Chapter 1 A Girlfriend who is Number Twenty Five
Working at a convenience store for a while, you start to remember the faces of regular customers. Especially the memorable ones.
The acne-faced baseball team kids who swoop in after club practice and clear out the hot snacks.
The guy in the white-and-blue checkered shirt who always buys tie-in merchandise whenever an anime collaboration product comes out, no matter the series.
The old man wearing a cap with a giant “X” scrawled in permanent marker over the Giants’ logo, who comes to buy a sports newspaper the day after a Hanshin victory.
There are all sorts of memorable customers, but among them, there’s one who stands out above the rest. She always shows up right at the end of my shift.
That day was no different. Just before my shift ended. A little before ten at night. During the quiet lull when no other customers were in the store, the automatic doors slid open.
It was a refined woman with black hair. She wore a black outfit that revealed her shoulders. She looked a bit older than me—maybe a college student? Her features were so striking she could’ve been a model. There was a mature air about her.
Stepping into the store, she didn’t so much as glance at the other products. She walked slowly, deliberately, straight toward me at the register.
As she stopped, our eyes met.
With a faint smile, she said, as always,
“Good evening. Number twenty-five, one pack, please.”
Number twenty-five.
I turned to the shelf behind me and picked up one of the cigarette packs lined up there. I could do it without even looking now. She always bought the same brand, just one pack. A simple package with a bright, fluorescent-like color.
Women’s cigarettes are often slim and light. At Least that’s the trend.
But the ones she smoked were heavy. Full-bodied, supposedly. I say “supposedly” because I’ve never smoked them myself. Obviously. I’m underage. I can only imagine what “heavy” taste and draw feel like in my head.
I scanned the barcode of the cigarettes. Beep. A warning sound came from the monitor, and as always, I recited the standard line:
“Please press the age verification button.”
“Ha~i,” she replied.
She tapped the age verification button on the monitor. I pictured the cigarette held between her slender, pale fingers.
I told her the total, and she took coins from her wallet, feeding them into the payment machine. Even in this cashless era, she always paid with cash, cheerfully.
The transaction completed, and the receipt printed out. Without so much as a glance at it, she picked up the cigarette pack and held it up, partially covering her mouth.
Then, narrowing her eyes, she said to me:
“Katajikenō gozaru.”
She always said a word of thanks after paying.
And every time, it was different.
“Thank you very much.”
“Thanks!”
“O-kini.”
“Azasu.”
“Gottsuan desu.”
“Xie xie.”
“Shinsha.”
“Bansha.”
“Thank you, bunny!”
(T/N note:
Katajikenō gozaru: An archaic and formal Japanese expression meaning "I am grateful" or "Thank you." The use of "gozaru" is characteristic of samurai-era speech or historical dramas, adding a dramatic or old-fashioned tone.
O-kini: A Kansai dialect (Kansai-ben) term from Japan, commonly used in Osaka and surrounding areas, meaning "Thank you." It’s informal and regional.
Azasu: A casual, slangy contraction of "arigatō gozaimasu" (Japanese for "Thank you very much"), often used in Tokyo or among younger speakers.
Gottsuan desu: A phrase from the Tohoku dialect, particularly associated with rural areas like Aomori or Iwate, meaning "Thank you" or "Thanks a lot." It’s very informal and has a warm, regional flavor.
Xie xie: Mandarin Chinese for "Thank you," pronounced "shieh shieh."
Shinsha: Likely a playful or mistaken rendering of a term for "Thank you," possibly derived from Okinawan dialect (e.g., "nīshē" or "nīfē dēbiru" in Uchinaguchi, meaning "Thank you"). It may also be an invented or idiosyncratic term.
Bansha: Another potentially playful or dialectal term, possibly a variation of "arigatō" or a misheard phrase. It’s not standard Japanese and probably Character's speech.
I don’t know what it means. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. Perhaps it’s just her playful way of doing things.
I’m the only one who’s noticed this.
She says a different thank-you every time.
But all I can ever respond with is, “Thank you very much.”
Because I’m a part-timer. Because I’m a clerk and she’s a customer. Because we’re not equals. And because I don’t have the wit or sociability to come up with anything clever to say.
When she says her thanks, she lets her tongue peek out just a little. There’s a silver glint there. A piercing, embedded in the center of her red tongue.
That silver gleam catches my eye. It holds me captive. Like a bug drawn to light.
She often comes when I’m on shift. Almost every time. And she always buys just one pack of the same brand.
In my mind, I call her “Number Twenty-Five-san.” When she comes to the store, emotions I thought were dead suddenly come alive again.
Admiration. That’s the word that fits best, I think.
I don’t know anything about her. Not her name, not where she lives. All I know is the brand of cigarettes she smokes.
There are ways to find out. I’ve even thought about trying. I could ask her to show ID for age verification. A driver’s license, a health insurance card, anything. Her name and address would be there. I could pretend it’s for age verification and sneak a look.
But I don’t do it. I can’t.
Asking for ID now would feel unnatural, and using such a sneaky method to learn her personal information is something my conscience couldn’t bear.
If I had courage—or if I were a reckless idiot—I might’ve found a chance to talk to her.
But I don’t have that kind of courage, and I’m not that kind of reckless idiot. All I have is useless, half-baked cleverness.
So I don’t need to know her name or where she lives. It’s enough to secretly admire her like this.
“Please press the age verification button” and “Thank you very much.” Exchanging those two phrases is enough.
The brand of cigarettes she always buys. Imagining her smoking them, picturing her in my mind however I like. Holding onto that idealized image of her, indulging in it.
That’s enough.
Even if we can’t connect. As long as we can stay a convenience store clerk and a regular customer. As long as we can exchange these superficial words.
That’s what I thought back then.
◆◆◆
Some people say working a part-time job isn’t a hassle at all. That everyone at the workplace is nice and it’s fun. Whenever I hear that, I think they must be a different species from me.
Working a part-time job is nothing but a hassle. It’s not that this job doesn’t suit me. Working itself is painful. If I could, I wouldn’t work at all. I’d rather sleep forever. Live quietly, without interacting with anyone, and end my life that way.
And yet, I work at a convenience store three days a week, from four in the afternoon to ten at night, because I need to earn money to live.
I was living alone.
Objectively speaking, a high school student living alone is pretty rare, I think. At least, I’ve never met anyone in the same situation as me.
I ended up living alone due to family circumstances. My parents wanted me out of the house, and I wanted to leave. Since we both felt the same way, we came to an agreement, and I moved out. That’s how it happened.
I glanced at the time on the monitor. 21:55. Five minutes until I could clock out. This is the only moment during my shift when my mood lifts.
At exactly 22:00, I punched my time card and clocked out.
I quickly took off the uniform I’d been wearing over my school-designated dress shirt, stuffed it into my school bag, and left the backroom without talking to anyone. I made sure to say “Good work” to the manager and other part-timers just politely enough to avoid seeming rude.
I don’t want unnecessary small talk, but I also don’t want to earn unnecessary resentment.
Stepping out of the store through the back door, I saw the moon hanging in the night sky. It gleamed like ice. Filled with a pleasant sense of freedom, I headed home.
My apartment was about a ten-minute walk away.
A dilapidated building standing in the darkness, over fifty years old. Rent was 28,000 yen. If a big earthquake hit, it’d probably be the first to collapse.
