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You banged your head against the window when the bus lurched to a sharp stop.
"Ow, fuck—?!"
You sat upright immediately and rubbed your temple. Hopefully, you wouldn't get a bruise or anything. You'd been resting your head against the cool glass and had nearly drifted off when this sudden jolt woke you.
Thankfully, it didn't hurt too much.
Blinking away the remnants of your very much needed sleep, you glanced at the view outside.
Three stops left.
An elderly woman climbed aboard at the next station, looking around for an empty seat. Not thinking it much, you pushed yourself up and gestured toward yours.
"Here."
The old woman smiled at you. "Thank you, sweetie."
You gave her a small nod before moving toward the back of the bus. Once you found a spot to stand, you slipped your headphones back on and scrolled through your playlist.
The rest of the ride passed in a blur.
When your stop finally arrived, you practically hopped off the bus.
Fresh air.
Well...relatively fresh.
The afternoon heat hit you immediately. Summer was creeping closer every day, and the humidity was already making your shirt stick uncomfortably to your back. Still, it was infinitely better than being trapped inside the stuffy bus.
...Why did they have to build the college on top of a damn mountain, anyway?
Seriously, you hated how drivers always seemed determined to cram every last passenger inside, too. By the end of most rides, everyone was packed together like sardines in a can, smelly and hot.
...You really should get your driver's licence.
Not that you had much to spare for lessons.
Adjusting your backpack, you headed toward the overpass and started the walk home.
God, you were exhausted.
Your professor had decided that today was the perfect day for a three-hour block lecture. Three hours, nonstop. Despite his students' very vocal complaints. And since you usually sat near the front, you couldn't even sneak a glance at your phone without risking getting called out.
At least it was finally the weekend.
Two whole days to rest, study for Monday's quiz, and start working on the paper your group had been assigned.
You hated the social sciences so much!
Actually, no. The paper wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that your friend had invited her boyfriend into the group without asking anyone first.
And the guy was useless!
You could already see how this was going to play out. The two of them would spend most of the project acting like they were the only people in the room, being all lovey-dovey, while you and the other two members of the group did the actual work. Then, as if that was not enough, you'd have to proofread whatever half-finished nonsense they submitted at the last minute if you wanted a decent grade, because you were a damn pushover.
Needless to say, your mood wasn't great.
You really should practice telling your thoughts more. Putting boundaries and all that nonsense. Or else this will just follow you into the workplace as well.
On the way home, you stopped at the small grocery store near your apartment, next to the pharmacy. And the moment you stepped inside, the blast of air conditioning felt heavenly.
You wandered through the aisles, looking for something easy to eat. Cooking sounded like far too much effort right now, and you definitely didn't trust your roommate to have made food for both of you, either.
"She'd better have washed her dishes this time," you muttered, or else you would put them all in her desk until her room stank up.
Eventually, your eyes landed on a cup of Yopokki.
You picked it up and turned it over.
Rice cakes.
You'd never actually tried them before, at least, not this kind, but how different could they be from instant noodles? Just thicker, right?
After a brief internal debate, you grabbed a can of soda as well. "Fuck it. It's not that expensive, anyway." And a nice meal wasn't finished without something tasty and cold to drink.
The cashier barely looked up when you approached the register.
"It'll be 1,205 berries. Cash or credit?"
"Cash." You handed over four 500-berry bills.
Honestly, you couldn't hold his grumpy attitude against him. For all you knew, he'd been dealing with rude customers for hours and just wanted to go home.
Besides, you'd be in his shoes yourself in a couple of hours.
The cashier counted the money, handed back your change, and immediately turned to the next customer.
You thanked him anyway before leaving the store.
A few minutes later, you reached your apartment building. It wasn't much to look at. It was old, so were most of the residents, and half the plumbing sounded like it was one bad day away from giving up entirely.
At least, your landlord was a decent enough guy.
He was polite, never talked down to his tenants, and if rent was a few days late, he'd usually let it slide as long as you warned him beforehand. He didn't even mind that you had brought your cat in without telling him, too.
Honestly, it was a massive upgrade compared to last year.
That old fart during your second year had practically spent the entire semester trying to kick you and Adele out under the excuse of "wanting to sell the apartment."
As if.
He just wanted to rent it to another person who would pay more, that was all.
You and your roommate had managed to drag the whole thing out until summer break arrived, but it had been exhausting with all the phone calls, threatening texts, and emails about starting legal action that he never did, by the way, whining about how much he needed money for his kids.
