Spring—a season of encounters, and the very same season in which the eventual lovebirds met.
It had all started just outside the shopping district. The time was around dusk, and Naoya had just stepped outside of his workplace, broom in hand, intending to tidy up the storefront. Just as he was about to begin, however, he happened to spy a man and a girl having some sort of spat nearby.
While the girl in question wasn’t facing him, he could still make out a school uniform—it was the exact one from Naoya’s school—and long silver hair that marked her as not fully Japanese. She was also very evidently in some sort of trouble.
Across from her was a man dressed to the nines in a fine suit, although the flashy, dyed hair and dangling ear piercings made for a rather bizarre contrast. He had been persistently calling out to the girl, and she appeared to be at her wit’s end. There was also a noticeable tinge of fear in her voice.
Looks like this dude’s trying to pick her up and ended up taking things too far... Naoya noted. And just as soon as he’d thought that, he threw himself between the two and the crimson-stained cityscape. He stood boldly across from the gaudily dressed man and called out, “Uh, excuse me? She doesn’t look like she’s interested, buddy. I recommend you leave it there.”
“Wha-? Who’re ya supposed to be?” the mystery man gawked.
Naoya heard the girl breathe in sharply, but he chose to ignore her for the moment in favor of pushing his point. He glared at the man and said, “Would you mind not harassing women in front of my workplace, please? If you keep this up, I’m afraid I’m going to have to call the police.”
“Haha... Look, buddy, this is all some sort of misunderstandin’. I dunno what kind of image you've got in your head, but I’m no criminal or anything. Okay?” the man tried to assure Naoya with a painfully fake smile. He flicked out a business card from his pocket and handed it over.
Just from a quick glance, Naoya gleaned something about him being an entertainment talent company producer. And, unlike the garish man, the font and design were easy on the eyes.
Undeterred, the man continued, “I’m actually on the hunt for our next top model right now—someone who’d make the front page of the magazine. This chick looks like she could really go f—”
“Well, that’s clearly bullshit,” Naoya cut him off.
“What?”
Naoya was not here for pleasantries, nor did he buy the man’s easy-going tone. He glared at the man and reiterated, “You’re not some scout searching for a model—that’s total bullshit. You’re just hitting on her.”
“What?! Do you have the slightest shred of proo-”
“Just look at the situation. Really, just think it through for one second. Although people might try to hide their true intentions, their body language almost always gives them away,” Naoya explained. The man was like an open book. The slightly dilated pupils, the hasty breathing, the cracks in his voice, the quivers in the corners of his mouth, the sweat on his brow; every miniscule detail only served to betray him. There was no room for doubt—the man was lying, plain and simple.
“You’re just some university student, right?” Naoya continued. “You’re from Kansai, if I had to guess. You’re struggling at school, and your family cut you off, so you’ve just been wasting your days messing around and acting like a total sleazeball. Am I on the right track here?”
“H-How’d you kn—?!” the man sputtered, his face paleing.
Bullseye. Naoya had been able to tell where he was from thanks to his accent. The rest had been educated guesses based on the slight stench of alcohol wafting from the man's body and the less-than-stellar state of his suit. Sensing weakness in the man’s eyes, Naoya pressed the issue further. He plastered a thin smile on his face and said, “Does your pickup game suck so badly that you need to rely on fake business cards? Come on, man—you can do better than that. Working on yourself a little has gotta be quicker and less expensive.”
“Y-You best watch your mouth, kid!” the man roared as he lunged forward and grabbed Naoya by his collar. A small cry rose from behind them, but the man paid no mind.
Naoya didn’t let his patronizing attitude slip despite the position he found himself in. “Do you wanna get your brains bashed in, kid?! ‘Cause you seem like you do!” the man threatened.
“I don’t really want that, no,” Naoya answered. “Oh, by the way...”
“What?”
“See that used book store? That’s where I work. And you know how things have been pretty sketchy recently? There’s crime everywhere you look. Well, it just so happens we recently got some new security cameras installed out front.”
Naoya gestured toward the sign outside of the shop. It read Akaneya Used Books, and next to it was a camera fixed and diligently pointed in their direction.
The man’s face underwent another dramatic change, shifting colors from white to crimson rage to white again as quickly as a chameleon.
Naoya gave him a wide grin and continued, “If you were to ‘bash my brains in’ here, I’d take that footage and run straight to the closest police station. If you still want to, though, go right ahead.”
“Tch!” The man tossed Naoya onto the ground and quickly skulked away.
Naoya stood up, patted himself down, and fixed his collar. A sense of relief washed over his body. “Whew... Guess it doesn't need to be a real camera to have the same effect, huh?” he remarked. He was thankful he’d had the foresight to insist that his boss install one.
“Um...” he heard a small voice from behind him stammer.
“Yeah, everything’s fine now.”
He heard another gasp and sensed the girl recoil behind him. Naoya began to turn around to see what the problem was, but he was interrupted by a husky voice calling out from inside the store.
“Sasahara, are you there?! Sorry to spring this on you, but could you deliver something for me? I don’t have time to do it myself right now!”
“Got it! Coming! Hey—you stay safe on your way home, okay?” he directed at the girl.
“Um!”
In the end, Naoya headed back inside the store without ever getting a good look at the girl’s face. He simply felt like he’d done a good deed and left it at that.
“Sasahara, huh...?”
The girl in question clutched her hands in front of her chest and recited the name to herself. In hindsight, it was extremely uncharacteristic for her.