Yoshirō Kiriyama was eighty percent egg sandwiches and coffee. To be precise, special fluffy egg sandwiches and premium coffee. Both were popular offerings at the Tenderness convenience store chain.
Yoshirō worked at a juku—an afterschool test prep academy. It was in Nozomigaoka, to the southwest, so he took the train, but before heading out, he always stopped for a late lunch at Tenderness. He bought the same thing every time, and at the same branch. The Tenderness Mojikō-Koganemura, about halfway down Ōsakamachi Avenue. It was a little out of the way from Yoshirō’s rooms at the Sea Breeze Villa apartments, but he was a regular customer there.
It was just past 1:30 p.m., and the lunchtime rush had begun to subside. The automatic doors slid smoothly open and Yoshirō heard the familiar melody play as he stepped inside. His whole body relaxed as the cool air flowed over his sweaty skin. The theme song of a recent TV drama played quietly in the background, and Yoshirō went straight to the refrigerated foods section. There were rice balls, pasta, and a wide assortment of other foods in the case, but without hesitation, he picked up an egg sandwich and examined the color of the eggs and bread. Yes, good again today, as always. He selected a two-pack of sandwiches and headed to the register.
The clerk was waiting at the register, a regular-sized coffee cup already in her hand. He’d seen her before—a woman in her thirties with a name tag that read “Nakao.”
Nakao took the sandwiches and entered the items in the register with a practiced hand.
Watching her calm face, Yoshirō wondered idly what she thought of him. By chance he had turned on the TV the previous day, and they were talking about how store clerks would give nicknames to customers who made a strong impression on them. Like “Red Tee” for the one who always wears the same T-shirt, or “#39” for the one who never says anything except the number of the cigarette pack he wants from the rack behind the counter. They might have a name for me, he thought. Whenever I’m here I get the egg sandwich and coffee. Something like “Breakfast Combo”? Or maybe something simpler, like “Specs.”
Yoshirō paid the bill and Nakao put the sandwich in a bag and handed it to him, along with the empty coffee cup. Usually at this point she would say, “Thank you very much,” but today, instead, she cleared her throat and said, “Excuse me…”
“Y-yes? What is it?” There was no way she could have known what he was thinking, but he was a little embarrassed anyway for some reason, and his voice cracked slightly as he spoke. Nakao flashed him a gentle smile and handed him a sheet of paper.
“We’re getting new coffee machines next week. This is the announcement flyer.”
Yoshirō looked at the paper. His eyes widened.
“Ah! You know them, don’t you?” Nakao said happily. “Sachika Coffee is supervising the whole operation. Isn’t that amazing?”
“But that’s…wow.”
Sachika Coffee was a hidden gem in Hakata, a bustling district in Fukuoka, on Kyūshū’s northwest coast. Every serious coffee lover knew it. The proprietor was a coffee master, having received extensive training at the well-known Caffè Greco in Italy, and he was particular about his brew. He purchased the beans at their place of origin, roasted them locally on site, and produced a special blend that was strong on the palate, with a spicy finish. The trend lately was toward fresh, acidic coffees with fruity notes, but Sachika Coffee continued to offer the more traditional dark roast, and discerning customers would travel from far and wide just to enjoy their brew.
Yoshirō, too, held strong opinions about coffee. In a crowded field, Sachika Coffee’s premium blend made for a superior cup. He thought there was nothing in the world quite as wonderful as time spent eating a warm egg sandwich with a cup of Sachika Coffee premium blend in the old shop, a wonderfully preserved relic of the early twentieth century in the Shōwa Modern style.
He continued. “That’s a real shock. You got approval from the master himself?”
In the center of the flyer, he recognized the stern, venerable face of the old coffee master. The man was said to take great pride in the Sachika Coffee name. He had received a number of offers from companies that wanted to mass-market his products, but he had never before agreed to such a thing.
“I just can’t believe it. How in the world did it happen?”
“It seems Niseko persuaded him, somehow. Um, that’s our counselor,” Nakao said in a meaningful tone, stifling a giggle. Nakao usually handled customers calmly, in a manner befitting her age, but now and again her girlish side would emerge. Catching a glimpse of the innocent-seeming smile, Yoshirō let out a noise of surprise.
“They make really great coffee, don’t they?” Nakao said. “I’m looking forward to this myself.”
“They’re famous. But why—?” Abruptly, Yoshirō thrust the flyer back at her.
“Oh!” Nakao said, eyes widening in surprise, and Yoshirō began to speak at rapid-fire speed.