The bastard hadn't cared that throwing two university students out in the middle of the winter could leave them scrambling for housing, so why should you have cared about his renovation plans? Or his precious plans?
Besides, you'd checked.
The place was still on the market.
Months later, at that.
Apparently, according to one of your old neighbors, he was already looking into renting it out again, just like you had thought, since nobody wanted to buy the dump.
What a shock.
Honestly, what exactly had he even expected? That someone would pay several million berries for an apartment that could barely stay warm during cold nights?
"That bastard," you muttered under your breath. You hoped his next tenants would turn the entire building upside down. Maybe then he'd finally regret being a shitty landlord.
The elevator sat all the way on the fifth floor when you entered the lobby.
You stared at the ancient thing for a second, then shook your head.
The stairs would be faster.
Probably safer, too.
You climbed up to your floor and fished your keys out of your bag. A moment later, you pushed the apartment door open and kicked it shut behind you with your hip.
You slipped off your shoes, lined them up near the entrance, and called out.
"Hey! Adele! You here?"
No response came. She was probably still at the university. Looked like for once, you'd get a little peace before having to leave for your next shift. Nice, wasn't it?
Dropping your backpack beside the couch, you headed into the kitchen and filled the kettle. A few moments later, water was heating on the stove while you examined the Yopokki packaging.
Then you frowned.
Microwave.
The instructions wanted a microwave, and you did not have one. Just the old oven you and your roommate shared.
"Shit."
You considered it for about three seconds. Then immediately discarded the idea. The last thing you needed was accidentally setting the apartment on fire because you wanted rice cakes, after all.
A pot would work. Probably. Hopefully. You emptied the contents into a saucepan and prepared everything according to the instructions as best as you could.
Before adding the sauce, you dipped a finger into it and tasted. It was indeed pretty good!
Three minutes later, your meal was ready.
You carried the bowl to your room, opened your laptop, and pulled up the next episode of that historical Alabasta drama you'd started binge-watching a month ago.
Then you picked up your fork and took your first bite.
...
.....
.......
Okay, this was...not as good as you had hoped, to say the least. The taste was fine and all, but the texture was...definitely not up your alley, let's just say. It definitely tasted nothing like the ones you had eaten in that Korean restaurant you had gone to last year with a few of your classmates.
You still ate the whole thing, though. You'd paid for it, after all, and it was far too expensive to just throw it out. Then, to get rid of that awful aftertaste, you chugged the whole soda.
Part of you was glad the rice cakes had tasted so disappointing. At least now you wouldn't be tempted to waste money on them again.
The other part of you, however, mourned the fact that you'd spent over a thousand berries on something that had the texture of spicy wet paper.
...Life was cruel.
You washed your plate and ignored your roommate's cups that she had made a mountain at the side of the sink, because there was no way you would be her mommy, and returned to your room.
You threw your bag to the side so you wouldn't forget about it later and collapsed onto the bed. A heavy huff left you as you reached for your phone and set an alarm.
You briefly considered taking a shower before heading out, but the thought died almost immediately. You’d just sweat through your shift anyway. So what was the point? It’s not like anyone you knew ever came to that store, anyway.
You shut your eyes.
Sleep came fast.
And the alarm went off exactly one hour and fifteen minutes later.
You groaned, still too damn tired to work, but still forced yourself upright. Your body felt like it had been unplugged and plugged back in wrong. Still, you dragged yourself out of bed and changed into something more comfortable.
Thankfully, your boss didn’t insist on those cheap, itchy uniforms that nobody ever cared about except corporate.
You were still hungry, too, by the way.
But you only had about twenty minutes to reach Kajika and swap shifts with Mrs. Lucie. Once she left, though, hopefully you could sneak a few snacks from the counter. Maybe a chocolate bar, or maybe something salty. Anything, really.
You grabbed your jacket and phone, and don't forget your charger, then headed out after locking the door, and checking it three times to make sure you had actually done it, because, why the hell not?
The sun was going down by now, and the weather was a bit more tolerable than before. This little town of yours was pretty silent, and most people had already brought themselves into their homes to get dinner, then go and sleep after watching a bit of TV.
It was a bit of a boring place; there was nothing a college student could do to entertain themselves, but at least this also meant nothing bad happened. Rarely. Maybe a fight or two. Or a thief breaking in. Nothing more.
You wished they would at least have a book fest or two a year, though, or maybe bring better movies to the cinema? They only showed stuff from the 80s or cheaply made kids' movies for some reason.
It took longer than you wanted to reach the convenience store. When you finally pushed the door open, the familiar, and admittedly quite annoying, bell chimed over your head.
