Almost as soon as Yoshiki’s mother asked him to go food shopping, his younger sister Kaoru texted him asking him to “get super-spicy wasabi mustard.”
So, after tossing a bottle of mayonnaise that his mother had forgotten to buy into a basket emblazoned with Nozomi Supermarket’s logo, Yoshiki headed to the condiments section to look for said wasabi mustard.
It was just a really spicy brand, but Kaoru liked it. Despite being a middle schooler, her palate was that of an old man’s. Yoshiki thought the stuff was way too spicy to be any good.
He remembered a time a while ago when he had come to Nozomi with Hikaru and bought some super-spicy wasabi mustard. Back then, as Hikaru hummed along to the cheery supermarket jingle, Hikaru commented how “Kaoru sure does eat a lotta nasty tastin’ stuff like that.”
Earlier that day, they had parted ways right after school because Yoshiki had errands to run, but Yoshiki wondered if Hikaru would have said the same thing he said back then if he were with Yoshiki now.
The sensation of “raw chicken covered in marinade” still lingered on Yoshiki’s left hand, and he tried ridding himself of it by clenching and unclenching his fist.
He put the super-spicy wasabi mustard in his basket, and while he was at it, he grabbed the seven-spice simmered enoki mushrooms that Kaoru liked. Then he set down his basket at an open register.
A middle-aged female clerk wearing glasses slowly looked up at Yoshiki and said, “Hmm?”
As soon as Yoshiki saw her face, he thought, Oh no.
“Well, if it ain’t the Tsujinakas’ boy!”
She seemed to take a deep breath, but then she let out a ridiculously loud and penetrating laugh.
This was the wife of Nishidaya’s shopkeeper. She often gave Yoshiki free vegetables. She had a round mole next to her similarly round, dumpling-like nose.
“Oh. Hi…,” Yoshiki managed.
But of course, she wasn’t going to let things end there. As she scanned each item at the register, the shopkeeper’s wife flapped her gums nonstop like a fan that was stuck spinning.
“Is yer little sister doin’ all right? Well, I heard she ain’t been goin’ to school none too often, but…the Yamazakis are worried ’bout her, too. People’re sayin’ somethin’ about her not bein’ able to wake up in the mornin’ an’ such, but y’know, everyone has trouble getting’ goin’ in the mornin’, right? Kaoru’s in her first year of middle school, ain’t she? Ya can’t be soft on her. No, sirree. Ah, well, yer mother is from Tokyo, after all. I guess she got that city schoolin’, too, huh…? Speakin’ of, yer mother and father were fightin’ before, weren’t they? Everyone’s worried since they were arguin’ so late into the night, y’know? Must be a lot for ya, huh, Yoshiki? I’m here for ya if ya don’t know what to do, y’hear? Oh, that reminds me—ya workin’ hard in photo club? My son was in track and field back in the day and got second place at one of his meets. Okay, then. That’ll be seven hundred yen.”
She tapped away at the register and then pointed to the total on display.
“Ah, right,” Yoshiki muttered so faintly it was laughable and handed over a thousand-yen bill.
“Here’s yer change!”
The hand that placed the three hundred yen into Yoshiki’s palm was firm. Her grip was so annoyingly strong that he almost wanted to fling the change away.
“Oh, and Yoshiki, ya oughtta cut yer bangs.”
Yoshiki left Nozomi feeling completely drained. The crows cawed restlessly—perhaps because the sun was setting.
“I hate this,” he mumbled to himself while unlocking his bike in the empty parking lot. Just as he reached for the handlebars, someone suddenly grabbed his hand.
“Don’t. Don’t do it.”
It was a middle-aged woman holding a plastic grocery bag from Nozomi. She was glaring at Yoshiki with an intensely serious expression.
She had a plain look—a T-shirt and sweatpants, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail. It made her seem like someone you might see at Nozomi or the neighboring drugstore on any given day, but the one thing different about her was her eyes. Her gaze was tense—as if she was standing in front of an extremely sinister individual.
“Huh?” Yoshiki blurted out.
He tried to back away, but the woman’s grip tightened, preventing him from escaping.
“Young man, ya need to stop right this instant.”
“Uh, umm…”
She must think I’m stealin’ this bike. Yoshiki attempted to explain the situation, but the woman shook her head.
“Oh, I’m not talkin’ about yer bike,” she said. “I know you must be wonderin’ what this random housewife is goin’ on about, but you’re close to somethin’ incredibly dangerous… Don’t tell me ya can’t sense that.”
Her gaze, fixed on Yoshiki, was so piercing that he almost nodded involuntarily.
Ah, that’s right. I’m definitely close to “somethin’ incredibly dangerous.” And I even touched its insides today.
He knew that, if Hikaru had wanted to, he could’ve swallowed Yoshiki whole back then.
“Ya gotta get away right this instant,” the woman insisted. “If ya keep this up, you’ll mix…”
As dusk approached in the bicycle parking lot, the random housewife clearly warned Yoshiki that he would “mix.” The ghastly look on her face as she said it caused Yoshiki’s left hand—the hand that wasn’t in her grasp—to tremble.
And from his fingertips, he could feel the sensation of being inside Hikaru creeping up again.