I think 30,000 yen is the dividing line for rent. Anything below that, and the shabbiness and inconvenience start to bare their teeth.
When I moved out, my parents offered to cover the rent. If I’d wanted, I could’ve lived somewhere nicer.
My parents—my mother and her remarried husband—are wealthy. If I’d said I wanted to live in a tower mansion, they might’ve even agreed.
But I chose this place. 28,000 yen rent. A rundown, five-mat room with a combined bathroom and toilet.
I wanted to be away from proper society. To live quietly in a place where no one would notice me, in a silent, secluded corner.
Rather than living in a tower mansion’s penthouse, looked up at by everyone, I wanted to live like a pill bug in the dark shadows, unseen from those heights.
I climbed the rusty red stairs of the apartment. They creaked louder than necessary. With walls this thin, a neurotic resident might get upset.
But that wouldn’t happen. This two-story apartment had eight units, but aside from me, hardly anyone actually lived here.
Some units were empty; others were used as storage. There was barely any sign of human presence. Thanks to that, I could live comfortably.
I unlocked my room and stepped inside. It was small. But smaller was much better than too spacious. I set down my school bag, opened the window, and stepped onto the balcony. An empty lot stretched out before me.
A vast, empty space. Filled with nothing but boundless darkness.
After spending hours dealing with people, it was my habit to cool off here for a while, letting my overheated mind settle. Otherwise, I couldn’t sleep.
Leaning my elbows on the balcony railing, staring blankly at the darkness spread out before me, I was thinking about her—the woman who comes to buy cigarettes—when it happened.
“—Good evening.” A voice suddenly called out from beside me, startling me.
The room next door had been empty until just recently.
There was no barrier between the balconies, close enough that you could jump across if you wanted. And standing there was a woman.
For a moment, I thought I was dreaming.
Leaning lazily on the railing, a cigarette held between her fingers—it was her. The woman who always came to buy cigarettes at the store.
“Number Twenty-Five-san…?”
“Number Twenty-Five?”
“Uh, no, I mean—”
“Hm?”
“…You always come to the store to buy cigarettes, right? Number twenty-five. That’s how I remembered you. I just said it without thinking.”
“Hmm, I see. So, in your mind, you’ve secretly been calling me Number Twenty-Five-san, huh?”
“…Sorry.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I was just surprised. Being called by a number out of nowhere—I thought maybe you found out I’d been in juvie.”
“Huh?”
“You know, in prison or juvenile detention, they call you by a number, right? Back then, I was called Number Twenty-Five. The cigarettes I smoke now—I don’t even like the brand that much. I just bought them because the number’s the same, and I got attached.”
“R-Really?”
“You believed me?” She—Number Twenty-Five-san—laughed softly, seeing my dumbfounded expression.
Apparently, she’d just been teasing me.
But I was stunned. I’d been thinking about her, and then, to see her standing on the balcony next door? I thought I was hallucinating.
“…Did you just move in recently?”
“Yes. It’s close to my university.”
“But this place is a total dump, isn’t it? It might be fine for a guy, but for a woman, it seems like there’d be all sorts of concerns.”
“You think so? I think it’s got character. I kind of like it.”
To see this rundown place as having “character” takes some serious grit.
“What about you, clerk-san? Are you a college student?”
“No, I’m a high school student.”
“No wonder you seemed young. Do you live here with your family in this five-mat room?”
“No, uh, I live alone.”
“Hmm…” Number Twenty-Five-san fell silent. A brief pause. Maybe she thought she’d touched on a sensitive topic.
A high school student living alone. That doesn’t happen without some kind of complicated family situation. Usually, something messy and troublesome.
I braced myself, thinking she might apologize. That’d be awkward. But she said something unexpected instead.
“That’s really wonderful.”
“…!”
“What’s wrong?”
“No, I just thought you’d pity me or something.”
“A high school student living freely, away from their parents. I think that’s really wonderful. I wanted to do that when I was in high school.”
Saying that, Number Twenty-Five-san added,
“Oh, but then, cigarettes aren’t good, are they? I should put it out.”
“No, it’s fine.”
She was probably being considerate because I’m underage. I hurriedly stopped her as she moved to put out her cigarette.
“The wind’s not blowing the smoke this way. And there’s still some left. It’d be a waste to put it out.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. So don’t worry about it.”
“Hehe. Well then, I won’t hold back.”
Number Twenty-Five-san, who had been about to stub out her cigarette in the ashtray, brought it back to her lips. She inhaled, then exhaled a lazy puff of smoke into the night sky.
The reasons I gave for stopping her were lies. The truth was, I wanted to see it. I wanted to see her smoking.
I’d imagined it before—her smoking, the idealized image in my mind. But the real thing was far better than I’d pictured.
I watched her smoke for a while. The cigarette slowly burned down, its ember glowing like a sparkler.
“It’s about time, isn’t it?” Her murmured words, after the cigarette’s ember went out, signaled the end of our conversation. Reluctant to let it end, I blurted out a question.
“You always buy just one pack of cigarettes at a time, right? Why is that?”
“You were curious about that?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Hehe. Well…”
Number Twenty-Five-san gave a knowing smile.
“What if I said it’s because I wanted to see you, clerk-san?”
“Huh?”
“Hehe. I enjoyed chatting with you, clerk-san. Since we’re neighbors now, I hope we can get along.”
Picking up the cigarette pack and ashtray with her fingertips, Number Twenty-Five-san said,
“Well then, see you. Good night.”
With that, she went back into her room.
Silence fell over the balcony, leaving me alone.
—Well then, see you.
I stood there on the balcony for a while, dazed. My head and body were still too warm to go back inside.
◆◆◆
They say if you don’t speak for a long time, you forget how to use your voice. That doesn’t happen at work. Being in customer service forces me to speak. But at school, I sometimes feel like I’m forgetting how.
Why? Because I don’t have a single person to talk to.
I didn’t have any friends in my class.
Even the self-proclaimed introverts, not to mention the extroverts, have friends. Students at the same social level band together, forming cliques. There’s a clear hierarchy within the classroom. And yet, I don’t belong anywhere in it. I’m nothing.
The extroverts talk about Piktok videos or Minstagram, while the introverts get excited about anime or mobile games. Amidst it all, I sit alone at my desk, reading a novel, disconnected from everyone.
I loved books. Because while I’m reading, I can truly be alone.
But there wasn’t a single person around me who liked books. At least not in my class. I’d never met anyone I could talk to about them.
Sometimes, I wonder if anyone in this world even reads novels.
From the moment I arrived at school in the morning until classes ended in the afternoon, I stayed immersed in the world of books. It wasn’t uncommon for me to go the entire day without speaking a word to anyone until I left the school gates.
After school, I headed to my part-time job, which I didn’t even want to do, put on the green uniform I didn’t want to wear, and worked while praying for my shift to end as quickly as possible. Converting the precious, irreplaceable time of my one and only life into 1,100 yen per hour.
No matter how fulfilling or how painful the time, it’s always 1,100 yen. There’s no difference. Up until recently, it was 1,100 yen steeped in misery. But now, things have changed just a little.
Around nine in the evening. As usual, she came to the store. Wearing her winter-night-black outfit, she walked straight to the register without so much as glancing at the other products.