And immediately—
“Oh, look who decided to finally show up!” Mrs. Lucie stood behind the counter, arms crossed, looking pissed. Were you really that late? “I thought I’d have to close the night shift myself at this rate!”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Lucie!” you said quickly, trying to stop her nagging before it actually started. “I’ll clean the store to make it up to you, yeah? It won’t happen again, promise. You know I’m usually not the type to cause trouble.”
“You better,” she said sharply, already walking toward the back to grab a broom. “I had other arrangements tonight, you know? I can’t wait all night just for you!”
“Yes, yes, you’re right,” you agreed. “It was really inconsiderate of me. I guess I’m a bit under the weather these days, haha.”
She gave you a long look like she didn’t believe a single word of that, but didn’t press further.
“I’ll be going now, then,” she said, placing the keys on the counter and showing the broom into your hands. “You know the drill. Don’t forget to cash out before leaving.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She paused at the door. “...Have a nice night.”
“You too,” you replied and smiled.
The door chimed again as she left.
Alone now, you sighed and then started to sweep the narrow aisles one by one. Thankfully, the store was already pretty clean. Mrs. Lucie ran it like a military base disguised as a convenience shop. There wasn’t much dust, and nothing really out of place except—
Of course.
Someone had abandoned a few items on different shelves. A soda bottle here. A bag of chips there. A sad little Snickers was left sitting beside the dish soap.
You clicked your tongue, slightly annoyed, even though you were guilty of the same crime from time to time.
Was it really that hard to put things back where they belonged?
Apparently yes.
And then there was the bathroom.
You opened the door, immediately regretting it.
“Ew.”
A piece of gum had been stuck directly onto the wall, and there were some stains on the ground. Piss most likely.
...How do you even miss the toilet, man? Some people were so damn disgusting, really!
And, of course, you had to go and clean that, too. Thankfully, this convenience store sold gloves as well. You hoped your boss wouldn’t be too snippy at you for taking a pair because there was no way you would touch that with your bare hands.
Some teenagers came in not long after that, talking and laughing loudly. They made a beeline for the snacks. You watched them through the counter as they argued over flavors of chips and which soda had “the most aura,” whatever that meant. You know, the usual.
The girl, however, was a little too interested in the energy drinks. You saw it immediately. The subtle glance. The slow slip of a can into her hoodie pocket. Not subtle enough, however, especially since back in your middle-school days, you yourself had done your fair share of shoplifting, after all.
You cleared your throat.
She froze.
You pointed lazily at her pocket. “Really? You aren't supposed to have that, you know?”
She glared at you for a moment, then she pulled the energy drink back out from her jacket with an annoyed huff.
“Come on, I drink it all the time,” she said, like that was supposed to be a legal defense. "I've got the money, too. Just sell it to me."
You shrugged. “Sorry. I’m not getting in trouble for you." That woman checked the cameras sometimes. "Either get an adult to buy it for you or give it back.”
Thankfully, without putting up much of a fight, she slammed the drink on the counter, then left after showing you the middle finger. She and her friends left laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world, too, those little shits.
Whatever.
Then, later in the evening, a man with a balding spot came in. He didn’t say hello. He didn’t even look at you. He just grabbed a bottle of water and a pack of mint gum like he had to go on a date in the next few minutes, then slammed the money down on the counter.
Asshole.
You gave him his change anyway.
As he walked out, you caught just enough time to see him nearly trip over the step outside. He caught himself at the last second, but barely, and almost ate the pavement. From the looks of it, he was embarrassed, too.
You considered that karma.
It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Once he was gone, the store slipped back into silence. You pulled out your phone and leaned against the counter, opening a movie you’d already seen twice but were far too lazy to find something new to watch.
The convenience store was basically in the middle of nowhere anyway. Most of the traffic came from cars heading toward the nearby gas station. Nobody really “hung out” here unless they had no other choice.
Which meant loooooooong stretches like this.
A couple came in later. They looked exhausted and clearly overwhelmed. They had a crying baby and a teenager who looked permanently one scream away from snapping himself by their side, too.
The woman approached the counter. “Excuse me… could you tell us how to get to the highway exit?”
You tried to help them, you really did.
You pulled up a map, turned the phone, explained the turns, zoomed in, zoomed out, and pointed at roads you weren’t even sure you were pronouncing correctly.
The teenager sighed the entire time. The baby kept fussing between her arms, and the man looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in the universe other than the damn road.
When they finally left, you weren’t even sure you’d helped. You just hoped you hadn't made things worse for them, honestly.
