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Yusuke was remarkably lucky to live where he did.
Not just in the atelier, though he couldn’t imagine a better place for a budding artist to hone his craft. No, it merely acted as the centerpiece, the crown jewel of what Yusuke dubbed, “The Three Best People-Watching Spots In Tokyo (and Perhaps All of Japan)”.
The first spot was Shibuya Station’s underground walkway. He’d stand off to the side, dreaming up scenarios, both mundane and fantastical, about each passerby. What was in his suitcase that made it seem so heavy? Where might she be going in such a hurry? He never imagined how he’d interact with them, nor did he insert himself in their shoes. An ordinary fly on the wall observing extraordinary people.
The second: Inokashira Park. If Sensei required a more romantic piece, Yusuke could find no less than five couples to study the behaviors of. He frequented this place the least, primarily due to the inherent risk of toting a sketchbook over water, combined with a mildly traumatic incident in which he fought a flock of birds for his lunch.
The third: the corner across from the Triple-7 convenience store. Today, water-damaged sketchbook in-hand, Yusuke resided here. The doors had been left open, coaxing people in with the promise of air conditioning amidst soul-crushing August heat.
A businessman with a sweet tooth. Not particularly remarkable.
A boy hauling an instrument case that was at least half his size. Slightly more interesting.
A girl stealing a Jagarico cup.
Wait.
Yusuke watched as the girl entered, then aimlessly paced the chip aisle. That in itself wasn’t suspicious; he assumed she needed to cool off. After a few minutes, however, she snatched a cup off the shelf, zipped it into her hoodie—What reason could she possibly have to wear a hoodie in these temperatures? Shoplifting, apparently—and scurried out of the store.
He’d seen his fair share of experienced shoplifters from his curbside vantage point, and this girl was most certainly not one of them. By now, even with no alarm, she should’ve started running. But she didn’t. She just… stood there, in broad daylight, either clutching her stomach or the chip cup beneath her hoodie. Scanning the area to ensure no one had followed her, the girl immediately locked eyes with Yusuke.
Then she ran.
He couldn’t have caught up if he wanted to. Unlike petty theft, speed was clearly her specialty. This ultimately left him with two options: report her, or do nothing.
Yusuke knew exactly how Sensei would respond.
“It doesn’t matter whether she stole a snack or a diamond. Stealing is stealing, and she deserves to be held accountable for such heinous actions.”
Obviously, his student should agree with that assessment. Sensei was right. He was always right. Why are you hesitating? Go across the street and tell the clerk what you saw.
But that look in her eyes… Both before and after noticing Yusuke, she didn’t give the impression of someone who was proud of her heist. More than anything, she seemed scared. Forlorn. Should she never steal again, she’d still ruminate on this mistake for the rest of her life. Perhaps she’d even turn herself in.
“The career of a criminal has to start somewhere, Yusuke. Today, Jagarico chips. Tomorrow, wallets. Cars. Even entire identities.”
Maybe she was just hungry. Yusuke’s stomach growled. With food on the brain, he’d also grown quite famished, though he couldn’t do much about it. He barely had enough for the train, let alone a meal. But oh, Jagarico sounded lovely right now…
A disgusting thought loomed over his shoulder, one that wished she’d offered some of her stash to keep him quiet. No. He would not be her accomplice. What’s one afternoon without food? He’d endured longer. Surely she could’ve, too.
A short while later, he hit a creative roadblock. Alas, it’s what I deserve for doing nothing. So he made the executive decision to pack up his supplies and head back to the station.
There, sitting on a bench near the Ginza line, he saw her. She’d cast the unopened cup aside, as if offended by its presence. She looked like she’d been crying. Yusuke, predictably, did a terrible job of remaining discrete, staring just long enough for her to raise her head.
“Y-you…” she sniffled, then shot out of her seat. “Why the hell are you followin’ me!?”
“I’m not- I wasn’t- this is mere coincidence, I promise.”
The girl narrowed her puffy eyes. “Did you tell anyone!?”
“It would be wise to lower your voice.”
“Did. You. Tell. Anyone?”
“No, and I don’t plan to, either.”
“Good.” She tossed him the cup. “I chose one at random. This’s my least favorite flavor.”
He tossed it back. “I cannot accept stolen goods.”
“Well, I ain’t eatin’ it,” she tossed it to him again, “but I also ain’t gonna waste food, so take the damn thing or find someone who will. Free food is free food.”
He leaned in closer, clutching the cup like a string of pearls. “This isn’t just ‘free food’. You’re sidling me with evidence.”
“Oh my God,” she groaned. “No one’s gonna miss a single Jagarico cup. Sure, I’d get fined if the store found out, but unless you rat on me, that ain’t happenin’.”
“Then why were you crying?” It was an extremely invasive question, and Yusuke, by no means, warranted its answer. This had become routine for him, actually. Stopping conversations dead in their tracks, and feeling guilty afterward.
“‘Cause…” The girl scowled at the ground. “‘Cause it’d disappoint my mom. And I’ve already disappointed her enough, y’know? Whatever. Enjoy your chips.”
Yusuke watched her leave, too stunned to vocalize his response.
I do know.
*****
Yusuke devoured the cup “like a damn paper shredder,” to quote Futaba. Nozawana pickle and kombu, her all-time favorite.
“Do you want some?” she asked, angling it toward her boyfriend.
Ryuji made a sour face. “Blegh. No thanks, it’s the worst flavor.”
Hmm. Déjà vu.