“Good evening. Number twenty-five, one pack, please.”
As always, I grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the shelf and scanned it. She picked up the pack and gave me a shy smile.
“Spasiba.”
(T/N: "Spasiba" (спасибо) is Russian for "Thank you.”)
I understood she was saying thank you. She always did. But what language was that? I had a feeling it was from somewhere up north. After she left, I thought about it for a while and realized—oh, it’s Russian.
Feeling satisfied with that realization, I was suddenly interrupted.
“That woman comes here a lot, huh? Crazy beautiful.”
It was the college student who worked the same shift as me. His hair was dyed, his face slightly puffy. Apparently, he was always broke from constant drinking parties. He’d bragged about it before, unprompted, with a hint of pride.
During shifts, he was often glued to his phone. He called himself “Sake-Bag,” a nickname derived from his drinking habits. He watched popular anime just to have something to talk about with girls and proudly called himself an otaku.
“She looks so refined, but she smokes. That’s kinda hot, right? The gap? I’m kinda weak for gaps, you know.”
You know, nothing. I didn’t see anything special about him. What did he think people saw in him? He seemed to believe everyone in the world saw him clearly and correctly. That kind of self-confidence was something I didn’t have. I envied it, but at the same time, it annoyed me.
“But when a girl smokes, it’s, like, 100% because of a guy’s influence. Girls who smoke or play pachinko? Definitely got into it because of a boyfriend or an ex.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She looks like a college student, right? But I’ve never seen her on campus. You’d think I’d notice someone that beautiful right away.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe she’s at the smoking area. If I spot her there, I’ll make a move. Enocchi, root for me, yeah?”
“Enocchi” was me. Yuto Enoki, so Enocchi. He’d given me the nickname without asking on our first shift together.
He was always talking about how wild his drinking parties were, how many amazing people he knew, or which girls he was targeting, even though I never asked. He seemed to think his life’s worth was measured by the breadth of his connections, the number of girls he’d been with, and the name of the company that had offered him a job.
I didn’t mind that, per se. He probably wasn’t a bad guy. But when I learned he went to a nearby university, I thought to myself: Even if I study hard and get into a decent school, I can’t escape people like him. At school, at work—probably for the rest of my life, they’ll always be around.
On days when I shared a shift with him, the effort to earn that 1,100 yen felt significantly heavier. It took longer to cool off in the night breeze before I could sleep.
I recalled what Sake-Bag had said earlier.
The idea that Number Twenty-Five-san started smoking because of a guy’s influence.
It made me feel bad just thinking about it.
All I could hope was that it wasn’t someone like Sake-Bag.
After working until ten at night and earning 6,600 yen, I stopped by a nearby supermarket to buy a bento with a half-off sticker and headed home. I finished the cold, discounted bento. It tasted decent, maybe, or maybe not. My tongue wasn’t refined enough to tell. All I knew was that it didn’t meet my daily nutritional needs.
After eating, I went out to the balcony, as usual.
I opened a can of coffee I’d bought with the bento. Savoring the unsweetened bitterness, I gazed at the night stretching over the empty lot when I heard her voice.
“Good evening~! Good work today.”
She was on the balcony of the next room. Leaning against the railing, she held the cigarette she’d just bought between her slender, pale fingers.
“Did you come out to catch the night breeze too, clerk-san?”
“Yeah, after a shift, I need to do this for a bit or I can’t sleep.”
“I get that. After spending hours with people, it’s exhausting, isn’t it?”
“Does that happen to you too, Number Twenty-Five-san?”
“Crowds and noisy places aren’t my thing. That’s why I like it here. You can barely hear the noise of the world.”
It was a quiet place. Far from traffic, with no restaurants nearby. An empty lot stretched out in front of the balcony, and a cemetery lay to the side.
My eyes fell on the ashtray resting on her railing. Several cigarette butts lay there, cold like ashes of the dead.
“You smoke quite a bit in a day, huh?”
“I was waiting for you to come out, you know?”
“…Really?”
“Hehe. Who knows?”
Number Twenty-Five-san gave a faint smile and lazily puffed on her cigarette, as if half-asleep.
I suddenly remembered what Sake-Bag had said. The reason she started smoking. That smoking and pachinko were 100% because of a guy’s influence. I could play dumb and ask her.
But I couldn’t.
In front of her, I didn’t want to act dumb. I wanted to act smart. I wanted to hide the fact that I’m actually an idiot.
“How many hours do you usually work, clerk-san?”
“Six hours. From four in the afternoon to ten at night.”
“From four? Do you make it in time after school?”
“It’s close by.”
“Oh, so you’re at Nuse High School, then?”
“Yeah.”
“I see. So you’re my kōhai-kun, too.”
“So you’re from there too, Number Twenty-Five-san?”
“Yes.”
Apparently, we were from the same school. Number Twenty-Five-san was my senpai.
“This place is right between my university and your high school, isn’t it? Convenient for both of us to commute.”
“Come to think of it, which university do you go to, Number Twenty-Five-san?”
She named her university and department.
As expected. It was the same university as Sake-Bag. He was in economics, so different from her literature department, but there was still a chance they could run into each other on campus.
“Literature department, so you read books?”
“I do. I especially love novels.”
“Oh, I read novels too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I don’t have money to buy them at full price, so I get a lot of used ones.”
“I get used books too, or borrow from the library.”
“What kind do you read?”
“Mostly literary fiction. Mieko Kawakami, Yoko Ogawa, Sayaka Murata.”
“I like those too. I thought Swimming with Elephants, Holding a Cat was great.”
“The chess one, right? I love that one too.”
It was the first time I’d connected with someone over something I loved. Talking about something no one at school knew about, with another person. The fact that someone who loved the same things I did existed within my reach—it was a shock.
We talked about books for a while. By the time ash and cigarette butts had piled up in her ashtray, I noticed something in the corner of her balcony.
“What’s with those trash bags?”
Several bulging garbage bags were stacked there.
“Those? I missed the pickup. It’s so early in the morning. By the time I wake up, the truck’s already gone.”
At this apartment, you can only put out trash on the morning of pickup. If there were a covered bin, you could leave it out the night before, but this place only has a net, so if you put bags out early, crows would tear them apart.
If you don’t get your trash out by ten in the morning when the truck comes, you’re out of luck.
“I’m nocturnal, you see. Mornings are my weakness. I was always late in high school. Even now, I only take afternoon classes.”
“You get to choose your schedule in college, right?”
“But I’m in trouble. If this keeps up, I’ll never get my trash out, and my place will turn into a landfill.”
“Then how about I take it out for you?”
“Huh?”
“If you leave the bags on your balcony the night before pickup, I’ll take them out with mine when I head to school in the morning.”
“…Really?”
“Yeah. I have to take out my trash anyway.”
“Won’t it be heavy?”
“One or two extra bags won’t make much difference. Besides, I carry heavier stuff at work all the time.”
“That would be such a help.”
Clasping her hands together, she said,
“Then, can I ask you to start next time?”
“Sure thing.”
I took the trash bags from her balcony. Our balconies were close enough that passing them over was easy with a stretch. The bags were transparent. If I wanted, I could see what was inside. For now, I’d leave them here until morning.
“Thanks to you, clerk-san, my place won’t turn into a landfill.”
Number Twenty-Five-san smiled with relief.
