Chapter 29: Volume 1, - 29: Closing Shift
Saturday, 4 March 2023 — night
The fluorescent lights of QuickMart hummed with a flat, persistent buzz that always felt louder after eleven at night.
Outside, the March air was still. Inside, dry climate-controlled air mixed with the colder breath spilling from the open beverage cooler. Ren’s fingers had already gone numb from reaching between rows of chilled cans, aligning row after row so every label faced directly forward.
After the warmth of Akiyama Bakery the previous evening, the cold plastic and stainless steel of the convenience store felt sharply indifferent.
A plastic crate was set down softly on the linoleum floor behind him.
"Here are the rest of the green teas, Kisaragi-san," Yui said quietly, kneeling down beside him. She straightened her apron with a small, neat motion and began slotting the bottles onto the lower shelf, handling each one with careful precision so as not to disrupt his work.
"Thank you, Morita-san," Ren replied, his hands continuing their steady pace along the display.
Yui glanced over at him, her voice light and hesitant as she adjusted a bottle. "Sato-san mentioned he saw you near the north exit yesterday carrying a wrapped gift... He wondered if it was from the bakery down the street."
Ren’s hand paused slightly against an aluminium can. He kept his tone carefully measured as he answered. "It was just a small errand. Nothing notable."
Yui looked up at him with a small, knowing smile. She didn’t press him.
"I see," she said softly. "I’m glad, Kisaragi-san."
Ren opened his mouth, then thought better of explaining anything she hadn’t asked about. He let out a quiet, appreciative exhale and went back to the shelf.
Before he could finish the row, heavy footsteps sounded near the end of the aisle. Endo walked past, a clipboard tucked tightly under his arm. He stopped just behind Ren, inspecting the top shelf with deliberate scrutiny.
"Kisaragi," Endo said, his voice flat.
"Yes, Endo-san?"
"The waste log for the hot foods section from two nights ago has a discrepancy," Endo said, tapping his clipboard. "Three pork buns were written off as expired, but the timestamp on the register doesn’t match the disposal entry by eight minutes."
Ren turned around slowly. "I wasn’t working the hot foods station two nights ago, Endo-san. That was Sato’s shift."
"It has your staff ID written at the top of the hand-off sheet," Endo replied, staring at a spot somewhere near Ren’s shoulder. "As lead register for the closing hour, you should have verified the log before signing off."
"I signed the register drawer tally," Ren said steadily. "The waste log is filed separately."
Endo exhaled through his nose. "Since you have extra time to perfect coffee cans, you can handle the deep clean on the walk-in freezer floor tonight. The drainage grate needs scrubbing."
It was a miserable task. Spending twenty minutes at a time inside a sub-zero room scrubbing ice build-up off steel grates. It was the exact kind of petty, deniable assignment Endo had been handing him for weeks.
"Understood," Ren said quietly.
Endo gave a single, curt nod and walked off toward the back office.
Yui leaned around the corner from the next aisle, her face filled with quiet sympathy. "I’m sorry, Kisaragi-san," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "He was looking for an excuse to assign that to you all night. It isn’t fair."
"The grate still needs cleaning," Ren said, offering her a faint, reassuring nod. "Don’t worry about it."
Yui hesitated. "Just don’t stay in there too long, Kisaragi-san."
"I won’t."
She gave a small nod and returned to her aisle.
Ren finished the beverage display before collecting the cleaning bucket and stiff scrubbing brushes from the stockroom. He flattened two empty cardboard boxes, stacked them neatly near the back door, and stepped up to the front counter when the chime sounded for an elderly customer who bought only a single pack of cigarettes. None of it required much thought. That was almost comforting. Work at QuickMart could be miserable, but most of it was predictable: shelves emptied, floors became dirty, customers arrived, and somebody had to put everything back in order.
Twenty minutes later, Ren was crouched inside the walk-in freezer with heavy rubber gloves pulled over his aching fingers. Frost clung stubbornly around the edges of the floor grate, and every breath burned sharp in his lungs. He worked in short, methodical stretches, scrubbing at the caked ice before stepping back out into the stockroom whenever the cold began settling through his trousers.
At midnight, the chime above the entrance sounded. Ren moved behind the main register, pulling a rag to wipe down the counter while Yui worked quietly in the back room.
The man who walked in wore a dark, slightly rumpled work jacket over grey trousers. He moved slowly down the aisle, picking up a bottle of tea and a pre-packaged rice ball before coming to the counter.
As the man set the items down, his eyes met Ren’s.
Neither spoke.
Ren recognised him after a second. The man had been in the store almost four weeks earlier during the robbery, trapped near the magazine section while the knife was out.
The man looked at Ren’s name tag, then back up at his face. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed softly in the quiet store.
"Late shift," the man said quietly. It was just a low observation offered across the counter.
Ren scanned the rice ball. The register beeped, sharp in the silence.
"Yes," Ren replied, keeping his voice calm. "Usually is."
The man nodded once. Neither mentioned the knife or the robbery. The memory remained between them anyway, unacknowledged.
The man handed over a thousand-yen bill. Ren counted out the change, placing the coins carefully into his palm.
"Take care," the customer murmured, picking up his small plastic bag.
"Thank you," Ren said. "Have a good night."
The man turned and walked out, the door chime sounding once as he disappeared into the dark street.
By the time his shift ended at four in the morning, Ren’s legs felt heavy and stiff. His knees ached from kneeling on the frozen metal floor of the walk-in freezer, and his fingers were raw from cold detergent.
He clocked out, changed in the cramped breakroom, and stepped out the back door.
The morning air hit him like a physical shock, clearing the lingering smell of fryer oil and floor cleaner from his lungs. The sky was still completely dark, streetlights casting long amber pools across damp asphalt.
The city was silent around him. No trains, no crowds, no station announcements. There was only the cool wind against his face. He was exhausted in the deep, bone-weary way that came from physical labour.