Chapter Six

I stand in front of what is unmistakably a used book store. I stare at it for a very long time. Last night I drank a little at the bar before stopping at the convenience store, but I definitely hadn’t had that much to drink. There’s no way. To the left is the salon, same as before. To the right is a coin laundry. Normal. Always been there. However, directly in front of me where the convenience store once was, just last night, is now a ‘Eternal Bloom’ book store. 

After discovering the keychain in my pocket I stormed out. I didn’t even change out of my house shoes. I came here directly, to what? Make a return? It was a promotional keychain, it was free. The door to the bookstore opens, the little bell on the door jingles ominously. 

“Isao-kun, are you just going to keep standing out there or are you going to come inside?” 

The man speaking to me looks at me like he knows me. I look him up and down. White hair, sharp angular features. This is…

“You’re the convenience store attendant?...”

Then I remember the little chibi on the promotional material. White hair. I look at him, studying his face. He gives me a knowing smile.

“I think we should talk inside,” he says, and he looks genuinely delighted. I follow him inside, looking around in suspicion. The door closes behind us with another little chime, and the light inside is dim save for one window where the light paints the dusty shelves and counter with thick evening rays. The man walks behind the counter, sitting on a high stool he leans over. He props his head up by his elbows against the counter and looks at me like he’s planning to turn me into dinner. My eyes flick down, he’s still wearing a uniform, different from the convenience store. He has a name tag. ‘神田 勝’

I pause.

“How do you say your name?”

He blinks at me.

“The kanji is for divine rice field and victory.”

“I can see that. How do you say it?”

We stare at each other for a long moment.

“...Kanda Katsu”

So quiet I almost don’t hear it.

“Come again?”

“It’s not my actual name anyway and aren’t you avoiding some more important questions?”

I blink. Yeah, I probably should be asking this man why I have a cursed keychain and a building that was a convenience store yesterday is suddenly a bookstore today. But this man just told me his name was half eaten pork cutlet. 

“Pfft…”

I place a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing outright. He glares at me. My shoulders shake from the effort.

“Just call me The Author,” he says, still glaring. I should probably be intimidated.

“...So Leftover-kun, care to explain why I’m standing in a bookstore and not in a junk food aisle?”

“The. Author.”

“That’s a little awkward to say. How about Pork Bun?”

“I will write you an only-one-bed trope”

“...I apologize Author-san”

We stare at each other for a moment before he relaxes and leans back. I don’t know what he means by the threat, but I also am starting to get the feeling I shouldn’t continue to push his buttons. He pulls out a notebook, and writes something on the page. I blink and we’re in a convenience store again. With the same fluorescent lighting, the aisle behind me has several different flavors of instant ramen. The refrigerators hum. I blink again, and it doesn’t disappear. The Author grins, now wearing his convenience store uniform.

“As you can see, something as simple as a change in setting is nothing for an Author.” He jabs a thumb into his chest, his cheeks puff with unmitigated pride. I get the distinct feeling that this man is going to be exhausting.

“So you can change reality by writing in your notebook?” I ask, giving him a skeptical look. His eyes glimmer, excited for his opportunity to talk. “Well, since you asked,” he grins and immediately launches into a spiel he obviously already had prepared.

“I am The Author, a spirit who wanders the earth collecting stories!” He strikes his notebook again with his pen, and with that the convenience store is back to being a bookstore. Surrounded by shelves of books. He waves an arm around, as if basking in the glory of the dusty shelves. “...Woow” I say with faux enthusiasm. If he notices, he doesn’t skip a beat.

“I love collecting stories of mortals' lives, it’s what I live for! See, all I do is set dressing, I put people in the right place at the right time, adjust the lighting and voila! A story. Tale as old as time.” He swoons. This grown man- spirit? Whatever. He swoons in front of me. “Now, I know what you’re thinking, HOW are you going to know if one of the many handsome men I throw at you actually has feelings for you if I’m back here with my pen writing away?”

I was not wondering about that.

“Well fear not Isao-kun, I can change the set but I can’t change the person. I can’t write people to have specific feelings Darling. I also can’t change their thoughts or force them to do anything. You all have complete free will, so don’t worry! The story wouldn’t be any good if I forced things.” He grins like he just gave me a great reassurance. I stare at him.

“So you’re writing my story?” I ask and he nods enthusiastically. “...And this story is a romance?” I ask again, he nods again. A long pause.

“So why are you setting me up with men again?” I stare at him, waiting for an answer. He seems to be frozen in that same smug smile he had since the beginning of this interaction. He stays that way. I press the issue.

“If this is a romance then why aren’t I stumbling into romantic situations with women?” I ask again. His expression cracks.

“...My favorite genre is BL?”

“I’m straight.”

…

“...We’ll see?” He says and his easy expression returns. “Moving on..” he leans forward again, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “So what did you think of Souta-kun? I thought an introverted guy like you could use the steady and sturdy type. Though I am partial to a childhood-friends-to-lovers story. So I can’t help but root for Makoto-kun a little.” He grins “...And you haven’t even met Daichi-kun yet, but doesn’t the way he writes an email really get his personality across? He’s a real cutie you know. Be nice to that one, I like him a lot.” I stare at The Author blankly, unsure of how to even respond to this onslaught. Then-

“Wait… Are you the reason my work has gone hybrid?” 

The Author’s smile falters.