Chapter 4: Volume 1, - 4: The Bakery Window
On Thursday, 9 February 2023, Ren began his second required walk after seven hours of sleep and a proper breakfast of rice, raw egg, and miso soup. Yesterday’s ledger entry pressed against his mind: the ¥31,400 Orient Credit payment had failed to auto-deduct overnight due to insufficient funds, and it now sat overdue beside approximately ¥1.8 million in total personal debt. But the System’s Foundation Task did not allow him to answer panic with another skipped meal.
The cold winter air along the shopping street near Nishi-Kawaguchi Station carried the sharp, damp bite of early morning frost. It cut through Ren’s coat as he walked, his boots pressing rhythmically against the concrete pavement. But as he turned the corner past a narrow alley, the icy wind gave way to a dense, enveloping warmth. The smell of melted butter, sweet red-bean paste, and freshly baked shokupan.
The smells pulled him toward the bakery before his mind even processed the decision.
Ren slowed his pace. A purchase of a few hundred yen would not break him, but every coin had a purpose now. He paused before the glass storefront of Akiyama Bakery.
Behind the condensation-streaked window, trays of golden-brown loaves, glossy sweet rolls, and dusted pastries rested under warm yellow lights. Yesterday’s sleep and medical check had cleared his head, but his shoulder and ribs still throbbed with a dull ache beneath his jacket.
He pushed open the heavy wooden door. A brass bell chimed overhead, and a wave of fragrant, humid heat washed over him.
Behind the L-shaped glass display counter, a young woman was transferring a tray of freshly baked cream buns onto the lower shelf.
Ren took a quiet breath, stepping to the side to stay out of the way of a mother with two small children. He found himself watching the bakery worker as she moved with practiced, fluid grace.
She looked to be twenty-two, her chestnut-brown hair pulled back into a tidy, practical ponytail secured with a simple cloth tie. Strands of softer hair framed her oval face and warm, amber-brown eyes. She wore a fitted cream blouse beneath a heavy navy apron dusted lightly with flour around the hem and pockets. Beneath the apron, her compact, softly curving figure carried a natural, grounded weight. Her legs, visible beneath her dark skirt, were clearly strong and accustomed to standing through long bakery shifts.
"Here you go. Hold it carefully, it’s still warm." Her voice was clear and bright, warm without sounding rehearsed.
She bent down slightly to hand a small paper bag containing an animal-shaped roll directly to the younger child. Her smile was completely unforced, crinkling the corners of her eyes as she leaned over the counter. Her hands, small but capable, bore pale traces of flour along the knuckles and wrist.
Ren quickly looked down at the display case before his gaze could be caught. Staring was rude, and he was acutely aware of his own appearance. His broad, overweight frame, his worn coat, and the strain of months of poor sleep still visible in his posture.
When the mother and children stepped away, the young woman wiped her hands on her apron and turned toward Ren, her amber eyes meeting his.
"Good morning! Welcome," she said, her voice dropping into a gentle, conversational tone.
A brief flicker of recognition crossed her face. She looked at him with quiet curiosity, her gaze lingering for a fraction of a second on his face before moving to his coat.
"Good morning," Ren replied, his voice slightly raspy from the cold air outside. "Could I get one curry pan and one anpan, please?"
"Of course," she said smoothly. She reached for a pair of metal tongs and a sheet of wax paper.
As she lifted the deep-fried curry pan, crisp, golden, and dusted with panko crumbs she glanced up at him again. "I’ve seen you pass by after dawn when we put the signs out. You work at the QuickMart near the avenue, right?"
Ren blinked, taken aback. He had assumed he was entirely invisible on those dawn walks back to his apartment, just another anonymous shape slumping through the gray light.
"Ah... yes," Ren said, holding back the urge to shift uncomfortably. "I work shifts there."
"You look a little more awake today," she said softly, placing the curry pan into a paper sleeve with delicate precision before adding the rounded, sesame-topped anpan. "It’s good to see."
She wasn’t mocking him; there was only a straightforward, observant kindness in her tone.
"Thank you," Ren said. He felt a faint flush at the back of his neck, but he kept his expression steady.
She placed the two items into a small paper bag and calculated the total on the register. "That will be four hundred and thirty yen, please."
Ren selected four ¥100 coins and three ¥10 coins from his wallet, then placed them neatly on the plastic payment tray. The ¥430 was personal spending, an unreimbursed expense against his tight personal cash, but as the aroma of baked goods rose from the bag, he felt no regret.
Before she could hand him the bag and receipt, a heavy wooden door behind the counter swung open.
A broad-shouldered man in his mid-fifties stepped out from the kitchen, wearing a flour-dusted white baker’s shirt and a dark canvas apron. His forearms were remarkably thick and weathered from decades of kneading dough, and his graying hair was covered by a clean bandana. His posture exuded quiet authority and practical judgment.
