Konrad expected at least a few questions about his references.
A test or a short trial of some sort. But nope, none of that.
"How many hours can you work?" the girl asked, already up in his face. "Forty? Eighty?"
She had to tiptoe, and his back hit the door. Any further retreat was impossible, but she still kept on coming. Too much, too fast. He liked her better when she was cosplaying a zombie.
And what was she even talking about? All he saw was her lip piercings move. It seemed painful.
"We're open seven eleven like most, but it's easy here, so—"
"Wait. You mean eighty hours a week?!" Konrad scowled, cutting in. What kind of place did Kaede send him to? "I'm a student. That's not even legal."
It shouldn't have been, but he had no idea about Japanese laws.
The best he could do was pinch his uniform to prove his words.
That much wasn't enough to break her enthusiasm.
"It's fine, it's fine. We don't have as much traffic as Oto-san would like. Could even move in if you wanted. Only get out of bed when a customer comes. Best job you'd ever have, I promise."
Something was wrong with this emo kid's head.
Konrad only hoped the smack from her co-worker would fix that.
If nothing else, it was loud enough to make him flinch. Some war veteran he was.
"Calm down, Yuki," the middle-aged man said. "We're looking for part-timers, not live-in slaves."
"I'm the slave here; me alone. Please let me out now."
When did he even appear behind her? The customer was still inside, trying out a few different keyboards. Not that he could have left when they were blocking the door.
And the girl was still right in his face.
"You told him it's an easy job, and now you complain?" the man asked.
The girl pouted, taking a step back to look up at his Oto-san while ruffling her hair. Every strand back into its calculated place. Perfect chaos, no better word for it.
And on second thought, it had enough volume to dampen the hit.
Cute, but weird. Yeah, she seemed fine, even if she made the strangest faces.
"Whatever, Dad, hire him already so I can leave," she pleaded. "I could still make it to practice. You promised, right? Come on, you have someone to keep you awake now."
Awake? Was that in the job description?
The shopkeeper sighed.
He had much less hair than the girl and lacked her enthusiasm as well.
Konrad couldn't blame him. He was only here for a minute, but he felt tired, too.
He woke up an hour ago, but this unexpected assault left him drained.
She was too close, too loud, and too strange.
But also—
"Sorry about my daughter," the Oto-san said, pulling her back. "Sorakumo Gakkihito desu."
It took Konrad a second to realise this was his introduction.
There was no handshake, since he was busy keeping the girl in check. It was a losing battle.
"Ah, Halstadt Konrad desu," he mumbled, bowing his head. "Yoroshiku ne."
From the raised eyebrows, he must have messed up something. Japanese was hard, okay?
And he couldn't believe they were actually father and daughter.
Some said all asians looked alike, but these two had almost nothing in common. It might have had something to do with the makeup and style, but still. He has simple and plain, and she?
Extreme.
"Have you worked in retail before?" the shopkeeper asked.
Finally, a sensible question. Konrad had to ponder a bit before shaking his head.
"I have some office experience, but—no. Never."
He couldn't tell him about his thirty years in logistics after all. Nor that he's been the duke of Halaima for almost half a year. At least that was how long he fought nomads and pacified tribes.
The title came later, not that it mattered in this world.
He was sure he could tackle a retail job on Earth after all that.
"Any knowledge about instruments?" Sorakumo-san probed further, and that's when Konrad's confidence started to fade. "Doesn't hurt if you can tell customers what they're about to buy."
"Uh, sorry," he said, wringing his hands. "My parents thought music was a waste of time, so—"
"Wow, your parents suck," the girl—Yuki?—scoffed.
She had zero filter. But in a sense, she was right.
"Won't argue with that," Konrad forced a laugh. Memories of a past life flooded back, and he couldn't help but explain. "They wanted me to be a lawyer. Instruments didn't fit their image."
Were they right, though? His life went sideways once he stopped listening to them.
After someone told him he didn't have to—
Wait, who was that? And when?
"I know a lawyer who plays drums," the man noted, shaking him up from his thoughts. "Hell, our current prime minister's a drummer, too. From a metal band, no less. Music is everywhere."
"Well, uh, I won't become a lawyer anymore, so I'm not against learning about it, either."
There was no point in saying now that this happened fifty years ago.
"Forget drums, try bass," the girl pointed at her chest. There was nothing to see there. "Like me. Or guitar. You actually strike me as the guitar type. If you're good, you could play in my band."
Yeah, it seemed like she was living in her own world.
Or both of them did?
"Um, sure," Konrad mumbled, trying to regain control over this weird conversation. "So what do I need to get this job? A friend of mine is in the hospital, and I could use the money."
It never hurt to pull on some heartstrings, right?
"Huh?" Yuki asked, raising an eyebrow.
She wouldn't stop until her dark eyeshadow seemed to cover half her face.
The other half was behind her ridiculous hair.
"I mean, I hope they will get well soon, but—what does it have to do with your money?"
Shit. He tried to pull the wrong heartstrings.
It was time to make up some bullshit that was actually believable.
"I mean—as I said. Uh. I kinda ran away from home. And she did, too. We share what little we have to pay the bills, you know. And now that she's out—get it?" He paused. "Is that a problem?"
It was Sorakumo-san's turn to raise an eyebrow.
"A foreigner and a runaway?" he hummed.
Fuck. Believable shouldn't have meant problematic.
He was about to open his mouth to explain, but never had the chance.
"That is so cool," the girl said, tiptoeing right into his face. "Oto-san, can I run away too?!"
Another smack. This one was even louder.
"First of all, runaways don't ask their parent's permission," the father said. "Second: didn't you hear him? He's paying his own bills. You're nineteen, and wouldn't survive a minute alone."
There was no way that petite girl was nineteen.
But Konrad felt terrible for saying that now.
It was Kaede alone paying everyone's rent, not him, nor together.
"Third, you're not going anywhere until you show him the ropes," the shopkeeper added, his voice firm. Wait. Did that mean— "Can you start right now, Halstadt-kun?"