Kozumo awoke to the warm pinging of his alarm; a pleasant sound which rolled and swell with the rhythmless cadence of wind chimes.

Mildly refreshed but slightly sore, the 164 year old man rolled out the bed with an effortless grace. Enthusiastically, he touched his thumbs to each of his fingertips ichi-ni-san-shi–shi-san-ni-ichi and found them limber as a magician’s. Pleased, his bounced on his toes, rolled his shoulders, and spoke aloud to his clock “calisthenics, please.” The clock hummed with a quiet static as it picked up the daily morning broadcast, stirring the curvaceous, sleeping figure in his bed.

Kozumo followed along with the 20-minute routine in a display that would’ve put a younger man to shame. The hospital had told him not to exercise without the supervision of his physical therapist but as he could see, she was still asleep, and Kozumo had always been something of a trailblazer.

Having worked up a light sweat he hopped into the shower to the modest tune of two gallons a minute – for one minute.

Standing on the heated tiles, he found himself gingerly touching the scar on his neck. So far, the surgery had proved to be a total success.

A breakfast of miso soup, seared fish, and a mandarin orange sat on his kitchen table. His maid was nowhere to be found – likely out shopping for groceries. He ate briskly.

His maid has also laid a smart, dark suit out on his bureau, freshly cleaned and pressed. He opted for a black turtleneck shirt instead of the dressy button-down which was provided. It hid his scar better. Lastly, he donned a pair of thin leather gloves. He didn’t want his subordinates to focus on the side effects of his operation.

With the precision of a machine Kozumo had risen, exercised, showered, eaten, groomed and dressed. In another 15 minutes he was swinging out of his modest 3-vehicle motorcade at Company Headquarters.