Chapter Text

🐊 See You Later, Alligator 🐊

🐊 2018 🐊

The scent gave Shinta's shop that homely feeling. Sure, it was his little domain in wacky ol' Shibuya. He got to call the shots: hang necklaces from the ceiling, organize frilly-collared blouses beside straight-from-the-'70s tie-dye legwarmers, and tuck premium cough drops behind his counter.

But that peppermint-dusty Showa scent gave the notion of something old—something classic—and appreciation for an earlier time.

So when some square like that orange hedgehog from earlier complained about the 'old-timey' smell, Shinta'd give 'em a little lip: "I ain't sellin'."

Not to someone who wouldn't appreciate it.

He settled in his chair. Another customer pushed away just meant more peace and quiet. Maybe he could reread an old mag from his collection.

The bell jingled. A short-lived tranquility.

"...Hmm?" Shinta peeked open his peepers, spying a bespectacled teen in a cream-colored school blazer—real ugly compared to the classic sailor uniform—staring blankly and uncomfortably at some gingham-check. "Oh, a customer?"

"Hfhhwnwyah!" The schoolgirl flinched back into a shelf of floral glasses, which rattled but—fortunately for her wallet—didn't tip over. She bumbled behind a plaid-and-peppermint-textile spinner rack.

Shinta hurried over, noticing how she wrung her hand around her schoolbag's strap. "Kid, watch where you're going. You break it, you buy it." Setting down a glass that'd almost tumbled, he squinted at the girl.

"Gwhwaaark!" Her arms flailed. She mumbled unintelligibly, garbled as a busted ham radio. Her features scrungled up. Wrenching a book out her schoolbag, she shoved her entire face into the pages. Did she think, if she couldn't see him, he couldn't see her, either?

"Hmm..." Shinta rubbed his forefinger on his chin for a second, some mix of thoughts between 'don't break anything' to 'would'ya please buy something and get outta here' and a little bit of 'man, what's she been through?'

Her fingers twitched against the pretty-boy-plastered cover.

He smirked a little. "You an only child? Hmm, giving off some 'shut in' vibes too, honestly."

The book slipped, thwmping against the floor and revealing the tears and snot smearing her cheeks. She lunged for the book, missing before snagging it on attempt two. Plastering pages to face, she rocked back-and-forth.

"Kid..." Shinta peered down at her. Did she need, like, a chair to sit? Or a tissue to wipe up all that gunk?

He shrugged. Way too much effort for the first five minutes of meeting someone.

"Look, how about you grab wha'cha came in for so we don't have to deal with each other ever again?"

The girl's arms shook more intensely, her mutters sputtering.

Shinta scratched his head, then pointed at the counter. "I'll be over there." Hightailing for the comfy loneliness far from...this, he covered his face with an old mag in case that had bothered her.

After a few minutes, he heard her flats squeaking along the aisle. Whatever she sought, she sure took her sweet time. He'd managed to get through three-and-a-half mags before she finally squeaked towards him, laden with purple, green, and monochrome textiles. Dumping them on the counter, the girl resumed yanking her schoolbag strap. She ever stop mumbling?

Sitting up, Shinta paper-bagged her honestly impressive selection—least he could do to make it easier on her. "Hmm, nice picks. These ones are real soft." Nice and soft sounded like vibes she needed. With some chill pills, too.

She fished something out of her bag, dropped it floorward, picked it up, and dropped it again—on the counter, at least: a fabric wallet stitched with a green gator. "Hermermermermermermermerm..." Her face scrunched in self-annoyance.

"Alright, just hand me the cash and—that a gator? Nice vibe, kid." Not bad for a Heisei baby. Smirking, Shinta extended his hand for payment. Hadn't expected to make a sale.

"M-m-mweee..." Opening her wallet, the girl labored the bills out. Acted like her thin gloves were oven mitts. Might've beaten the world record for minutes spent counting yen.

Shinta accepted the paper wad. "Keep the paper bag. On the house." An act of kindness or rushing her out? Probably both.

She double-hand seized the bag so tightly she'd would have crushed any non-fabric contents. Immediately she about-faced, actually forward-rolled into the door, and shuffled-sprinted until she disappeared into Dogenzaka's crowd.

Shinta had his hand up from some attempt to wave. Uncharacteristically, the words tumbled out: "Uh, see you later, alligator?"

🐊 2020 🐊

Scratching at his scraggly chin, Shinta flipped through another old mag. His totally-for-sale collection barely grew. Seemed print was dying.