"Suzune," the man said, his deep voice cutting through the shop. "Did Mrs. Yoshida call in about her wholesale order of melon pan for the neighborhood association tomorrow? I can’t find the slip on the spike."
The young woman. Suzune, turned, her face showing a sudden flash of mild distress. "I wrote it on the order pad by the phone, Dad. Then I copied it onto the whiteboard in the back."
"It’s not on the board," her father said plainly, rubbing his thumb across one flour-dusted forearm. "And the morning delivery sheet is blank."
Suzune quickly leaned over the counter, checking three separate places at once. A clipped notepad beside the cash register, a leather-bound daybook under the shelf, and a small stack of loose memos resting near the bag dispenser. The same request had been copied across three separate places, creating an obvious chance for something to be missed during a rush.
"I know I wrote it..." Suzune murmured, her fingers searching through the loose papers.
As she moved hurriedly toward the back counter, her elbow brushed against the edge of the memo pile. A small, yellowed slip of paper fluttered off the ledge and drifted across the counter, falling onto the polished wooden floor right beside Ren’s shoe.
Her father frowned slightly, looking over from the kitchen doorway. "If we miss an order of fifty rolls for the council, we won’t have the dough prepped tonight."
Ren noticed the three separate records but kept the observation to himself. He bent carefully, protecting his aching ribs, and picked up the fallen slip.
He held it out across the glass counter toward Suzune. "Is this it?"
Suzune stopped, turning back. She looked from his hand to the paper, her eyes widening slightly in relief.
"Yes! Oh, thank goodness," she said, stepping forward and taking the slip from his fingers. Her warm fingertips brushed against his skin for a brief second. "It slipped right behind the register. Thank you so much."
"It’s nothing," Ren said quietly.
Her father looked at Ren over his daughter’s shoulder, the older baker’s steady gaze assessing the quiet young man standing in his shop. He gave Ren a single, firm nod of gratitude. "Appreciate it, young man."
Suzune carefully pinned the slip onto the main board behind the counter, making a quick mark with a pen. She then turned back to Ren, handing him the paper bag and receipt.
"Here you go," she said, her amber eyes meeting his with genuine warmth. "Enjoy the bread. Please come again."
"Thank you," Ren said. He took the bag, bowed slightly to her and her father, and walked out the door, the brass bell ringing softly behind him.
Ren walked down the shopping street, holding the paper bag in his hands. The wind was still cold, but the heat from the fresh pastries radiated through the paper into his palms.
He stopped near a bench by the riverside path, looking out over the gray water of the Arakawa River. He took a bite of the curry pan; the crisp crust gave way to a warm, lightly spiced curry filling. The curry pan was only a snack. He would still need a proper lunch and dinner for Thursday to count as one of the task’s two balanced-meal days.
As he chewed, his mind kept drifting back to the bakery. To the smell of butter, the quiet efficiency of the older baker, and the image of Suzune standing behind the glass counter.
He thought of her amber eyes, her bright, unscripted voice, the soft curve of her waist under the apron, and the gentle way she had spoken to him.
Sitting on the cold bench, Ren admitted it to himself with absolute clarity: ’She is beautiful. I’m attracted to her.’
The moment the thought settled fully in his mind, his phone vibrated sharply in his coat pocket.
Ren pulled out the cracked device and illuminated the screen.
[Daily walk verified: Day 2 of 3.]
[Personal attraction detected.]
[Optional Social Task available.]
[Objective: return within five days, learn her name through ordinary conversation and give your own name.]
[Reward: Social Courage +1 and ¥8,000.]
[Refusal penalty: none.]
Ren stared at the dark glass screen. The task had appeared only after Ren admitted the attraction.
He tapped the screen to review the task details. As he did, the System’s minimap interface briefly flickered across the display. For a single second, the label over the shopping street and surrounding neighborhood changed, displaying a stark, institutional title:
[Origin District]
Then, with a subtle glitch, the text dissolved, returning to its ordinary label: Nishi-Kawaguchi Shopping Avenue.
Ren’s thumb hovered over the phone interface. ’Origin District.’ The phrase felt heavy, echoing the old ledger format he had written in his Muji notebook yesterday.
He looked down at the paper bag resting on his knee, then back at the phone screen. He tapped the button to accept the optional social task.
Learning her name wouldn’t be hard. He had already heard her father call her Suzune, though he needed to learn it properly through conversation. But as he looked down at his worn shoes and thought about standing before her without a prestigious title, a grand corporate job, or a clean financial record, Ren felt a subtle, tightening anxiety in his chest.
Giving his own name, just Ren Kisaragi, an exhausted, debt-ridden convenience-store worker felt infinitely harder than learning hers.