The Debt and Advice
The air conditioner inside Akoya Mart waged a losing battle against the thick summer heat, and humidity clung to every surface like an unwelcome guest.
The cashier wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, then returned her attention to the conveyor belt of items sliding past the register.
Three years behind this counter had taught her that most faces blurred together within minutes of leaving the store. Tonight, however, one customer would refuse to be forgotten so easily.
“Bottled water.” Beep. “Sandwich.” Beep. “That will be two hundred eighty-five yen.”
The man standing before her remained motionless. His shirt looked as though it had been slept in for several nights running, and his hair carried the disheveled evidence of countless restless evenings. Exhaustion radiated from him in a way that made her pause before repeating the total.
One second passed.
Then another.
Finally, on the third, he spoke.
“Sorry.” His voice emerged dry, almost cracked. “I ran out of money for my promotion. Can I pay you later?”
She blinked; certain she had misheard something so absurd. “...What?”
“I can pay you later,” he repeated, as though clarity alone might make the request reasonable.
Surely nobody actually asked a convenience store for credit. Yet here he stood, waiting for an answer she didn’t have ready.
“Sir,” she said, sliding into practiced customer-service composure, “we don’t offer payment plans.”
“I know.”
Then why bother asking at all? She swallowed that particular question rather than voicing it aloud.
“Do you have a credit card?”
He shook his head slowly, then reached into his bag instead.
Immediately, suspicion crept into her thoughts. Out came a business card, followed by several glossy brochures, and finally a bank document that looked far too official for a man who apparently couldn’t afford lunch.
The pile grew steadily across the counter until it nearly touched her scanner.
He sighed, glancing between the papers and her face. “I know I look like a scammer.”
At least he possessed some self-awareness. “But I genuinely own a VTuber agency.”
A brochure slid toward her. “I already have a channel.” A card followed. “I’ve commissioned a model, and I’m currently developing an AI-based rigging system besides.”
She studied the documents, then studied him, unable to decide whether desperation or delusion explained the scene unfolding before her.
“None of that qualifies as payment,” she said finally, gently but firmly.
His shoulders dropped, enough to suggest he’d heard that exact sentence more times than he cared to count.
“Oh.” That single syllable carried more defeat than any lengthy explanation could have managed.
Quietly, he gathered his papers, apologized for the trouble, and placed the water and sandwich back onto the counter without protest.
Something about that small, resigned gesture unsettled her deeply. Most desperate people grew angry or argumentative; this man had clearly moved past anger days earlier and kept walking anyway. As he turned toward the exit, a word slipped from her mouth before rational thought could intervene.
“Wait.” She had no ready explanation for why she’d said it. Pulling coins from her apron pocket, she told him simply that she would cover his bill herself.
His eyes widened with disbelief. After several stunned seconds, he bowed. Once, then repeatedly, thanking her with an intensity that made her worry he might injure himself against the floor.
Before leaving, he pressed his business card into her palm, insisting she reach out if she ever reconsidered joining his agency. She accepted mostly because refusing seemed like more effort than it was worth.
Moments later, the automatic doors closed behind him, and Akoya Mart settled back into silence.
She turned the card over in her fingers, an unfamiliar company name, an odd logo, a dream that made little practical sense. A VTuber agency, an AI rigging system, and a founder unable to afford a simple sandwich.
None of it fit together neatly, and she was still puzzling over the contradiction when the door chimed again.
“Welcome to Akoya Mart,” she announced automatically, straightening her posture before glancing toward the entrance and instantly regretting the decision.
“Violet~!” Only one person in the world stretched a name into something resembling a musical note.
The new customer strode inside with perfectly styled blonde hair and pristine office attire, looking every bit the opposite of Violet in her rumpled minimarket uniform.
“Himiko,” Violet replied, her tone deliberately flat.
“That’s the greeting I get?” Himiko leaned dramatically against the counter, feigning offense. “Fine, then. Perhaps I’ll start calling you Himeboshi again.”
Violet stiffened immediately. “Don’t.”
“Himeboshi,” Himiko repeated anyway, clearly savoring the reaction.
That family name had always felt more like a burden than an honor, dramatically noble sounding for someone whose only real connection to the historic Himeboshi lineage stretched back several forgotten generations. Yet the name persisted regardless, clinging stubbornly to an ordinary cashier who wanted nothing to do with its weight.
“Something happened today, didn’t it?” Himiko asked, her playful tone shifting toward genuine curiosity.
Violet hesitated, then produced the business card, brochure, and handwritten IOU in quick succession. By the time she finished recounting the encounter, Himiko had crossed her arms and fallen silent longer than usual.
“Huh,” she finally said, which offered no comfort whatsoever.
“What?”
“I don’t think he was lying.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. Though that doesn’t automatically make him trustworthy. Those are two entirely separate matters.” Himiko picked up the brochure, examining it with unexpected seriousness.
“The VTuber industry is expanding rapidly right now, and that same growth is exactly why it’s become dangerous territory. Fake agencies, exploitative contracts, companies that chew through talent without care. Some people build genuine fortunes. Others simply disappear.”
That particular observation felt far less reassuring than intended.
“So, what would you suggest?”
“Collect your debt first,” Himiko answered without hesitation. “Then maybe you can consider becoming a VTuber yourself, if the agency actually turns out to be worth it.”
Violet exhaled slowly, then walked toward the shelves and returned carrying a discounted bento box. She scanned it herself, watching the display carefully.
“Seven hundred thirty-five yen,” she announced, mostly to prove some unspoken point.
Himiko placed exact change onto the counter with theatrical precision. “Cash, in full, unlike a certain someone I could mention.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Say what, exactly?”
“That nothing bad will happen to you.” Tempting fate carelessly had never sat well with Violet, regardless of how irrational the belief might sound.
Himiko only laughed, gesturing toward herself with obvious confidence. “You already know what my name means, don’t you?” She scooped up her bento, waved cheerfully from the doorway, and promised nothing troublesome would ever happen to someone like her.
Before Violet could form a reply, the automatic doors slid shut behind her departing friend. The store settled into quiet once again, leaving her alone with her thoughts and a business card still tucked carefully into her apron pocket.
Watching Himiko’s figure disappear into the evening crowd outside, she wondered, without quite admitting it consciously, whether this strange, unpredictable day had truly finished unfolding yet.