Ramen Don'd shut down—noodle overdose? Didn't bode well for frequent flier Shinta—and croakypanic'd re-opened, crazy Sasai back in the saddle. He'd hafta get a new 'fro wig, just to support his inspiration.

The times, they were a'movin'. In Shibuya, things'd always move.

Still, Shinta refused to accept ShibuPay. Paper money showed off that wear and tear he loved.

The bell rang. Drowsily, Shinta rubbed his eyes: a semi-familiar blob. "Hmm? I've seen you before. Don't I know you...?"

He almost hadn't recognized her: the schoolgirl who occasionally popped in, muttering, bundling up the same-old-same-old soft textiles and blank tees, silently paying from her gator-themed wallet, and skedaddling.

"Oh, it's you, kid." Except she'd traded out her school uniform for a white tee...and a giant purple backpack that looked heavier than her. The sea of attached pins jangled. A stuffed doll swung precariously from the side. The same girl but...a different vibe. Good different.

Entering her usual aisle with an unusual stride, the girl gathered her usual fabric bundle with an unusual alligator-lead power supply. She dropped it onto the counter like usual—except the power supply, placed with unusual slowness despite convulsing fingers.

Seeing this new spirit made him smile. Just a little. "Need some wires for something? You really know your stuff; those are high-quality gator leads."

Her lips parted. He expected the typical stammered sounds dying down to murmurs.

Instead she suddenly shrieked with boombox-loudness, rattling the rafters.

"I amassed all officially released pins with H-His Radiance's radiant visage!" Her forefinger jabbed a hair's-breadth from his nose, making him lean back, as her eyes sprung a serious tear-leak. "At last this unworthy wretch has compiled a mobile altar to Lord Tomonami! Yet official merchandise cannot quench this undying thirst! Thus I craft enamel pins in his alluring image! For which I r-requisition these t-tools!"

Clutching her backpack's strap, the girl panted, mopping up snot on a clumsily embroidered kerchief marked Elegant Strategy.

She sniffled. "Did that s-suffice in answer, milord?"

Shinta pinky-poked his eardrum. Still working? At least the kid was speaking. This smirking bad-boy—on those glinty backpack pins—got Heisei babies hysterical? "Yeah, I think so. You're getting these wires for...'Tomonami'. Might wanna crank that volume down next time, kid."

"Hwwaaahrk! Sincerest ap-pologies, Lord Iwata!" Her voice sure wasn't getting any quieter. "'Tis ch-challenging to c-c-control myself when I speak of this l-life-saving tome!" She inhaled deeply. "H-hark! Wh-when I exalt g-glorious EleStra, I can speak p-publicly! In its f-footsteps, I even m-major in psychology!"

"Got that right?" Shinta counted her usual total plus the alligator-leads. "Well, it's groovy to know you have a voice. But I ain't no Lord, kid. Just call me Shinta."

Her wallet'd gotten a 'Tomonami' stamp, but the front bore the same ol' gator. "Hmehmeh... The title symbolizes my gratitude!" she screamed. Least her arm-swings weren't fixing to poke his eyes out. "With this establishment's affordable splendors, I prepare c-comfortable coverings for myself!" She beamed broadly through still-streaming tears. "As His R-radiance advised me: to welcome others, one must first welcome oneself! I hone communication 'pon EleStra's whetstone!"

"Dunno about all that 'Lord' stuff, but I dig that vibe. I'm all about gettin' comfortable. I run my shop my way because it gives me comfy vibes." Shinta bagged her items in advance. "Be comfy and get people to accept what makes you comfy. You wanna get better at communication? That's my 'dvice, anyways."

The girl nodded vigorously, spectacles bouncing. "Lord Iwata, you are unapologetically Yourself! I find your unyielding spirit nearly as inspirational as His Lordship's! I, too...wish to be unapologetically Myself!" She wiped away tears. "Oh, how I labor!"

Shinta almost chuckled. Almost. "Keep those vibes and learn how to not care about what others think, and I know you'll get there."

"B-between your confidence and His Radiance's wisdom," she shouted, crooking her arm over her face, "I am equipped t-to win!" The girl exaggeratedly bowed, only to smack her forehead into the counter. "Nnnrgle..."

Shinta shook his head at her antics.

She clenched the paper bag, at the top now, not the bottom. Probably so her vice clasp wouldn't break the electronic doodad.

