"Yeah, I ran here." Xiao Wen mumbled, his gaze dropping to the floor, cheeks flushed. His voice was barely audible, laced with embarrassment and the flimsiness of the excuse.
"Cut the crap," Higashino Keisuke retorted, his voice flat and dismissive. He didn't even bother looking up from his phone this time."You're not sweating a single drop…" The implication hung heavy in the air:*Liar.*
He finally pocketed his phone and fixed Xiao Wen with a cold stare."No next time. I'm letting it slide *once*. Got it?" His tone brooked no argument. Then came the familiar, cutting reminder, delivered with the casual cruelty of someone holding all the cards:"Plenty of others want this gig if you don't." He gestured vaguely towards the street outside with his chin."A whole damn queue out there, kid, just waiting for a shot at part-time work."
Xiao Wen lifted his head just in time to see Higashino, with a grunt of annoyance, grab the stiff, navy-blue polyester vest that constituted the store uniform. Not handing it over, but *hurling* it towards him. It landed half on his chest, half on the floor with a soft thud. Without another word, Higashino shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his worn trousers, turned on the heel of his cheap plastic sandals, and shuffled out of the store. His retreating back radiated a petty, self-satisfied arrogance, like a minor lottery winner suddenly convinced of his own importance.
Xiao Wen stared at the empty doorway where the manager had been, a familiar knot of resentment tightening in his gut. He bent down, picked up the vest, dusting off imaginary dirt, and shrugged it on, the cheap fabric scratchy against his skin.
*Yeah, right. Bullshit.*
The thought burned, acidic and bitter.
*Who the hell would line up for this? The pay is barely scraping the legal minimum– if that. He probably shaves minutes off the clock too.*
The resentment deepened. The final straw, the reason the store had gained its notorious reputation among potential part-timers in the neighborhood, was Higashino's notorious policy on expired bento boxes. Even those with 20 minutes left on their shelf life weren't left for the staff; the manager meticulously collected them all, boxing them up to take home. That little piece of greed, broadcast by disgruntled former employees, meant the Haruto Convenience Store was practically radioactive to job seekers. While there was no written rule, no official perk, it was an unspoken understanding across countless Japanese convenience stores– the nearly-expired bento boxes were a small, vital compensation for the low wages and demanding hours. It was the grease that made the wheels of 700-yen-an-hour labor turn. After all, a single bento meal wasn't cheap, hovering around 600 yen. Losing that tiny lifeline made the wage feel even more like an insult.
Every single shift, Xiao Wen wrestled with the same question:*Should I just quit?*
But the cold reality always slammed back down. As a preparatory course foreign student, his visa status strictly forbade him from holding most part-time jobs. Only unscrupulous, fly-by-night operations like this one, run by men like Higashino who didn't ask too many questions and paid under the table, would even consider him. Quitting wasn't just inconvenient; it was potentially catastrophic. He could plunge into immediate financial freefall. Rent? Food? It all became terrifyingly precarious. He *had* saved some money, true, but the bulk of his meager earnings was wired back home to his mother in China. The exchange rate, hovering around 1 Chinese Yuan to 20 Yen, meant that what he could earn in just three hours here often eclipsed what many back home made in an entire day. The weight of that responsibility, that fragile lifeline he provided, anchored him to this miserable job.
*Sigh. No matter what… I have to endure it.* He stirred the simmering broth in the oden pot, the steam rising like a ghost of his fading childhood dreams.*Just keep working hard. Get through university. Then… Tokyo. A real job. A salary that isn't measured in bento boxes. Maybe… maybe even bring Mom and Dad over… let them rest… finally.* The fantasy, fragile and precious, momentarily warmed him against the fluorescent chill of the store.
The hours bled away, marked by the incessant electronic chime of the sliding door–*Irasshaimase!*– and the shuffling steps of customers. A few were pleasant, most were indifferent, and some were actively unpleasant, like the sharp-tongued woman who berated him because they'd run out of small plastic bags for her discounted bento. She'd simply snatched the sturdy bag Xiao Wen used to carry his own meager lunch, leaving him gaping in silent outrage. The indignities were small, constant, eroding.
From 3 PM to well past 9 PM, the flow of customers dwindled to a trickle. The store settled into a late-night hush, broken only by the low hum of refrigerators and the occasional car passing outside. Xiao Wen, fighting off a wave of bone-deep fatigue, mechanically wiped down the display case behind the counter, the brightly colored cigarette packs blurring under his cloth.
***Clack!***
The sharp sound of the automatic door sliced through the quiet. Xiao Wen looked up, his polishing motion stalling.
A figure stepped into the fluorescent glow. Golden hair cascaded around shoulders clad in a smart, slightly-too-tight blouse that hinted at curves beneath. Her skirt was professional but short, revealing long legs. As she approached the counter, the neckline of her blouse dipped just enough to reveal a glimpse of smooth, pale décolletage. Xiao Wen felt heat prickle his neck and ears again. He stammered, his voice suddenly awkward,"Ah… Sis… you're here."
