Best Friend's Visit

The store was unusually peaceful.

The hum of the refrigerators filled the air, the soft buzz of fluorescent lights overhead, the faint whiff of seaweed from the neatly stacked onigiri. For once, the chaos that usually haunted my shifts seemed to be taking a vacation.

I had just finished lining up the onigiri shelf so perfectly that even Miyu gave me a rare nod of approval from behind the counter. High praise, coming from her. Manager Sato was “meditating” in the back room—which, as anyone who worked here knew, meant sitting upright with a cup of ramen in his hands, snoring like a dying lawnmower.

I leaned against the counter, exhaling slowly. Maybe today won’t be a disaster. Maybe no weird customers, no spills, no explosions. Just peace.

The automatic doors chimed.

And in walked disaster.

“Yo, Ryota!”

My best friend, Youichi Kanda, strolled in like he was making a grand entrance at a rock concert.  His uniform was as sloppy as ever—tie hanging by a thread, shirt half-untucked, sneakers squeaking dramatically against the tiles. He grinned like a pirate who had just discovered a whole chest of treasure with no lock.

“Oh no,” I muttered.

He spotted me immediately and waved like we were long-lost brothers meeting at a train station. “My man! What’s up?”

“What are you doing here?” I hissed, practically vaulting over the counter to intercept him.

“Visiting my hard-working buddy,” he said, already reaching for a bag of chips. "Also, I wanted to see you in the wild. You know, before you go extinct from boredom.”

“This isn’t a safari!”

“Could’ve fooled me. You even have a handler.” He nodded toward Miyu.

Miyu didn’t look up from her magazine. “Handler?” she repeated flatly, one brow raising in perfect deadpan.

"Please don’t give her any more ammo than she has," I begged silently.

Youichi wandered the aisles like a joyful little child, humming as he grabbed a soda, a chocolate bar, and a pack of gum.

Then, with all the grace of a movie star, he cracked open the soda right there in the aisle and took a long, dramatic sip.

“Youichi!” I hissed. “You haven’t paid yet!”

He waved me off like I was a bothersome fly. “Relax. I’ll pay later. Probably.”

Miyu appeared beside me, arms crossed, looking like a teacher about to scold a delinquent. “Is he always like this?”

“Unfortunately,” I said through gritted teeth.

She turned to Youichi. “If you’re going to eat before paying, at least do it at the register. Otherwise, it looks like theft.”

Youichi blinked innocently, then grinned. “Ohhh, so you’re the scary senpai Ryota keeps whining about.”

“I don’t whine!” I protested immediately.

Miyu smirked faintly. “Scary? Please.  I’m adorable.”?”

Great. Now she was smirking. At me.

The automatic doors chimed again.

And just like that, the calm was obliterated. A small line of customers shuffled in—tired salarymen grabbing beer, a mother and her kid, and, of course, Mr. Tanaka with his daily strawberry milk.

“Perfect timing,” Youichi said cheerfully, slapping me on the back. “Let me help!”

“No, no, no—”

Too late. He vaulted behind the counter like a cowboy jumping into a saloon brawl.

“Welcome to—uh—Ryota, what is the name of this place!” he announced loudly.

The customers froze. Miyu pinched the bridge of her nose. The kid giggled.

“Get out from behind the counter!” I hissed, panicking.

But Ryo was already scanning items. Badly. He beeped the same chocolate bar three times, gave the wrong change to a salaryman, and tried to bag a carton of milk with a gossip magazine.

Mr. Tanaka glared at him over his strawberry milk. “You’re worse than the vending machine. At least that gives change.”

I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.

“Enough.”

Miyu stepped in, all calm and precise. Her hands moved in a blur—scan, beep, bag, smile. Each motion was sharp and efficient, like she’d trained for this moment her whole life.

The customers relaxed instantly. Even Mr. Tanaka muttered, “Finally, someone competent,” before leaving.

The Mom whispers to her kid, “Don’t be like him when you grow up,” while leaving the store.

Youichi leaned on the counter, watching her work. “Wow. Precision. Speed. Grace. Are you sure you’re not a samurai?”

“I am just a normal high school girl,” Miyu said flatly, not missing a beat.

“Ryota,” Youichi whispered loudly, “you’re in trouble. She’s way out of your league.”

I nearly choked on air. “Shut up!”

Miyu glanced at me, smirking faintly. “Out of his league, huh?”

My face turned the color of a ripe tomato. “Don’t encourage him!”

By the time my shift ended, Youichi had been officially banned from the register and demoted to sweeping the floor. He did this poorly, of course, leaving dust bunnies in neat little piles like he was organizing them for a parade.

As we walked home under the buzz of streetlights, Youichi tried to balance on the curb while I dragged my feet from exhaustion.

Youichi slung an arm over my shoulder.

“Man, that was fun. I should come by more often.”

“No. Never again.”

“Come on, Ryota. Admit it. I made your boring job exciting.”

“Exciting isn’t the word I’d use.”

He grinned wickedly. “And that Miyu girl? She’s interesting. You should totally—”

“Don’t. Finish. That. Sentence.”

He laughed, loud and unbothered, while I groaned into my hands. Deep down, though, I knew this wouldn’t be the last time Youichi barged into my shift like a human hurricane.