"Peace out, girl." Shinta smirked. "See you later, alligator."

"G-gods-be-with-ye!" The girl turned tail and ran.

🐊 2022 🐊

Did needing bifocals speak more to his age or his late-night reading? Least they looked snazzy. Better'n his little bros' dorky taste in glasses. Didn't stop Shinta from loving 'em, though.

Yoji'd quit his TOWER RECORDS dream job to pursue his own jams, his life in his hands. Shigemori's attention-hogging had splintered the Shibu-Q trio; he lived easy on his savings. Hey, s'long as his bros were comfy...

"You take ShibuPay?" The customer knocked Shinta awake. He chased 'em out: cash only.

But even granny Sasai took ShibuPay now. Things were a'movin' without Shinta.

Didn't matter. He'd keep on keepin' on. Cash money made him comfortable. Even if the city'd ditched it. Shinta leaned back in his chair. He'd nab that old mag and—

The bell rang. Right at a slow patch...

"...Hmm?"

Peep who decided to pop in. The girl with her white tees and twinkly backpack and obsession over a fictional man-lord-whatever. Except...she'd traded the white tee for a purple hoodie sprawling in snake pins. He recognized that fabric. And she'd dumped the backpack, too. Instead she had a...clunky violet sword sheath, massive enough to jut up from shoulder and hip, numerous tassels and enamel dangles jingling.

"...Oh, good to see you. Take your time, girl, even though we both know what you're gonna grab."

"Many thanks, milord." The girl still alternated between whispers and war-cries but had developed a semi-decent outside voice. Still working on that inside voice. She marched boldly towards the counter. Yup, same textile bundles since the first day.

She might've changed in many ways, but not in this. Learning to be herself didn't mean changing things without reason. It meant changing what she wanted to, and not changing what she didn't.

Watching her trot around, holding her head up, so different from that snotty kid a few years ago, made Shinta grin.

"I see what you're wearin', girl. You make it? I'm reading a hot vibe from it. Same with that—what's that, a sword sheath? You only see swords that big in cartoons, girl."

"Ah! In-deed. I have graduated from the days of Mother modifying my uniform." The girl radiated smugness. Reminded Shinta of himself. "Now my comrades-in-arms Lord Tosai—that is to say, Lord F-Fret—and Sho aid me, under my careful command, in preparing my own garb."

She ran a hand down the sheath.

"Much as I fashioned Wanimaru myself, requesting help and contributing within my comfort, as I chose." She proudly splayed her other hand across her face. Shinta noticed the gauze peeking out from under the fingerless gloves. "I carry my comfort with me."

Her fingers twitched as unpredictably as before, but it felt like she'd become comfortable in that twitching. Yeah, she dropped things, so what? She could just pick 'em back up. Attagirl.

"'Tis something I learned, and learn, from the maestro of assembling his own comfort."

"Heh." Unusually for too-cool Shinta, he chuckled. Huh. While the shock of laughing faded, he began bagging. Same total as always. "Wonder who. Must've been a real cool cat. I gotta ask, though. You aren't hauling around that eyesore. Not into...uh, Elated Stratosphere anymore?"

The girl chuckled back. "How preposterous! Little compares to my heart-consuming EleStraniac flame!" She thrust her fist skyward. "'Tis a sacred text. I have even fashioned its weapons—such as His Lordship's Raijinmaru—for my circle's imminent TomoKet exhibition."

Her mouth curved upwards.

"...If I wish to respect something so holy to me, I cannot tie my identity to it. Yoking my ego to another's work, no matter if gifted from divinity, makes my comfort rely on another's vision of the world. In splitting myself and my sentiments, I can view my beloved with all the nuances it deserves. Neither shall my spirit perish should it falter. Whilst we learn from others' visions, we must seize our own fates. 'Tis not by the gods' hands that I fashion my future...but my own."

Wrapped around the sword, her hand spasmed, but the sheath she'd forged herself gave her a sturdy perch.

"I carry my chosen love for Lord Tomonami within my heart! I recommend EleStra to most!" Her peepers sparkled—with tears. Another thing she hadn't changed about herself. Another thing she didn't need to change. "And I bear not his alluring image 'pon myself, but my own imaginative one."

Shinta smirked as he listened to her. His ears only caught some of her speech, but he could see the passion in her voice and the shine in her eyes behind her own snazzy glasses. She'd found herself. Was finding herself. "I don't remember the last time I've been wrong."

