There had been coffee machines in convenience stores for quite some time now, but Tenderness introduced them about three years later than most. When the long-awaited debut arrived and Yoshirō finally tasted the coffee, it made him just a little bit happy. The rich flavor and aroma of the carefully roasted beans suited him well, and at long last the convenience store had reached the point where it could offer this kind of quality at an affordable price. The thought of it was surprisingly moving.
After that, he started buying coffee at various Tenderness stores almost every day, but one time he happened to stop by one particular branch of the chain, and the coffee there, although broadly similar to the Tenderness coffee he had been drinking up until then, had some definite differences. A rich, clear flavor, as if he were drinking something a step up in quality. He was surprised enough to ask the clerk: “Did Tenderness get different beans?”
In reply, the clerk beamed—now that he thought about it, it was Nakao back then, too—and asked, “Is this your first time visiting this branch, sir? You must have noticed the flavor. But the beans are the same. They’re the premium coffee beans in exclusive use at all the branches.”
“But then, what about the taste?” Yoshirō had pursued the issue. Nakao’s eyes crinkled happily. Then she whispered, as if she were letting him in on a great secret. “Actually, at our store we pick over the beans. We’re the only ones that do it.”
“Huh.” He made a noise of surprise. Picking was the process of sorting the beans by hand, removing the ones that were broken, insect-damaged, or irregular in size. This eliminated odd flavors and odors, significantly improving the taste of the coffee. However, considering the daily volume of coffee sales at the convenience store, it seemed like a ridiculous amount of effort.
“Really, you do that?” he asked.
“It’s delicious, isn’t it?” Nakao responded. “We do it every night. We also use a sieve and sort them by size. It makes a surprising difference in the taste, doesn’t it?” She added, “But I don’t do it myself. It’s our store manager.”
Could there really be a store manager who cared enough to take on such an exhausting task? Yoshirō was moved in a way that reminded him of the day when he had tasted Sachika Coffee’s original blend for the first time. Imagine, there were actually people out there who loved coffee the way he did! But when Nakao actually pointed out the manager, Yoshirō couldn’t believe his eyes. There was this man, giving off a sort of pink aura, surrounded by elderly women. The women were all at least seventy years old, or maybe even older than that, and were besieging the man with expressions no different from what Yoshirō would see on the faces of the girls he taught at the juku.
“Oh, Yoshiko, did you switch to a new lipstick? It looks lovely!” The man spoke with a captivating smile, strangely reminiscent of a blooming rose.
“Yesss!” A woman—Yoshiko, presumably—let out a half-whisper that was closer to a silent shriek. Then all the ladies around her began to clamor in loud, giddy voices completely incompatible with their years. Yoshirō simply couldn’t believe the scene before him. Was this some sort of ladies’ night out on the town? Yoshirō rubbed his eyes and looked twice, but it was definitely a Tenderness shop, and the man was wearing the same Tenderness uniform as Nakao.
“Um, are they shooting a movie or something?”
“Nope, just a normal day for this store.”
Nakao spoke calmly. Yoshirō was confused. This scene, the mobbing of a teen idol on tour, normal? And what’s more, the man in the center of it all was the manager of a convenience store?
“It’s kind of hard to explain, so maybe let’s rewind the conversation back to coffee.”