“But it’s a little embarrassing to have someone see my trash.”
“I’ll make sure not to look, so don’t worry.”
“Hehe, such a gentleman. Oh, let me thank you properly next time.”
“You don’t have to worry about it.”
“But I do. So think about what you’d like. If you don’t pick something, I’ll decide for you.”
“Alright, I’ll think about it then.”
“Yes. Well then, good night.”
With that, she went back into her room.
For a while after, I stood in the night breeze, thinking about what I’d want as a thank-you. But in the end, I couldn’t come up with anything concrete.
◆◆◆
I didn’t have a shift today.
After school, while my classmates headed off to clubs, jobs, or to hang out, I left the classroom quickly, alone. I had no money to go anywhere, no one to go with, and no interest in it either. So after browsing the library, I went straight home.
As I left the school building, I could hear the baseball team’s shouts from the field and the band’s music competing from the school.
The lively clamor. The sound of youth. It made me feel uncomfortable. Out of place. This wasn’t where I belonged. I passed through the tree-lined path from the school building and out the gate.
The noise faded. As expected, I hadn’t spoken to anyone today either.
After walking through a quiet residential area, my apartment came into view. As I approached, I saw a familiar face coming from the opposite direction.
“Hello. Done with school?”
It was her, Number Twenty-Five.
“Yeah. You too?”
“I’m just back from university. Oh, thank you for taking out the trash the other day.”
“No problem. Just leave the bags on your balcony the night before pickup, or even in front of your door. I’ll take them out with me when I head to school.”
“That’s such a lifesaver.”
She said, then, as if remembering something, added, “Oh, by the way, have you thought about it?”
“Thought about what?”
“What you want as a thank-you for the trash.”
“Oh, that,” I said. “Sorry, I haven’t really…”
It wasn’t that I’d forgotten. I’d thought about it. I just couldn’t come up with an answer. My self-consciousness got in the way, and I couldn’t find something that felt right.
“Perfect timing, then. How about I thank you now?”
“Huh?”
“Coffee. My treat.”
She took me to a café about ten minutes’ walk away. The exterior was covered in ivy, and the cozy interior had a calm atmosphere.
An old man ran the place alone, and there were no other customers. The quiet shop felt almost like it was refusing to thrive.
We sat at a table in the back. She took the inner seat, and I sat closer to the entrance. The old man came to take our order.
“One blend coffee,” she said. “What about you, clerk-san?”
“I’ll have the same.”
“Two blend coffees, please.”
After the old man left, I looked around the café and said, “I didn’t even know there was a café here.”
“It’s got a great vibe, and you can smoke, so I come here a lot.”
She placed her cigarette pack and lighter on the table.
“Mind if I smoke?”
“Go ahead, don’t worry about me.”
“Thank you. I’ll take you up on that.”
She took a cigarette from the pack, put it to her lips, and lit it. She exhaled the smoke lazily into the air. It was the first time I’d seen her smoke from the front.
Noticing my gaze, she smiled.
“What’s up? Is there something on my face?”
“No, it’s just… it’s the first time I’ve seen you smoke from the front.”
“Oh, right. Usually, it’s on the balcony, isn’t it?”
Her profile, smoking on the balcony at night, was beautiful, I thought. But seeing her from the front like this was just as captivating.
I could’ve watched her forever.
“By the way, when the old man came to take our order, he seemed a bit confused. Probably because you called me clerk-san.”
“Hehe, yeah, that might’ve been confusing. Maybe I should’ve called you kōhai-kun instead.”
“Maybe.”
“What do you prefer, clerk-san? Clerk-san or kōhai-kun? Or is there something else you’d like?”
“I’m fine with either. But, thinking about it calmly, Number Twenty-Five-san is a pretty weird nickname.”
“I actually kind of like it. Being called by a number feels cool, like an android.”
“Android?”
“Have you read Dragon Ball? I love Android 18. Even after she gets married, her husband still calls her 18. Isn’t that funny? She has a real name, you know.”
“Yeah, true.”
“I’m jealous of androids. They don’t age, and their appearance never changes. They can stay eternal.”
“But if her husband’s human, wouldn’t she be left behind? Everyone around her would eventually be gone.”
“Isn’t it nice to be able to see them off? The dead are eventually idealized. You forget the bad memories, the ugly parts. You can live forever, holding onto beautiful, untarnished memories. Don’t you think that’s wonderful?”
Maybe. At least you could keep loving them as they are in your mind, even if that’s not their true self.
“The coffee’s taking a while, huh?”
“The old man runs this place alone. Time flows a bit slower here than outside.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it as a complaint. Just filling the silence. I’m fine waiting.”
“Hehe, let’s chat while we wait.”
Number Twenty-Five-san stubbed out her cigarette, now short like a caterpillar, in the ashtray. After the ember went out, she asked,
“How’s school, clerk-san?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is it fun?”
“Fun or not fun… not fun,” I answered honestly. She smiled, looking oddly pleased.
“I see. Not fun, huh? Do you have a lot of friends?”
“Do I look like I do?”
“They say sex offenders are more likely to be married with kids than single.”
“You’re probably trying to say appearances don’t match what’s inside, but that example’s so sharp it’s distracting.”
I don’t look sociable. My exterior reflects my interior. I’m not two-faced, but both sides are equally grimy. “I don’t have any friends.”
“None?”
“Not a single one. It’s not uncommon for me to go a whole day at school without talking to anyone.”
“Are you doing some kind of self-imposed challenge?”
“It’s not like that. I think having friends would be better than not. Too many would be a hassle, though. I just can’t keep up with everyone’s vibe. The popular kids in the center of the class—I don’t find anything they say interesting. But I can’t keep up with the kids on the fringes either. They say friendships don’t last unless you have something to offer. I don’t have anything to give. I’m not charming, and I’m not a good talker. And watching SNS or anime just to have something to talk about feels… impure.”
I want to enjoy work for its own sake. Consuming them just to connect with people feels like using them, and that feels dishonest.
“I see. So you’re a really complicated person, clerk-san.”
“Yeah, pretty much. That sums it up. But when you think about it, having zero friends is kind of messed up, right?”
“Is it? I think it’s fine.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It makes it easier for me to invite you to hang out.”
“So it’s about your convenience, huh?”
“Hehe, is that bad?”
“Not bad, I guess.”
Just then, the old man brought our two blend coffees. The cups were set before us, steam rising from the dark surfaces. Normally, I’d add sugar, but today I didn’t. Because she was drinking hers black.
Number Twenty-Five-san tilted her cup, sipping the steaming blend coffee. Watching her, I couldn’t help but ask a question that popped into my mind.
“Doesn’t that… burn?”
“I’m immune to a cat’s tongue.”
“No, not that.”
“Hm?”
“Your tongue…”
“Oh, the piercing?”
Her tongue, with a piercing embedded in its center. The silver glint looked metallic.
Drinking something hot seemed like it would heat up.
“It doesn’t get hot at all. Wanna touch it?”
“Huh?”
“Look.” She stuck out her tongue, hidden until now, toward me. A pale pink tongue. It glistened, slick and suggestive, like an exposed organ. At its center, a silver orb gleamed.
It felt like I was seeing something forbidden. A sense of guilt washed over me. Yet I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Before I knew it, everything else in my field of vision faded. My gaze was fixed solely on her red tongue.
