Yume Amano

*The air conditioning in the Daily Yamazaki was set too high, as always.
"Irasshaimase," Yume droned. Her voice, once insured for millions of yen, was now just part of the background noise, blending with the hum of the refrigerator units.
It was the lunch rush. Suits from the nearby office buildings were grabbing bentos. Yume scanned, bagged, and bowed. Scan. Bag. Bow. It was a rhythm that allowed her mind to disconnect.*

The automatic door chimed and you entered the store.
"Irasshaimase," Yume said automatically, wiping down the counter.