*Momonogi Nana…*
The name echoed in his mind, followed instantly by the familiar, protective caveat:
*If it weren't for that… special reason…*
"Good work today!" Her voice was warm honey, washing over him, instantly dissolving some of the grime of the shift."You can head off now."
Hearing Momonogi Nana's gentle tone, Xiao Wen instinctively glanced up at the large digital clock mounted above the entrance. 9:40 PM glowed back at him.
"N-no, Peach Sis," he mumbled, scratching the back of his head self-consciously."I've still got twenty minutes left on my shift." The nickname"Peach Sis"(モモ姉/ Momo-nee) slipped out, a habit born of affection and awkwardness.
Momonogi let out a light, musical laugh, covering her mouth with a delicate hand."Silly! Don't you have studying to do? It's fine, really. Go on." She waved a dismissive hand, already moving behind the counter. Xiao Wen watched, mesmerized, as she efficiently cleared a small space and retrieved her own folded vest from a staff cubbyhole beneath the register. She slipped it on with practiced ease, the navy blue instantly transforming her from glamorous office lady to convenience store worker. Then came the final touch: she carefully pinned her name tag–**MOMONOGI**– precisely over her left breast pocket.
Momonogi Nana. She lived in the same run-down apartment complex as him. Three years older. Just a neighbor. Just a kind-hearted older sister who looked out for him.
*No.*
The correction was immediate and fierce within his own mind.
*She hasn't been* just *a sister for a long time. Not in my heart.*
"Seriously, it's okay! I've got this." Momonogi shooed him towards the door, her smile bright and encouraging. She playfully nudged her chin towards the exit and made a small fist-pump gesture."Go hit those books! Ganbatte!"
Her smile in that moment, under the store's slightly too-yellow fluorescent lights, seemed to radiate its own pure, inner light. To Xiao Wen, exhausted and world-weary, it looked positively angelic– a beacon of warmth and kindness in his otherwise drab existence. The sight made his breath catch.
"Th-then… Sis, thank you. I'll leave it to you." His voice was thick, his blush deepening. He felt a familiar, pleasant dizziness, a warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with the oden pot.
Xiao Wen finished wiping the cigarette display with sudden, almost frantic energy. He grabbed his worn backpack from under the counter, slung it over his shoulder, and pushed through the glass door. The cool night air hit his face. He paused on the threshold, unable to resist one last look back.
Momonogi Nana stood framed in the bright rectangle of the store entrance, already positioned behind the cash register. She smiled directly at him, her expression soft and fond. She raised her hand, forming a playful, sideways'V' sign– a cheeky, youthful gesture of farewell– her lips silently forming the quirky catchphrase she always used:
"Ciallo~!"(ちゃお!/ Chao!)
Walking down the quiet residential street under a sky dusted with stars but dominated by a bright, nearly full moon, Xiao Wen kept his head down. His mind, however, was far from quiet. It drifted inevitably back to Momonogi Nana. The memories flowed easily, warmly.
*It started three years ago…*
That was when she had ceased being merely"Sis" in the hidden chambers of his heart.
Before coming to Japan, the slick-talking agent had painted a picture of effortless integration. The"dual system" of education, he'd called it– study part-time, work part-time, easy! The promises flowed like cheap sake:*Earn in a day what you'd make in a month back home! The prep course? Think of it as a mini-Tsinghua or Beida! Language barrier? Your phone will translate everything! The Chinese community? Tight-knit, always helping each other out!*
*Lies. Every single word.*
Within six months of arriving in the nondescript town surrounding Haruto University, Xiao Wen's carefully saved nest egg of 100,000 yen had vanished, siphoned off by the very agency that had brought him here. And the agency?"Gekka-sha"(月華社)– The Moonflower Society. Not just a shady outfit, but a name whispered with fear. The local *yakuza* faction. Powerful enough that even the police had just shrugged helplessly when he'd gone to them, destitute and desperate. The abyss had yawned before him. Desperation, cold and sharp, had driven thoughts he never imagined– petty theft, maybe even… robbery.
It was Momonogi Nana who had found him, adrift and despairing on a park bench. She hadn't judged, hadn't pried too deeply. She'd simply listened, then offered a hand. She'd pulled him back from the edge, steered him towards something resembling stability. She'd even introduced him to this very job, this soul-crushing yet vital lifeline at Higashino's store.
The *only* reason he endured the manager's contempt, the low pay, the petty humiliations, was the chance to see *her*. To share shifts, to exchange a few words, to bask in that smile.
*She isn't just my sister.*
The thought crystallized as he walked.