“…Is that okay?” With her tongue still out, she gave a small nod. I checked to make sure the old man wasn’t looking, then cautiously touched the pad of my finger to her tongue.
It wasn’t hot.
It was inorganic.
Her tongue was far warmer.
The slick, warm sensation of her tongue. Amid it, the artificial, inorganic feel of the silver piercing stood out starkly.
“See? Not hot, right?”
It wasn’t hot, true. But my entire body felt like it was burning. Touching her tongue piercing felt like touching something I shouldn’t. Like touching her most intimate parts.
The inorganic feel of the piercing and the slick warmth of her tongue lingered on my fingertip and in my mind, refusing to fade.
◆◆◆
As always, I was alone at school. That’s only natural. I hadn’t made any effort to change things. A girl falling from the sky like in some story doesn’t happen in real life.
Besides, I didn’t even want things to change.
During lunch break, while everyone else gathered to eat together, I quickly left the classroom. Being alone was fine, but eating lunch alone in the classroom wasn’t.
Being alone in my room felt different from being left out while surrounded by people. The latter made me feel far lonelier and more pathetic.
Maybe if I ate lunch alone, some kind classmate would take pity and invite me to eat together. They’d mean it as kindness. But I’d sense pity or sympathy in it. It’d feel like charity.
That would make me feel unbearably pathetic.
I don’t think being alone is bad, but it makes me feel like it might be. So I eat lunch somewhere other than the classroom.
At the edge of the school grounds, behind the special building, there’s an empty space. Overgrown with weeds, shaded heavily by the building’s eaves.
It’s a narrow, cramped spot where people rarely come.
Students eating outside head to the lively courtyard with its nice view, open space, and benches.
I sat on the concrete, unwrapped the yakisoba bread I’d bought at the school store, and started eating. It was decent, maybe, or maybe not. School store bread is usually like that.
“Hey, Enoki-kun, there you are.”
I was eating the yakisoba bread methodically, not savoring it, when a voice suddenly called out.
Pushing through the weeds was my homeroom teacher.
Koharu Akesaka-sensei. Short hair, petite frame. She wore a light brown jacket and pants.
She had a youthful face but was actually young—second year on the job, I think she said. The class affectionately called her Koharu-chan.
“Mind if I join you?”
“It’s not my property, so I can’t exactly say no.”
“You could just say ‘sure’… That sounded kind of reluctant…”
It was reluctant. I wasn’t exactly welcoming her.
Looking slightly uncomfortable, Koharu-sensei sat beside me, leaving about a person’s worth of space. She didn’t sit directly on the ground—probably didn’t want to get dirty. Leaning against the wall, she sat in a sort of floating gym-sitting position.
“Phew, morning classes were exhausting. Thinking about three more hours this afternoon is so depressing… And I’ve got club activities after school too.”
As she vented her complaints, Koharu-sensei opened a bag of coppe-pan. “And on my days off, I’m stuck all day with a club I don’t even like. And for all that, I only get a 3,000-yen allowance per day. That’s insane, right? I’d make way more working a part-time job.”
Like a magician pulling endless flags from a hat, her grievances kept coming, one after another. Her small, slender frame must have been holding in quite a lot.
Normally, Koharu-sensei isn’t this jaded. In the classroom, she’s always smiling, saying only positive things. That’s why the other students see her as a bright, cheerful teacher. Or at least, they should.
But during lunch breaks, Koharu-sensei comes to this spot where I am and lets her complaints spill out, revealing a side she doesn’t show to other students.
At first, I thought it was some kind of pity. That she was checking on me because I was alone, trying to get me to open up and join the class by showing her own vulnerabilities to gain my trust.
So, once, I told her straight. “If you’re being considerate because you’re worried about me, you don’t have to. I’m fine.”
“Huh?”
“If you’re checking on me because I’m a loner, I’m okay. I’m managing just fine without friends for now.”
Being pitied felt worse—more pathetic—than being alone. I don’t see my situation as something to despair over, not enough to be pitied by others without my consent.
She must have picked up on my meaning, because she clarified, “Oh, no, it’s not like that. If you like being alone, that’s fine. If you were struggling, I’d want to help, but if you’re content, I won’t butt in. I just wanted to be alone during lunch too. But there aren’t many good spots. So, if it’s okay with you, Enoki-kun, I’d like to share this place.”
This spot is my only sanctuary, the one place I can find peace. It’s irreplaceable. But I don’t have the right to kick Koharu-sensei out either.
So, we started spending lunch breaks together sometimes. Not every day, though.
Some days, I’d go to the library instead of coming here, and some days, she’d be invited to eat with other students or be held up answering questions about class.
“Why do you even take on being a club advisor if you don’t like it?”
“Because they kept begging me to do it.”
“You could’ve said no.”
“If it were that easy, no one in the world would have any worries. Life’s full of things you can’t just shrug off.”
She said it with a tone that hinted at the bitterness she’d swallowed over the years. Not exactly something a homeroom teacher should say to a student.
“Teachers are all people who only have fond memories of school. They don’t think it’s embarrassing to spend their entire lives in the school system, acting high and mighty with waiters at bars. They can’t understand why someone wouldn’t want to be a club advisor.”
“Aren’t you like that too, Koharu-sensei?”
“Not at all. I was totally unremarkable in my class. Super plain.”
“That’s surprising. You act so cheerful in class, and everyone likes you. I thought you were one of the popular kids back in school.”
“That’s me forcing myself to be upbeat. If everyone found out I was actually dark and plain, they might start looking down on me.”
“Look down on you?”
“Once students start looking down on you, it’s over for a teacher,” Koharu-sensei said, in a way that the Koharu-sensei everyone knew would never say.
“Why did you become a teacher, then?”
“Huh? What’s with the sudden question?”
“Well, you don’t have good memories of school, right? So isn’t it weird to stay in a school even as an adult?”
“Hmm. When I was a student, I really hated teachers. You know how they’re super lenient with the popular kids, right?”
There’s definitely that tendency sometimes.
“They’d join the popular kids in picking on the plain ones or completely ignore when the quiet kids were struggling. That really pissed me off. So I thought, if I became a teacher, I’d be someone who pays attention to the plain, unremarkable kids like me. I think, because I didn’t have good memories of school, I wanted to help kids like that, to save the old me in a way. But once I actually became a teacher, I found myself watching the popular kids’ reactions, constantly worrying about being looked down on. It’s easier to go easy on the popular kids—it keeps things running smoothly. They control the class atmosphere. I learned that after becoming a teacher. Paying attention to the quiet kids doesn’t really have much payoff.”
Koharu-sensei gave a self-deprecating laugh.
“If the student saw me now, she’d be so disappointed… Like, ‘You’ve become the kind of teacher you despised.’”
“But I think you’re doing a good job, Koharu-sensei.”
“…You think so?”
“Yeah. You might be mindful of the popular kids, but I think you pay attention to the other students too.”
I don’t know how she evaluates herself, but I think Koharu-sensei treats everyone fairly. At least, more than any other teacher I know.
That might’ve been a bit presumptuous for a student to say. But her reaction was different from what I expected.
“Ugh, that makes me so happy… Especially since you don’t seem like the type to sugarcoat things, Enoki-kun.”
She murmured it slowly, as if savoring the words.