That was the last customer until around midnight. You, of course, were bored out of your mind, but at least you didn’t have to deal with anyone, you guessed. It could always be worse, after all.
You tried your best not to look at the clock during all of this because you were pretty sure that whenever you did, God took that as a personal challenge and did his best to slow the time without causing a rip in reality.
Then, around one o'clock, when the night had fully settled in, and even the gas station outside looked half-closed, the store TV kept playing its low, looping commercials, the kind with overly cheerful jingles with weird products they only showed this late.
You were half-listening, chin resting on your palm, when the bell above the door finally rang once again.
A customer.
You straightened a little.
The man who walked in looked rough, for lack of a better word. Rumpled clothes, wobbly legs, and that unmistakable sour, stale smell clinging to him like he’d been wearing the same clothes for the whole week.
He was probably drunk. Or well on his way there. If you had to guess, he’d already been kicked out of somewhere and decided this place was his next stop.
Just damn great, wasn't it?
“Good evening, sir,” you said.
He didn't respond, just glared at you, and wandered off into the aisles like the greeting had been background noise.
You heard things moving a moment later; chips rustling, maybe a box of chocolate bars tipping over. Then a crash.
“Just what I needed,” you huffed under your breath, and leaned back slightly. “Even more cleaning. Fantastic.”
After a few tense minutes, he came back to the counter with two six-packs and a handful of chips and slammed them down hard enough to make you flinch.
For a split second, you thought he was about to throw them at you.
You kept your expression neutral anyway, even when your heart started to beat a notch faster. No point escalating things unless you absolutely have to, right?
You started scanning the items.
Of course, you did not try to make any small talk with him, either.
“Your total is 66,750 berries, sir,” you said, then. “Cash or card?”
“What the fuck?!” the man barked instantly. “Why the hell is it that much?”
“You got two packs of Déesse,” you explained, trying to keep your voice steady. “They’re 30,000 each. That’s standard pricing.”
“Hell no!” he snapped again. “The tag said 7,500!”
You had to hold back a groan.
No alcohol was that cheap!
“Sir,” you tried again, “I can assure you that’s the correct price—”
He slammed his hand onto the counter. “No, it’s not!” he roared, leaning forward. “You’re trying to swindle me, aren’t you, you little cunt?!”
A drop of spit hit your cheek.
Your stomach tightened immediately.
This was exactly the point where things started getting bad. Not loud-bad. Not annoying-bad. Physical-bad. The kind of situation where you started mentally calculating whether running or apologizing would get you out faster before you definitely had to call the police.
You opened your mouth, ready to swallow your pride and say whatever it takes to de-escalate the situation, maybe even accept the loss just to make him leave, then—
The bell above the door rang again.
You didn’t even look at the entrance at first. Not until the drunk man in front of you looked away from you to glance back, at least.
That's when you saw him. Tall, broad shoulders, slick black hair, and a sharp, tailored suit. He probably had a decade or two over you. His watch alone must have been more expensive than this rundown convenience store, really. He also had a scar cutting across his face. It didn't ruin his looks, however, if anything, it made him look even hotter.
He didn’t speak immediately, just stepped inside. And for some reason you couldn’t explain, the drunk man suddenly didn’t look quite as confident as he had a second ago.
He glanced between the two of you, then, looking almost bored, and finally started walking toward the counter like nothing he had all the time in the world.
“Good evening,” he said once he was close to you.
“Y-yeah, good evening, sir..!” you sputtered, straightening so fast you almost knocked over the scanner. A smile appeared on your face before you could stop it. God, you were being embarrassing! Stop it! “How may I help you?”
God, his voice was so gruff and deep, too. He was definitely a smoker, wasn't he?
Why did you have to meet such a handsome man when you were wearing a days-old uniform, looking like shit?
“A pack of Winston Slender Blue, please,” he said, and rested his left hand on the counter.
You nodded, “Of course, sir. Please wait a moment."
Before you could even turn around, however—
“Hey—?!”The drunkard shoved past him. At least, he tried to, because the suited man barely moved from his place.
But the energy in the room snapped instantly.
“Wait your turn, asshole!” the drunk guy slurred, pointing aggressively. “This skank is taking care of me first! You blind or somethin’?!”
Your face went hot.
“Hey!” you yelled back for the first time since this shit had happened. “Watch it!"
The man in the suit didn’t even look bothered. If anything, he looked mildly amused.
