Chapter 4: Customer (Part 2)

I failed to notice that she had already crossed the path and stepped onto our exclusion zone. And now, she was standing in front of my empire.

I was at a loss for words, heart beating rapidly and beads of sweat forming in my temple. But then I remembered Marcus Aurelius’ quote, “The nearer a man comes to a calm mind, the closer he is to strength.”, but no amount of stoicism could help me get past this.

“Why the hell is she here?!” I asked myself. I even echoed the words she just said, a fool’s errand.

I have carefully planned and quietly wished that something will change—and now I'm cowering away. Not even my apron could cover my ridiculousness.

“Excuse me, can I buy something? Hello?”

I only snapped back to my senses when she leaned forward and waved her hand in front of my face.

“Ah, sorry…”

Right, Kousaka-san will not leave. She's here for a reason. Following my invisible script, I put up a smile that can melt glaciers despite the turmoil running inside me.

"G-Good afternoon…" I spat on a shaking voice. "We have Mitarashi, Hanami and Kinako on the menu today. What's your order?"

She didn’t say anything at first, and her blue daggers disguised as eyes were boring holes in the professionalism I made up.

Then, slowly—she reached into her blazer pocket, pulled out a 500-yen coin, and dropped it into the tray.

"One mitarashi," she said simply. The sound was small, but in my world, it thundered.

“Okay, on it.”

I quickly moved as if hit by a whip, unable to test if this moment was a mere glitch in reality or not. I looked down the grill and fanned on shaking limbs.

I carefully grabbed a stick from the freshest batch, then turned it once more over the heat. Reheating relied on the customer's option, but I forced it—I needed a few more seconds to collect my thoughts.

Was this a prank? A power move? I couldn’t determine. I couldn’t even look at her straight in the face to get a gist.

“Thank you for waiting.” I mumbled as I finally turned around.

I handed her the skewer with my pretentious smile unwavering.

“Won’t you take my payment?” she asked, pushing the coin closer to me.

“It's free.” I replied.

My kindness was met with just a mere raised eyebrow from her.

“What are you saying?” she asked flatly. “It’s not.”

I returned her gaze with a smile, and I already regretted it. Her eyes were as sharp as glass knives, and her lips pursed in an expression of such perfect disdain I could barely see my reflection in them.

“I mean…we're acquainted, right? You can take it as a favor of knowing me.”

“I'm not paying for our acquaintance. I'm paying for the effort. This is just a simple supply and demand issue.”

“She didn't deny it…but right.” I mumbled to myself.

Despite the fact that I'm trying to be generous, I cannot help but agree with her logic. I made the effort, and it has to be compensated accordingly. Because without the earnings, I wouldn't be able to buy the ingredients and sell them again. That’s what businesses are made for in the first place, right?

Having just thought of that, I forced a smile.

"Wait up, I'm computing your change—"

"No need. Don't even try to use my own logic against me."

My smile flattened by a fraction for a second, one eye twitching.

Tips are taboo in this country, but knowing that the hellhole she came from probably gifted her the polar opposites of bluntness and generosity, I let myself be acquiesced today.

“…Thank you, come again.” I said after a beat, handing her the still-warm stick.

She took it with the same care she held her sketchpad, in my eyes at least.

“It’s still warm,” she muttered.

“I guess so. Anyways, do you need a tissue?”

I wasn’t sure if she meant the food or my hand. Of course it’s warm. Heat does that, you porcupine. If I’m going to be forced to explain that in detail, goodness, just kill me.

“No, thanks. I'm good.”

When she finally turned around, that's where I only remembered that I still have the worksheets to hand out to her. It's already a day overdue.

Panic seized me, as my preoccupation made me miss out on the opportunity entirely.

I cleared my throat.

“K-Kousaka-san!”

She stopped on her tracks. She slowly turned, and those blue eyes lifted to me, sharper than the skewer she held.

“…What?”

“I, uh...”

