Nomiya dashed to the fridge in the stockroom to retrieve a bento, while Mitsuri called out to Urata, “Please wait over here.” Without waiting for his reply, she walked over to the dine-in area, which was separated from the store by a doorway.
It wasn’t particularly roomy behind the register. Nomiya returned holding a bento and a bottle of tea, wedged his expansive physique into the narrow space to heat the food in the microwave, recorded the entry on a check sheet, and then headed to the dining area, where Urata was waiting.
“Well, it should be getting pretty busy soon,” Mitsuri murmured softly, checking the clock. Urata always led the charge, then around the time he was about to finish, the rest of the seniors would trickle in one by one.
The Tenderness offered a service called “Yellow Flag Lunch.” For a flat fee, participants received a bento lunch special each day. The service was particularly popular with older customers. The store changed the ingredients daily, of course, to keep it interesting, but the primary selling point for the seniors was that they got to tell everyone how they were feeling that day.
The apartments on floors three through eight of the Golden Villa Apartments building were reserved for senior citizens. Originally the lunch service focused on these building residents. It spared them the trouble of preparing lunch and gave them a place to socialize when they took their meals in the private lounge next to Tenderness, now open to the public as a dine-in area. Also, it served as an early-warning system if the unexpected should befall any of the residents. That was the original idea, but slowly and steadily, the number of participants had increased to include area residents from outside the apartments. Urata was one of these.
“I’m back.” Nomiya returned with an unhappy look on his face. It wasn’t hard to imagine that Urata must have had something to do with it. Before Mitsuri could ask, he muttered, “Am I annoying? He yelled at me. He said having a useless muscle-bound fool standing next to him made the food taste bad. He told me to get lost.”
Nomiya had a delicate, sensitive nature that existed in inverse proportion to his massive frame. The slightest unkind word from a customer would wound him and cause him to brood. Mitsuri tried to help, telling him to lighten up and take it easy, but it seemed he was unable to take her advice.
“Mr. Urata is rough on everyone. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“Yeah, but it’s hard when people speak to a person that way! Does he have to act superior to everyone just because he’s older?” Nomiya balled up his fists, biceps swelling as they tensed. “I don’t like talking like this, but that old—”
“Okay, okay. Enough.”
Nomiya paused. Fortunately the store was empty, but they couldn’t get in the habit of voicing their grievances so lightly. Nomiya made an unhappy face, but kept his mouth shut. “Sorry,” he said and bowed his head, “I went too far.”
“I understand how you feel, but try to keep your cool, okay?” She gave him a sweet smile, and Nomiya returned the smile, stiffly. One of the nice things about Nomiya was his straightforward, unaffected manner.
The door melody rang out, and a flashy young man entered the shop. He was an employee of a hair salon about a five-minute walk away. He grabbed a ham, cheese, and lettuce sandwich and a couple of energy drinks and placed them on the counter in front of Nomiya. Even from a distance, they could see his hands were painfully red and cracked. He had only joined the salon as an apprentice four months ago, so he must be spending all his days shampooing, Mitsuri thought.
“Oh, may I also have a box of fried chicken, please?”
“Got it, one fried chicken box.”
Nomiya briskly punched it up on the cash register. As he took a fried chicken box from the fryer shelf next to him, Mitsuri thought to herself, I’d really like to toss in an extra piece for him!
Maybe it was because she was getting older, but lately when she saw hard-working young people, she always wanted to give them a leg up. Particularly this young man, with his pretty face and gaudy dyed hair, so common among the new crop of hairdressers, but which suited him well. He looked a little like a character in a manga comic book that she was currently obsessed with. Actually, she thought, she’d like to give him two extra pieces of chicken.
She was watching his slim figure from behind as he paid his bill and turned to leave the store, when the young man suddenly stopped in his tracks.
“Oh! Mr. Shiba!” A figure entered through the dine-in area, and recognizing him, the young hairdresser called out to him gaily. The man, dressed in street clothes instead of his uniform, was none other than Mitsuhiko Shiba, the store manager.
The manager was tall, with the slender proportions of a model. And his style, well, even though he was just wearing a commonplace white shirt, chinos, and sandals, he somehow managed to make it look fashionable.
“Hey there, Ayumu. Taking your break?”
“Yes, exactly!”
The young man—Ayumu, apparently—ran over, radiating happiness. Watching Shiba smiling gently at him, Mitsuri murmured quietly to herself: “Hmm. An unexpected turn of events.”
“Mr. Shiba, please come to the salon soon! They tell me my shampoo technique has gotten really good, but you never come to see me.”
“Ah, I’m so sorry! It’s been difficult to get away. But I can tell from looking at your hands, Ayumu, that you’ve been giving it your all.”
Shiba took Ayumu’s hand in his own. As he gently traced the fissures with his fingertips, Ayumu’s cheeks blushed a deep red.
“You’ve already got the hands of a hairdresser,” said Shiba. “I’ll come visit soon.”
“Oh, good. I’m looking forward to it so much! I’ll be waiting.”
Ayumu gazed at Shiba adoringly. Shiba accepted the loving gaze as if it were the most natural thing in the world and replied, “I hope work goes well this afternoon,” his white teeth gleaming as he smiled. Nodding repeatedly in response, Ayumu left the store, holding the hand that Shiba had touched elevated in front of him as if it were a great treasure.
Mitsuri, who had been carefully watching the entire sequence of events, was at a loss for words and let out a deep sigh. The Phero-Manager had stolen this young man’s heart and didn’t even know it.
“Phero-Manager” was Mitsuri’s private nickname for Shiba. He had a sort of mysterious magnetism that made him intensely attractive, so much so that she imagined invisible pheromones—love hormones—pouring out of him like water from a fountain. She didn’t know for sure if it was flowing in his blood or baked into his soul, but one thing was certain: he was completely different from ordinary people. Mitsuri sometimes imagined there was a special pump inside of him, spraying out doses of pheromones on a regular basis.