"This place. They've begun to grow up." A voice says as he walks inside the empty apartment; only his footsteps echoing in the nothingness. "Well. I shall get it ready for if they return."

He began by dusting the place top to bottom, sweeping and vacuuming until not a speck remained in sight. He was happy with what he did for the day, so he excused himself and went to his job after feeding the fish.

He returned the next day, now going into the individual rooms, starting with the one with five bars. Inside was a tidy and well organized bedroom, a desk that was cleared of anything except for the lamp that lit up the empty furniture. He smiled at first, until he noticed something unsightly in a dark corner near a trash bin. This room had been infested with bugs, including a line of ants and a few roaches; all of which made the trash filled with empty food wrappers and fruit peels their targets. He waged war with his exoskeletal foe for the day, feeding the fish as he cleaned the room and made the bed. Just in case, he'd set up a few counter measures in case the enemy would return. He excused himself and went to his job.

The next day was much tamer, the room with four bars was kept spick and span by it's inhabitant. The only thing that he needed to worry about was watering the plants. He made note to check on them frequently as he fixed the bed inside. He was much faster with this room, so he went on to the one with three bars. Again, this room was spotless, the only thing that concerned him was a small container labelled "Matcha" on the desk that the owner left; luckily it was empty so it didn't cause the same problem as the fifth door. He took it out to clean it, leaving to get a refill for it and placing it back.

The day after was also simpler, all he did was fluff the pillows and make the bed. Though simple, it was tedious, as the owner of this room had an abundance of things on their bed. Once that was done, he cleaned the clutter on the floor, stopping and looking at an old photo album before he put it in a drawer.

Then he moved on, with dread filled steps, towards the last room he'd yet looked at. Inside the final room was his nightmare. Clothes strewn and hanging everywhere, you could barely see the wall with how much fabric lined the walls. The floor was no different, with every step he took nearly causing him to slip on an article of clothing. He waged this war for so long that he was almost late to his job. He only barely made it on time, even with him only barely shoving the last of the clothes into a basket for a later time. This war wasn't over.

He returned to the battlefield that evening, the prisoners of war ready for their execution. He dragged their cell to their graveyard, the washing machine. One by one, shirt by shirt, they went in. He was meticulous, yet it only took him two minutes to sort everything from all five rooms. Once the laundry was done, he neatly folded them, sorting them yet again by which room they were from. This was his life for a time, working tirelessly for the inhabitants of an empty house.

"Yes. Young miss Ichika?"

"Ebata-san. Our apartment told us to move out. Can we come back?"

"Any time. I will be graciously waiting your safe return."