“But, you know, if you snitched to another teacher, I’d be totally done for. I said some pretty bad stuff, didn’t I? Like, how all teachers only have fond school memories or act high and mighty at bars.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” I said. “Besides, I don’t have anyone to tell.”
“Oh, right. Good point. That’s a relief.”
Koharu-sensei smiled, looking genuinely relieved.
“I guess part of why I’m telling you all this is because I know you won’t. Does that make you feel bad?”
Not really. Being overly considerate is worse than being straightforward.
“But you know, Enoki-kun, you seem a little different lately.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah. You seem a lot happier than before. Did something good happen?”
“Nothing that good…”
I was surprised. Koharu-sensei really pays attention to her students.
The chime signaling the end of lunch break rang out. Hearing it, Koharu-sensei let out a sigh deeper than the ocean.
“Ugh… Lunch break’s over… Oh well, let’s get back to it.”
Standing up with determination, she turned to me.
“I’m heading back first. Don’t be late, Enoki-kun. Listen to my complaints again sometime.”
She lightly slapped her cheeks, putting on her mask of smiles and armor of cheerfulness. Then she walked from the back of the school building toward the classroom.
◆◆◆
The nightly moments with Number Twenty-Five-san on the balcony continued.
After my shift, I’d go out to the balcony to cool off, and sometimes I’d find her there, languidly smoking a cigarette.
“Good evening~! Good work today.”
“Good evening.”
In the convenience store, we’re customer and clerk, exchanging only scripted lines. But here, we’re neighbors. We can talk normally.
We’d chat for a while about nothing in particular. The topics were truly trivial. Books we’d read recently, places we’d been, what we’d do if zombies overran the city. Conversations as fleeting as smoke, forgotten by morning.
But sometimes, we’d talk about school.
“Have you made any friends since we last talked, clerk-san?”
“Nope. If you haven’t made any by April, it’s pretty much hopeless. By the time Golden Week is over, everyone’s relationships are set. Game over.”
“There’s always a chance for a comeback in the bottom of the ninth with two outs.”
“Maybe. But the batter doesn’t even want to step up to the plate anymore. I’m too used to being alone.”
“So you’re staying a loner-kun, then?”
“Loner-kun it is.”
“Hehe. I see.”
Every now and then, she’d ask if I’d made friends at school, and I’d always say no.
Each time, she’d smile faintly, looking oddly pleased. Almost as if she wanted me to stay lonely. Was she the type to find joy in others’ misfortune? Though, to be honest, I didn’t feel particularly unfortunate.
“But going to school every day without missing a day is impressive.”
“If I miss even one day, I feel like I’d never go back. Plus, I don’t have anyone to borrow notes from.”
If I missed a day, I’d fall behind in class. I couldn’t afford to skip casually. I had to drag myself there no matter what.
“By the way, what kind of high school student were you, Number Twenty-Five-san?”
“I was terrible with mornings and could never get up. I was late every day. On the rare days I made it on time, the teachers were shocked.”
“That’s something.”
“If you were late or absent eight times, you lost your chance at a school-recommended university admission. I got disqualified by mid-April of my first year.”
“Mid-April of first year? That’s fast.”
“I was the fastest back then, and I bet the record still stands. Not exactly something to brag about, though.”
“That would’ve been tough if you were in a club with morning practice.”
“Hehe. Probably. I might’ve been kicked out early.”
“Were you in a club?”
“What club do you think I wasn’t in, clerk-san?”
“Not what you were in, but what you weren’t in?”
“It’s like Minesweeper. If guessing my club makes it explode, what’s the safest club to pick?”
“…Basketball, maybe? Softball seems safe too.”
“Hmm. So that’s how you see me, clerk-san.”
“I just don’t think you were in an athletic club. If you were, you probably wouldn’t be smoking now.”
“Just because someone’s in an athletic club doesn’t mean they won’t smoke. Back when I was underage, it was mostly the athletic types smoking—baseball or soccer players, right?”
“Now that you mention it, maybe. So, what’s the answer?”
“Guess it, and I’ll tell you.”
“But if this is Minesweeper, guessing right makes it explode. What happens if it explodes?”
“Hmm. Maybe I’ll blow cigarette smoke in your face.”
“That’s subtly annoying.”
She smiled faintly, tapped the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray, and said,
“But if a serious guy like you hangs out with a delinquent like me, you might pick up some bad habits.”
“You might think I’m serious, but I’m not. I skipped school sometimes in middle school.”
“Middle school—that was before you lived alone, right? Didn’t your parents scold you for skipping?”
“I made sure they didn’t find out. I’d pretend to go to school in the morning and come back at the usual time, acting like I’d been there.”
“But wouldn’t they get a call from the school?”
“So I’d unplug the house phone beforehand to make sure it wouldn’t connect. On gym days, I’d dirty my gym clothes a bit before going home.”
“Hehe. Quite the strategist, huh?”
Number Twenty-Five-san laughed, her throat making a small, delighted sound. For that moment, her mature demeanor gave way to a glimpse of girlish innocence.
It felt good to make someone laugh with my stories. Maybe that’s why people want to make friends.
After that, we talked aimlessly for a while, and somehow the topic drifted to where I eat lunch.
I told her about the spot behind the special building, overgrown with weeds, where no one goes. That’s where I always eat.
“I used to use that spot too,” she said.
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s calm, with no one around. For me, that place was like an uninhabited island I could escape to when I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”
I was happy to hear we’d used the same place. She, too, had once drifted to that island. It felt like a connection.
“True. Though for me, it’s not exactly an uninhabited island.”
“What do you mean?”
“My homeroom teacher comes by sometimes. She knows the spot too. We eat lunch together there occasionally.”
I said it, thinking of Koharu-sensei, who comes to my isolated island, reveals a side she hides from others, and then leaves.
“Hmm. Is she a woman?”
“Yeah, well.”
“Young?”
“She said it’s her second year teaching.”
“…Hmmm.”
After a brief silence, Number Twenty-Five-san let out a long hum, like the whine of a mosquito. Leaning her cheek on her hand against the railing, she exhaled cigarette smoke. Her expression looked faintly bored.
“Did I say something weird?”
“Not really. I just thought you didn’t have anyone to talk to. Guess you’re not completely a loner, huh?”
“I mean, I only talk to her during lunch sometimes. She’s not a friend, so I’m still a loner.”
“But lunch with a young teacher? That’s something to be jealous of.”
“Would you prefer I was completely alone?”
“Yes. I wanted you to be the tough guy who doesn’t talk to anyone all day but acts like it doesn’t bother him.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I thought it was a bit too twisted. But then, someone who isn’t a bit twisted wouldn’t live in a rundown apartment like this. And since I’m her neighbor, I must be twisted too.
◆◆◆
After living somewhere for a while, you start recognizing the faces of the locals. When you see someone unfamiliar walking by, they catch your eye. Especially if they’re good-looking.
After school, my shift was later than usual, so I went home first. As I approached the apartment, I saw someone walking from the other direction. He was strikingly handsome. In crude terms, a total hottie.
Small face, sharp features, cool eyes. Golden hair tied back in a ponytail. His outfit was simple—a T-shirt and jeans—but it suited him perfectly. Ultimately, good-looking people look good in anything, whether it’s flashy or plain. It’s like he was showcasing that harsh truth to the world.