Her arms windmilled. "Hwahhh!? Wherever did I imply that?"

"I knew you'd get there. I knew you'd be, how'dya put it, unapologetically you? You found comfy vibes, and now you're existin'." Shinta gestured to his shop. "I know exactly what you mean. I appreciate all this classic stuff. But hey, I'm livin' in the modern day. I love that Showa era vibe. But it ain't all'a me. Just something I connect with. I choose to keep connected. I'm happy living my life behind my little counter and meetin' folks like you. Where I'm comfy."

She clasped her hands together. "A kindred spirit! Fashioning futures of our own comfort." Her hand rose to her jaw. "Indeed, EleStra 'ain't' all of me, but I 'keep connected' by choice. 'Tis wisdom I choose to carry, too."

Her finger curled question-mark-like around her chin.

"...I had chosen to pursue p-psychology for my love of EleStra and the depths of its analyses. Yet 'twouldn't form a comfortable existence for me,. My heart ached in my perceived choice betwixt others' comfort and mine. Thinking of you prompted the eureka: I needn't give up on others' comfort merely by selfishly choosing mine. After all, you choose your comfort...and inspire others in choosing theirs."

Puffing her chest out, her arm flung forward, the tears and snot flowing freely down her face, the girl raised her voice—by choice.

"Thus, she who stands before you now, Nagi the Selfish and Utterly Comfortable Edgelord, apply to graduate school—to study herpetology!"

Clutching her self-made-sword's strap, the girl panted, mopping up snot on a distinct-from-before-but-just-as-clumsily embroidered kerchief marked Elegant Strategy.

She flushed with pride.

"Herpetology, hmm?" Shinta scritched his chin scruff. "Well, I'm real happy for you. Make those choices that make you comfy. But herpetology, huh? Now I see why you got that gator on your wallet."

She pushed her glasses up. "I hope to be raising no fewer than ten snakes come twelvemonth."

"You a fan of reptiles?" Shinta smiled. "I don't offer this to everyone, gir—hmm, what's your name?"

"Nagi U-Usui! At Your Lordship's service!"

"Nagi. Gotcha." He'd try not to forget. Shinta pushed her bag of goodies towards her. "Come back again soon, Nagi. Next time, I'll show you my pet gator. She'd get a kick out of having a visitor."

Her eyes squinched up. "'Twould be an honor, Lord Iwata... That is to say," she added deliberately, "Lord Shinta."

Shinta grinned again. This kid—this girl—Nagi, she was somethin' special. "What'd I tell you about that 'Lord' stuff?"

"O-one step at a time. Yet, should I find myself unable to feel comfortable c-calling you by g-given name alone... If it does not make you uncomfortable, Lord Shinta..." Nagi breathed in. "...I would prefer to refer to you as makes me comfortable."

"Is that right?" Shinta nodded. Finding spots where comfort overlaps. "It doesn't make me uncomfortable. Knock yourself out, Nagi."

"Many thanks, milord. And my...comrade-in-arms." Nagi started to bow, paused, stepped away from the counter, then bowed. "May we teach one another much in encounters to come." She jolted. "Pardon the carelessness! I have n-neglected to pay!" She fumbled for bills from her wallet, taking as long as the first time she'd paid. "'Tis only for Cosmic Corner that I yet carry cash."

"I appreciate that. Makes me comfy."

And he focused on his own comfort first. He made his shop a comfy place, and his patrons accepted what made him comfortable. He built his life that way too. Focused on what made his life comfortable. All these items, wear and tear on them all. He had wear and tear too, for that comfort.

He could see that wear and tear on Nagi's hands, bandaged from grasping her life and shaping it to her comfort.

He found the things that fit him. She was finding the things that fit her.

This girl... Nagi...

She was more like him than he first anticipated.

It made him happy.

She beamed. "Bringing you tithes of cash doesn't make me uncomfortable either. Unapologetically be Yourself, Lord Shinta. And with that, I away—T-TomoKet fast approaches and I must prepare!" Carefully iron-gripping the bag's top, Nagi saluted him, then vamoosed. At the door she skidded to a halt and glanced back. "Lord Shinta!"

...Hmm? Shinta'd been ready to fire his signature 'goodbye-Nagi' line, his hand raised to wave.

"S—" Nagi puffed. "See you later, alligator!"

"Ha!" Shinta laughed. "In a while, crocodile!"

For a Heisei baby, she sure didn't have any Showa scent. But she had her own. He could dig that, too.

🐊