“Skank?” he repeated. Then he let out a scoff. "It looked like to me you couldn't pay for your stuff and were bitching about it, though. Can't even pay for some cheap booze?" He mocked the other. And, dear Lord, even that faint, condescending little smirk tugging at his mouth made your legs feel like jelly. "Go search for some change if you're that desperate for a drink."
“O-okay, it’s fine, really—” you tried quickly, stepping between them slightly, hands raised. “Let’s just calm down, alright?”
But the drunk man wasn’t listening anymore. He muttered something under his breath, something nasty for sure, and raised his fist. “You piece of—”
Before he could even swing, however, let alone land a punch, the handsome man caught the drunkard by the throat, and in one smooth motion, without even hesitating for a single moment, slammed his head down onto the counter.
You heard something creak, then there was blood, oh, so much, at that, making you take a step back again.
...Why the hell had you found this so hot, though? Were you really into brutes or something? Because why did that make you—
Nope, you were not going to think about that. Not right now.
Then, the man let go of the bastard, and he slid down to the floor with a painful groan, clutching his nose, almost whimpering.
The other glanced at him for a moment, like he was nothing more than a piece of trash he had just noticed on the ground, and straightened his cuffs.
“I apologize, Miss,” he said to you, then. “We made quite the ruckus.”
Your heart was still doing something very stupid in your chest. “O-oh, it’s fine, really…!” you said quickly and cleared your throat. “I was actually scared he might do something to me.”
You glanced down at the man on the floor.
It didn't look like he would get up any time soon.
“...You actually came just in time, sir.”
The black-haired man stared at you for a moment, then hummed, "Is that so? I'm glad to hear that, then."
His eyes were so dark and captivating, weren’t they?
You quickly looked away, suddenly very interested in the cigarette rack behind the counter, and reached for the pack he had requested.
“You wanted Winston Slim Blue, right?”
“Slender,” he corrected you.
“R-right, of course."
You turned back to the register and scanned the pack. Your hands felt… slightly less steady than usual. “Your total is 9,550 berries, sir.”
He gave you his card, “Here.”
You processed the payment quickly, printed the receipt, and returned the card. “Done. Here is your receipt. Have a good night, sir.”
You waited for the man to turn away and leave, but his gaze shifted towards the man still groaning on the floor again. "...What will you do with this one, if you don't mind me asking?"
“Oh! I was just going to call the police,” you said. Then hesitated. “That wouldn’t trouble you, right..? You did kinda—” you grimaced slightly, “—but you were helping, so you shouldn’t get in trouble, right?”
The man hummed again, then pulled out his phone. You watched as he called someone, "Daz? Yes, I got my smoke. Come inside for a moment, though. There's some trash I need you to get rid of."
That made me look up.
Trash?
Damn...
Wait, what the hell did he even mean by that?
A few minutes later, a car pulled up right outside the store. It hadn't been there before, had it? It must’ve been parked across the road where you couldn’t see it properly from the counter. The engine was quiet, and the vehicle itself looked very old, but classic. It was quite polished, too. Like something that came out of an old spy movie.
A man with a short buzzcut came out from it, then.
Was this the Daz guy?
He nodded once toward you, then looked at the suited man. “Boss?”
He nudged the drunkard with his shoe. "This one."
"Got it."
Daz grabbed the drunk man by the collar like it weighed nothing and dragged him toward the door.
You stood still behind the counter for a moment and watched.
Then he opened the trunk.
Why the hell did he open the trunk?
Before you could see anything else, however, the handsome man stepped right into your line of sight and obscured your view.
“Again,” he said. “I apologize for this little mess I caused.” Then he pulled out a 10,000-berry bill and held it out. You almost felt your eyes pop out of their sockets. “Please accept this. I assume you’re working the night shift? It would be wiser to take a taxi home… in case that fool returns.”
I don't think I'll see him ever again, you thought, in fact, I don't think that poor guy will go on to see another day after this, either.
Was this man from a gang, or something? You didn't know, but the one thing you were sure of was that he was dangerous.
“No, no, thank you, but I can’t accept this,” you said, and pushed the bill back slightly. “This is too much, sir. Stuff like this happens all the time anyway!”
“Then throw it away,” he said, then, as if it was as simple as that.
While you were internally debating what the hell to do, he was already turning his attention away from the counter to light a cigarette from the new pack. "Have a good night, Miss."
God damn it. You took the money and put it away. You would rather take it yourself than let your boss pocket it, even if it made you kinda feel like...
Whatever.
“…S-see you later, Mister!” you called after him, almost against your better judgment.
He paused at the door and chuckled.
“For your own good,” he said, exhaling smoke lightly, “I hope not.”
Then he walked out.