I fumbled with the zipper of my bag so aggressively that it sounded like I was trying to tear time apart.

"...Wait..." Finally, I pulled out the worksheet—creased from being handled, unhandled, and rehandled in my endless indecisions. “Your worksheets…I have it.”

“Worksheets? From who?”

“From our social studies teacher. Chiya handed it to me the other day,” I said, raising it with both hands like a ceremonial offering. “I wanted to give it back.”

She stared at the paper for a moment.

"Why did he pass it to you instead? I don't understand at all."

I cannot explicitly say that Chiya is afraid of her, right? That will only make the atmosphere awkward. I resorted to a safer option, for the sake of maintaining order.

"You weren't in the classroom when the handouts were given, and I forgot it because I was reviewing for the term exams strenuously. I just took this chance so I'm sorry for interrupting you."

"No...I don't mind it at all. Thank you.”

When she said 'Thank you', I blinked. I mean, I already heard it for quite a few times but man, this time, her usually cold voice actually softened. I can only watch her turn around with that stack in her hands, making her way to the bench.

When she sat on it once more, I decided to steal a glance across. I looked over the stall cabinets and squinted in an attempt to make out what she was doing.

No, the sketchpad didn’t open right away. Instead, she unwrapped the 120-yen dango stick with a kind of hesitant grace. That made me ask, has she eaten it before? Because she certainly doesn't know how to properly do it.

Somehow, that’s uncharacteristic for the cool and flawless persona she had. I expected her to always have an innate knowledge of things, since her face never showed unrest or confusion.

I kept watching under the pretense of cleaning up the grill.

For a moment it looked comical—like a child opening up their first cookie, only she wasn’t smiling or laughing either. She was looking at it on a molecular level, examining for flaws.

She bit into the first dango ball slowly. Then she looked down at it, brows furrowing slightly—not in displeasure, but reverie. It was the kind that you can see in people that are experiencing something different from what they are anticipating.

Kousaka-san was unsure about what she was feeling. The same goes on my account.

I kept wiping the already-clean surface, my heart raging from my chest from anxiety.

At one point, she caught my glance mid-chew, and I almost threw my rug while I crouched on reflex.

This time I realized that I badly wanted a crowd of customers around my stall in order to shield me from the intensity and rawness of the situation.

As if the universe pitied me for once, salvation came from an unexpected voice:

"One Kinako please."

OH! FINALLY!

Relief shot through me so strongly that I bowed so lowI nearly hit my head on the grill.

When I rose, there was a highschooler from a different school staring at me, head tilted, in confusion.

"What? Is there something wrong with my face?”

...I said my thoughts out loud, didn't I?

Embarrassment flooded me right away—and I felt my face contorting to the most awkward smile I ever wore.

“N-No, nothing’s wrong. Sorry—uh—here it is.”

I quickly handed him the Kinako coated in apologies, then computed change, said thanks, and sent him off.

Machine-like efficiency.

Fortunately for my sanity, a line formed quickly and I had time to distract myself from the weird feeling of watching another human being eat dango. If I were to be caught, I'd surely be beaten by her to a pulp.

The routine continued like a rolling script, with Kousaka-san’s gaze and charcoal pencil dancing once more on the thick paper.

She sketched.

I worked.

And we stayed until 8:00—all whilst not speaking to each other again.

When she stood to leave, she didn’t look back. That was already expected.

What I don’t expect is the wrapper from the dango stick—she folded it neatly and tucked it into the inside pocket of her baseball jacket as if something to keep for a little longer.

And that made me smile, at the very least. That's the best thing that happened today. So in order to reimburse the act, I waved a goodbye, the one that never left the pocket of my apron.

After her, there's still a lot of people in Yuenchi, most of which were the young crowd from Minato so I stayed for another 90 minutes.

Her figure might have disappeared past the curve of the park path, but a single thought lingered in the quiet: Kousaka Akari was finally a customer.

Well, I'm not going to complain about that, because she's the worst and best customer I ever had.