Shiba saw the two of them off, beaming from ear to ear, and Mitsuri could see that although the man might seem outwardly suspect, he had a true love for the convenience store, and that made her happy. No matter what anyone around him might say, the man had found his life’s work.
“The manager is off duty today, right? It’s Christmas, so he’s got to be seeing his special someone,” Muraoka said, setting the box down next to the roses while Mitsuri pulled her uniform jacket out of the locker.
“I wonder if such a person exists,” Mitsuri said. She tilted her head. “I’ve been working here for quite a few years now, and I haven’t heard anything like that. Although I see him together with people in suspicious circumstances all the time.”
Over the years, Mitsuri had encountered Shiba out one-on-one with all sorts of people in various places around town. No matter the companion, the air was always thick with significance. Each time, Mitsuri would be certain she’d finally caught him at the crucial moment, but then when he’d see her, he wouldn’t seem flustered at all—he’d just flash an innocent smile and say, “Nice to see you! Keep up the good work.” He never showed the slightest sign of nerves or a guilty conscience, so Mitsuri would feel as if she were the one with the overactive imagination and could never bring herself to ask about the relationship between him and whomever. She always swore she’d ask the next time, but she’d never caught him with the same person twice.
“Are they all one-night stands?”
“No, I couldn’t say that. I really don’t know.”
Shiba was single, after all, and had the right to love anyone he pleased. In fact, Mitsuri hoped he did. It just meant more material for her.
“But I don’t think he has a special someone. If he did, we’d have heard about it by now from the Golden Villa Ladies’ Association.”
Shiba’s fan club, which managed the dine-in space, was a group of lively and battle-tested older women. Shōhei had told her that there were “unofficial” members of the club in addition to the building residents and that their network extended throughout Mojikō. Even if she took his story with a grain of salt, she couldn’t overlook the possibility that Shiba’s actual favorite was among these.
“Normal people might have fan clubs in manga, but it’s not something you see particularly often in real life. Also, I don’t know much about his private life outside the store, so I’m curious, you know.”
“Oh? Muraoka, are you falling under the manager’s spell?”
“I’m just interested in the ecology of rare species,” Muraoka said nonchalantly. “How about you?”
Mitsuri laughed. How could she not be? Although they had been working together all these years, Shiba was still an enigma wrapped in a riddle to her, and she couldn’t see where it all started or ended.
“I’ve made it my life’s work to know everything about the manager. But if I had the chance to learn everything about him all at once, that might be boring.”
The Phero-Manager’s Indecent Diary, which Mitsuri had started drawing, modeled after Shiba, was still receiving a lot of attention online. She had also started writing a spin-off called The Rough and Ready Life of Big Brother Furball, which was already becoming surprisingly popular. The possibility flitted through her mind that she was making the Shiba brothers her life’s work, rather than just the manager.
“Right. It’s time for us to get out there.”
She gave herself a last quick once-over in the mirror, and then, with Muraoka in tow, she left the staff room and entered the store. Instantly, Takagi, who was working the checkout counter, came running over, begging for help.
“Mitsuri! It’s an emergency!”
Takagi was a “freeter”—one of the growing number of young freelancers in Japan who had opted out of the career-track lifestyle. He was a gentle soul with a laid-back attitude, and because he had worn a pink aloha shirt to his interview, his colleagues called him “Ukulele.” He sounded agitated, which was rare for him.
“Are you okay?” asked Mitsuri. “What happened?”
“Someone’s here asking for the manager, but…”
“That happens a lot. Did you say he’s taking the day off?”
“See, that’s the thing…”
Ukulele’s cheeks turned pink. It was the first time Mitsuri had seen him act bashful this way, and she had no idea why. She gave him a curious look and said, “What is it?”
“Um…well, actually, it’s a really beautiful girl.”
Muraoka, who was standing right behind Mitsuri, said, “Coming from Ukulele, that’s a new one.”
Mitsuri sighed quietly. At this point she had seen people of all shapes and sizes come to the store with Shiba as their exclusive object, including drop-dead gorgeous women and matinee-idol men. It seemed the troublemaker this time was a woman.
“And? You told her the manager was away, didn’t you?”
“I…I told her. She said she’d wait until he came back, over there.” Ukulele pointed to the dine-in space.
Normally she’d just get the name of the girl and contact the manager for further instructions. Did he like her that much? Mitsuri said, “Ukulele, why don’t you and Muraoka cover the registers for now, and I’ll go check on her.” Leaving the two young men, she headed to the dine-in space.
The room was quiet. Typically, there would be a handful of customers, and Shōhei as well would usually be present, but right now there was just the one girl, sitting by herself in a seat at the very end of the counter. She was facing away, so Mitsuri couldn’t get a look at her face, but her lovely straight black hair caught Mitsuri’s eye.
“Ah, excuse me? I gather you’re waiting for the manager.” Mitsuri addressed her, and the girl slowly turned. When Mitsuri saw her face, she took a small involuntary breath.
Wow. The girl was gorgeous.
She was like a fine-featured, life-sized porcelain doll. Large eyes framed by lush eyelashes above a delicate, slightly upturned nose. Skin as pale as Snow White’s, with peach-colored cheeks and cherry-red lips. Mitsuri thought she seemed about the same age as her son, Kōsei.
Her bright white fluffy coat and tailored tweed dress heightened the porcelain doll effect. Her legs, too, were slender and white below the hem of her dress.
No wonder Ukulele had been so flustered.
“Could you call Mitsuhiko Shiba for me? As soon as possible, please.”