit crooked. An extreme close-up on Kaito's face, total existential dread, dead-eyed, one bead of sweat. KAITO: ...I am the short leg.
Page 13
Three panels. Kaito holds a beige landline handset to his ear, the wooden stool rocking beside him with small motion lines, face tired and flat. KAITO: Yes. A replacement stool. It won't sit level. He is still on the handset after a long wait, a single sweat drop, dead stare. KAITO: ...Still on hold. Rin films him, deadpan. RIN: They'll send one in a business week.
Page 14
Two panels, the low point. Kaito, hollow and utterly exhausted, shoulders sagging, lowers himself onto the wooden stool gently, not bracing for the rock, eyes half closed in surrender. KAITO: ...Fine. You win. He sits slumped on the stool, hands loose in his lap, not touching the seat, resigned and quiet. A silent beat, no dialogue.
Page 15
Two panels, the inversion payoff. The same side profile as the running-gag beat, but now inverted: Kaito sits on the wooden stool, palm flat on the seat, and all four rubber feet are flush flat on the floor with no gap. His eyes are wide with serene, dawning relief. KAITO: ...Level. A tight close-up on the base of the stool: all four rubber feet flush and perfectly still on the floor, no gap.
Page 16
Five panels, the reveal. Rin steps in, holding up a small folded blank foil gum wrapper between two fingers. RIN: Found this under the front left foot. A close-up on the folded wrapper pinched in her fingers. RIN: I folded it there at ten. On camera. Kaito's face cracks into slow, dawning horror, his dead eyes going wide. KAITO: ...You— Rin, flat, holds the wrapper up. RIN: Pulled it the second you quit. RIN: Stool was always fine. Kaito is frozen and hollow; Rin already turns back to her phone. KAITO: Six hours. RIN: Great six hours.
Page 17
Three panels. Rin sits on the now-perfect wooden stool, dead still, filming herself with a peace sign and a tiny smirk. RIN: Man vs Stool. Six hours. The stool sits rock-solid and level under her; Kaito stands beside her behind the counter, empty-handed, dead-eyed. RIN: Four hundred thousand watched a man fight furniture. Kaito stands flat and hollow with no stool to sit on, deep eyebags. KAITO: ...I'm standing.
Page 18
A single wide panel mirroring the opening, now at dawn: soft daylight fills the store, the rain has stopped, and the street brightens through the windows. Kaito stands behind the counter with no stool. Rin sits perched on the perfect stool, filming. By the second register, a second identical round wooden stool tips into one soft rock on its own, a tiny motion line beneath it. RIN: ...Oh. The other one moved. KAITO: No.