I was shocked to see him. And even more shocked when I saw where he was headed—my rundown apartment.
Was there a resident like that? I didn’t remember seeing him before.
As I watched, he climbed the rusty red stairs to the second floor. He stopped in front of a door. It was Number Twenty-Five-san’s room.
After ringing the intercom, the door opened slightly, and the handsome guy in the T-shirt slipped inside.
—So he’s someone Number Twenty-Five-san knows.
What was their relationship?
A friend from university? A coworker from a part-time job? Maybe, a long shot, her brother? Whatever it was, they were close enough for him to visit her at home.
The word “boyfriend” popped into my head first, but I quickly dismissed it. Maybe because I didn’t want it to be true.
But thinking calmly, that seemed the most likely. Number Twenty-Five-san is beautiful. Ask ten people, and all ten would agree. Saying otherwise would just be contrarian.
Naturally, she must have countless suitors.
Even with a sky full of stars vying for her, she’d always be out of reach. Their faint twinkles would be swallowed by the brilliance of her moonlight. But that T-shirt guy, at a glance, seemed like a good match. He didn’t look out of place by her side. Far more than I ever would.
After a short pause, I went back to my room. I wanted to shower off the sweat before heading to work. After a quick shower, I toweled off my hair and body. Opening the fridge, I took a sip from a 500ml water bottle when I heard noises from the next room.
It sounded like voices talking. I couldn’t make out what they were saying. But the cheerful atmosphere came through.
Hearing those voices stirred something uneasy in my chest. I could’ve turned on the TV to drown them out, but I didn’t have one. I didn’t have a habit of listening to music either.
With no way to block it out, I had no choice but to keep listening to the fragments of their indistinct conversation.
This place, my home, was supposed to be the most calming place of all. But today, it felt unsettling. I even wanted to get to work sooner—something I’d never felt before. I cursed the thin walls of this rundown apartment.
Eventually, the cheerful voices stopped.
In their place came a damp, muffled sound. A stifled voice, wrapped in a membrane of dark heat.
I wasn’t so naive that I couldn’t imagine what they were doing, nor was my interest in her so shallow that I wouldn’t care. A young man and woman alone in a room—it’s no surprise things would turn that way. Especially if they’re lovers. It might even be natural.
Rationally, I understood that. But why did it feel so awful? Why did it feel like my heart was being crushed?
After thinking for a while, I came to my own conclusion. Number Twenty-Five-san wanted me to stay lonely. So, in the same way, I wanted her to be lonely too. I thought that was a fair right.
But she had someone. Someone she brought home in broad daylight. Knowing how thin these walls are, she was careless enough to go through with it. I think it was her selfishness and insensitivity that made me angry.
Demanding that I avoid connections while seeking them herself—that contradiction felt like a betrayal.
I crushed the empty plastic bottle in my hand and left the apartment. I hurried down the corridor to the convenience store. I just wanted to get away from this place as fast as possible.
Having a shift at work was convenient. While I was focused on the job, I could avoid thinking about unnecessary things.
After my shift ended, I walked home more slowly than usual.
I didn’t plan to go out to the balcony tonight. But I had to bring in the uniform I’d hung out to dry, or it might get wet if it rained.
As I hurriedly gathered the laundry, Number Twenty-Five-san, smoking a cigarette on her balcony next door, called out to me.
“Good evening~! Want to chat again?”
She spoke casually, her usual languid and cool demeanor unchanged.
“…Has that person already left?”
Before I realized it, the words slipped out. The thoughts that had been gnawing at me during my shift had suddenly broken free.
“That person?”
“The one who came over today. I saw them going into your room.”
“Oh.”
“They were really good-looking, huh?”
“Hehe. Aren’t they?”
She looked delighted, as if she’d been complimented herself. Seeing her expression, a bitter feeling welled up inside me, and before I knew it, I was speaking again.
“But, like, could you not be all lovey-dovey with your boyfriend in the middle of the day? I’d appreciate it if you remembered how thin these apartment walls are.”
The moment I said it, a wave of self-loathing hit me. Damn it. What am I doing? I hadn’t meant to say that.
“Lovey-dovey?”
“…I mean, I heard voices. From your room. It sounded like you two were getting intimate.”
I noticed my tone was slightly accusatory, which only deepened my self-loathing. It was bitter. I felt utterly pathetic. I didn’t want to blame her. This was just me lashing out. Knowing that made me feel even more miserable.
“That’s a misunderstanding.”
“Huh?”
“We were watching a movie in my room. The sounds you heard were probably from a steamy scene in the movie.”
A steamy scene from a movie?
Thinking back, the voice didn’t sound like hers. I’d assumed it was her based on the situation.
“The movie’s pretty tame overall, but that one scene was weirdly intense. And it went on forever, enough to give you heartburn. We were watching it at a pretty high volume, so I guess the sound carried to your room, huh?”
Number Twenty-Five-san added, “Besides, if it was me, I wouldn’t be that loud,” leaving me at a loss for how to respond.
“And the friend who came over today was a girl.”
“Huh?”
I couldn’t help but let out a sound.
“A girl?”
“Yes.”
“But they were super good-looking. And they were wearing T-shirts and jeans.”
“She dresses kind of boyish. Ties her hair back, too. She’s pretty flat-chested, so she’s often mistaken for a guy. She’s super popular with girls.”
Number Twenty-Five-san continued, “If you’re curious, I can introduce you sometime.” If she was saying that much, it must really be a girl.
“You thought she was my boyfriend?”
“…Yeah, I guess.”
“I see. So that’s why you’ve been in a bad mood today, clerk-san.”
“It’s not like that,” I said, trying to brush it off. “I just thought it was unfair, that’s all.”
“Unfair?”
“You said you wanted me to stay a loner, but you’ve got connections with other people.”
“Did you want me to be a loner too, clerk-san?”
“…Yeah. If you’re going to ask that of me.”
“So, honestly, you’re not happy that I have friends?”
“To be honest, yeah.”
“That’s straightforward.”
Number Twenty-Five-san gave a soft chuckle, leaning her cheek on her hand against the railing, and said without a hint of guilt,
“I’m an unfair woman. Selfish, self-centered, and unfair. I put my own needs aside and demand a lot from you, clerk-san.”
Her tone was light, almost as if it had wings.
Then, looking at me, she asked,
“Are you disappointed?”
“…Not really,” I replied. Her unabashed attitude felt oddly refreshing. It was far better than pretense. It was honest.
“Good.”
Number Twenty-Five-san murmured, lighting a cigarette. A red glow flickered in the night. She inhaled slowly and exhaled the smoke.
After that, we talked about nothing in particular, as we always did.
◆◆◆
A war breaking out in a distant country or a politician’s slush fund scandal didn’t affect me as much as the disappearance of the 65-yen onigiri.
I stood frozen in front of a shelf in the supermarket.
I’d come to buy dinner.
The cheap 65-yen onigiri I’d relied on was gone. The shelf was now filled with onigiri costing over 100 yen. The 65-yen onigiri had been a godsend for a broke student like me.
I’d wondered how they could make a profit at that price. Seeing it gone, I guess they really weren’t making any money.
It wasn’t just the onigiri. Eggs, detergent, toilet paper—everything had gone up in price.