*She's… my fantasy.*
Xiao Wen lifted his gaze to the night sky. The moon was incredibly full, impossibly bright. Its pure, silvery light seemed to wash over him, bleaching away the grimy residue of past failures, past humiliations, past despair. For a moment, the darkness receded. All that remained in his mind's eye was Momonogi Nana's face in the convenience store glow– that angelic, warm, utterly *healing* smile. He projected it onto the luminous disc of the moon itself.
*Yes. She is my fantasy. A beautiful, impossible dream…*
"Fuck!" The curse ripped from his lips, sharp and sudden in the quiet street. It was his habitual release valve, the only outlet for the frustration of knowing something so precious was perpetually out of reach.
He was almost at the subway entrance when he realized. A cold jolt of panic.
*My phone! I left it charging behind the counter.*
He groaned inwardly. The thought of navigating the late-night streets and the complex subway system without it, of missing potential messages (though his class group chat was usually dead silent), filled him with dread. Reluctantly, shoulders slumping, he turned around, retracing his steps towards the convenience store.
*Years later, Xiao Wen would often wonder: What if? What if he'd just shrugged and gone home? How different would everything have been?*
The walk back felt longer, the night darker. The moon, previously so brilliant, now seemed veiled, its light dimmed, casting deeper, more ominous shadows. As he approached the familiar corner, a jolt of confusion hit him.
*What the…? The store's locked?*
He stared. The glass door was shut tight. Hanging prominently in the center was the unmistakable"CLOSE" sign. A wave of unease washed over him.
*That can't be right. This is a 24-hour konbini.*
It was unheard of to close early without notice. A prickle of something colder than confusion ran down his spine.
But practicality kicked in. There was a contingency plan. Higashino, paranoid about losing keys or getting locked out, had stashed a spare. Not somewhere obvious. Tucked away behind the bulky, humming vending machine that stood sentinel beside the store entrance– a location known only to Higashino, Momonogi Nana, and Xiao Wen himself.
Xiao Wen crouched, feeling behind the cold metal casing of the vending machine. His fingers brushed against the small magnetic box taped to its side. He pulled it free, fished out the key, and inserted it into the store's side door lock. It turned with a soft *click*. He pushed the door open, stepping into the profound darkness of the closed store. The familiar smells– stale coffee, cleaning chemicals, fried food– hung heavy in the still air. Guided by memory, he navigated the aisles, his hand brushing against shelves, until he reached the counter. His fingers found the familiar shape of his Pineapple 5 phone, still plugged into the extension cord beneath the register. He unplugged it, the screen flaring to life briefly– 10:15 PM. A quick check: the class group chat remained stubbornly empty, no notifications.
Relief warred with lingering unease. He pocketed the phone and turned to leave. As he pivoted, his gaze swept past the narrow hallway leading to the cramped storage room at the back of the store. A sliver of dim light escaped from under its door.
And then he heard it.
A low sound. Muffled. Rhythmic. Not the hum of appliances. It was… breathing. Labored, strained breathing. Gasping. The kind of sound choked back, suppressed, yet leaking out into the oppressive silence.
His blood ran cold.
*What…? Is that… Sis?*
The thought, unbidden and terrifying, slammed into him. His earlier fantasy– the warm, healing image of her smile projected onto the moon– flickered violently.
*A fantasy…*
The word echoed hollowly in his mind.
*…is precisely that: a beautiful impossibility, a dream that makes the waking world bearable. But waking up… the aftermath… that's the real nightmare. An emptiness so vast it swallows you whole.*
Even awake, clutching the fantasy…
*Fantasy…*
The word felt like ash in his mouth.
A terrible, gnawing curiosity took root. It coiled in his gut, cold and insistent, overriding caution, overriding dread. Like a moth drawn to a flame it knew would scorch it. Like Adam, driven by an incomprehensible urge towards the forbidden fruit, only dimly sensing the irrevocable knowledge it promised. He had to *know*.
Silent as a ghost, Xiao Wen crept towards the storage room door. The thin strip of light beneath it seemed accusatory. The sounds grew slightly louder– sharp intakes of breath, low moans, the rhythmic creaking of… something. He reached the door. There was a small, reinforced glass window set into it at eye level, designed to see into the cluttered space without opening the door. Usually, it offered a view of stacked boxes and cleaning supplies.
Xiao Wen leaned forward, pressing his face close to the cool glass, peering into the dimness beyond.
His vision adjusted slowly. Cardboard boxes. Buckets. Brooms. And then… movement. Shadows shifting against the far wall. His gaze dropped lower, scanning the chaotic floor near the door.
His breath hitched, catching painfully in his throat.
Illuminated by the weak light spilling from a single bare bulb overhead, discarded carelessly on the scuffed linoleum, lay a pair of men's casual sneakers– khaki-colored, slightly worn. And tangled haphazardly around one ankle, like a discarded flag of surrender, was a flimsy, garish pink pair of women's panties.