“Look, it’s just that the master there makes delicate changes every day to the roast and the brewing time. Folks who don’t appreciate the depth of flavor say it’s too bitter, or whatever, but it’s not like he’s just steeping a dark roast for a long time. It’s a subtle process. If they tried to get a machine to serve something like that, his long-time fans would be up in arms! People would say Sachika Coffee had sold out. Why would he choose to do something like that, that affects the reputation of such a prestigious store? I’m a fan myself, you know, and I think it’s a real shame.”
Nakao’s round eyes blinked rapidly. Seeing her confusion, Yoshirō came to his senses and ceased his monologue. Rubbing his head with a little embarrassment, he offered an awkward apology: “I…sorry about that. It’s just, maybe I like it too much? So I got kind of worked up…”
“No, no, don’t worry about it. It’s that kind of a place, isn’t it?”
Nakao’s kind face shifted to a placating smile as she added brightly, “But I’m sure our version will taste great, so please give it a try when it becomes available.” In the face of her unfalteringly professional attitude, Yoshirō became embarrassed. He had let his emotions get the best of him. “Sorry,” he croaked weakly one more time, then left the register and proceeded to the coffee station.
He set the cup in its place and waited for the machine to do its work. A little song played to let him know when the coffee was ready. He was about to reach for a plastic lid from the shelf nearby when someone pressed one into his hand. He turned in surprise, and there, holding the lid, was a man with a smooth look, standing a little too close to Yoshirō and peering into his eyes.
“Oh! Er, what…?”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Kiriyama. Going to work, I see.” A honeyed voice, then a gleam of white teeth. A small mole at the corner of his right eye was hidden from view by laugh lines.
Yoshirō responded, “Yes, well…,” his voice a little too high.
Yoshirō had never met a movie star or male idol in person, but he thought they must all be creatures like Shiba, descendants of the same tribe, wielding some kind of special powers.
“Mr. Kiriyama? Is something wrong?”
Again, his face moved a little nearer, and Yoshirō’s heart started to race. No need to get so close! He tried to reply coolly, not wanting to let Shiba know the effect he was having, but in the end, he just stammered. “N-no…nothing.”
“That’s good. Here, take the coffee lid.” Not wanting to talk anymore, Yoshirō nodded, took the lid, and carefully fitted it atop the steaming cup. He came face to face with Shiba nearly every day, but he never really got used to it. With an easy motion, Shiba took a duster to the counter next to him.
“W-well, time to go.”
“Yes, thank you. Come back soon!” Shiba saw him off with an easy smile, and Yoshirō moved to the dine-in space, which had a door separating it from the store. There were spaces like this in some of the other stores, but this one was always comfortable and carefully maintained. He entered the room. A woman in a flowered apron who looked like a cleaner was mopping the floor. She smiled at Yoshirō. She bore a slight resemblance to his mother, who lived in Ōita, on the southeast coast where he grew up.
The woman must have been done with her cleaning, because she quickly put away the mop and exited through a door leading back into the building. The room was now empty, and Yoshirō perched on a seat at the end of the counter. The countertop was perfectly clean, not even a drop of water on it. He deposited his messenger bag on a stool and brought the food bag over to the toaster oven. He took out one of the sandwiches and toasted it, 50 seconds at 1,000 watts. After toasting the sandwich to a light golden brown, Yoshirō returned to his seat with it cradled in his hand.
He sank his teeth into the sandwich. His mouth filled with the fragrant bread—crisp on the outside, fluffy on the inside—and the warm egg salad. It was delicious again today, as always. The bread had a delicate sweetness and the nutty scent of wheat. The mild egg, with just the right amount of salt and a hint of mustard tickling his nose, was a perfect match. Yoshirō made quick work of the two halves of the first sandwich and was about to reach for the coffee when he paused for a moment. “I suppose it’s true, isn’t it?” he said quietly to himself. “This sandwich would pair really well with Sachika Coffee.”
The egg sandwich at Tenderness was somewhat similar to the hot egg sandwich at Sachika Coffee. If you toasted it, they became even more alike. The premium coffee at Tenderness complemented their egg sandwich, naturally, but nearly every day Yoshirō thought about how much deeper and richer the flavors would be if it were Sachika Coffee’s special blend. He wondered if the company had also caught the eye of this “Niseko” because of this egg sandwich.
“Not a chance.” Yoshirō gave a dismissive laugh. But in some part of his heart he couldn’t help but believe it. Niseko’s taste in coffee had to be very similar to his own. Lifting the cup to his mouth, Yoshirō thought back to the day he had first tasted the coffee at Tenderness, and how the flavor had surprised him.