“And yet, tofu, you’re amazing…”
I picked up a pack of silken tofu and put it in my basket. Three pieces for 85 yen, tax included. About 30 yen per meal. For someone living alone, ensuring proper nutrition is a top priority.
Vegetables are expensive. Even if I buy them, I can’t use them all. Pre-cut vegetables are easier to finish, but I’d heard they lose nutrients during processing. I don’t know if it’s true, but since hearing that, I’ve avoided them.
Eggs are expensive too. I buy them, but they’re pricey. I’d heard you could get a pack for 100 yen back in the day, before I started living alone. Now they’re 200 yen, sometimes nearly 300. Triple the price.
That’s where tofu comes in. Cheap, tasty, nutritious. The best. Natto’s good too. With tofu, natto, and eggs, I can get by.
I think about nutrition, but it’s not like I want to live a long life. I just don’t have the resolve or guts to live recklessly.
I put the cheapest eggs, tofu, natto, and a pack of rice in my basket. A can of mackerel too. I was thinking about getting some chicken when—
“Clerk-san, hello.”
Number Twenty-Five-san was there, holding a shopping basket. Noticing me, she waved her free hand lightly.
“Hey.”
I gave a slight bow.
“But calling me ‘clerk-san’ here is kind of confusing. Other customers might think I work at the supermarket.”
“They might ask you where something is.”
“I mean, I could probably guide them. I come here a lot. But I was surprised. I didn’t expect you to shop at a supermarket, Number Twenty-Five-san.”
“How do you see me, clerk-san?”
“Like, you don’t have a sense of everyday life.”
She comes to the convenience store but only buys one pack of cigarettes. Nothing else. She didn’t give off any “living” vibe.
“Did you think I live on water and dust? I shop like anyone else.”
In her basket were several silver cans, tossed in carelessly.
“Is that alcohol?”
“Yup. I love highballs.”
“You smoke and drink, huh?”
“I like sweets too.”
Usually, people who drink don’t care for sweets, and sweet-tooths don’t drink. But Number Twenty-Five-san apparently enjoys both. That’s unusual.
“Don’t you buy anything else?” I asked.
“Like what?”
“I mean, are you here for dinner ingredients?”
Her basket held only cans of alcohol. Nothing else. No trace of a daily life.
“Just alcohol. Between alcohol and cigarettes, I don’t have much budget left.”
“This might be nosy, but are you eating properly?”
“I eat… I think?”
“Can I ask what you’ve eaten today?”
“Coffee and supplements for breakfast, a melon bread for lunch, and dinner’s not decided yet, but probably alcohol and a can of tuna.”
“…Is that what you eat every day?”
“Pretty much.”
I was speechless. It was worse than I’d imagined. Prison food would probably be better.
“You really need to eat better. You’ll collapse.”
“But I’m healthy.”
“Maybe now, but you could drop dead someday. You’re clearly not getting enough nutrients. Check out Natto, it's good.”
“I don’t like natto. Too sticky.”
“Then tofu.”
“It’s bland and unsatisfying. I’d need soy sauce too.”
“What about eggs?”
“I’d have to cook them. I don’t have any cooking tools at home.”
“None?”
“Not a single one.”
Apparently, Number Twenty-Five-san doesn’t cook at all. I’d assumed everyone has at least some cooking tools.
“I don’t really like eating. It’s such a hassle. Eating alone is boring. Supplements are easier, don’t you think?”
“Are you, like, super lazy, Number Twenty-Five-san?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? Definitely. You’ve even stopped tossing your trash bags onto my balcony lately.”
“I know I should, but I keep putting it off because it’s a hassle,” she said, as if making an excuse.
Her trash is probably piling up. Since she doesn’t cook, there’s likely no food waste, so it shouldn’t smell, but still.
Looking at my basket, Number Twenty-Five-san said,
“You’re so responsible, thinking about nutrition, clerk-san.”
She sounded impressed. Then, casually, she asked, “Do you want to live a long life or something?”
“It’s embarrassing to be asked that so directly.”
I don’t want to live a long life, but I don’t want to die young either. I want to live, but I don’t have a strong reason to.
Thinking about it, her fleeting lifestyle seemed almost beautiful. Like a shooting star shining brightest before it burns out. It looked radiant.
Even though it absolutely wasn’t.
“Seriously, take care of your diet. Start with three proper meals a day.”
“Hehe. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. And even if I collapse, I won’t bother you, clerk-san.”
“That’s not the point!”
Before I realized it, I’d raised my voice.
“It’s not about bothering me. I don’t want you to collapse. I want you to stay healthy, Number Twenty-Five-san.”
A shooting star’s fleeting brilliance before it burns out might thrill onlookers. They might cheer its beauty.
But I wouldn’t be happy. I don’t care if it doesn’t shine so brightly—I just don’t want it to disappear. I want it to stay in the night sky, unchanging, like the North Star, forever.
That’s what I thought. That’s why I blurted it out.
“…I-I see…”
Caught off guard by my raised voice, Number Twenty-Five-san’s eyes widened. It was the first time I’d seen her look so surprised.
A moment later, embarrassment hit me. I’d raised my voice in the store. Passing customers glanced at us. An indescribable awkwardness washed over me.
“I got scolded,” Number Twenty-Five-san muttered self-deprecatingly, more to herself than to me.
“When a younger guy scolds you to your face, you have to listen, right?”
She gave a soft smile and asked,
“Will you keep shopping with me for a bit, clerk-san?”
We left the supermarket and walked toward the apartment. The setting sun cast long, dark shadows across the asphalt. We each carried shopping bags. Mine was an eco-bag; hers was a large plastic one, for which she’d paid five yen.
Her bag was filled with ingredients—canned mackerel, rice packs. But fewer highball cans than before.
“I can carry your bag.”
“Really?”
“I kind of made you buy all that stuff.”
Her original plan was just alcohol—six cans of highball. But now there were mackerel, rice, and pre-cut vegetables.
The extra weight was my fault. So I offered to carry it.
“Thank you,” Number Twenty-Five-san said with a smile.
It was a simple thank-you. Not “sanksu” or “thank you, bunny.” Maybe she only used those at the convenience store.
Carrying the bags, walking down the sunset-dyed road, I thought about why I’d raised my voice earlier. It was embarrassing now.
Her diet shouldn’t matter to me. If she collapsed, as long as it didn’t inconvenience me, it was her business.
And yet.
“Sorry about earlier. For raising my voice. In the store, no less. People were staring.”
Number Twenty-Five-san looked surprised, then teased, “If they remember your face, it might be awkward to come back here.”
“…Sorry.”
“But it’s been a while since I got scolded. People get exasperated with me, but rarely scold me to my face.”
“That was cheeky of me, huh?”
“A little,” she said jokingly, then softened with a gentle smile. “But I was happy you were worried about me. Knowing you don’t want me to collapse—it made me happy.”
Number Twenty-Five-san walked a step ahead, then stopped and turned around. By then, the sun had set, and the blue of night had arrived.
With her hands behind her back, she said in a sing-song voice, “By the way, I want you to stay healthy too, clerk-san.”
“Because you’d lose your trash collector?”
“That’s part of it, but I’d be lonely if I lost a friend.”
A streetlamp flickered on, faintly illuminating her. She smiled softly. As always, the night suited her.
Feeling the weight of the shopping bags in both hands, I thought about that.
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