Chapter 6: Volume 1, - 6: My Name Is Ren
By mid-afternoon on Saturday, 11 February 2023. National Foundation Day, the Nishi-Kawaguchi shopping district had settled into a quiet holiday rhythm. Bank branches were closed, regular office traffic had thinned to almost nothing, and family groups moved leisurely along the covered arcade under a low winter sun while Akiyama Bakery remained open under lean staffing.
Ren had spent the morning reviewing his Muji notebook in his cold apartment, calculating his essential living costs for the coming week now that his oldest overdue water bill was cleared. Now, he approached the bakery after deliberately waiting for the busy morning rush to pass.
Walking still took effort, but each step felt less punishing than it had three days earlier. His shoulder and ribs still bore dull bruises from his fall, but proper meals and sleep had given him a steadier baseline.
He stepped up to the bakery counter. Suzune stood behind the glass display, wearing a clean white apron over a navy cardigan. Her hair was tied back, with a few stray strands framing her face. When she looked up and saw Ren, her eyes brightened with immediate recognition.
"Good afternoon," she said, her voice warm. "Curry pan today?"
"Coffee and a melon pan, please," Ren said, placing his exact change on the small tray.
"Coming right up." She transferred a fresh melon pan into a paper bag with wooden tongs, then drew a hot cup of drip coffee from the thermal urn. As she handed over the tray, she paused, resting her hands lightly on the counter ledge. "You know, you look less dead than you did last week."
Ren gave a small, faint smile. "Apparently eight hours of sleep counts as cosmetic surgery."
Suzune let out a sudden, melodic laugh, covering her mouth briefly with the back of her wrist. "Is that the secret? I might need to try it sometime. Even on a holiday, baking starts at four in the morning."
She leaned slightly closer, her curiosity clear. "You said you work at the QuickMart near the avenue, right? Are the odd hours because you work nights?"
Ren felt a brief, familiar instinct to obscure the truth. To drop vague hints about freelance administration or ambiguous remote work. But the weight of his notebook and the decision he had made during his creditor call held firm.
"I’m Ren Kisaragi," he said, speaking clearly and directly without ducking his gaze. "I work nights at QuickMart down the street. I’m trying to build something else."
He did not invent an office job. He did not puff his chest or offer a defensive excuse for the blue convenience-store uniform he still wore during night shifts.
Suzune listened attentively, her head tilted slightly. Ren saw no condescension in her expression, only the same attentive calm she had shown him before.
"It’s nice to meet you properly, Kisaragi-san. I’m Suzune Akiyama," she replied. "My parents own the bakery. I work the counter and help with new products."
From the back kitchen, her father lifted a heavy sheet pan of dough onto a rack. He gave Ren a curt nod, then returned to his work without interrupting.
"What are people buying at QuickMart after midnight?" Suzune asked, leaning her forearms comfortably against the counter margin.
"Coffee, instant noodles, and whatever lets them pretend tomorrow is still manageable," Ren answered quietly.
Suzune smiled. "That explains why I kept seeing you at such strange hours." She looked out toward the arcade. "The shopping street changes so completely after dark, doesn’t it? By seven or eight in the evening, all the old family shops around us roll down their shutters and go completely black. The whole avenue belongs to the convenience stores, the late night izakayas, and the chain places."
"It’s a strange crowd," Ren agreed, leaning against the side counter frame. "Once the midnight trains finish running, it’s mostly taxi drivers on break, hospital workers heading home from evening shifts, and exhausted office staff who missed the last bus. Everyone is quietly trying to get through the night without hassle."
"I suppose our schedules mirror each other in reverse," Suzune said thoughtfully. "By five in the morning, around the time I usually see you pass, our display cases are already half-full while you’re wrapping up your work on the avenue."
She tapped a thick, worn notebook resting beside the cash register. "I keep note of unusual requests here. People come in weeks later expecting the exact same filling, size, or seasonal packaging. If we don’t write it down, we forget."
"Which request surprised you the most?" Ren asked, genuinely curious.
"An elderly man who wanted chestnut bread made the exact way my mother prepared it years ago," Suzune said, her tone softening. "Holiday traffic makes it harder to track things like that. The morning rush disappears, but families ask for large custom packs or early seasonal items like sakura-mochi filling."
She looked at the worn notebook thoughtfully. "Dad’s ledger is supposed to be the main record, but requests still end up on the telephone pad, the whiteboard, and loose slips. Holiday changes make the whole thing harder to control. I want to modernise the bakery without removing its identity, but changing family routines is hard. If we automate too much, we lose the personal flexibility that brings local families back."
Ren listened without interrupting, appreciating how her eyes lit up when discussing the shop’s operational balance, and how carefully she balanced respect for her parent’s methods with her own ambitions for improvement. He simply nodded, understanding the delicate reality of running a small local trade.
They talked easily as the quiet afternoon stretched on. The clock above the bread racks moved forward seven minutes before a young mother with two children approached the display glass from the arcade path.
Ren picked up his paper bag and coffee tray immediately, having no intention of monopolising her time or obstructing her business during a holiday shift.
"Good luck with the holiday afternoon, Akiyama-san," Ren said smoothly, taking a small step back.
"Ah, thank you, Kisaragi-san! Have a good weekend," she called out, offering a warm, genuine smile as she turned to greet the new customers.
Ren walked to a quiet bench along the shopping-street arcade, sheltered from the wind. He sat down, setting his coffee beside him, and took a bite of the melon pan. The crust was crisp, sweet, and perfectly baked.
As he finished the pastry, his phone vibrated sharply in his coat pocket.
[Optional Social Task complete.]
[Honest self-identification verified.]
[Social Courage: 2 → 3.]
[Digital reward: ¥8,000.]
[New optional objective: ask one sincere follow-up question during the next conversation.]
[Refusal penalty: none.]
Ren opened the payment record on his phone. The ¥8,000 had arrived through the Legacy Reserve digital channel as personal estate-linked money, complete with a downloadable digital confirmation.
His cracked phone battery was currently sitting at fourteen percent, a persistent hazard during long night shifts at QuickMart when he needed to log his spending or check train schedules.
He opened the Bic Camera shopping app on his phone. The application immediately generated a targeted product recommendation at the top of the interface: an Anker PowerCore 10000 in matte black, compact enough to carry through a full shift.
Ren stared at the product image. A sudden, vivid sensation hit him. A faint memory of holding that exact matte-black battery casing in a dark room, feeling its weight in his hand during a rainy night he couldn’t place. He had never owned an Anker charger before.
He pushed the strange feeling aside and placed the order for delivery to his apartment, paying with his new digital balance. Ren copied the order number and expected delivery date into his notebook, then saved the digital receipt beside the Legacy Reserve payment record. The tool was practical, necessary, and funded by his willingness to stand his ground and introduce himself honestly.
Later that evening, inside QuickMart, the night shift was quiet.
Manager Endo spent most of the shift behind his closed office door. The few times he crossed the sales floor, he avoided looking directly at Ren. Yui worked Register One, efficiently ringing up holiday shoppers without small talk. When Ren arrived for his scheduled shift, he clocked in cleanly at the terminal, recorded his start time in his notebook, and took over the beverage restocking without conflict.
Farther down the arcade, Akiyama Bakery’s lights were still glowing behind the winter-dark glass.